The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  Onward to Thob Forest

  Pounding on the door jolted Durian awake. He sat up in his favorite chair, the muffled voice of Baron calling out his name. Still dark out, Durian didn't know if it was night or morning. A sudden chill hit him and he glanced to the cold fireplace, where a handful of stoutly embers lie in the pile of ash. He must have fallen asleep. He was still in his clothes from the night before and his book lay on his chest. Baron still pounded on the door.

  “Just a minute,” Durian called out and arose.

  “Hurry up, it's freezing out here,” Baron said.

  Durian quickly changed and came to the door. Rubbing his hands furiously, Baron stood waiting in the dark.

  “What do you want?” Durian asked.

  “What do you mean what do I want?” Baron replied back and pushed his way indoors. “It's time to go.”

  Durian was surprised. But before he could say anything, Baron shoved a large woolen greatcoat in Durian's face.

  “Here. Blair said you needed it.”

  Coming to the fireplace, Baron packed it with kindling and struck the flint rock furiously. Durian was about to complain, but hurried off to his room to pack.

  “Did you see the old man?” Durian called out.

  “Mostly,” Baron responded.

  “Mostly?” Durian asked and reappeared in the main room.

  “Keep packing,” Baron demanded. “I'm sure it was him. I didn't see his face...it was too dark. But I heard the tap, tap, tap of his iron tipped walking stick.”

  “And he didn't head north?” Durian asked, still hovering.

  “No. He ventured west along the main path. I lost him near the edge of town.”

  “And you're sure it was him?”

  “Yes, now get going!” Baron shooed.

  Durian assented reentered his bedroom, packing quickly to save what he could of his woodpile from the hands of Baron. Soon Durian emerged with a large pack and an axe in hand.

  “What do you propose we do with that?” Baron asked closing the book and laying it on the table.

  “You're not bringing any weapons?”

  Baron smiled and produced a small dagger from within his tunic, one he had undoubtedly fashioned himself. It was rough and unpolished, but would do in a pinch.

  “Where's Blair?” Durian asked.

  “Oh, I'm sorry,” Baron responded in concern. “I forgot to mention. Blair decided not to come.”

  “What!” Durian exclaimed. “Why?”

  But Baron only smiled, and Durian realized he was joking. Baron grabbed another log for the fire but Durian caught his hand and returned the log to its place. Baron smirked.

  “I just need to pack some food,” Durian said.

  “There's no time! You can eat from our stores. I brought plenty.”

  Durian grabbed what little he could – boiled eggs and cured meats. He never had more than a few day's store on hand. Dried fruits and nuts were more than he could afford. One last thing struck him, and he dashed to grab his book.

  “Come on,” Baron demanded.

  A few minutes’ walk brought them near the westward end of town, the last crossroad before emerging onto the golden plains. Escaping in puffs of vapor, their breath dissipated against the fresh gleam of dawn.

  Baron glanced about for signs of Blair. Maybe he decided not to come after all. But a faint whisper turned their heads.

  “Baron!” came the hushed shout.

  They searched in vain and the voice called out again. Blair was against one of the nearby buildings beckoning them.

  “What are you doing hiding?” Baron questioned as they drew near.

  Blair took him by the shirt and pulled him into the darkness.

  “I think the old man's nearby,” Blair responded.

  “Where?”

  “I don't know,” said Blair. “I heard someone walking, so I hid and waited for him to pass by. I tried getting close, but never saw him.”

  “Did he see you?” asked Baron.

  “Of course not,” Blair said. “Don't be ridiculous.”

  “You got lucky this time, little brother.”

  Durian couldn't help but chuckle at the severity in Baron's voice. If Baron had seen the old man half an hour earlier, then whoever Blair heard must have been just a random passerby, which Baron knew full well.

  “Let's get moving,” Baron said.

  “What if we overtake him? Shouldn't we wait a bit.”

  “We need to get clear of town. We'll slow down later.”

  Baron set off. Surprised by his eagerness, Durian and Blair were close on his heels. Farms and livestock dotted the sweeping countryside, with the occasional haystack from harvest yet to be brought indoors.

  Baron set a very quick pace. If the old man had indeed come this way, they'd overtake him quickly. Entering a rocky field with quite a few mounds of hay, Baron's glance darted back and forth as he ran from haystack to haystack.

  Durian was surprised to see so much hay still in the field, for winter was already knocking and the baleful southern wind had torn shoots of hay from his fresh piles and strewn them roundabout. Baron was darting from pile to pile as though hiding from some mysterious foe. Durian made likewise maneuvers, though still unsure as to why. Just then, a far away voice called out.

  “You there! Stand fast!”

  Baron's whole body went stiff. His eyes shot about, searching for a safe haven to flee. But the farmer was already upon them. Durian recognized him as Tobin and couldn't help but smile.

  “Why are you in my field and where is my plow?” Tobin demanded.

  Baron searched for a response but only stood there mouth gaping.

  “We're heading to Thob Forest for lumber,” Durian said, which seemed reasonable, tapping the axe now resting at his side.

  Tobin's face went red.

  “This is little more than thievery. I won't have my tools rotting and rusting in your shop all winter. I'll send for the Magistrate.”

  “But you won't need your plow till springtime,” Baron complained. “What could you possibly want it for this time of year? The rocks are already frozen fast in place. You'll ruin it completely!”

  “What did you say about my land?” he exclaimed and took a step forward. “If I had proper tools to work with, I'd have the finest fields in all of Suriya. How dare you sneak onto my fields and insult my farm. If your father...”

  “Tobin, we've got to go,” said Baron. “Blair will have your plow for you straightaway.”

  And before another word could be uttered, Baron shot to the far end of the field, Durian and Blair just behind him.

  “Not a chance,” said Blair, catching up to Baron.

  But Baron didn't respond until they were clear of Tobin's field. Once free, he paused and took in a breath of fresh air. The plains were a blanket of swaying golden yellow, and would soon wear another layer of white. Already patches of snow were clinging to the shadowed hollows of every hillside.

  The three friends set off, this time at a slower pace, passing through farmlands until arriving at the edge of the Commonwealth Pasturelands. These were the broad plains surrounding the townships of Forthura where herdsmen were free to pasture their cattle at no expense. But the fields had emptied weeks ago, man and beast alike driven indoors till springtime.

  They walked in silence, Thob Forest filling Durian's thoughts. Though the forest sustained his livelihood, Durian had been there only once as a child, to the Shelengol Glades, which were a favorite of Suriyans. A series of interconnected glades, Shelengol was beautiful in the summer and fall months, and was oft visited until the strange things in Thob Forest began.

  An overcast gray filled the sky. Baron examined scattered piles of snow as they passed, looking for signs that someone had come before them. But the plains about them seemed untrodden. If the old man was traveling westward, he was taking a different course.

  After an hour, they came to a weathered wooden post stuck fast in the ground, with two footpaths stretching d
iagonally away. The northerly route lead toward the Shelengol Glades, while the southerly path veered toward the coastline and then west to the Estees Mountains, which lie not far within the southern edge of Thob Forest. Once well-frequented, the Estees Mountains were abandoned some years back when one of the expedition leaders wandered off strangely in the night and fell from a cliff.

  The Estees contained a cleft that was the only known place with a clear view of the Frostlands – the frozen waste across the sea, beyond Boreol Bay. Upon this cleft sat a rock, a mysterious large stone with streaks of gold and silver spiraling upward along its face.

  The solitary stone sat eerily at the edge of the cleft and was a great mystery throughout the years. Said to be a relic of the old world and Prosperous Age, none knew whether the stone was natural or man made – a work of the Builders of the last age. But a similar stone was said to exist in the palace hall of Eulsiphion, the capital city of Forthura.

  Baron knelt down and ran his fingertips along the ground at the base of the wooden post. Though none of them were by any means trackers, it did appear that someone had come this way recently. Searching in a broader circle around the post, the group didn't find anything definitive.

  “Which way?” Durian asked.

  Baron tapped his foot as he pondered.

  “It's possible, I guess, he's just visiting the Glades,” Baron offered.

  “It's also possible he's halfway to Echlin.”

  Baron smirked.

  “He wouldn't take the southern route, would he?” Baron wondered aloud.

  Dark thoughts stirred in Durian's mind at the possibility of a connection between what happened at the Estees Mountains years ago and the things happening now in Thob Forest. Had something been stirring all that time? It was clear Baron and Blair shared his concern.

  “Isn't there a hill halfway between here and the forest that overlooks both the Glades and the mountains?” Baron asked.

  Durian faintly recalled the same notion.

  “If we make for it, maybe we'll get lucky and spot him,” Baron said.

  Durian shrugged his shoulders and Baron set off due west through the open plain. The gray haze of the sky mingled with the ominous thoughts swirling in his mind, producing a creeping fear that he and his friends had stumbled into something they weren't prepared for.

  Near midday, they came upon a moderate boulder. Blair started a small fire against the northern side while the others gathered bits of straw and brush. A few eggs would cook quickly even with scant fuel.

  As they ate, Durian thought back to the first time he had seen the old man. His demeanor was distant...absent...as though entrenched in something beyond the Sea Games and Boreol Bay. Perhaps a better view of the Frostlands was his true aim. But why?

  The three friends finished and set off without a word. Durian hoped they were wrong about the old man, that he was indeed halfway to Echlin by now. Adventuring into the forest wasn't Durian's true aim and the closer they came, the more his trepidation grew.

  After a few hours, the lively gray deepened toward evening. Hoping to find a boulder for shelter, they settled for a natural bowl in the plains and erected their shelters of canvas. Wrapped in their thick woolen blankets, they ate a sparse dinner and then fell asleep.

  Durian awoke before dawn, body stiff from cold and exertion. With the new day dawning, a fresh feeling of relief filled Durian's mind. How could an old man be a part of such a dark plot? Durian was confident that nothing would come of it, and soon he would have his pick of timbers to fell.

  But the frost already on the ground made him reconsider the viability of his plan. If a hard rain fell, or worse, the first snowfall, his hopes of hauling timber to Suriya would come to ruin. Transporting chunks of hardwood was difficult enough. But plodding through a layer of thick snow or soggy ground was impossible, even with a pair of mules. If he didn't move quickly, his felled timber might be stuck in Thob Forest the whole winter.

  Baron and Blair stirred from their tent. Too cold to handle metal cookware, they ate a meal of dried meats and nuts. If they walked swiftly today, they would arrive at Thob Forest by late afternoon.

  They set off, exertion a better remedy than blankets for reclaiming the vital heat. By late morning, the dull gray above transformed to a light blue, the sun's mellow rays dissolving the frost and restoring Durian's hope. By midday, Durian's shoulders throbbed under the straps of his pack. Still no sign of the large hill, they stopped for lunch and rest.

  “What happens if we get to the top of the hill and find no sign of the old man?” Blair questioned.

  “It probably means he's already in the forest,” Baron replied.

  Blair gazed at him with incredulity. The three friends had set a quick pace, quicker than an old man could sustain.

  “If we truly don't see anything, we can spend the night in Shelengol Glades and then come home.”

  Durian could only hope for such luck. But the day growing long, they set off west. After an hour, they saw a looming hillside in the nearby distance, stretching above any others they'd passed.

  The three hiked the shallow incline, slowing as they crested its peak, almost apprehensive to reveal the distance beyond. A striking scene came into focus: the sparkling sea in the south and Thob Forest directly ahead. The forest was a league away, gray and vague in the airy distance, mostly concealed by a blanket of clinging mist. Through the mist rose the peaks of the Estees Mountains. Here, now, gazing at the dark forest, Durian better understood the fear of the woodsmen. Then suddenly, Baron's arm extended, finger pointing.

  “Look!” he exclaimed. “I see him.”

  Far to the south by the coast, a lone figure was wandering toward the misty forest. None could believe their eyes. The old man was here.

  Questions and Answers

  The three friends lingered on the hilltop.

  “What should we do?” one asked.

  “I don't know,” another answered.

  “It's getting late.”

  “We need to get to the forest.”

  “Shouldn't we turn back?”

  The final question hung in the air. Durian and Blair weren't nearly as keen as Baron to delve headfirst into the dark forest. Baron opened his mouth to downplay their fears, but hesitated and only clenched his jaw. The danger was very real and he couldn't just shrug it off.

  The distant form began to blend with the dark treeline, his figure now vague against the backdrop of trees. Durian felt suddenly vulnerable. What if the old man looked back and spotted them?

  “Let's make camp at the Glades tonight,” said Baron and descended the hill the way they had come.

  At the base they turned north, coming round the hill and then west toward the forest. The treeline was still an hour off and evening was falling fast. But fear of discovery drove them, and they drew near the forest edge quickly.

  The trees were dull against the obscuring haze, with wisps of mist jutting through the treeline and into the open plain. Still a short distance to the north, the trio made for the Glades but kept their distance from the fog and trees. Their packs jangled as they ran, each step signaling their arrival to Thob Forest.

  Up ahead, another weathered post stood half buried just at the forest edge. Making for it, they entered the forest just as the sun set behind them on the plains.

  The air was cold and damp beneath the trees, and the light of the waning sun powerless against the mist and foliage. And though the fog was ominous from the plains, now in the midst of it, Durian felt somehow safer.

  The mist began to clear as they reached the first glade. A boulder stood at the entrance, and as they passed by, Durian was surprised to see that writing had been etched into its surface and lingered to read it in the failing sunlight.

  The weather-beaten trellis falls,

  The autumn wind sweeps over all;

  A blanket for the sleepy deep

  Of forest things that dart and creep.

  The windy whispers falling down,

/>   Grayish echoes of a distant town,

  Fall soft amid the scratching leaves,

  As silently as one who grieves.

  There is a distant passerby:

  The summer fading from the sky,

  Dancing devilish on the hill,

  Out-driven by a stronger will.

  Alas, is gone that cheerful friend

  Whose company would daily lend;

  Now warming regions far away,

  A stranger till some distant day.

  The clanging packs trailed away as the mist consumed the two brothers. Durian ran to catch them, the imagery of the poem filling his mind. The once tranquil forest had been out-driven by a stronger will and he thought of the old man as the passerby dancing devilish on the hill. The picture of the featureless figure in his book flashed through his mind, making his heart beat faster.

  Entering the glade, the fog diminished, revealing the first of the evening stars. Boulders scattered roundabout in piles were colorfully adorned with mosses, and the few leaves yet hanging from the trees still wore their mantle of orangy red. The Glades were more beautiful than Durian remembered, which struck him. For he wasn't otherwise in a frame of mind to appreciate it.

  Baron stopped at one of the outcroppings of boulders that stood on reasonably flat ground. Dropping their packs, they raised their shelters for the night.

  “I'll go for wood,” Blair declared, the first to finish, but then hesitated and helped Durian instead.

  Dusk fell on the forest. Without kindling for a fire, they set off into the open woods but discovered quickly that everything was damp and mossy from uninterrupted months of fog. If only they'd brought some straw from the plains. But a dead pine, whose bark was still intact, was remarkably dry. They stripped the bark and brought the driest of its limbs to camp.