Lone Wendy: The Girl and the Forest of the Gods (3 page)

We hug, I apologize, swear up and down that I won't
go, and the night ends. Laying in bed, I hate her, I hate myself. I
feel like every option is pain. That I can't do anything, and
certainly nothing right. I feel terrible, for making her cry. But
worse, I know I'll do it again. For all I said, for all I swore, it
meant nothing.

I meant none of it.

My mom, the one person in the world I shouldn't lie
to the most, and I do it every day. Bidding my time, until I can
finally find courage against my tears.

Rough hands shaking as a rustic pack heavy with
memory passes to another.

Standing close, though feeling distant. Similar fires
burning in the night. Lips begging to part, but better left with
thoughts unspoken.

Dark eyes gaze deeply with a sorry glow, and part
quickly in fear – farewell.

The morning broke as soft as gentle rain, and my
heart fluttered in my chest. It was a big day, and I was the only
one to know. I could hear the sounds of a home waking, people
greeting, pots clanging, readying for the day. I was already
prepared, dressed, packed. Mom greeted me like usual, I walked
straight past her, “goodbye”, I muttered as I flew out of the door,
like a deer fleeing the hunt. My mother ran after me for as long as
her legs could carry her. I saw her fallen to her knees as I slowed
and glanced over my shoulder. She was wailing and begging me not to
leave.

When I reached the town, the people were all out as I
walked through the street, an expression on their faces as though
they'd seen a ghost. Some jeered and shouted at me, something about
being stupid, or a fool. I wasn't quite sure. I could barely hear
them over the booming thoughts of my unquiet mind. My heartbeat,
competing with the ring in my ears. I felt numb with excitement,
with fear, and sadness. I walked on in a daze for hours, with a
sickly feeling as the symptoms slowly faded. My first steps into
the unknown.

***

The sun shines on my face through the trees, the wind
greeting me as I go on. I feel a euphoria stemming from my freedom.
It feels good to make my own decisions, to leave without the
approval of anyone. Though, it does hurt. I can't help but feel
this tightness in my gut, a voice deep within me screaming to turn
around. I do my best to ignore it, but it's still there.

'What am I doing out here?' It asks. Reassuring
myself that I’m making the right decision I go through the process.
Follow this road south until it ends, then southwest through the
forest to the shard. A simple journey, I bubble again as I think
about it. And then home, a single tear falls from my eye. Breakfast
smelled good this morning, I’m sure I’ll taste it again. Of course
I will, and many others. I picture my mothers smiling face as I
return, repressing the image of her fallen.

I see a tunnel of trees ahead, one side in the suns
shadow, the other alight and vibrant. The forest sure is a
beautiful sight.

Later in the evening I stop for the night under an
old tree atop a tall hill. The long grass swept by the breeze, a
cool wind blowing through the warm wet summer air. Soothed to sleep
beneath a cotton sky. My fears lulled by hope, and drowned out by
excitement and ambition. My worries suppressed by a choir of birds,
crickets, and frogs.

It's said that long ago, the Gods fell here from the
sky. That they were trapped within an artifact, and left to travel
the heavens forever. Only when this artifact crashed here were they
released. Most of the artifact was vaporized, but it is rumored
that a part of it remains. Historians dubbed this piece, “The God
Slayer”, a fragment that binds them, a way to control them. A silly
myth some would say. From time antiquated, and immemorable. But the
fact is, that the Gods are closing in on us, filled with anger, and
lusting for vengeance. It may seem silly, stupid even, to go
hunting for a rumored rock. But what man alone, can stand against a
God?

The haunting eye stares intently, as the giant
rumbles forth. Blue skies turn to grey, its form lit up by forked
tongue flashing. Wind sweeping in majestic flow. The trees and
grasses gracefully bowing in its path. I have always known summer
storms a beautiful thing. But out in the open, with no house to go
to, no place to hide, I feel a tinge of fear from it. An
uncertainty. I still wish to enjoy it, but find myself wrapped up
searching for a place to weather the storm.

***

A peaceful, if not equally fearful evening has found
me. The storm turned out to be nothing more than bustle and blow.
Its wind left behind as I try to find myself a safe and sheltered
place to sleep for the night.

***

The night is exceptionally dark. The wind tears
through the forest, and the trees pound together. Their branches
grating against one another in shrill screeches and screams. I
swear I can hear voices.

My mind running amok. Shivering, eyes darting back
and forth, wide in terror. I clench my blanket tighter, and try my
best to sink into the earth.

***

The dark day greeted me with a splash to the face.
After finally settling into a wrestles sleep, the morning broke
with hard rain. A down pour, with wind shears that wrestle to
remove you from your feet. I slog through the muddy paths, blinded
by the wall of water over me. Soaked and slipping, this is some
kind of day. I start to mutter “how could this be any worse” but
catch myself, lest I get unluckier. However, as I stumble, and
stare into the gushing void, I’m reassured, the very thought of
worse luck brings it, no need for words.

A raging river with a steep bank lays before me as I
lose my footing, skiing to my doom. I slide helpless, and wholly
confused into the turbulent waters below. As I splash into the
river the freezing wet shakes me from any remaining shock I might
have, and I panic, grasping for everything as the world flies by
blindingly. Tumbling, bobbing, and smacking into everything
possible, I continue down its path. Finally landing face first into
a dislodged root, I count my smooshed face lucky, and hold on for
dear life. Fighting against the current pulling at my legs, I make
my way up the slick root and fall into the mud with joy. Only later
to find my pack half empty.

Before the northern settlers came, the whole
continent of Elm was ruled by the Gods and their druid followers.
When the settlers landed and founded their kingdoms, they took the
sparsely populated northwestern territories. Later, Valasian
expansion and conquest pushed the Gods and their lands back behind
the machine barriers and contained them in what is now called, The
Forest of the Gods.

The Forest of the Gods stretches from the middle of
the northern continent all the way east to the sea. And from the
northern sea south for many miles past where the maps end. No one
knows just how large the continent is, but it's estimated that only
one fifth is colonized by man. The rest belongs to the Gods.

There are eleven human kingdoms in Elm. With Valasia
being the furthest west, and Reon, my kingdom, being the furthest
east. And the most surrounded by the Gods forest.

My kingdom is one of the youngest, created by the
machinists to govern the fleeing druid peoples. As such, the
kingdom is a strange mix of superstitious natives crash course
cultured in western ways. A strange and ill fitting collection of
peoples constantly reminded that we are just tokens dominated by
Valasia and their machine God.

It's been days. I lost all of my camping gear, and
most of my food. My strength is waning. I'm hungry, and slightly
sick. But press on.

To my surprise I see a cabin in the distance. It's
probably abandoned, but worth a shot. I cautiously approach and
knock on the door gently, ready to run if the wrong person opens
it.

After a moment the door opens a crack, a wide eye and
a wrinkled face inquires if he can help me.

“I don't mean to bother you, I'm traveling and lost
all of my food, do you have anything that you could spare?” I
ask

“I’m sorry, no....” the gap of the door slowly begins
to close, but then reopens, all of the way this time. A haggard old
man, hunched over and scruffy holding onto it, his arms
shaking.

He looks at me with confusion and fear. As though I
am a baited trap that has materialized at his door.

He cringes for a moment as he tries to smile. “I
mean, I'm sorry, I don't have anything here,..., but I'm going to
an outpost for supplies, if you’d help me load, I'm sure I can
spare something.”

I graciously accept his offer, and help him get the
wagon. We travel with little small talk. A fearful old man, and a
hungry girl in a wagon. Neither of us fully trusting each other. I
don't have a choice, and by the look of him, I think he needs me as
much as I need him.

We arrive at the outpost, a small collection of
buildings circling a large yard, all of it surrounded by a poorly
built and aging wooden wall. These outposts were built by the
machinists along supply routes to keep the transport chain stocked
and able, as well as supplying labor camps, far out farmers, and
soldiers guarding the border. The outpost now nearly deserted as
its purpose has been removed. The attendants are few, weak, and
fearful. This was no place to be months ago much less now. Bandits
and cult killers roam freely, and everyone is cut off from
civilization. The workers left behind too poor or scared to
leave.

The yard is nearly empty. The outpost has little to
sell to the old man, a fact he tries to hide, but as I load his
wagon, I can tell. It's much less than what he needs.

The journey back is a bit more lighthearted as we
stop to eat a meager meal together. I ask why he stays so far out
still. Supposedly he lived with his daughter when the machinists
left. Like many others they didn't have the resources to leave. She
hitched a ride with a supply caravan going to a large town. She was
supposed to get money and come back for him, months later, she
hasn't yet. He waits because he can't do anything else. He says he
is sure she'll return, but you can see sorrow flash across his eyes
as he considers that she might be dead. I hope for his sake that
she didn't abandon him, he seems so nice, as most of the deep wood
folk do.

He inquires about me, where I'm from, where I'm
going. I don't hide the truth about my journey, his sad face
somehow looking sadder when I tell him, and he does his best to
warn against it in a non intrusive way.

The rest of the ride back was quiet, solemn, though
we both wore smiles. Coming to a crossroads he drops me off, giving
me a very small package of food, less than a single meal, but more
than he should spare.

“you'll need something for the road, it's nothing
really, but you won't starve.”

I take the package, thanking him and wishing him
well, before leaving him, and walking down the road.

I hold back until the old man is out of earshot.
Gazing upon the miniscule meal – I cry, so little, means so much to
me.

In life there lurks a blood lust. A demonic force
from worlds beyond, always searching for a victim, looking for a
mind to infect.

The thing taking us in trust and desperation...

Sitting by the side of the road, the small meal long
gone. My stomach feels as though it's caving in. My mind
wanders.

“Are you OK?” a mans voice calls out suddenly.

I leap to my feet, I never even noticed him come up.
Looking him up and down. A young man, dirty but dressed decently,
with blonde hair and blue eyes. He smiles at me, opening his palms
warmly, and displaying that he's not armed. I don't trust him, but
I relax a bit.

“I'm fine” I state without emotion.

“Are you by yourself out here?” he asks.

“Are you?” I retort quickly.

“No, I've got friends”

“Where are they?” I ask, as I wonder to myself if
this is it.

He smiles, “back at camp”

“Why would anyone camp out here?” I question.

“Anyone wouldn't, we're hunters. I answered your
questions, care to answer mine?” He spits out in a quick
manner.

“What?”

“What are you doing out here?” He asks with a calm
voice again.

“passing through” I say quickly

“Passing through, this close to the edge of
civilization?” he laughs.

“what do you want?” Any humor I had now long
gone.

“I saw a girl doubled over on the side of the road, I
wanted to make sure you were alright”