Forest of the Forbidden

by W. J. May

  As a boy, Rhen had loved playing with flames. He would stand by the candles in the great hall, poking at them with his fingers, letting his palm absorb their heat, until one day his mother ran over with a scream and pulled him away. You cannot do that, he remembered her exclaiming quite vehemently as she checked his chubby hands for burns. But there were none. Because it never burned him, and until that boyhood moment, Rhen had never realized that it was strange, that it wasn't normal. Ever since that day, he had kept these powers to himself.

  The fire spoke to him. He couldn’t create it—he had tried that many times to no avail. He couldn't even move it or shape it or aim it. All he could do was absorb it and let the flames fill his body until he felt like all he needed to do was open his mouth to breathe smoke.

  But at times like these, he was grateful for the gift, or curse, whichever it was.

  So he stood, letting the heat crawl under his skin, letting it bubble under the surface, until the onslaught passed and he could feel the breeze on his cheeks again.

  Rhen opened his eyes.

  Like giant claws, the trees rose from the ground, bare and blackened, stripped of leaves and life. But the fire, at least, was gone.

  He spun.

  "Ember!" But he didn’t see her behind him where the forest turned green again.

  He whistled, body stiff and alert, until thunderous hoofbeats reached his ears and Rhen relaxed. Moments later Ember emerged, but she stopped beside an untouched tree, not stepping one hoof into the blackened soot of the burnt forest floor before her.

  "Come here," he commanded.

  She stepped back.

  Rhen crossed his arms.

  She shook her head.

  He stomped.

  She did too.

  "So dramatic," he rolled his eyes and stepped forward, giving Ember the victory, scratching the soft patch in her forehead until she finally showed her forgiveness by padding into the ash.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered before swinging into the saddle.

  Moving opposite the wind, the two of them pushed onward. It's worse than a battlefield, Rhen thought as he looked around. Tree trunks rose up into sharp, blackened points and then stopped. A field of topless trees, of stake-like spires, stretched out before them. All color was gone from the world. Little clouds of ash followed Ember's footsteps, blackening her russet coat.

  But worse was the eerie quiet. No birds chirped. The wind licked his face, but there were no swaying branches or whispering leaves. When they came upon a splashing stream, it sounded as roaring as a great river, as though the crashing waves were the size of a man instead of a toad.

  Rhen had never ventured this far into the Northmore Forest. No one did, aside from the missionary his father sent once a year to ensure the Arpapajo were still adhering to the laws of the land and speaking the king's tongue. There was no need. They lived a secluded life apart from the rest of the world, and as far as Rhen was concerned, they should keep it that way.

  Everyone spoke of the strange people, still dressed in poorly sewn animal hides, running around with stone-tipped arrows and paint on their faces. It was a bedtime story to frighten young children into sticking close to home.

  Yet out here alone without the forest to cover his movements, Rhen almost felt as though he were being watched. The hairs on his forearm rose, and he darted glances from side to side, searching for movement.

  He might be a prince, but no one in these woods would know what that truly meant—and even if they did, he wasn't sure that they would care.

  I better not die out here, he joked and tried to calm his rising nerves, Cal would never let me hear the end of it.

  And then he spotted green in the distance.

  The origin of the fire.

  Rhen pressed Ember forward, forgetting caution as his excitement and nerves compounded into a sudden burst of energy.

  But as he neared, his confusion grew. It almost seemed like a village. Was it possible the Arpapajo had burned their own home down?

  He searched the ground but there were no bodies in sight. A pile of smoking wood, burnt down to little more than rubble, caught his attention. It drew a line in the fire—one side black and one side green. Had it been a house?

  The start of the fire for sure, but it was now completely unrecognizable.

  Rhen dropped to the ground, noticing a great wooden structure behind the collapsed heap. A second house?

  He moved quickly, searching the length of the twisted branches and bark for some sort of door. A breeze blew in, lifting a slip of tanned hide and Rhen caught it with his hand, flipping it over his shoulder as he entered.

  Dried fruits hung from the ceiling. Carcasses that were half-cleaned and now buzzing with insects were piled along the wall. A putrid smell filled his nostrils and he retreated quickly.

  There was nothing human in there.

  He spun in a circle. If this had been the food house, maybe the other had been a living house? He turned one more time, trying to differentiate a wooden structure from the trees behind it.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  And then all of a sudden a smaller hut materialized from the woods, almost invisible against the forest.

  He ran, pushing back the now obvious skins of the door.

  Blood was the first thing he saw. At his feet, a great red circle spread against the entrance of the home, dried into the dirt and stained that way. He followed the line, and farther into the room was another spot, also dry but on a raised wooden expanse that must have been a bed.

  If there was blood, there must have been an attack.

  And if there was an attack, there must be foreign invaders.

  Which meant one thing: his kingdom wasn't safe—no, his family wasn't safe.

  Rhen whipped around, bringing his fingers to his lips to whistle for Ember when a shape caught his eyes. A smaller bed sat to the left of the entrance and it looked...

  He crept closer, slowly, trying not to make any noise.

  His heart pumped wildly in his chest. He flexed his fingers, reaching his hand out to grab the animal skin, cursing himself for being unarmed.

  He pulled back and brought his hands around a thin throat, making to choke the body before his brain caught up with his muscles, and he realized it was just a boy. Not a mercenary, not even a fighter, just a child.

  Rhen sat, his body heavy with surprise.

  The boy hadn't even stirred at his touch.

  He leaned down, bringing an ear to the immobile chest, and there was a soft thud of a beat—very faint and very slow, but still there.

  Rhen scooped the boy into his arms, taking just a moment to loosen the small fist from a crudely created rock knife, and then sounded his whistle loud and clear. By the time the two of them emerged, Ember was waiting—dare he say it, impatiently.

  But her look softened when she noticed the small figure in his arms, and she knelt to the ground, making it easier for Rhen to climb on without jostling the fragile body he held.

  "Back to the stream," he told her.

  Ember stuck to the unburned forest, keeping out of the sun as best she could, moving as carefully and quickly as possible.

  Within minutes, they reached the same stream as before, but this time the edges were lined with soft grass instead of ash. Clean water was exactly what they needed, not something blackened with soot.

  Rhen slipped from Ember as she knelt down and settled the boy on the grass. Digging through his things, he pulled out a canister of water and gently opened the boy's mouth. Being careful not to pour too much, he tilted the bottle. Reflexively, the boy swallowed, opening his mouth for more. Rhen obliged with another small dose, but then stopped. He didn’t want all of that water coming back up and out the boy's mouth.

  Next, Rhen dipped his hands into the stream. Without drying off, he patted the boy's cheeks, his forehead. Going back for more water, he wet the boy's hair and arms, and then repositioned the body so the child's feet slipped into the water, hopefully
absorbing it.

  Rhen leaned down. Already the heartbeat sounded stronger.

  He poured some more water into the child's throat before sitting back up.

  There was no blood, no wound, and no foreseeable reason why the boy had gone so long without food. He seemed old enough to take care of himself, maybe ten or twelve. Scrawny still, but surely able to hunt in the absence of adults.

  No, this seemed like something else. Perhaps the result of a mental incapacity.

  But Rhen thought back to the blood, the ash, the burnt pile of wood. Perhaps it was just a lack of will.

  Rhen understood that—the feeling of failure when a loved one died, of helplessness, of wanting to drift away never to be found again. But he had overcome it, with help.

  Rhen looked at the boy again. His skin was dark, born that way and not just tanned from the sun. His hair was black and chopped so haphazardly that it stood out at all different directions. He had lived with wooden huts instead of stone castles. With animal skins instead of fine silks.

  So different from the people Rhen had grown up with.

  And yet, still the same somehow. Still fragile, just like someone else Rhen remembered—someone he so often tried to forget.

  He reached for the water again.

  If this child was truly alone, then Rhen was the only one left who could save him.

  A thunderous boom sounded through the trees.

  Rhen dropped the bottle.

  It fell, rolling along the ground, sinking closer to the water. He dove, catching the canister just before it fell into the stream, but half of the contents had been emptied. He turned it, looking through the top to judge the remaining amount, when something just behind the bottle caught his attention instead.

  A footprint.

  No, he corrected himself, a bootprint. Something that could never belong to an Arpapajo.

  Invaders had been here.

  Rhen looked at the boy, torn. He really shouldn't leave, not when the child was still so weak. But his skin had brightened. He looked better. And those prints could be the key to saving a lot more than one boy. They could be the key to saving the kingdom.

  He had no choice.

  Decision made, Rhen stood.

  Scooping the boy up one more time, he gently placed him under a tree, hidden from the riverbank in case anyone approached.

  "Keep him safe," Rhen whispered into Ember's ear. She stomped a hoof, letting Rhen know she would not let him down.

  "I'll be back soon," he said, but still grabbed his sword and scabbard, belting them tightly around his waist.

  Sloshing through the water, Rhen moved to the opposite side of the bank to examine the print further.

  Most definitely a boot.

  He looked close by, scouring the ground until a second print identified itself. Rhen stepped closer, repeating until he had a solid trail to follow. Crushed branches and chopped bushes created a line through the normally untouched forest, a track that was easy for Rhen to find. He was used to stone, something that left a much more invisible path. Compared to that, this was simple.

  Before long, Rhen happened upon a camp. A few tents were set up. Weapons lazily rested against a tree. A fire was still warm though the flames had died. And behind, stacks of logs were piled up, tied together in tight bushels like those resting beside the fires in his family's castle.

  The loud noise must have been a tree falling, but why? Why so much wood? Unless they were planning to make camp for a long time—or for a much larger crowd—an army, perhaps.

  His mind spun.

  This was more proof than Rhen had ever hoped to find, more information than he was prepared for. The king had to know, immediately. Biting his lip, Rhen reassured himself that his father would believe him. With news such as this, with stakes so high, surely just this once, everyone would believe him...

  Rhen moved to turn.

  But before his feet had even shifted, something heavy slammed into the back of his skull.

  The last thing Rhen thought before he crashed to the ground, slipping into the darkness, was Damn it, Cal, why must you always be right?

  ––––––––

  3

  Jinji

  Northmore Forest

  ––––––––

  Blue. There were so many shades of blue.

  The deep midnight of a heart in mourning.

  The gray shadow behind closed eyes.

  The hot white when they first open.

  The oscillating flashes of blinks, until it's just one bright hue against the clouds.

  Jinji saw them all, lying there, staring up through the trees because her body had forgotten how to move. Even if she had strength left in her muscles, there was none left anywhere else. Her spirit was spent, was broken.

  So she kept watching the clouds drift, even as her eyes began to sting and tear and dry again, she kept looking up. Because the other option was to close them, and every time she did, all she saw were shadows—darting between flames, circling in blood, hiding behind big, brown eyes.

  The shadow had taken everything, but it still hunted her. In her dreams, in her sleep, even in her waking eyes—it was always there.

  Something nudged Jinji's foot, but she didn’t stir.

  Then something wet and slightly scratchy brushed her hand.

  Hot breath tickled the hairs on her arm.

  Just let me be, Jinji thought, ignoring the sensations. She wanted to join her family in the spirit realm, to drift away unnoticed by the world.

  And she had been so close.

  What happened?

  And then Jinji really looked at the blue sky above her, noticing it as if for the first time. How was she outside? Why wasn't she still in her pallet, blanketed by the memory of her parents and of Janu?

  And that little twinge of curiosity was enough to finally push her into movement. After days of indifference, something had broken through the hurt.

  Slowly, carefully cajoling her muscles back to life, Jinji lifted her head and looked into two bulbous black eyes.

  She jerked back—her entire body shocked into movement.

  A very large animal was looking at her, leaning over her, but Jinji wasn't afraid. If it had meant to hurt her, it would have. Instead, the creature leaned its head forward, slapping a soaked tongue against Jinji's cheek.

  She rolled away, standing quickly. Blinded from the head rush, she wobbled on unsteady feet until she felt soft fur under her fingertips and held on for balance.

  "Thank you," she whispered and opened her eyes.

  Jinji ran her hands over the soft hairs and felt the animal sigh. At the sight of a large leather seat, Jinji remembered what it was called—a horse. The newworlder who came to give the children language lessons always rode one.

  "Who traveled with you?" Jinji asked, continuing to pet its neck.

  The horse stomped, dipping its head in the direction of the water. Following the line, Jinji looked along the ground. Sure enough, she saw footsteps into the stream and out the other side.

  Large footsteps.

  The footsteps of man.

  Suddenly, Jinji's hands dipped to her legs, feeling for her animal skins.

  She let out a breath—they were still there. Her eyes searched for any maltreatment, but there were no rips or tears in her clothes, no aches in her body where there shouldn’t be.

  Her parents had warned her about males in the new world, especially about ones who could not control their urges. It was the reason she had never traveled to the great cities her father spoke of—she was not allowed to until she joined, and then Maniuk would—

  No, Jinji thought as her chest clenched tight and her mouth dried. Maniuk would not be taking her anywhere. Nor would her father. Or her mother. Or...

  Water. I need water.

  Jinji ran, fell next to the river, and dipped her hands deep into its cooling currents, splashing her face.

  A moment later, Jinji realized the curtain of hair normally fa
lling over her shoulders was not there. Goosebumps rose on her neck and she reached back, grasping the air.

  Her braid.

  She had chopped it off.

  The memory slowly returned as she rubbed her fingers over the mess that remained, chopped and ripped, her own personal battlefield.

  Hesitant, she leaned over the water. It had been so long since she had seen herself without long, flowing locks—the sight of her face free of the frame of black would be a shock, but she needed it.

  They were gone.

  Her prayer had failed and she had to face it.

  As much as she wished to fade away, to leave this place, she had been kept alive for a reason. And right now, remembering her people, that reason was vengeance. She would find the shadow, and she would destroy it.

  Taking a deep breath, Jinji forced her eyes to the water to look into her braidless, tribeless, but not purposeless reflection.

  The image of Janu stared back at her.

  With a yelp, Jinji fell onto the grass. An electric shock pulsed through her body, setting all of her hairs on end. Disbelief.

  Reservedly, she sat up and leaned over the water again.

  The image was slightly distorted by the moving current, but it was unmistakable to her eyes. The slightly flatter, higher cheekbones of her brother. His slightly wider eyes and thinner mouth.

  Almost the same as she, yet completely different in Jinji's eyes.

  The blue spirit strands flowing through the water appeared in her vision, almost as if they could read her mind. Searching through the spirits, she peered closer and closer, until the white spaces, the mother spirit of jinjiajanu was there. She grasped it, and almost instantly felt the illusion woven across her facial features.

  Using only her mind, she felt along the tightly knotted strands circling her face, and she remembered—remembered lying in that bed dressed in Janu's clothes, wishing beyond everything else that he were there instead of her.