Free The Door in the Forest by Roderick Townley

glared at him. “
Go
!”
    Breathing hard with indignation, the soldier hulked through the undergrowth, ignoring as best he could the clawing resistance of thistles and brambles. A thorny branch slapped him in the face, drawing blood and oaths.
    Emily pushed herself up on her elbows and watched him. She tasted something warm and metallic and realized her lip was bleeding. That didn’t stop her from smiling.
    Reaching the margin of the water, the man waded right in, his eyes on the circle of pearls on the far bank. He had not gone three strides before he felt his booted feet being slowed by some underwater resistance. With all his strength, he managed a fourth step, sinking from waist to chest, and then could go no more.
    Though he thrashed about wildly, his efforts seemed only to pull him deeper. Panicking, he let out an inarticulate cry. The murk was now to his chin, his head tilting back to keep his face from being covered. “For God’s sake!” he gargled. “Help!”
    Sloper nodded to the soldier named Martin. “The idiot can’t swim.”
    The young man gave a smart salute and trotted ahead, straight into the stinging undergrowth. You could see his suffering as he fought his way forward, but he didn’t complain.
    Emily winced. The word “No!” escaped her as a whisper.
    By the time he made it to the edge of the creek, his arms and one cheek were bleeding freely; but he dove in without hesitation, reaching his comrade just as the man’s head was sinking from sight. There was a turmoil as rescuer andrescued struggled together; but it was no use. The first man was firmly stuck, his head now under the water, his arms flailing more feebly as the seconds passed. About then, the other soldier felt the pull of the muck beneath him.
    “Quicksand!” he called out. “Help! I can’t move!”
    He
was
moving, though—downward. Two other soldiers fought through the resistant underbrush, hoping to get close enough to throw their friend a rope. It was all happening too fast. The young man was barely keeping his chin above water.
    That’s when he saw a delicate V of ripples swerving in his direction. His look of puzzlement turned to horror when he saw it was a snake. He thrashed wildly and sank up to his nose. That left his eyes at water level as the snake reached him, its pale head gleaming, its human eyes brilliant with malice.
    Emily, who’d been watching from the bridge, ducked her head to the side to avoid what happened next, but she heard the scream. The mad splashing. The quick intake of breath of the soldier beside her.
    A long silence followed. That was worst of all.
    Finally, head still down, she dared to look. The water was calm. A finch began to trill atop a thorn bush.
    Then she saw it, a sudden presence on the other bank. It was the heron. Slowly, even daintily, it approached the necklace and uncurled its neck. It dipped low to examine the strange object. The long beak pushed it, then opened and picked it up. Straightening, the creature turned its head, flashing one yellow eye and then the other at the soldiers across the stream.
    The necklace swung from its beak as the bird walked slowly away.

Dinner that evening was quiet at the Crowley house. The captain seemed to have lost interest in the inhabitants of Everwood, including his host. He abruptly excused himself before dessert and went outside, followed by his men, the screen door slapping behind them. Gwen was thrown off by this. She had baked a cherry pie, now cooling in the kitchen. Catching her look, her husband fractionally lifted his shoulders.
    If dinner was quiet at the Crowleys’, it was stony at the Byrdsongs’. Two empty chairs stood at the end of the table like accusations. The men rifled angry looks at Emily, as if the deaths that day had been her doing.
    Even Bridey was quiet. She’d had a bath that afternoon and had learned more than she’d cared to know. Later Emily helped her with the dishes in the kitchen. The water had been brought in