Forest of the Forbidden

by W. J. May

  But Jin—the boy was different.

  Rhen just couldn't get that look out of his mind, that look on Jin's face that was positive Rhen would somehow be able to stop the fire he had created. It was so confident, so demanding—and more than anything, so unafraid.

  And Rhen, instead of facing it like a man, had run away like a little girl—a princess not even in corset strings. Now too much time had passed, he didn’t know what to say or how to start the conversation.

  Rhen shook his head and stared out at the horizon, letting the wind whip his hair.

  The men on deck were avoiding him, not even looking at him. If they did happen to meet his eyes, they immediately bowed their heads out of respect. Even the captain was treading lightly, speaking in hushed tones to his men and only talking to Rhen with polite pleasantries.

  This was how a prince was supposed to be treated, he tried to remind himself, with respect—especially on board a ship that was built for less than lawful activities. He was not surprised at how polite and disingenuous everyone was acting.

  But it hurt, nonetheless. Because all it did was remind Rhen how different things had been with Captain Pygott, a man who had felt more like a father to him than the king at times. More caring certainly. And his men had understood that all Rhen wanted was to feel included.

  On the Old Maid, Rhen was nothing more than an extra set of hands. On the Skipping Stone, he was a burden.

  Over his shoulder, Captain Jelaric stood relaxed behind the wheel, laughing with his first mate.

  Things were better this way, but that didn't mean Rhen had to like it.

  Hence, the sulking.

  Okay, fine, the sulking might have had a little something to do with Jin, too. Rhen missed the boy. Despite the secrets he knew Jin was keeping, they had become true friends. They trusted each other. And more than anything, they understood each other. Unlike Cal, who seemed to battle Rhen at every turn, Jin got him. It was easier to talk to him.

  Well, usually.

  "Land ho!"

  Rhen lifted his head, looking up from his twiddling thumbs to focus on the horizon. A flat stretch of brown and green land was sandwiched between two limitless blues.

  Whylkin.

  Home.

  Warmth flooded his chest. He was almost back in Rayfort. Almost back to Ember. Almost back to his brothers.

  He searched for the seam, the break in the shoreline. A little to the left, he saw it. The land faded away and for a brief instant, sky and sea were connected once more.

  The Straits.

  They were a place of myth, of legend.

  They were something Jin should see.

  Finally, Rhen had the conversation starter he was looking for.

  Before he could change his mind, Rhen spun and raced for the steps. He paused for just a moment outside the door, taking one deep breath, and then plunged in headfirst.

  Jin sat with his arms crossed, staring through the circular window on the far side of the room. He didn’t hear Rhen enter, too lost in his thoughts. His shoulders were hunched over, even his eyebrows looked heavy.

  Rhen cleared his throat.

  Jin sprung to life, turning in fright but relaxing the instant his eyes fell on Rhen. Half a second later, the boy's lids widened. His body tensed. And before Rhen could even open his mouth to speak, Jin was out of the chair.

  "I must speak to you. Please don't leave."

  Rhen stepped farther into the room, closing the door behind him. "I came to talk too." He pulled the large wooden chair from behind the captain's desk, dragging it behind him until it rested across from Jin. He didn’t realize he was sweating until a cool breeze fluttered against his warm cheeks, prickling his skin.

  "I'm sorry," Rhen said, still not looking at Jin, instead focusing on the white puff of a cloud outside.

  "Please, I must tell you something," the boy said, so softly that Rhen almost couldn't hear. There was a vulnerability in that tone, something he had never heard from Jin before. Not in that way. He had heard the boy talk with sadness, with longing, but never with such openness.

  That was enough to make Rhen meet his muddy eyes, tight with worry.

  "You were right, I have been hiding something from you," Jin said. Rhen leaned forward, placing his weight on his forearms, invested in what would come next. Jin did the opposite—he pulled his knees into his chest, curling into a tight little ball.

  "I knew." The boy dipped his head into his knees, breathing deeply before looking up once more. "I dropped that lamp because I knew you would do something. I didn’t know what, but I knew the fire wouldn't hurt you."

  This was it. What Rhen had been waiting for—Jin's secret. He licked his lips with anticipation. "How?"

  "I could see it," Jin said, hesitantly releasing one word at a time.

  Rhen tilted his head, confused. "See it?"

  The boy nodded. "I can see them—the elemental spirits—earth, air, water, and fire. They're in everything, everywhere. And the fire spirits cling to you, they latch onto your skin, they fuse to you. I had never seen anything like it before I met you. So I knew, I knew the fire wouldn't, couldn't hurt you. Because you are fire, Rhen."

  I am fire, Rhen thought as lightness sparked in his chest. He was fire. He had never thought of it that way, but something about the wording was perfect. Was right.

  "And is that all? You just see them?"

  Jin hugged his legs tighter, biting his lip, nostrils flaring as he looked at the ground.

  Rhen held his breath.

  There was more.

  Everything in Jin's body language told him the boy was hiding something.

  Suddenly, Jin looked up, a grin slowly spreading across his face, as though he had just discovered something, just realized something. His eyes glowed gold with excitement.

  They looked almost familiar...

  "That's not it," Jin said, sitting tall. "I can't control it, but sometimes, the spirits help me, like they're guiding me. I felt it the day we met, after you saved me. I felt the trees slide out of my way as I ran to save you. I felt it during the attack. The winds blew harder against our enemies, sending their weapons off track. And I felt it a few days ago when I went to the palace—as though the spirits led me to the princess and to you."

  Rhen didn’t know what to say, how to respond. He was too shocked. The spirits didn’t choose people, did they? Rhen had certainly never felt chosen.

  In his silence, Jin shrunk a little. His excitement wilted.

  "I would have told you," Jin said meekly, "but I didn't think you would believe me. And that's why I threw the light. I wanted to make sure I wasn't crazy—that the fire did speak to you."

  "It does," Rhen said. Jin perked up. "For as long as I can remember, fire has called to me, cajoled me. But that's all. I can't create it. I can't move it. All I can do is reach into the flames and pull them under my skin."

  "That's enough." Jin smiled. It was contagious.

  "Enough for what?"

  "Enough for us to believe each other."

  "What else do you need me to believe?"

  "The shadow," Jin said, low and ominous. Before Rhen could ask, words spilled from the boy's mouth, confessing the truth about what had happened to his people.

  A massacre.

  Total destruction by one of their own.

  It was never the Ourthuri, but Rhen decided that didn’t matter, not now, not when Jin was reliving the most devastating memory of his entire life. It changed nothing. King Razzaq would still need to be dealt with. And Jin would still need a friend and caretaker.

  But this shadow was something unheard of. Bodily possession? Mind control? The longer Jin spoke, the more Rhen wanted to believe him. His words dripped with agony, with truthfulness. He said he saw a bleak emptiness in place of eyes, darkness in place of a soul.

  When Jin was done talking, tears rolled down his cheeks. His eyes were red, puffy. His breathing was deep, as though speaking had been more strenuous than even a battle.


  Rhen reached out and squeezed his upper arm, trying to infuse comfort.

  "I will help you," he said, emphasizing his honesty with one more tight squeeze of his hand. "We will defeat this shadow, together."

  Jin nodded, smiling weakly.

  Rhen returned it more reassuringly. The boy sounded mad, crazed. Rhen didn't believe in this spiritual beast, but he believed that Jin thought it was real. And that was enough for now.

  "Come." Rhen nodded toward the door. "There is something I want to show you."

  "What?"

  "You have to see it." He grinned slyly, satisfied when he saw Jin's brows knit together and his eyes twinkle with interest.

  They both needed this.

  They both needed some fun.

  When they emerged on deck, Rhen felt the crew staring. A prince and an Arpapajo—this was the stuff of excellent gossip. But he didn't mind, because not being alone somehow made all the difference.

  Looking at the horizon, Rhen saw the land had enlarged, taking up a deeper portion of the sky. He could make out jagged cliff faces, the tops of pointed pines, flat grassy hilltops, even the smallest bit of gold ore shimmering against the sun. The western shore of Whylkin was not for the faint of heart. The waters roared in from the chaos of the dueling sea, where warm southwestern currents met with cold northern tides and crashed against the coast in an endless battle, cutting the land into steep walls of rock. Quite different compared to the calm beachy shores of the southeastern lands.

  But Rhen preferred the wildness—the mysticism, the magic mirrored in his own soul.

  There was a little bit of time before the ship would enter the Straits, a river running through the center of a deep ravine—just enough time to reach the perfect viewpoint.

  Knowing Jin followed, Rhen stepped to the edge of the ship, reaching for the ropes knotted into a climbable structure. They were going back to the crow's nest.

  Gripping firmly with one hand, he pulled, loving how his muscles burned to life. Every nerve singed with the mix of pain and pleasure, of exertion.

  The crew began to stare more openly the higher Rhen climbed, looking on in awe at a royal son so comfortable on the water—a royal son who could scale the ropes just as naturally as one of them.

  When he reached the top, his chest was heaving, but his face was plastered with a smile. The gods! It felt good to be in the fresh air, the open water. He had to savor these moments, because in no time he would be stuck behind the palace walls, under the all too close watch of his father.

  "Rhen," Jin gasped.

  He spun, smirking at the small boy a few feet below him, hugging more than climbing the ropes.

  "Give me your hand," he said, reaching down. When Jin held on tight, Rhen pulled him up, still mildly surprised at how weightless he felt. At the same age, Rhen was probably twice or three times his size.

  But I was training to be a knight, he reminded himself. Jin had trained for nothing more than hunting game in the woods. And arrows were a lot lighter than broadswords.

  The boy would grow with time.

  "Hold onto the edge if you need to, but try to stay standing," Rhen said, turning easily on his feet as they swayed with the boat.

  The Straits were closer.

  "Have you ever heard of the Great Flood?"

  No answer came.

  Rhen turned to find Jin struggling to stand. He reached his hand out to steady the boy, but Jin shied away, gripping the edge of the wood even harder, until his tanned hands turned almost white.

  Stubborn.

  "Legend says that thousands of years ago, humans weren't always alone in this world. Other creatures lived among us. Some believe they were giant beasts able to tear trees clean from the ground. Others say they were more cunning creatures—small and terrible that would wreak unseen havoc. And still others claim they were monsters that fed on the blood of children, enslaving us under their reign of doom."

  Rhen paused to look at Jin, who, he begrudgingly admitted, didn't seem the least bit scared or frightened—not the reaction Rhen had been hoping for. These were the sorts of stories that only felt satisfying when the listener was cowering in fear—not mildly aloof and turning slightly green.

  No matter, Rhen loved to tell it anyway. He imagined Captain Pygott—blue eyes gleaming against less-wrinkled skin, voice hushed and restrained. The captain hadn't been the first to tell him of the Great Flood, but he had been the best.

  "We'll never know the truth," Rhen continued, "but we do know one thing—the earth was on our side. These creatures were unnatural, were destroying the world around them. They had no regard for the natural order. Their powers tested the fates, reversed the paths laid down for us by the gods, and because of that, the humans were granted a weapon—nature itself would rise to do our bidding, would help us defeat them.

  "So, on the eve of a great war, the humans gathered. Different races, different peoples from all over the world joined together in one place to pray to the spirits, to the earth, to save us. And we were heard."

  At that, Jin did begin to pay attention. His body stiffened. Rhen bit his cheek to fight off a grin.

  "The spirits listened?" The boy asked, wonder coloring his words.

  "They did." Rhen nodded. "As our enemies marched their warriors closer and closer, nature fought against them. Wind crushed buildings to the ground. The earth rumbled beneath their feet, breaking into cracks that swallowed entire villages whole. Fire rained from the skies, burning these creatures alive. But still, they kept on marching, kept on coming. The humans would die, would be enslaved by the all powerful creatures that were stronger than the world itself."

  "How did we escape? What did we do?"

  "We didn't do anything. The gods did, the spirits did. They sent a wave of water taller than the highest mountain over the land. It drowned the entire world, covering the earth in an endless sea, killing all but the most devout humans who had gathered here, at the base of the realm of the gods, the mountains we now call the Gates. It was the Great Flood. And when the waters receded, all that remained were the lands of Whylkin and the handful of islands we now call the Kingdom of Ourthuro. Everything and everyone else was buried, lost to the world for all time."

  Rhen let the silence stretch and hang, filling the tiny space between them. The shoreline had closed in; the sky was slowly disappearing as the cliffs took over. The Straits waited before them, an open mouth poised to swallow the ship.

  "That's a good story," Jin whispered.

  Raising an eyebrow, Rhen looked at the boy, then back to the sea. They were so close. So close. He waited, one more moment, before responding, "It isn’t just a story, Jin. Look."

  Rhen pointed to the front of the ship, to the blue waters extending beyond the bow, and past them to the start of the Straits.

  The ship was still a little far away, but Rhen knew where to look. Already, he could see the white and black dots scattering along the inner walls of the Straits. The closer they got, the more obvious it became to his well-trained eyes.

  Jin's brows were still furrowed. His neck was extended, stretching as close as possible to the scene. Rhen watched as the boy pursed his lips, as wrinkles spread along his forehead.

  A shadow fell over them.

  Jin gasped, head wrenching up to the sky. A yelp escaped his lips, as though he expected something to drop from the clouds.

  Rhen smirked. It was just the cliffs, stretching high overhead and blocking out the sun. They were just about to cross over into the mouth of the river.

  Which could only mean one thing...his story was working. It wasn't right for someone to be anything but scared during his first trip through the Straits—it was a rite of passage, one step in becoming a man. Plus, his brothers had done the same to him. It was only fair that Rhen got to inflict the pain on someone else.

  "Rhen!" Jin gasped. And Rhen knew he had finally seen it—the thing that legends were made of, the unanswerable mystery. "Are those...?"

  "Yes."

&
nbsp; He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the scene that still made his throat hitch in terror, and gulped deeply.

  Bones.

  Skulls.

  Armor.

  All of it, stuck between layers of hardened, immobile rock.

  Most of it just looked like thin strips of white or black sandwiched between brownish-gray stone. But every so often, two empty eyes would peer out, hollow and haunting. The glint of a now dull blade might catch the sun. Or the chink of rusted armor. The longer one looked, the more there was to see. A hand pushing out through rock. A spine bending almost in a circle. A helmet, cracked clean in half with the bone missing, taken by time.

  "Buried by the flood, by nature itself," Rhen said.

  An entire battlefield lay stuck in these walls, frozen in time yet completely forgotten.

  Rhen snuck a quick look at Jin, who was still enraptured.

  He took a small step back, the biggest the tiny space would allow, hoping Jin might forget he was there.

  He waited.

  Waited.

  Slowed his breathing.

  Knelt down.

  Hid.

  Then in one quick motion, he sprang forward, wrapping his hands around Jin's shoulders and throat while yelling as loud as he could into the boy's ear.

  Perfect.

  Instantly, a screech, as high-pitched as any Rhen had heard from a woman, broke free of Jin's lips. And kept going. And kept going.

  Until Rhen, enveloped in a fit of laughter, fell to floor of the small crow's nest—his body too uncontrolled to hold him upright.

  The screech finally came to a halt.

  Below them, Rhen heard muffled coughs—coughs that sounded distinctly un-cough like.

  He rolled onto his back. He felt the boy's eyes on him, heard his heavy breathing.

  Then suddenly, Jin was on the floor too, next to Rhen, bursts of joy escaping his lips.

  "Jin," Rhen forced out between deep breaths, "you, you sounded...that...a girl...so high."

  The words were incoherent, but he knew Jin would understand.

  They stayed like that, comfortable, until all sound except deep breathing died away. Then Jin stiffened, sitting up, pulling his thighs flat against his chest.