The Forest

The sky bubbled and churned. The clouds groaned with the strain of holding back the storm.

The Forest was not concerned. It had weathered many storms – a millennium’s worth. It stood sentry, watching as the clouds gathered over the village.

The storm had come to the valley the week before and settled over it like a blanket. Looming. Threatening. It worked its dark fingers into the heart of the village, and into the heart of the young man with pale eyes.

The Forest knew what had brought the storm. It had come for the pale-eyed man. It was drawn to his darkness. The Forest had tried to warn her. It tried to tell the girl about the furious blackness that followed the man, about the dark weight that lurked behind his pale eyes. But she was good and pure and did not understand. She was too young. She had not seen the things the Forest had seen.

The Forest had always loved the raven-haired girl with the dark eyes and pale skin. As a child, she danced through its glades, bringing songs and stories. In return, the Forest gave her fresh berries and crowns of flowers.

It was early morning when the storm broke free. With an exhausted rumbling moan, the clouds gave way, releasing a torrent of heavy raindrops. The rain fell in sheets, filling the roads with mud and sending the villagers running for their houses. All but two of them: the pale-eyed man and the raven-haired girl who had loved him.

The Forest watched. It had always loved the raven-haired girl, so when she ran to it that morning, the Forest welcomed her into its dark embrace. It hid her from the pale-eyed man, swallowing up her footprints and the shining pools of crimson that trailed behind her.

The Forest knew the man would try to follow, but he would not find her.

The Forest loved the raven-haired girl. It wanted to protect her. It pulled her closer to itself. She was cold and weak, but she kept running. The Forest pulled her closer, deeper and deeper into the woods. Eventually she slowed and stopped. She could not go any farther. The trees wove their branches together, twiggy fingers interlacing behind the girl. Ivy reached up, wrapping around her legs and arms.

Her breath was coming shallow and fast. Her long dark hair was matted and streaked with red. It fell over her shoulders and down her back. Her spine curved forward as she bent over her knees, crumpled at the base of a yew tree. She smelled damp stone and dark earth, the pungent scent of pine, and the musky odor of mushrooms and rotting wood. She felt the cool forest floor against her cheek. She could hear her heartbeat. No, not hers. Hers was fading away. This was something deeper.

The man forced his way through the trees with all the grace the Forest had come to expect of men raised under the gaze of a dying god. His eyes were different today, hollow and hard. He walked with a cold determination, the damp earth squelching beneath his feet. He crashed through the brush, breaking branches and crushing them beneath his feet. He searched, but he found no footprints and no blood. He looked at his hands, there should be blood.

Her nose twitched. An electrical shiver ran through her body. It was time to move again. Her spine was longer now and curved. Fine black hair covered her limbs. Her soft pale legs had become taught bundles of velvet-wrapped sinew. She pulled her feet beneath her. Her legs moved together, pushing her lithe body through the damp underbrush. Her strides were longer now. Powerful. She coiled her body again, launching her body forward. She stretched through the air as far as she could before coming back to the ground just long enough for her powerful hind limbs to swing forward and pushing her off the ground again. In three swift bounds, the sleek black hare had disappeared into the trees.

Lightning struck nearby, shaking the ground and filling the air with the scent of ozone. The man hesitated. The trees muted the sound of the rain, but he could tell the storm was still raging. The wind gusted through the branches, picking up dirt and leaves and throwing them. It was hard to see. He didn’t remember these paths being so hard to follow. The man looked over his shoulder. He could still leave. He could run. Follow the road out of the valley all the way to the coast, get on a boat to America. He could be gone before anyone even thought to look for him. But… to leave the thing unfinished. To leave her where anyone could find her… His fingers flexed around the wooden axe handle. He walked deeper into the woods.

The stones watched the man stoically. The trees were less patient, they creaked and groaned, branches shaking menacingly. The pale-eyed man flinched as a crow cawed and swooped low over head. Then a second, and a third, and fourth. The Forest began to press in on him. His footsteps faltered. Fear was creeping into those cruel eyes. He started walking faster.

The damp earth squelched beneath his feet as he ran, mud pulling at his boots. The trees stretched the limbs, reaching out to scratch the man’s face and arms. Their roots rose up from the forest floor, grabbing at his feet and legs. The man stumbled, but stayed upright.

The stones waited.

The wind whipped the treetops in circles, its pitch rising until it became a steady scream that stopped the pale-eyed man in his tracks. The wind was screaming her name.

The ground began to sink beneath him, pulling him down. He tried to lift his feet, but the earth held him tightly. The man panicked and swung his axe, burning it deep into the trunk of the closest tree, sap mixing with the blood on the blade. He managed to pull himself free, but left one boot behind. The man looked around. The ground was beginning to slip away all around him, slowly sliding down the hill like thick, muddy water. He needed to head for higher ground.

The Forest drew him deeper into itself.

The pale-eyed man struggled up the hill. Roots tangled his feet and pulled him down. He got back up. Thorns ripped at his legs. He stumbled. Rain was streaming down everywhere now, too strong and heavy for the thick foliage to contain it any longer, but there was light up ahead – a break in the trees. The man breathed a sigh of relief. The ground was becoming firmer. He knew the standing stones must be up ahead; he could shelter there. He pushed forward.

The stones waited.

The top of the hillside was rocky and bare. Near the peak was the cromlech - ancient stones that had once marked the entrance to a tomb that had long since been reclaimed by the earth. Most of the stones had fallen and were half buried in the hillside. The large, wedge-shaped capstone stood propped at an angle against a partially crumbled support stone forming a small, artificial cave.

Rain was pelting down mixed with icy shards of hail, falling with such force that they left small cuts and scratches where they struck his skin. The Forest shook. There was a hideous crack overhead and a large branch came crashing down. The man stumbled to the side, barely escaping the crushing blow. There was another loud crack. He ran for the stones.

There was just enough space for him to lie beneath the capstone. The ground was hard, but relatively dry and the stone sheltered him from the worth of the rain and hail.

A strange sound echoed out from the Forest. A haunting sound.

The man slid deeper into the rocky maw, resting his head against the support stone. The stones let him in. They were done waiting.

Lightning struck nearby releasing a deafening crack of thunder. The hair stood up on his arms. The man closed his eyes and waited for the storm to pass.

At first it was just pressure. Stones pressing firmly against him. He shifted slightly. A sharp rock dug into his back. He tried to sit up, but found he no longer had enough room to raise his head. He opened his eyes. It was much darker now. The opening of his little cave seemed smaller and farther away. He felt the ground quiver beneath him. He tried to crawl toward the opening, but he didn’t have enough space to turn his body. Then he heard it, a strange growling sound that vibrated through the stones. He tried desperately to shift himself toward the opening.

The gap between the stones was less than a foot wide now, and it seemed to be getting smaller by the minute. He tried to grab the edge of the stone to pull himself out, but the ground shifted beneath him. Rocky earth pinned his legs. There was a grinding sound as the stone behind his head sunk deeper into the hill. The capstone fell, stopping just an inch above his face. The man whimpered and tried to reach again for the frank crack of light. The stones lurched again and then there was only darkness.

The storm passed, as the Forest had known it would. The morning brought with it a harmless pale sky and dappled sunlight. The trees were still and the stones sat silent once more. A black hare hopped across the grassy hillside, pausing briefly to nibble at the dandelions that had flowered around the large flat stone that was now embedded in the damp earth.

The Forest stood as it always had, watching over the valley, and the hillside, and the hare with the raven-black fur.