WEBS ACROSS THE FOREST
‘Listen son, fate is like the tides in the oceans. Fate ebbs and flows. Trying to go against fate is like swimming against the tide- it will drag you away, maybe kill you… Fate comes in waves, you must be patient,’ the man said.
‘Grandfather says that fate is a web,’ his son replied.
‘Fate is many things, because it is in all things… Now, finish sharpening your spear, we have a long day tomorrow.’
A boy, his father and his grandfather walked through the forest. They tread carefully and often pause to look around.
‘Are there trolls in his forest,’ the boy asked.
‘There are trolls in every forest,’ his grandfather said.
‘Don’t scare the boy,’ said his dad.
‘When a man in haste and stupidity is killed by falling timber when felling trees, that is a troll. When a woman is trapped in a mine because she has dug too greedily, that is a troll…’ the old man continued. ‘If you don’t respect t’ forest, t’ trolls will come for you.’
‘I thought Raymond killed all the trolls long ago,’ said the boy.
‘Raymonds certainly killed a lot of trolls,’ his dad laughed.
The boy walked on, deep in thought.
‘Grandfather, I don’t think the trolls that you talked about in this forest are the same sort of trolls that Raymond killed… Raymond killed monsters, but I think you are talking about trolls who are fair and deserve respect,’ the boy said.
‘You are a clever lad… people often use t’ same word t’ mean different things,’ the old man said.
‘Raymond is just a legend,’ his dad said.
‘Aye, he was a legend,’ his grandfather agreed.
The boy understood that they were using the same word to mean different things.
This far north, the trees grew stout and gnarled. Broad pines stood up against howling wind and snowstorms like warriors in a shield wall. There were few animals on the frosty forest floor. Sleek, white furred foxes hunted hares. Gigantic moose would migrate up there in the summer. Occasionally vicious grey bears or red bears from the southern lands would wander through. Owls the size of grown women lived in huge nests on the tallest trees on the highest peaks, but they were very rare.
The three kept walking until the sun began to set. Then they built a crude windbreak from logs to lean against and a huge campfire. With darkness, silence fell on the forest.
The only sound was the crackling of firewood, then the snores of the men.
Deep into the night, the boy was woken by a terrible screeching.
Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and looked around him. By the dim light of the embers, he saw the shadowy form of his grandfather, who was sat bolt upright and alert like himself. His dad was snoring.
‘Was that a troll?’ the boy asked.
‘No.. I don’t think so. It sounded like a Dire-Owl, but don’t worry, it’ll not bother us this far down the mountain. Try to sleep.”
‘I cannot,’ the boy said after a few uncomfortable moments.
‘Nor can I… Would you like me t’ tell you a story about Raymond and Virgil?’ said the old man.
‘Yes please.’
The boy was asleep before the story was finished.
They walked all morning, over the crest of a rugged hill and down into a wooded valley. They stopped at noon in a glade where a semi- frozen stream flowed between frosty rocks.
‘We should have found it by now,’ said the father
‘How will we know it when we find it?’ asked the old man.
‘The cave mouth is crafted, but not of materials we know of. There is a round gate on the ground. The brush has been cleared away by the women who found it… It should be easy to find.’
The men scowled as he ate in silence.
‘Something is watching us,’ the boy suddenly said.
‘Aye… Something has been watching us since sunset yesterday,’ the grandfather said quietly.
‘Is it a troll?’ asked the boy.
‘No,’ said his father.
‘There are more things in t’ forest than just trolls,’ said the old man.
‘Don’t worry. It is too cold for red bears and too low for owls. I have heard no tales of bandits or cultists for years. You have your spears and I have my billhook and knife, we will be safe as long as we stay together,’ said the father.
A distant howl was heard on the wind.
‘Just a fox, come on, let’s get going,’ the father said.
They walked all afternoon.
The boy could not escape the feeling of being watched. Howls and screeches were often heard. Never close, never loud… Just on the edge of hearing.
‘We must rest and build a fire,’ the old man declared.
‘Yes, we must. The cave is close, we will find it at dawn,’ the father agreed.
They tried to hide how frustrated and uncomfortable they were. An icy wind grew and they struggled to light a fire.
‘Gods damn it!’ the father cursed often, but still he held his nerves in check.
The roaring wind hid any other noise, but the boy knew the creatures still screamed, because he felt them watching him.
Only long after dark, and only by holding out their cloaks to block the wind, they lit a tiny fire. They huddled around the flickering flames, and the cruel wind eventually died. Quickly, they piled more logs on the fire. Freezing, terrified and exhausted, the boy could finally rest. Looking at the older men, he sensed that the same fear gripped them, yet they struggled manfully to conceal it.
‘Time for a story, lads,’ his grandfather suggested.
The boy fell in and out of a fitful sleep as his grandfather told a long story about the Great Wars. It was a story they all knew, told to distract them from the fears which haunted them.
Fragments of the tale reached the boys between slumber.
‘… And the first of t’ Great Wars was over, but they had no time to rebuild… 100,000 warriors died in one day, and was just t’ first day… a second age had come and the Gods sent down ‘ Elves t’ aid humans against the darkness, but there were many strange things on t’ Earth in those days… and they feasted for days.. ‘
Once the boy saw a fourth man sat by the fire with them. A very, very old man. Much older than his grandfather yet much stronger. The next time we woke he was gone.
‘T’ second great fall had struck humanity, and yet again we began from t’ ashes,’ the grandfather continued,’…because they forgot t’ gods… We had forgotten about t’ gods…’
The next time the boy woke it was dawn, a thin layer of snow lay on them. He quickly put the driest sticks on the ambers of the fire. He was terribly cold and hungry.
‘This treasure had better be worth it,’ the father grumbled as they ate breakfast.
‘What makes you think there is treasure?’ the old man asked.
‘It’s a cave from ancient times, before the Great Wars. There is always treasure.’
‘Sometimes treasure, always danger… We must find it this morning or we will turn back towards home, it would be madness to stay here longer,’ the old man continued, in a tone that left no room for argument.
‘I want to go home,’ the boy said.
The boy’s hands shook from both fear and cold. They were all deathly pale and growing gaunt from living outdoors in the frozen forest.
‘Aye, we must go home soon,’ the old man concluded.
As the boy trudged behind his father through the forest, he heard the now horribly familiar screams and howls. Images also, on the edge of vision. A woman- perhaps not human- squatting between the trees. Her face was harsh and hooked, and long white hair fell over her shoulders, down to the ground. Always seen from the corner of his eyes, and gone when he turned to look.
He walked on.. And on.
The forest was beautiful in the midday sun. The frost sparkled on the leaves. A hare ran across their path.
Then again he saw the woman-thing. She stood hunched over a few yards from them. Her crooked face smiled and she pointed up towards the crest of the hill- towards home.
‘Not one more step,’ the old man declared. ‘Not one more step unless it is towards home! This madness must end. I wanted to see t’ ancient cave, but not at this price… We are tired, cold and have little food.’
The man wanted to argue with his father, but he was too tired. They turned and walked slowly uphill.
‘I see her too,’ the old man said quietly to his grandson.
They walked until they crested the ridge and darkness was falling. Quietly they built a fire and set up camp.
‘We were swimming against the tide.’ the father said, and then was silent.
Exhausted, they soon slept.
The boy woke at dawn, freezing and hungry and saw the fourth man again. The very, very old man.
‘Don’t worry lad, you’ll get home. But don’t go looking for that cave again, there are some things best lost,’ the old, old man said, and then calmly walked away.
The boy looked around, his dad slept but his grandfather was half awake and smiling.
‘Do you know him?’ the boy asked sleepily.
‘Aye, I know him,’
‘Who was he?’
‘Look at his footprints.’
The boy scanned the shallow snow and frosty leaves where the man had walked.
‘There are none.’
‘Aye, that was Virgil, his feet don’t touch the ground.’