Long ago, or a while ago, or yesterday, whenever it was that I had had more strength, I would’ve whipped around at the sound of this voice. Now I merely turned slowly upon my walking-stick to see her standing there, bathed in an eerie glow that only accentuated her beauty. It was the woman from the river, the one with chestnut hair and soft eyes. Only her face was visible at the moment, she stood smiling a terribly beautiful smile; my face contorted when I looked at her, unable to comprehend the truth of her being.
“That’s no way to say hello,” She said, chuckling slyly.
“Wha-What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice scratchy from disuse, emerging from an old and wrinkled body.
“Why, I’m here because you want me here. Don’t you want me here?” A jarring note of hurt carried through in her voice, so strong I almost collapsed.
“I don’t know. I don’t know who you really are, why you would be here, or even what is here.”
She took a step forward; her body clothed in a frilly blue dress studded with dazzling gems that shimmered as she moved. “Of course you know. You came back for me and now we’re making this beautiful journey together. You’re here in the Forest, with me. That’s where you need to be. That is your heart’s greatest desire, isn’t it? To be with someone?”
I shook my head as fast as I could, unnerved as I backed away.
“At least,” said the voice, changing into a deeper, masculine baritone. “That’s what you practically screamed at me.” Within a blink, the face was his face, the face of the doctor; the clothes the oft-repaired one of a traveller.
“Why are you startled?” He asked smoothly, his face twisted in earnestness. “You reconsidered before saying anything harsh, you understood my limitations, you waited for me to open up at my own pace, and now we have reached here, ready to carry on.”
“No. No, no, you left, you walked away while I watched. I was there, I know.”
“You were the one who left, if I recall correctly,” the voice turned low and seductive, the face androgynous, the body naked and featureless. “You ran, actually. Quite fast and heroically, if I may add,” The fairy cracked a smile, her teeth sharpened to fine points.
“No, no. I left you behind. I know I did.” My neck was developing a crick from all the shaking.
“What do you actually know? When you were running, you came to your senses, and came back to me, and we had the most glorious union there ever was. We have come together to this place, you consumed with passion for me all the way, both of us enjoying the best possibility of our many lives.”
“None of this happened!” I screamed, my voice breaking.
There was silence for the briefest of moments before a quiet voice that whistled on the wind as it blew past said, “Does it matter? You wish it had.”
“You wish you had the courage to let go of your fear of heartbreak, of loss, to be with me.” The notes of an accusing song glistened in tune with the shimmering jewels.
“You wish you had been more patient with me, wish that you had been kinder, wish that you had not been so desperate for my affection that you began to try and control how and when you received it.” A practical voice rose resounded off the inscrutable stone figure.
“You wish that you had the courage to accept your desires, your needs and the darker side of what you are.” A low voice whispered among the light fluttering of large wings.
“Please,” I begged, looking up at the naked winged fairy, in female form now, “Please stop this.”
“You want me to stop because you know in your fickle heart the truth, which is that nothing of what you remember is in itself true.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I whispered, my blood chilling and my fickle heart stopping.
The dress had disappeared; her face now stood on the naked and winged body, giving her the look of a painfully beautiful angel. “I didn’t love you, and you never told me you loved me. We were friends, and you passed by me. I never asked to come with you; I never felt anything more than friendship for you. You loved me at distance, in your mind, in a story you built around me in your head. We never shared anything special.”
A step forward, the doctor was now reminiscent of the angel I thought he was when I first saw him. “I helped you when you needed me, you may have loved me for it, but it certainly didn’t matter to you how I felt about that love. You made me care, pretended to know me, and then destroyed me, all because I didn’t bend to the image you had made.”
Another step forward and the fairy was there, man and woman, demon and angel. “You want so badly to be needed; you’re willing to act as if you’re special, as if we need to be with you, we need to adore you because you’re something magnificent. But you’re ordinary and pathetic. You’ll jump at the first creature that’s nice to you, male or female, human or not, and then build an elaborate story in which you’re the victim, you’re the oh-so-pitiable figure because that’s what you need.”
“NO!” I screamed with the last of my energy. My walking-stick slid from under me and I fell to the floor, sending a very audible crack through the air. “That’s not true,” I said breathlessly, clutching my chest.
A high, cold laugh rang out. The bodies switched faster now, transforming in an instant between each one.
“The naked truth,” said a whispering, seductive voice. “Is that you projected what you believe about yourself, that you would be forever alone if you did not change,” a sad, hard voice continued. “Because you have been always been a stranger to love, a stranger to the simplicity of affection, comfort and happiness,” ended the song.
“There are many like us,” the voices whispered in unison, “Who you have chosen to forget, whose memories you chose to distort, so that your pain can lessen.” Faces shuffled rapidly in a nauseating manner. “People, who crossed you every day, not even noticing you there, people, who forgot you the moment you were out of their sight, and people, who spurned you and laughed at the very idea of you.”
The figure stepped closer; it was now an inch away for me. “All that can end now,” came the collective seduction, both lyrical and practical. “All you have to do is accept the truth, and you can be with us. You can finally be happy. All your stories can be true.”
Stillness. I took my stick, leaning on it heavily as I stood up. A firefly buzzed at the edge of my vision, a sword swung close by. I hobbled closer to the creature, and I leaned close to it, my lips parting.
I grabbed the sword and whispered, “There can be no happiness with you.” With an air of finality possessed by a human greeting a long-awaited death, I swung the sword through the air.
The firefly was cut in half.
“I do not want you. I do not love.”
The sword dropped.
The figure disappeared, crumbled to dust. I dropped to lean on a tree, sliding down in the tears that I only reserved for other people. There was not a sound in the entire Forest, perhaps no sound across Time.
I was alone.
21
To Defeat a Forest
Exhausted. Drained. Weary. Want. Drop.
Aching eyes, drooping legs, brain over, hunched shutting do-
-wha?
I had woken up face down in dirt, peacefully inhaling it. I tried to get up, but fell face-down in it again. I licked it. It actually didn’t taste half-bad.
I dragged myself up and rested against a tree, if crumpling against a tree with no light, food, water or sanity is resting. If it was, I was the goddamned king, I was. I was all the princes and all the paupers, I was the ruler of this terrible Forest that had lured me in and trapped me here.
I couldn’t afford to fall asleep. I needed to push onwards. Fuck, not push; crawl onwards, maybe. Not that I was doing it because I wanted to buy into this fucking Forest’s tests anymore, I simply wanted to live. Dying would mean I lost, and that was not acceptable. Maybe I had to die eventually according to that fucking Guide, but what the fuck did it know? I would live for as long as I fucking wanted to.
&nb
sp; I tried to take a few deep breaths, but ended up choking and coughing. Cursing, I stumbled to my feet. I cursed myself for losing my walking-stick. I stabilised myself against a tree and hobbled on, clutching trees as I walked. I didn’t really care where I was going; I just wanted to keep moving without hitting anything. At every tree I clutched, I made sure to dig my uncut nails deep into the bark as much as I could, to hurt the Forest in my own tiny way.
I stumbled, and was about to sit down for another “rest” when I saw it. A brief glimmering of light in the distance. I was revitalised, but only for a moment. It would probably amount to nothing, as so many times before. Still, I didn’t rest, and continued hobbling while the light grew brighter and brighter, until I broke into a clearing.
The trees were arranged in a perfect circle here; silvery light was shining brightly and lighting the clearing. It was the first time I saw moonlight. I dropped to my knees, tears flowing down my cheeks as I started to thank someone, but there was no besides me that I believed in anymore. So I thanked myself.
The reward for my perseverance was quick to be found: I spotted plants growing strong in the moonlight. There were berries, sweet, holy berries! I grabbed them greedily, uncaring of the danger, swallowing them without really chewing. After I had consumed some, it occurred to me that there might be a source of water nearby that was providing sustenance to these miracles, maybe underground. I skirted the edge of the circle, not leaving it, and I found there a bubbling spring. I dug into it and the flow of water increased. I dipped my head and drank deeply.
When I was satiated, I rolled over and fell asleep right there. It was the deepest and longest sleep I’d had in a long time. I woke up only slightly refreshed, but at least I knew the meaning of the word again. I stretched, rose and looked around at this little haven of moonlight in the dark Forest, and decided it would be a good place for me to rest and recuperate for a while. I wasn’t going to let the bloody Forest beat me. I was going to prevail. Eventually. Right now, I needed to rest so that I could prevail.
I actually had a grim smile on as I ate some berries, and when I was chewing it occurred to me that I could replant the seeds so that new plants would grow and sustain me for a little longer. I spent some time counting the berries, planting the seeds and then resting. I spent the next few cycles charting the growth of the berry plants and contemplating my journey. The more I thought of everything that had happened to me, the more I despised the Forest around me. It had tricked me, it had tried to destroy me over and over and all I had done was forgive it, pretended as if it wasn’t intentionally tormenting me. Well, that was all bullshit. This Forest very well could control itself, but it wasn’t in control anymore. I was.
I made progress charting the berries, and before I knew it, I was managing a small berry farm in that clearing, growing prouder and prouder of my achievements, while despising the Forest that had taken everything from me more and more. I was conquering the Forest now. I was smarter than it.
I needed to show the Forest that, prove to it that I was better. I placed my knife against the bark of a tree and cut right across it. As if bleeding, the tree’s sap slowly trickled out and started sliding down the bark. I grinned in heady satisfaction.
Once the farm started to flourish, it occurred to me that it would be useful if I measured growth rates. The cut in the bark caught my eye and I grinned. I ran my hand across the cut reverently, and then swiped right below it, making a fresh one, causing more sap to flow.
Every cycle I made a new cut, drawing out more sap; increasing my rage rather than decreasing it. Soon, it had transformed not into a furious, passionate rage, but rather a cool, calculating destruction. About halfway down, my farm became self-sustaining but I continued to carve into the trunk, releasing more sap. Three-quarters of the way down, the pleasure was not overt anymore, it was just a perversity that I had to carry out.
Almost as I was reaching the bottom, I threw the knife aside in disgust. The tree wasn’t worth my time. I hated it.
And just like that, I hated it all. I hated the leaves, the trees, the Forest, all of it. I hated this never- ending journey I was on and the never-ending trials determined to “teach” me something. Well, I didn’t want to learn anymore.
I sat back and I felt the hatred taking over. I relished it. It was like bitter honey on my tongue that I could swirl around in my mouth all day. I didn’t have to keep “moving on”; I didn’t have to face any of that bullshit constantly thrown at me. I could stay here. The Forest would not win. I would win. I deserved to win. I had worked so hard for it, I deserved a goddamned win.
So I didn’t move. I didn’t leave the circle. I ate my berries, drank the water and festered in that putrid, liberating hate. The sap from the trees blended together and provided a steady drip that accompanied me throughout the day, helping me feel that time had indeed passed. I hated the sound, yet it was the only way I could measure the cycles.
As the cycles passed, I slept and ate regularly. I revelled in the thought of the day when my final salvation would present itself, as it surely would, without me having to leave this clearing until then.
Hair had grown in places that I didn’t know it was possible for hair to grow, but I did not bother cutting it. Washing, too, had become pointless. My wounds healed but the pockmarked nature of my skin was repulsive. I hated it as I now hated myself, without even knowing when or how. But it was a good hate. I didn’t have to have to make any of that exhausting effort to “believe in myself” or “persevere” or any of that claptrap they fed you. I was free, freer than I had ever been in this bloody Forest.
When all my wounds were healed, I started cutting at the scabs and scars with the knife. The first time I cut myself and started to bleed, it sent a thrill of hateful joy through my body. I started cutting at different places, reopening old wounds and savouring the sweet, almost harmonious pain that burst forth.
I began to be able to make out tiny changes of the sound of the sap trail as it flowed across different grooves and marks. I slept, ate and cut myself at specific times when the sap flowed. The hate inside me changed from a sharp sword that spurred me on to a dull knife that scraped away at my skin for no purpose but that it could.
The cycles began to blur together, and the only constant was the drip-drip dripping of the sap. The sound reminded me of home, and hate, urging bloodlust towards a new target, arose once more. I hated those people, unquestionably, more than I hated even the Forest, and they were certainly deserving of it. They were the reason I was here in the first place, with their despicable schedules and timetables; their horrid fields; their oh-so-precious security for which they sacrificed real living. No, at least I was not-
I froze. I looked around. A wild panic arose, I grabbed all the berries and water I could stuff in my pack, and ran as fast as I could.
Stop.
For a berry to blossom, first a seed must be planted. If the roots are not removed, the plant will grow, against all odds. As is with hate. The seed of hate had been planted long ago, without me even knowing, and I had run away from it. It had grown through the foundations of my soul, and it was ready to bring the house down with its tugging force. I had to destroy it because I could not escape such a powerful force that grew within me.
I didn’t want to feel like this. I didn’t want to have to hate the people I left behind, or myself, or this journey I was on. I wanted to love. I did love them; I found then that I did hold feeling for them all and myself in my heart, even if I couldn’t express it very often. I loved my family because they had tried their best, but had failed because they simply didn’t know how to do more, and that wasn’t really their fault. I loved my friends because I couldn’t fault them for being different from me, they did not my story and I did not know theirs, so how could I judge? I didn’t hate my villagers for being afraid of what they did not, what they could not understand.
I loved all of them now, finally, not so that it healed me, not in expectation of a reward. Love
would not heal my loneliness; it would not save me if I tried to force it to. I needed to love, just because. I needed to love not so that being with someone might free me, but because I might become free enough to be with someone. I needed to love for myself. I needed to love myself.
In my mind, they began to take shape, as the people they really were, complete, instead of what I had seen them as. I rubbed my hands against the trees, apologising for how I had hurt them, and desperately trying to send a message to those back home that I was sorry, that I now understood some of their struggles, and that I forgave them as well.
Tears ran down my face as I ran through their names in my head, names that I had forgotten, names that were lost to my memory because they were not part of the ideas I was trying to impose on them. My whole being pulsed with the love I was feeling; the love I was channelling through my hand to the trees and back home. The Forest seemed to respond, with the breeze rustling through the leaves, making them sing. I was filled with joy and the weeds that had a stranglehold on my soul fell away, destroyed by their counterpart: Love. Love, the excess of which had started my circle of hate, had now ended it. I did not need to defeat the Forest, because I had learned that I could not really leave behind anything; I could only make it a part of me.
Everything around me instantly shifted into focus, and I would not struggle in the darkness anymore. I was cured of an illness I did not know I had. The Path was clear to me. I finally had two homes, where I had come from, and where I was.
22
One
Walking through the darkness was easier now that I had the feel of the Forest. Every step I took was the shaking off of another small piece of the burden I had chosen to carry for so long.
I stopped when I heard a rustling close by. I didn’t panic because I knew that it was not dangerous. I waited while the rustling grew until it was all around me.
“I come in peace. I have no intention of harm,” I said steadily and calmly.
The First Storyteller Page 12