by J. J. Faulks
As he encroached further and further on the Great Forest, the enshrouding darkness lessened. Beams of sunlight shot through the trees, forming hazy glimmers surrounded by shades of night. It was as though the forest’s concentration had slipped, allowing these scattered rays to slink past. In this diffuse light he noticed the carvings on the tree trunks, filling the gaps between the eye-like gnarls.
The presence of the animals surrounded him as he strayed from the centre of the path to study the trees one by one. He brushed his fingers over the wood as he read the inscriptions. Chiselled into the bark of every trunk, they detailed the histories of the spirits—those beings from mythology that were not mortal, yet were not gods nor demigods. Many of the spirits he knew from the stories his mother had told him, but there were many more that even he did not recognise.
Who, or what, had engraved these passages into the wood? The words were minute and intricate. The histories stretched all the way from the roots up into the heights of the trees, spiralling around the trunks, disappearing into the leaves.
SNAP.
The sound of a twig breaking jerked him back to the immediacy of his surroundings. Enthralled by the inscriptions, his guard had fallen. He had forgotten where he was, forgotten that this was not his domain to explore. The Great Forest belonged to the gods and it housed the most ferocious of creatures, two of which stood before him now. Two shadowy figures blocked his path.
Fear held fast to his legs. He could not move. His limbs were heavy, yet at the same time they were so weak that they might collapse beneath his weight. Perhaps the juice was not as effective as he first thought. Perhaps the creatures had lured him into a trap, letting him venture deeper and deeper into the forest until there was no chance of escape. He clasped his vial and, like Aqualas facing the wrath of the sea monster, he prayed.
Part Three
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dong. Dong. DONG. Dong. Dong. DONG. Dong. Dong. DONG.
The Great Bell tolled three times. Each toll was pursued by its echo. The noise grew louder and louder in a crescendo that rippled across the Realm of the Sanctuary. The sound died at the Outer Wall. A Guardian had fallen.
Every Guardian knew that from the moment he took his vow his life was no longer his own. It was sworn to the Sanctuary, sworn to the Key of Life. This was the sacrifice that all Guardians were willing to make. However, that knowledge—understanding that commitment—did not lessen the pain of losing a brother.
The Guardians gathered by the Inner Wall, near to the base of the bell tower. From here, they walked in a solemn procession towards the temple, carrying the body of their brother. The temple was modest, in keeping with the lives of the Guardians, and it was here that their brother would lie until he received his summons to the Afterworld.
The surviving Hunters had fled, but the Guardians did not doubt that they would regroup and return. Their thirst for immortality was insatiable, and as long as they had access to the Land of Gods, their assaults on the Realm of the Sanctuary would continue.
“We cannot keep fighting them off. Each time they come back stronger and wiser. One day soon they will defeat us and they will breach the Inner Wall. They will bring devastation to this world.”
The council of the Guardians had convened to discuss the matter. It was paramount that they secure the safety of the Key of Life. Without the Key, no plant would grow and no man would live. Without the Key, life itself would not exist.
“We need to address the gods! We must ask them for assistance!”
The suggestion was met with cries of support and cries of opposition that were equal in vehemence if not in number.
“The protection of the Sanctuary has always been entrusted to the Guardians, not to the immortals!”
“We cannot succeed on our own! If we stubbornly refuse to ask for help, we will fail! The Sanctuary will fall! Our duty is to the Key of Life. We must do whatever it takes to protect it!”
The argument raged on until a consensus was reached. It was decided that the Guardians would consult the four major gods, asking for advice and for assistance. Duty required their pride to be sacrificed and help to be accepted, even if that help came from the immortals.
The gods of Earth, Water, Air and Fire listened to the Guardians’ concerns in attentive silence. The blank uniformity of their expressions gave no indication of their thoughts or inclinations. With a curt nod, the envoy of the Guardians was dismissed so that the four gods could deliberate the matter in private.
The gods agreed that it was no longer safe to allow mortals to enter the Land of Gods, and they determined that the Great Forest would serve as a permanent division between the two lands. All that was required was to make the forest impenetrable to mortal souls. Emnei, the goddess of Vengeance, was summoned to stand before the four major gods and she was soon dispatched to the Afterworld. There she waited to intercept the souls of the defeated Hunters.
As predicted, the next onslaught was more violent than any the Guardians had witnessed before. However, this time they fought with the strength of the gods. Though some Guardians fell, as the toll of the Great Bell would solemnly announce, many more Hunters met their end.
Emnei was ready to capture the souls of the slain. Though they struggled, they could not escape her wicked grasp. She carried them to the Great Forest, where they were sown into the dark earth. When they burst forth, they were no longer men, but vicious creatures haunted by a thirst for mortal blood.
“What are you reading today?” Teymos’s rich voice filled the library.
Orleigh was sat on the floor, her back pressed to the bookshelf and her legs stretched out in front of her, the book balanced open in her lap. She looked up with a warm smile at the sound of Teymos’s arrival.
“The myths about the Guardians,” she replied and she held the book aloft so that Teymos could see the drawings inked onto the yellowing pages. “This is the one where Emnei creates the creatures of the Great Forest from the souls of the fallen Hunters.”
Teymos glanced at the pictures for less than a breath before his eyes drifted beyond the book and back to her. “They certainly look fierce,” he said, “But nothing like the real thing. The animals that live in the Great Forest are far more monstrous than that.”
She returned the book to her lap, her finger tracing the outlines of one of the drawings. “Don’t they frighten you?” she asked.
Teymos walked through the Great Forest often, for it bordered his estate and passing through it was the only way for him to reach the rest of the Land of Gods. He spent a lot of time away from the estate, though Orleigh did not know why. Work, he said.
“No,” Teymos said. “They don’t frighten me.” He gave a hollow laugh.
His laugh suggested that the idea of a god being frightened was preposterous, but Orleigh knew better. Gods loved and hurt and feared just like any mortal. One time—back when the visions of flames had stopped her from sleeping—she had found Teymos stooped over the desk in his study, silent tears falling like raindrops onto the wood. The image of Teymos merged with the memory of her father, hunched over in his armchair, crying to himself when he thought that no one was watching. It was then that Orleigh understood that being immortal did not make the gods any less human.
She snapped the book shut and hugged it to her chest. “I don’t think I’d be frightened of them either,” she said.
“Not if they looked like that.” Teymos nodded to the book in her arms. “Perhaps if you saw the real thing you might be. I had a book once that showed the animals for what they really are, drawn by someone who has actually seen them. It might still be in my study. When I get back—”
“Back?” she interrupted him. Her smile withered, like a flower shrivelling into the dusk. “You’re going away again?”
“I won’t be gone long.”
She frowned. The problem with immortals was that their perceptio
n of time was skewed. When Teymos said that he wouldn’t be gone long, he might return the same afternoon or she might not see him again for days.
“I promise,” Teymos said.
“Don’t make promises that you can’t keep,” Orleigh said. She turned her back on Teymos, busying herself with returning the book to the shelf and aligning its spine with the others. Meila had promised to look after her. Piprin had promised that they would be best friends forever. Then they went and got themselves killed in the fire. Perhaps she was being harsh to their memories, but then again they weren’t the one that had been left behind.
“I promise I won’t be gone longer than necessary,” Teymos said.
Orleigh broke into a jog in order to keep up with Teymos as he strode across the grounds of the estate. The lightness of her step was tempered by the weight of the loneliness unfolding inside. They crossed the gravel-strewn courtyard with its central fountain embedded in a maze of deep maroon- and black-petalled roses. Her ears pricked at the sound of stones scrunching underfoot, relishing it like the dying embers of summer.
When they reached the lawn, she kicked off her sandals. The cool grass brushed against the soles of her feet, and it felt like freedom. The green blades rose up to meet Teymos, like soldiers swearing their allegiance. A carpet of daisy flourished before him, lining his path, their pale petals blushing pink at his touch.
“Where are you going?” she asked, trailing a step behind. The daisies smiled up at her, shimmering silver and gold, as if any friend of Teymos was a friend of theirs too.
“To work,” he answered, the reply so predictable that she could have chimed along.
“That’s what you always say,” she grumbled, letting her head fall back like an exasperated child as she rolled her eyes. A waterfall of curls cascaded down her spine, their tips pooling at her waist.
“That’s because it’s true,” he said.
“But where are you working?” she asked. “Who are you meeting?”
“It’s a secret.” Teymos lifted one finger to his lips, and he winked at her, his open eye flashing with jets of blue lightning.
She pouted. “You mean that it’s not the concern of a mortal such as myself—” she gestured to herself with a theatrical flourish “—and that I shouldn’t ask so many questions.”
Teymos laughed, a joyful thunder that shook the earth beneath them. “Those are your words, not mine.”
“It’s what you’re thinking though,” she said.
They were nearing the edge of the grass. The hedge that marked the boundary of the estate towered over them, a dark green wall bejewelled with dainty pink and yellow flowers. A low wooden gate filled the only gap in the hedge, and beyond lay the gloom of the Great Forest.
Teymos opened the gate. With his hand resting on the wood, he stopped and turned to face her. “Somethings are better left unknown,” he said. “But you should never stop asking questions.”
“Maybe one day I’ll read about all your adventures in the myths.” She took a step towards the gate and as she did, tendrils emerged from the ground beneath her. The vines twisted and writhed around her ankles, stretching up her legs, their intricate mesh preventing her from taking a single step further.
“Maybe you will,” he said, and then added, “Stay safe.”
“I’m not the one going into the Great Forest,” she pointed out and looked down at the vines that held her. With Teymos’s enchantment guarding the perimeter there was no risk of her finding adventure. “Nothing ever happens here. I’ll be fine.”
Teymos nodded and smiled. He stepped through the gate, but then paused. “And remember…”
“…don’t let the goats into the house,” she chorused along with Teymos’s warning. It hadn’t been her intention to let the goats inside, she had simply forgotten to close the door and somehow they made their own way into the kitchen, but Teymos would never let her forget it.
With Teymos gone, she stepped away from the hedge and back towards the house. As soon as she did so, the vines released her and snaked their way back into the ground.
The vines are for your protection, Teymos had told her the first time he had showed her the estate. The Great Forest is full of dangers. Such measures were unnecessary though, for she had no desire to leave the estate. With her home destroyed, where else would she go?
She crossed the grass, making her way back to the fountain. It was her favourite place on the estate. The water brought her a sense of calm, and it reminded her of the river where she and Piprin played as children. The flowers that surrounded it, with their maroon and black petals, had a ghostly beauty, like the early morning fog.
Lying down on the edge of the fountain, her hands forming a pillow against the cold stone, she watched the clouds overhead. If she stared hard enough, she could find in their shifting forms the shapes of the mythical heroes that filled the library. As the clouds skittered by, she made up a myth of her own.
There once was a young girl, with hair like gold and fire, who lived with her family at the edge of the Land of Mortals. Everyone—even the gods—knew about the girl. They said that she was as beautiful as the sunrise over the sea, and that she had been blessed with the courage and strength of a lion. The girl wanted to travel the world and go on adventures like her favourite heroes but, fearing for her safety, her parents kept her at home.
“The world is dangerous,” they would tell her.
“I’m not afraid!” she would reply.
They said that she was too young to understand, but the girl knew. She knew about the Hunters and their assaults on the Sanctuary. She knew about the brave Guardians and their mission to protect the Key of Life. She heard her parents whispering at night when they thought she was asleep. The times were dark and the Guardians were at risk of being overwhelmed by the onslaught of the Hunters.
The Guardians could not fail, and the girl was determined to help them.
Late at night, once her parents had retired to bed, the girl gathered together her belongings and, slinging her satchel over her shoulder, she climbed out the window of her room and lowered herself into the garden. She took with her, concealed beneath her cloak, her brother’s sword. She intended to fight.
The journey to the Land of Gods carried the girl through the Great Forest. Though it was dark and the trees groaned as if they were in pain, the girl was not afraid. She was as brave as people said, and she feared nothing.
At least, the girl thought that she feared nothing. Until the Hunters came.
The girl had stopped to rest, settling herself at the base of one of the trees. As she drank from her waterskin, she heard the sound of branches breaking underfoot, of raised voices, of men approaching. The hairs on her arms stood on end and her heart beat so wildly in her chest that she was sure its sound alone would alert the men to her presence. As quietly as she could, she scuttled around the base of the tree, hiding herself behind its trunk. The men drew closer and closer. The girl held her breath.
“They’re weakened,” one of the men said, “Now’s our chance to defeat them and to claim the Key for ourselves.”
“Don’t forget that we are weakened too,” another one said. Even in the darkness the girl could see his shaggy beard. “We can’t just charge in without a plan.”
There was a murmur of assent from the group.
“We should rest here, where it’s safe, and then attack at nightfall,” the bearded one said. “There are fewer of them on duty at night and they won’t be expecting us so soon after our last attack.”
Agreement rustled through the group once more, and the men started to make camp.
The girl knew that she had to move on, and quickly, else she would be found by the Hunters. If they knew that she had overheard their plan, they would certainly take her captive. Or worse. The girl could not let that happen. She had to escape now. She had to warn the Guardians.
The girl stepped through the shadows, each movement carefully placed to avoid rustling the leaves or snapping the twigs—anything that would give away her location. She felt certain that she would be discovered at any moment.
“Hey! What’s that?” one of the Hunters shouted.
The girl froze. The Hunters had turned in her direction. She did not know if they could see her in the dim light. Shaggy Beard nocked an arrow, fluidly raised and drew his bow, and—before the girl could move—released.
The girl’s eyes scrunched shut. Her body tensed, waiting for impact. The whistle of the arrow sailed past her ear. There was the ruffled flapping of wings, followed by a stifled squawk. The bird fell silent at her feet.
“It’s just a bird!” Shaggy Beard said. “Go fetch it, will you?”
The girl turned and fled as fast as she could, no longer caring about the noise she might make. She had to reach the Guardians.
*
Orleigh jumped. Caught up in her daydream, she had not noticed the flock of geese waddling stealthily from the grass onto the gravel of the courtyard. The maze of flowers acted as a barricade, stopping them from reaching the edge of the fountain, and they honked loudly to draw her attention.
The geese were tame, she had learnt the first time she explored Teymos’s estate, and they would befriend anyone who would feed them. They had free range of the grass, but—just like the goats that roamed in the orchard—they had an appetite for bread.
She sat up with a sigh. The geese would continue to pester her until they were fed. The rest of her myth would have to wait.