Lone Wendy: The Girl and the Forest of the Gods (4 page)

“I'm fine” I say annoyed.

“you look hungry” he says quickly.

We stare at each uncomfortably for a moment.

“
I'm fine
” I exclaim more
sternly

“we've got food back at our camp, if you’d like to
join us” He offers.

“I'll pass” I reply quickly.

“It's not good to be hungry out here, you need your
strength”

I begin to turn down his offer again when my stomach
cramps in pain.

“Are you armed?” - I ask after a moment of pause.

He pulls back his jacket to reveal a hunting knife -
“are you?”

I shake my head “no” in the most convincing manner I
can pull off.

“then maybe you'll come have something to eat, get
some rest-”

“I might eat” I cut him off, I don't want to feel too
friendly.

We walk together back to his camp and chat. He seems
nice actually, and a bit flirty – though I try to ignore his
advances.

We reach his camp. A small wagon on the edge of a
handful of tents.

I do look forward to a good meal. As I step around
the wagon blocking the road I hear a scream. Turning the corner I
see a woman being held tightly by a man, her mouth covered, her
face looking battered. I glance at the blonde hunter, our eyes meet
for a moment as he smirks at me, his eyes shift behind me. 'It's a
trick!' I think to myself as I start to turn and run when my head
is grabbed from behind. Someone slams my face into the side of the
wagon with tremendous force. They pull my hair tightly and push my
face, running with blood, into the dirt.

“if you move I'll gut you!” a terrible voice
growls.

I cry out, begging, as my face fills with pain, but
my voice is muffled in the earth.

“that's right...you squeal piggy!” the voice
chuckles.

I feel helpless against force for the first time, the
feeling overwhelming as I try to grasp what's going on. Overpowered
and afraid. The man holding me shifts my head as he holds it down,
rubbing it into the ground before pulling me up. My body lying
limp, dangling just above the earth by my hair. My injuries start
to take hold as the world blurs out, and my hearing becomes muffled
and graveled. I turn my head in a daze and get an unclear glimpse
of the one holding me. The shadowed form of a short fat man.
Glancing in the direction of the other voice, I see the fuzzy
picture of the blonde man standing there, laughing. The feeling of
betrayal, pain, and anger building within me.

'The dagger!' I think to myself among the confusion.
Slowly I lift my hand, crawling carefully along my body. Listening
intently for the tone of their voices. My finger bumps the pommel,
the rest following, wrapping around the leather grip. I pull it
quickly, feeling with my other hand along the fat mans leg before I
thrust the dagger with all the force I have. I fight through the
resistance as he screams, shoving the blade into him as deep as it
can go. The man leaps in pain, yanking back hard on my hair pulling
me towards him and then pulling hard in reverse, sending me flying
like a rag doll. Weightless, until I land hard along the road.

Forcing myself up through the pain, I quickly leap to
my feet. Seeing them for a brief moment before I turn and run. A
deafening crack snaps the air behind me as something zips past my
ear. The smoke fills the whole area, choking me and burning my
eyes. 'He has a gun!?!?' I panic and duck, running twice as fast as
before when I rise, dropping my pack to gain speed. Branches slap
me in the face as I run deeper into the forest through ever growing
thicket. I can make out muffled voices yelling behind me as they
give chase. Stumbling blindly through the dense brush I lose my
footing. Sliding off of the edge of a short steep drop, I land
softly on a dirt hill, and roll down into the thick forest
below.

Long ago, during the great war between the druids and
the machinists of Valasia, the Mad Gods became angered when their
followers began deserting them, and cut them down, rampaging
against all men. During this time, the machinists harbored the
druid survivors, and found a way to contain the Gods power. Certain
energy generators could counteract the Gods power and influence.
They erected a massive border and sealed them away in their lands.
Since then tales of monsters and madmen attacking the border never
seemed to cease. Though the official word was that the men and
monsters were followers of the Gods, there were many rumors that
the Gods could drive men insane and that the attacks were in fact
border guards and mecha that wandered too close and had gone
mad.

Whatever the case, the border has now been packed up.
The soldiers, mecha, and wall, gone.

I run until I double over heaving out of breath. I
wonder if they'll find me, or if they'll even look. I'm sure they
will. They were having too much fun beating me to let me go,
especially after I stabbed the one. 'Bastard deserved it', I think
to myself as I tap my nose and wonder if he broke it, it hurts like
hell. I wish I could have stabbed that other bastard too, laughing
at me while I hurt. Taking joy in my pain, I can't believe I
trusted him, I’m so stupid.

I know I have to get moving, walking slowly and
carefully through the woods, I stop to listen on occasion. I push a
large leafy branch out of my way with care, cringing and staring at
it as it catches absolutely everything, grating, rustling, and
making more noise than anything. As I finally get past the noisy
branch I turn and nearly fall over, putting my hand over my mouth
to contain a small scream. A body nailed to a tree, skinned and
meaty, decaying in the sun. I step around it moving low and slow,
keeping a careful eye on the corpse. It's so eerie. Passing the
body I immediately regret continuing in this direction, to my
horror, there are more. Some whole, some in pieces. Nailed, tied,
and impaled throughout the landscape. Severed heads and limbs
making symbols, maybe random, but writing in blood says
sacrifice.

I guess the bandits must have done this, kidnapped
and tortured villagers in tribute to their Mad Gods. I wonder for a
moment if any of the bandits are here, gazing carefully for
movement. I begin to move when I hear a gurgling behind me, and a
choke. I don't even want to know, shaking as I turn. Someone's
alive, and not in the good way. Their eyes missing, cuts all over
their body, chained to a rudimentary rack. My stomach churns, the
smell alone enough to make me vomit, I try to calm myself and step
away. There's nothing I can do.

The sights bring a sense of confusion and dread. I
find the carnage too different from my normal reality and question,
what man could do this? What thing could do this? Inflict such
pain, suffering, and death. Not only do it but like it. Have this
gore bring joy to them. Surely it's the influence of Mad Gods,
right? Could anyone with any humanity ever do something like this?
Does this beast lurk within our nature? Could this darkness lay
dormant in me? There's no way.

I should feel sad for these people here, dead, dying,
and I am, but I’m more overcome with thankfulness. I guess I'm just
so lucky, I could have been their next shrine.

The machinists have many advantages over other
nations. Their machine driven industry and supply routes, their
superior armed and armored warriors, and their machine
guardians.

Beyond the automated cannons and ever watchful
machine sentries, Mechano Humanoids, known commonly as Mecha.
Machines with the appearance of men. They are made out of various
metals and rare earth treasures. They move on their own, and are
far stronger, and deadlier than any human. No one knows how they
work, or if it's magic or technology that allows them to be, but
they do share common functions. Mecha are broadcast energy from
their cores, usually machine sentry towers. They are limited to a
certain proximity of their power cores, and the strength of the
core determines their range. Their only known weakness is multiple
blasts from powerful long cannons, which are only made my the
machinists. And their primary purpose is war. While other nations
send their best men, the machinists send a handful of mecha who
have time and time again disregarded human strength like it was
nothing.

Over the years many have attempted to rebel and
invade, all of them met with massacre at the hands of the immortal
mecha.

As I wander through the forest, I come upon another
clearing. This one filled with towering monoliths of machinists
past. Huge towers of stone rubble engulfed by shrubs and vines. I
stay steady at the edge, looking for any signs of life, before I
slowly venture forth.

The area has a feeling of deep abandonment to it, the
hollow breeze whistling through crevices of the piled stone blocks
and scrap metal. Just as I begin to feel safe I feel it, a subtle
pounding on my ear drum. No sound, just sense, then voices.
'They've found me!' I hurry through, twisting around the towering
piles, searching for distance and refuge. My breath becomes heavy
and strained. Tired and content, I crouch, my back against some
stone, and listen.

My mind struggles when I hear voices all around. Are
they surrounding me, do they know where I am, that I’m even
here?

“what do we have here?” I make out faintly from the
distance, no doubt picked up my trail.

I tip toe slowly and carefully through the maze,
listening, and moving where I hear nothing. I spy a corner, the
woods edge in sight, no sound, I move.

When I rise to run I see them, a whole group of worn
men waiting for me. No doubt a trap. I run in reverse only to be
cornered by more. 'What do I do?' I think for a second. They're
well spread out, if I can just run between them I might have a
chance. I bolt with all I have, trying to duck between them,
praying they don't shoot me. But they close, and close in. I must
look like a struggling animal, eyes squinted, out of breath, teeth
bearing. They seem to like it, a challenge, a hunt. They smile
amongst themselves as I brace myself, they might take me, but I'll
be sure they don't enjoy it.

My body rigid, eyes fierce, one of them leaps at me
bold. A whistling cuts the charge short, a metal recoiling before a
thud. A bandit from the left goes flying. Another in front of me.
Heavy steel bolts fly freely, screaming through the air as the
bandits run for cover.

“Mecha!” One of them yells.

'Mecha!?!? Here?' I feel the blood drain from me. The
battle commences. Yelling and gunshots, gears turning and thuds.
Death screams, and the gurgling sound of men choking on their own
blood among the smoke and fervor. In the chaos I take the
opportunity to make for the woods.

A bolt flies just in front of me as I enter the
clearing, forcing me back into the cover of the concrete pillars.
Trying to make my way through the battle alive, I run quick.
Suddenly a tug on my leg, my whole body falling. I feel a cracking
among my ribs as I land. A suicidal bandit climbs on top of me as I
try to fight him off, his hands grabbing a hold of mine. We
struggle briefly before I get the opportunity to plant my foot in
his gut. Kicking him off I crawl away and try to return to my feet.
An explosion of rubble knocks me back down, the powdered remains
blinding me. I can hear gears and footsteps closing in. I continue
on all fours, shoving myself into a gap in the rubble. Kicking and
clawing my way to fit through the narrow spaces until I finally
reach a dead end. A small pocket in the debris big enough for me to
hide in, and hopefully deep enough to not be found.

As I catch my breath and try to steady myself, I can
make out muffled screams from my refuge. My heart stops as I hear a
loud thud above me. I can feel my eyes pulling as they dilate, my
breath shallow, almost non-existent. A volley of screams, bangs,
and twisting metal follows. My whole body shakes violently in
fear.

Thump, thump, thump, thump – dripping from the
ceiling above turns to trickling down the walls. Running over my
hand, and down my arm.... the blood of my pursuers.

In the rise and fall of the worlds turning, things
are lost in the mists. Time forgets, and men forfeit their memories
of them. But when men are lost, and left to find their own way
apart from others, their foundations stay as part of them. In these
places time stands still, and the world of centuries ago remains.
The people there still walking in the shadow of their people gone
before. Their lives a silhouette of a memory long gone. Their
identity a reflection of a people forgotten.

I spent a night in rubble, staring fearfully through
the cracks of moonlight, gazing deeply into the crusted blood
stubbornly clinging to the spaces in between my fingers. Crawling
out the next morning I couldn't even think. Shredded bodies and
remnant limbs littered the ruins. I was too scared to even show it,
my whole body tense, face cringing, waiting for the inevitable
moment when I was to be torn apart. I crawled completely on the
ground until I reached the woods, then bolted.