Arlo Finch in the Valley of Fire Page 4

  “We have a new Ranger tonight,” said Christian. “Arlo Finch, please step forward to receive your colors.”

  Arlo heard the words, but his feet didn’t comply. Wu and Indra nudged him until he finally moved.

  “Arlo Flinch,” whispered a freckled Red Ranger, proud of himself. Christian glared at him, shutting him up.

  “Blue Patrol Leader, do you take this Ranger under your watch?” asked Christian.

  “I do,” said Connor.

  “Then present his colors. Rangers, salute.”

  All of the Rangers put their right fists to their chests. Arlo followed their lead.

  “Repeat after me,” said Christian. Arlo nodded.

  Loyal, brave, kind and true—

  Keeper of the Old and New—

  Connor stood in front of Arlo, unfolding a new blue neckerchief, the same color as the rest of his patrol’s. Arlo felt stupid for not realizing the patrol colors matched the neckerchiefs. He hadn’t worn Uncle Wade’s, mostly because of the bloodstain, but also because he wasn’t sure how to tie it. It was still bunched up in his pocket.

  Placing the blue neckerchief around Arlo’s collar, Connor slid a metal ring up to fasten it.

  I guard the wild,

  Defend the weak,

  Mark the path,

  And virtue seek.

  Forest spirits hear me now

  As I speak my Ranger’s Vow.

  With the oath finished, everyone relaxed out of their salutes. Arlo put his hand down. His palm was sweaty.

  Christian made it official. “Arlo Finch has taken his Ranger’s Vow. May his path be safe.”

  All the other Rangers spoke in unison: “May his aim be true.”

  6

  THE FIELD BOOK

  THE RANGER FIELD BOOK WAS PAPERBACK, an inch thick, and heavy. The pages were crisp and smelled new, but the text and illustrations seemed old, like it hadn’t been updated in decades.

  Arlo received his Field Book after the meeting. The company quartermaster, a girl in Senior Patrol, took one from the locked cabinet in the supply room. With a black marker, she wrote FINCH on the top edge of the book in big letters. “You’re only issued one,” she said. “So don’t lose it.”

  Arlo couldn’t imagine ever letting it out of his sight. It was too dark to read on the car ride home, but the illustrations were mysterious and fascinating: traps and creatures and canoeing techniques. The back of the book showed the various patches. He spotted some of the ones from Uncle Wade’s shirt, but many more as well, featuring animal tracks, flaming arrows and watchtowers.

  He wanted to stay up all night reading the book—yet at the same time, he wanted to save it so he could read it page by page. As he flipped past a drawing of tents, he suddenly remembered: “There’s a campout this weekend. I can go, right?”

  “Of course,” his mom said.

  As they pulled into the driveway, Arlo spotted Cooper standing watch in the moonlight. He wondered if there was anything in the Field Book about ghost dogs.

  There just had to be.

  * * *

  That night in bed, Arlo studied the book by flashlight until his batteries ran out.

  The Field Book covered constellations, topographic maps, flag-folding, fire-building, boot maintenance, snakebites, avalanches, water purification, knots, ticks, totem lore, bears, poisonous plants, snare traps, hiking, tracking, knife-sharpening, first aid, shock, packing, stick biscuits, smoke signals, trail signs, lashing, woodlore, edible plants, slings, splints, compound fractures, stretchers, conservation and tornadoes.

  It had nothing to say about ghost dogs, however.

  In fact, the only reference for ghost in the index was a page warning about the dangers of camping in graveyards. The listing for spirit featured thirty-four entries, but most of them were for spirit in the sense of “teamwork” rather than “disembodied supernatural entity.”

  The back third of the Field Book was devoted to ranks and badges. Arlo couldn’t make sense of it by flashlight, but Indra and Wu filled in the details the next day at school.

  There were five ranks in Rangers: Squirrel, Owl, Wolf, Ram and Bear.

  Even without looking at the patch on the left shirt pocket, it was pretty easy to guess a Ranger’s rank. The youngest ones were Squirrels. Most eighth and ninth graders were Owls. The older ones were Wolves and Rams.

  And no one was a Bear, because there were no Bears.

  Wu, Indra and the twins were all Squirrels. Their rank patches depicted a bushy-tailed squirrel in profile, an acorn held in its front paws. Being the youngest members, Squirrels took a fair amount of teasing, gentle and otherwise. Wu recounted how, during a recent campout, Red Patrol had yelled, “Feed the squirrels!” while raining pinecones down on Blue.

  Connor was an Owl, as were most of the patrol leaders. His rank patch showed a hunting owl in flight, its wide wings curving up while its talons bore down. Earning Owl required seven specific skill patches, many of which Indra had already earned. (Wu had been gooed by a faerie beetle while trying to finish his Watching.)

  Senior Patrol was almost entirely Wolves. Their rank patches featured a howling wolf, its head tipped up to the sky. It took most Rangers four years to earn Wolf, although Indra calculated it was possible to do it in as little as two and a half with proper planning and a valid passport. “You would need to go to Australia or New Zealand over Christmas break, which is our winter but their summer, and join a company that is headed to camp, and get elected patrol leader. While you’re there you get your Leadership and Tracking patches, half a year earlier than you could have here.” Indra had gone as far as researching a Ranger company in Auckland that might work, but was waiting until her next birthday to share the idea with her parents.

  With massive curled horns set against a floating head, the Ram patch looked more dragon than sheep. Christian Cunningham and two other high school kids were the only Rams in the company. “Most kids never get to that rank,” Wu explained. “There’s a ton of stonecraeft and weathering, which are super hard. It’s basically math but with rocks and clouds.”

  The Bear patch was the most unusual, because it didn’t depict a bear at all, but rather a leafless tree. Arlo had seen it only in the Field Book, because no Ranger in Pine Mountain Company had achieved the rank for a dozen years. Christian was said to be going for his, but dodged the question when asked directly. Wu said the training, called the Vigil, required leaving Colorado for weeks at a time, with strict secrecy over exactly what was taught. “It’s super Jedi ninja stuff.”

  As a new member, Arlo was unranked, with no patch on his pocket.

  He was the only unranked Ranger in the entire company, but that was simply because of timing. At the start of every summer, five or six new kids joined Rangers, all starting from zero like Arlo. By September, they invariably earned Squirrel.

  Joining in the late fall put Arlo behind, but he was determined to catch up. In order to achieve the rank of Squirrel, he would have to meet the rank requirements in the back of the Field Book:

  Repeat from memory the Ranger’s Vow. He was already off to a bad start. The Vow was only thirty-five words long, but they simply wouldn’t stick properly in his head. By the time he got to “defend the weak,” his mind had wandered away.

  It was that way with most things Arlo had to memorize. After six years of daily recital at various elementary schools, he still fumbled his way through the Pledge of Allegiance. At baseball games, the national anthem was completely befuddling, the rockets’ red glare seeming to have wandered in from another song altogether.

  Demonstrate the Ranger’s salute. This was easy. To salute, you placed your right fist over your heart, knuckles touching your chest. Your thumb needed to be flat against your curled fingers, in line with your arm, never giving the thumbs-up sign or, worse, tucked inside the fist.

  Spend three nights camping with your patrol. There was a campout every month, including one this weekend.

  Show how to tie the ten Rang
er’s knots. Explain how each is used. Arlo studied the illustrations in the Field Book. Even with the arrows, it was tough to get them right, but it felt like the kind of thing that just required practice.

  Demonstrate your proficiency with the Ranger’s compass. Arlo didn’t have his Ranger’s compass yet, but Wu had described the process for the test: “They give you a shape, like a triangle or a cross, and you have to walk that pattern, ending up at exactly the same spot you started. The hardest part is keeping your paces even.” Wu completed it on his first try, but it had taken Indra three attempts.

  Successfully complete your Trial of Rank. Once he had finished all the other requirements, Arlo would have to demonstrate what he’d learned in front of a panel of Rangers and answer their questions. “You don’t know who is on your panel until you get there,” said Wu. “And they can ask you anything, like how deep you’re supposed to bury your poop or the difference between kinnikinnick and bearberry. At the end, they vote, and if you don’t pass, you have to wait three months until your next trial.”

  “You have to be prepared for anything,” said Indra.

  With the Field Book in his hands, Arlo felt like he actually could be ready. From patches to pinecones, sunburns to signal fires, the book made the Ranger universe seem orderly.

  That Friday afternoon, as he packed his backpack according to the book’s lists and illustrations, he didn’t worry that he was forgetting anything. As long as he followed the instructions, everything would be fine. When it came to Rangers, the Field Book had all the answers.

  Except for the questions Arlo hadn’t thought to ask.

  7

  THE WONDER

  ARLO COULD NOT BELIEVE HOW FAR THEY HIKED. Every time he thought they had reached the top of the mountain, the trail just kept going, with another peak ahead.

  The distance was not the problem. Arlo was used to walking. Back in Chicago, they would often walk a mile to the museum, even in the winter when it was so cold it hurt to breathe and his ears started ringing. But Chicago was flat. Everything in Colorado was on a slope. And there were always rocks to step over, or step around. Did it take more energy to step over or around a rock? He wanted to ask, but he was too tired to speak.

  His only consolation was that the hike seemed to be just as exhausting for Wu and Indra. Back when they’d first put on their packs at the car, they were discussing whether hammocks counted as beds or not. Wu was convinced they did. After all, you could sleep in a hammock. Indra said that by Wu’s logic, anything a person could conceivably fall asleep in was a bed, be it a couch, a car or an airplane. Wu and Indra both tried to sway Arlo to their side, but by the end of the first half mile, the argument was abandoned unresolved.

  The entire company was hiking to Ram’s Meadow, one of their frequent campsites. Responsibility for planning the monthly camping trip rotated among patrols. This time it was Green Patrol’s turn. They had chosen Ram’s Meadow after a lengthy discussion and three rounds of secret ballot. Wu said Blue Patrol always picked Three Creeks, which apparently had the best fishing. Arlo had never been fishing, and did not like fish, but was certain his patrol was correct in their choice.

  “Hold up,” whispered Connor. He stopped them, then pointed to something deep in the forest.

  “Wow,” whispered Wu, impressed.

  Indra agreed. “I can’t believe it’s so close.”

  “Cool,” whispered Arlo. But he didn’t notice anything, no matter how hard he looked. All he could see was trees. All he could hear was his pulse in his ears. Yet his entire patrol seemed to be watching something remarkable. Arlo tried to follow their gaze. Connor must have spotted his frustration, because he waved him over closer. With just a tiny shift to the left, Arlo saw it.

  It was a deer, or an elk—Arlo wasn’t sure what to call this creature he had only seen in picture books—standing just off the trail, watching them. It was so close that Arlo could see the glint in its black eyes and the texture of its fur. He could watch it breathing. More than any creature he had ever encountered in the wild, Arlo felt that this one had a name, a family, a story.

  And then, BOOM!

  From behind them, a cannon shot. The deer took off running, terrified. Arlo looked back to see Red Patrol approaching. One of the boys wiggled his hands and clapped them together. The resulting noise was a thousand times louder than expected, a true explosion. Arlo felt his heart skip.

  “Not cool, Russell,” said Connor.

  “It’s a deer. Get over it.” The boy’s name was Russell Stokes. Arlo recognized him as the one who’d called him Arlo Flinch at the meeting.

  Red Patrol skirted past them on the narrow trail. There were icy glares and grumbles, but no words were exchanged.

  Once they were out of earshot, Arlo asked, “What was that? How did he do that?”

  “It’s called a thunderclap,” said Wu. “You don’t learn that until you reach Owl.”

  “But what is it?” Arlo asked as they started hiking again. “I mean it’s like, well it’s…” He racked his brain for a different term, something that would explain what he meant without seeming crazy, but ultimately only one word made sense: “It’s magic.”

  “It’s not magic,” said Indra.

  Wu agreed. “Magic is spells and stuff. Rangers don’t do that.” Off Indra’s look, he quickly added, “Well, we’re not supposed to do that.”

  “But what Russell did is impossible,” said Arlo. “It’s not natural. People can’t do that.”

  The trio hung back a bit from the rest of the group so they could talk privately.

  “Do you know how to walk on a tightrope?” asked Indra.

  “No,” said Arlo.

  “But you’ve seen people walk on tightropes, like on TV. You know it’s a thing people can do.”

  “Yes.”

  “So how do you think they do it?”

  “They learn. They practice.”

  “Exactly. A thunderclap is a skill, just like walking on a tightrope. Just because most people can’t do it doesn’t mean it’s magic.”

  “But why wouldn’t I have seen it before now?” said Arlo.

  “Because it only works in certain places,” said Wu.

  Indra held out her left hand. “Imagine this is the normal world. Every place you’ve ever been. Every city. Every town.” She then held out her right hand. “Imagine this is the Long Woods. It’s not our world, but it’s right next door. Normally, you would never see it, never know it’s there. Except there are some places where the two worlds brush up against each other.” She slid her hands past each other, barely touching. “When they do that, it creates friction. Energy.”

  “Like static electricity?” asked Arlo.

  Indra and Wu exchanged a look, impressed. Arlo was getting it. “These mountains, they have a lot of that energy. And if you know how to use it, how to focus and shape it, you can do things with it.”

  “When do I learn?” asked Arlo.

  “You already started,” said Wu. “You’re a Ranger now.”

  * * *

  Ram’s Meadow was worth the hike.

  Two-thirds of the way up a mountain, the clearing had vast fields of wildflowers and massive boulders that looked like the toes of giants. Rabbitlike creatures called pikas kept watch from the lichen-covered rocks.

  After some squabbling with Red Patrol over campsites, the Blues picked their spot and set up their tents. Dinner was hot dogs and beans cooked over the fire. Both were extra delicious from the smoke and exhaustion.

  Arlo had never sat around a campfire before. It was strangely hypnotic, like watching a television with only one channel. Logs slowly disintegrated into glowing embers. White flakes of ash fluttered up, carried by invisible currents.

  A flash of light caught his attention. Far in the distance, a few of the Senior Patrol Rangers were standing in a line. One by one, they were pointing their fingers, sending out streaking white plumes of light that arced across the night sky before slowly dimming and falling.


  “Are those fireworks?” asked Arlo.

  “They’re snaplights,” said Indra.

  “It’s like you’re snapping your fingers,” explained Connor. “But instead of sound, you make light.” He stood and demonstrated. With a flick of his hand, he snapped his fingers. A bright flare of light erupted, shooting away like a tiny comet. “It’s all light, no heat, so you can’t catch anything on fire. Rangers use them all the time. They’re better than flashlights.”

  Arlo tried, but nothing happened. It was like he was trying to get someone’s attention and failing.

  “Imagine the air is a piece of paper,” said Connor. “You’re trying to form a sharp crease. The light follows that edge.”

  “It’s all about the timing,” explained Wu. He demonstrated, but the light barely left his fingertips. It fizzled out before it even really started.

  Indra’s snaplight was more like a firefly, a faint glow that quickly dimmed.

  Twins Julie and Jonas had slightly better snaplights, each lasting about three seconds. Their older sister had been in Rangers, so they’d learned from her.

  None of their snaplights could compare to Connor’s. He could send three in quick succession, or bounce them like a stone skipping across a lake.

  Arlo kept trying, but all he achieved was sore fingers.

  “You’ll get it eventually,” said Connor. “It takes a couple of months.”

  Watching the lights zip across the meadow, Arlo reminded himself that it wasn’t technically magic, but it sure felt like it. “Why doesn’t anyone ever talk about this?” he asked. “Snaplights and thunderclaps—people in Chicago or Philadelphia, they’d be amazed. Why don’t I see videos of it on the internet?”

  “It’s called the Wonder,” said Connor. “You can’t photograph it, or record it. You can only see it for yourself.”

  Wu skewered another marshmallow to roast. “It’s like when there’s a full moon and it looks giant. But then when you take a picture of it, it’s actually normal size.”

  “It’s nothing like that,” said Indra. “You’re talking about an illusion. Snaplights and thunderclaps are real. They just can’t be photographed.”