Then Starwind took her hand, guiding her to her feet, and their journey toward knowledge was begun.
In the Forest of Sorrows
by John Heifers
This story marks John Heifers' fourth fiction sale. Other stories of his can be found in Phantoms of the Night, Future Net, and A Horror Story A Day: 365 Scary Stories. When he's not writing or editing, he enjoys role-playing games and disc golf. He lives in Green Bay, Wisconsin, with his fiancee.
Treyon scrambled over the top of the small foothill and raced down the other side, never once glancing back. He could hear the sounds of pursuit behind him, the shouts of men and thuds of galloping horses growing louder.
The forest loomed before him, a thick green mass of trees and underbrush. Treyon ran for the treeline, his side aching. Seconds later, he heard a shout from the foothill.
"There! There he goes!" The hoofbeats started pounding again, and Treyon knew he was down to his last bit of luck. The brigands seemed to be right behind him, and that thought drew a bit more energy from his nearly exhausted body. The dull ache in his ribs grew as he increased his speed. With a surge of energy, he dove into the brush and started crawling deeper into the forest. Behind him, he could hear the horses panting and neighing with fear as they stopped short of the trees. The voices of the men were fading as Treyon extended his lead, but he could still hear them.
"What's the matter? Get in there after 'im!"
"The Hells I will, that's the Forest of Sorrows, ya stupe!"
"You idiot, it's just a piece'a woods. Nothing gonna happen in there except he's gonna get away. You know what Ke'noran'll do if we don't bring him back. Would'ja rather face her?"
"I'm telling ya, I ain't going in."
"Look, it's possible death in there, or death for sure if we come back without him. Now let's give the others a chance t'catch up and we'll go in together. Boy's moving so fast he'll leave a trail any moron could follow. We'll grab him and be gone before anybody even knows we're here."
The voices grew fainter as Treyon pushed deeper into the woods. It grew darker as he pressed onward, the trees dwarfing him and swallowing the available sunlight until it seemed he was walking in twilight. When he could hear no sounds of pursuit, Treyon paused for a minute to catch his breath, leaning wearily against one of the huge trees surrounding him. Looking around, he wasn't surprised to discover he had no idea where he was.
Better lost and alone than found by them, he thought, shivering as he remembered their conversation. Although he didn't know any more about the forest than the bandits did, he knew one rumor they didn't.
"Only those with no evil intention may enter the Forest of Sorrows and live." He repeated this to himself like a mental prayer, almost trusting his belief in the legend to keep him safe more than the legend itself.
"All right, Treyon, enough of this. Time to find your way out of here." Hearing his own voice, even whispered, heartened him. Looking up, he tried to find the sun to figure out which direction he had to go. Unfortunately, the trees were blocking most of the available light, making the attempt impossible. Shrugging his shoulders, Treyon found a suitable tree and began to climb. Well, at least I'm not scouting trade caravans for them anymore, he thought, that having been his primary job with the bandits, besides general whipping boy.
A few minutes later, he was among the topmost branches of the tree he had been leaning against, feeling the cool wind on his face and looking in every direction.
Once he had gotten his bearings, he started down. About halfway to the ground, his foot slipped and, as he was already committed to his next step, he started to fall. Suddenly, his feet landed on a thick branch, the jarring stop giving him enough time to wrap his arms around the tree trunk and stay there until his heart stopped threatening to leap from his throat.
Once he had calmed down, he looked at the branch he was standing on. Although this was the route he had used on the way up, he didn't remember this limb at all. Shrugging, he continued downward. The surest thing now; he thought, is to get my feet, as well as the rest of me, back on the ground and get moving.
Shinnying down the tree trunk, he jumped the last few feet—and landed to stare at the battered boots of Caith, the leader of the trackers who had been chasing him. The bandit had stepped around from his hiding place behind the tree and, before Treyon could move, grabbed his tattered shirt and drawn him close.
"Little coney sprouted wings and tried flyin' to the trees, eh? Not good enough. I've pulled the same trick myself a couple o' times." Keeping a tight hold on Treyon, he raised his head and whistled a series of notes twice. Within minutes, the rest of the brigands had rejoined their leader.
"Found the little bastard. Now let's go, Ke'noran ain't gonna be pleased with the delay." Making sure Treyon was in front of him, Caith pushed him forward and the group began retracing his path back out of the forest.
The forest was ominously silent, making everyone more nervous than they already were by just being in the supposedly cursed woods. They had been traveling for a while when Caith's advance scout held up his hand. The brigand group froze immediately, each hand on a weapon, every ear and eye alert for danger. Despite himself, Treyon craned his head to try and see what was going on. Soren, the bandits' best scout, crept back to Caith and whispered, "Horse in the clearing up ahead."
"What in the Hells is a horse doing in these woods? One of ours?"
"Not hardly. Snow white and clean as a stew bowl after dinner. Looked right at me."
"This doesn't sound right. Forest dead as a grave and now a horse comes out of nowhere? I want a look." Taking a stiletto from a sheath behind his neck, Caith put it to Treyon's throat. "One sound outta you, boy, and I'll open yer neck where ya stand. Now move." Pulling Treyon along, the bandit leader moved silently up to the head of the column.
In a small clearing about ten paces ahead was an animal that took Treyon's breath away. The scout's description did not even begin to do it justice. Its coat was the color of new-fallen snow, with a mane and tail that shone even in the wan sunlight. The horse's light-blue eyes regarded its audience with amusement, but it didn't take flight or move at all, except to lower its head to crop at the strangely lush grass.
Caith crouched down, dragging Treyon to the ground with him. Motioning the other bandits closer, he whispered hurriedly, "Here's our chance to make up for losing the runt. A horse like this 'un will hopefully make Ke'noran more forgiving. Toren, circle round that way, yer brother will take the other side, and get yer lariats ready."
The two scouts looked at each other, then at the horse, nodded, and slipped into the brush like ghosting deer. Despite his fear, Treyon wondered for an idle second what kind of ability the brothers had that let them communicate without speaking like that. His attention was quickly drawn back to the ambush before him.
The brothers made no more noise than the slight breeze rustling the leaves, and Treyon quickly lost sight of them, so well did they blend in with the trees and bushes.
The horse was munching a thick clump of grass, seemingly unconcerned about the huddled group of ragged men nearby. Treyon couldn't help wondering what it would be like to ride such an animal, sitting on its sleek back as it raced full out across the plains. It would probably be the closest thing to pure freedom he could imagine. Thinking about what Ke'noren would do to it made him almost ill. At that moment, Treyon knew he had to warn the horse somehow.
Looking up, he saw Caith was watching his two men who were almost in position. His dagger, although still under Treyon's chin, had relaxed its pressure a bit, allowing him to swallow without feeling the scrape of cold steel.
Noticing a large dead branch next to him, Treyon subtly shifted his position until he had moved the branch under him. Pretending to overbalance, he stepped directly on it, bearing down with all his weight.
The branch snapped loudly, causing everyone to freeze for a moment. The horse's head jerked up, looking directly at Treyon, who wanted to scream at it to run, get away,
escape. He remained silent, however, locked into the animal's stare, watching as it did a very strange thing.
It winked at him.
Before Treyon could wonder what this meant, he was rocked by a blow that came out of nowhere. Already overbalanced after stepping on the branch, he swayed dizzily after the punch, held up only by Caith's grip on his shirt. Looking up again, he saw Caith glaring at him, his mouth curled in a feral snarl.
"By the Gods, boy, if you cost us that horse, I'll take it out o' yer hide."
Treyon just hung there limply, knowing the brigand didn't make idle threats.
The two turned their attention back to the horse, Caith keeping a tight hand on the boy's shirt. The bandit waited patiently, knowing the brothers would spring their trap with perfect tuning.
And so it would have been, if not for their target. As one, the two men flicked out their loops of tough woven rope, their hands steady, their aim true, both lassos flaring out to settle around the neck of their quarry.
Or would have, if the horse hadn't danced out of the way of the snares with a graceful ease, as if it had known exactly where they were all the while. Treyon exhaled in relief. Caith, noticing the boy's reaction, cuffed him again.
The horse neighed, the noise sounding like laughter in the silence, then turned and slowly trotted off through the trees.
Caith stood up, grimacing, and called out "By the Hells, I want that horse! Toren, Soren, take two men and run it down, damn it. Don't come back without it." Another fool's errand to send them off on, just like finding the boy, he thought.
The twins stood, one of them pointing to two other men, and the foursome set out after the shrinking white figure. Caith put his back against a tree as he waited with the last two bandits. He looked around, then snorted, "Don't know why that horse is here when our own horses wouldn'a come in. Haunted forest, my arse."
One of the other men, a newer arrival whom Treyon didn't know, spoke up, "Maybe it's a Companion."
"Oh? Is it? Where's the bleedin' Herald? Hells, no," Caith snorted again, "Just got a little more horse sense than usual. Living in the wild'll do that to an animal sometimes. What better place for a horse to live than here, eh?"
"Breeze's dying down." the other bandit remarked.
Treyon had been standing as well, pulled to his feet when Caith had risen. Looking around, he also noticed the lack of wind. Which made what else he saw even more unusual, easily passing into terrifying.
With barely a rustle, the trees around the bandits were slowly bending their branches down toward each of the men's heads. Treyon remained motionless, not wanting to attract any attention to himself. Caith and his men continued their idle conversation, unaware of the movement until Caith looked again at Treyon.
"Here now, what are you lookin—" His voice trailed off as he followed Treyon's gaze to the surrounding foliage, which quivered, then suddenly lashed out.
Caith, his reflexes quicker than the other two, released Treyon and dove to the ground, thinking to find safety there. When he hit the ground, thick roots erupted all around him, completely wrapping his body in brown tendrils and drawing him slowly underground, his screaming face the last thing to vanish.
The other men, caught completely by surprise, fared just as badly. One never got a chance to move, impaled by a thick limb that burst from his stomach like a third arm. The other managed to get his dagger out before several tree branches wrapped around his neck and jerked him, struggling and strangling, into its leaves, his knife arm flailing uselessly as he disappeared from sight. A few seconds later, the dagger skittered down the tree trunk and fell to the ground underneath it.
Treyon watched all this without moving, without even blinking. He just stood there, until the screams finished echoing through the woods. Finally, all was silent again, the only sign of disturbance being the impaled bandit's body still standing grotesquely upright. Treyon straightened up and took a hesitant step forward, then another, then another, and took off again, running through the forest until his legs would carry him no farther. Sinking to the ground under another large tree, heedless of the cursed forest and what might happen to him, Treyon fell asleep almost before he hit the ground.
The cracks and pops of a fire slowly woke Treyon. The first sensation he had was of pleasant warmth surrounding him. The second was the unmistakable smell of something cooking, making his stomach clench with hunger.
Treyon slowly blinked the last bits of sleep away, aware that he was still tired, but too concerned with trying to figure out where he was to rest any more. He flexed his hand slowly, feeling the mat of dry grasses he was laying on. Overhead, a canopy of trees blocked out the sky.
Meaning I'm still in the forest, Treyon thought. Moving his head slowly to the side, he looked first at the trees which surrounded him, trees that grew so close together they made natural walls encircling the small clearing, although here and there small gaps of darkness showed through. Treyon shuddered as he remembered the attack of the forest again.
The only opening was a small break on the opposite wall of trees, past the fire in the middle of the room and the cloaked form crouched in front of it.
Treyon gasped in surprise, for his bandit-trained senses hadn't noticed the figure until just a few seconds ago. Sitting upright, he tensed to bolt for the small exit. A few steps and a dive and he would be free.
"Finally awake, I see?" the indistinct shape said in a clear, gentle voice, still facing away from him. "If you wish to leave, by all means, there is no one here to stop you. Of course, there is no one here who wishes you harm, either."
Treyon flattened himself against the tree wall, his eyes still upon the figure who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The bandit part of his mind was still screaming that this was a trap. The being continued, apparently unmindful of Treyon's fear.
"Of course, I'd rather you stayed a bit and dined with me. It has been far too long since a stranger found his way to my doorstep, such as it is. And it would be a shame to waste most of this stew."
At the mention of food the rich stew smell floated into Treyon's nose again, reminding him how painfully hungry he was. It had been so long, if ever, since he had eaten a meal that was more than scraps and leavings from the brigands. The part of his mind that was still wary of a trap was quickly being overpowered by the demands of his stomach, but, Treyon thought, if—whatever it is—had wanted to, it could have done anything to me while I slept. I should have woken up bound or held somehow. Hells, even if this is a trap, it II be worth it for a full stomach.
Summoning up the scraps of manners he knew, gained mainly from watching the bandits beg and scrape to Ke'noran, Treyon got up from the bed of grass and stood. "Can I have some food, then?"
The figure turned toward him, pushing back its hood and Treyon saw a man, his face unlined yet somehow
looking very old, framed by a mane of fine silver hair. The ageless face smiled gently, and the man extended an already full wooden bowl. "Of course, child."
Snatching it away, Treyon hunched over the bowl protectively and tried to scoop out a handful, only to yelp in pain as he burned his fingers. The man winced as Treyon blew on his injured hand and held out a spoon-shaped piece of wood, not carved, but looking like it had been naturally formed. "Try this."
Gingerly Treyon took the spoon, scooped up some of the stew and blew on it for a few seconds, then popped it into his mouth. Chewing fast, he sucked in air to further cool the hot food. All the while, his arm was curled protectively around the comfortably warm bowl.
The stranger said nothing, just watched him eat and refilled his bowl when it was held out. After Treyon had finished his third helping, he belched and asked for something to drink, receiving another bowl already filled with clear spring water.
His stomach full and ready to face whatever was asked of him, knowing it would be easier to take if he was prepared, Treyon squared his shoulders and looked at the man. "What do you want?"
The man looked up from stack
ing the bowls in a corner, the question clear from the expression on his face.
Treyon continued, "For the food and shelter. Work, or anything else you want. It's all right, I'm used to it. Just tell me."
The man's head lowered again, his shoulders shaking silently. Treyon thought he might have been laughing, but when he raised his head again the tears on his cheeks gleamed in the firelight. "By the Gods, boy, you're only twelve or thirteen at the most. What has been done to you?" Taking a deep breath, he wiped his face. "I don't ask anything of you other than your company." Seeing the look on Treyon's face, he added hastily, "Just talk, that's all."
"Oh." The word turned into a yawn as his comfortably full stomach and the warmth of the fire made Treyon sleepy.
"Why don't you rest some more, and we can talk in the morning." The man said quietly. Treyon found himself growing sleepy just listening, but he wasn't convinced of his safety quite yet.
"What about the trees?" he mumbled as his eyelids drooped.
"Nothing will harm you, not while you're with me." the man replied, turning back to the fire.
Feeling he had nothing to lose anyway, and now wanting to sleep more than he ever had in his life, Treyon crawled over to the grass mats and was soon curled up, breathing rhythmically in slumber.
The stranger stood, stretched, and walked to the wall near the small opening. He looked back to ensure that the boy was sleeping soundly. Satisfied, he walked straight through the trees, his body encountering no resistance from the wood. Once outside, he looked up through a break in the trees at a small patch of night sky.
"Over thirty years in the forest now, and I'm still finding boys in trouble."
Treyon awoke to dappled sunlight streaming in through the small gaps in the trees. He blinked several times, unsure if he was awake or still dreaming. When no coarse shouts or heavy kicks jerked him out of bed, he relaxed a bit, remembering where he was.
Breathing deeply, Treyon felt the bite of the crisp morning air on his face. The rest of his body, however, was comfortably warm, mostly because of the gray woolen cloak covering him. Throwing it aside, Treyon got up and stretched, trying to get moving before the cold could soak into his bones. He walked toward the opening to the small tree-shelter and crawled out, freezing in place as soon as he was outside.
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