Forest of the Forbidden

by W. J. May

  "Do you know why these men were here?"

  Jin shook his head.

  "Would you like to hear my theory?"

  Jin nodded, still too wary for words.

  "Do you know the histories? Did anyone ever teach them to you?"

  "I know some," Jin said, his voice meek and quiet. "The newworlder who visited told us stories."

  The newworlder who visited? Rhen thought, confused. And then he remembered. The emissary sent on behalf of the crown. Once a year he visited the tribe to ensure they were obeying the laws created by Whyl the Conqueror ages ago, the rules that forced the Arpapajo to give up their own language and customs to conform to those of the land.

  A nauseous feeling stirred in Rhen's stomach.

  The Arpapajo or oldworlders, as some called them, were a fantasy, a people he learned about but never saw, never interacted with. They never entered his mind once the lesson was over.

  But looking at Jin, Rhen had to face his own ignorance.

  No matter how many years ago, it was his family, his blood, who had torn their identity away. Jin spoke the king's language very well, but still, it sounded foreign on his tongue, as though it wasn't really supposed to be there.

  There were many lands in this kingdom that Whyl the Conqueror united, many cities and peoples he had merged into one, but all of them looked and lived alike—the differences were so few and far between that uniting was almost natural.

  But not the Arpapajo.

  They were outsiders, myths—at least to everyone but that sole emissary sent by the king.

  Rhen felt the urge to apologize stir on his lips, but what could he say? Stealing a way of life was not something an I'm sorry would really fix.

  And now Jin was alone.

  His culture would fade completely away, dust in the wind.

  Rhen was staring, dumbstruck.

  He didn’t realize it until Jin shifted his brows and leaned forward, inquiring, "Your theory?"

  "Right!" Rhen jumped into motion. There was nothing he could say to make up for the past. Better to befriend the boy and keep him safe—safe enough to keep the Arpapajo alive.

  His hand went to his waist, searching for his sword, but of course it was gone. Sighing, Rhen turned to Jin. "One minute."

  He walked to the pile of weapons, searching for the gold hilt of his sword. Being a prince did have its perks, and his weapon was one of them—made from the finest metals by the finest blacksmith. He did not want to part with it.

  He scanned the dull gray blades.

  Not there.

  He stood, hand on hip, searching and feeling like an imbecile as Jin's gaze grew more and more doubtful.

  There.

  He spotted it across the fire, unscratched.

  Picking the sword up, Rhen walked back to his spot next to the boy and drew a large circle on the ground, then a smaller one in the middle of it.

  "This is the Kingdom of Whylkin," he said, pointing to the outer circle. "Over here is the Northmore Forest, where we are now." He shaded in a spot on the upper right of the circle. "This," he said, outlining the smaller circle in the middle of Whylkin, "is the White Stone Sea, named because there is a great mountain range in the center of the water composed of a pearly rock, so all of the sands in the sea are bright white. And down here is my home, Rayfort, commonly called the King's City because it is the home of the royal family." Rhen poked a deep circle in the dirt on the lower left bank of the White Stone Sea—the motion mirrored by a stabbing pressure on his heart. His home, the one he wanted—no, needed—to protect. "Do you understand?"

  Jin nodded. Rhen took the silence as a sign to continue.

  "Over here," he drew a series of small ovals to the left of the circle that represented his kingdom, "are the Golden Isles, or the Kingdom of Ourthuro. And the men who attacked your village, these men you just killed, are Ourthuri—are from those islands. See how their skin is darker, slightly olive, and their hair a thick black? That's one way to tell. But more obvious," he leaned down, picking up the wrist of one of the dead men, "all Ourthuri are marked at birth with their station. These men all have one thick band tattooed on each wrist, a very simple design. It means they were from the outer isles, most likely farmers, or workers of some sort."

  He dropped the arm, letting it thunk back into the dirt and paused, taking a second look at the design. It was definitely the simple design of a commoner—not the more intricate dot and striped design of an Ourthuri warrior.

  But what would they be doing in Whylkin? Why farmers and not soldiers?

  "And why were they here?" Jin asked, thinking the same thing.

  Rhen grinned. Finally, the boy was showing some interest, some life.

  "I think they were here as a scouting team, to see how difficult it would be to make land without my king knowing. I think they were here to prepare for war."

  "War?" Jin scrunched his face. The word sounded ugly on his lips, like something he never thought of, let alone said. Something foreign he didn’t understand.

  "Yes, war." Rhen said. The word, he noticed, sounded much smoother on his lips, much more familiar. "Ourthuro was once the most powerful kingdom in the world. We call their lands the Golden Isles because the soil is practically made of the stuff. They had riches that no one in this land could ever understand. It was before the time of Whylkin, when our kingdom was divided and composed of many different cities and kings constantly fighting with each other.

  "But almost three hundred years ago, one of those kings, King Whyl of Rayfort, conquered the land and united us all under his name, creating the Kingdom of Whylkin—to be ruled forevermore by his blood, the family of Whyl."

  The words rolled off Rhen's tongue.

  Whylrhen.

  His name. His blood.

  This tale was his personal bedtime story, the one his mother had told him over and over again until he didn’t even have to think to repeat it.

  Rhen looked up from his drawing, and Jin looked away quickly.

  But not fast enough to hide the bitter edge to his gaze. The boy knew this part of the story—the part where a lot of his people were killed and their culture stripped away.

  Rhen skipped ahead.

  "Throughout history, the Ourthuri have mounted attacks, trying to regain their former power, but nothing has worked. And I think they are trying again, here and now."

  "But why?" Jin asked. "Why?" He repeated, a slight shake in his voice.

  Because it's what they do, Rhen thought, but he kept silent. Somehow the answer didn't seem like enough.

  "Because power is everything," he said instead. Another lesson drilled into him from infancy.

  "Not to the dead," Jin whispered.

  Rhen had no reply. Instead, he watched Jin, watched him take a heavy breath, watched him bite his lip, watched him furrow his brows. The boy was smart, smarter than his years. There was more going on inside of that head than he let on—a puzzle Rhen intended to solve.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight, he intended to sleep off the ache in his muscles.

  "We should both rest. We've a long day's journey ahead of us tomorrow." Rhen stretched his arms high above his head, creaking like an old man. But, he shrugged, that's what getting knocked out will do.

  Not a word to his brothers, he sighed, not a word. And definitely not one to Cal—Rhen was in no state for another lecture. The bump on his head was quite enough.

  There was a tent across the fire with his name on it—all he was hoping for was a sleeping mat, something soft for his sore, royal behind.

  "Where are we going?" Jin asked.

  The sound surprised Rhen—the boy was becoming a regular chatterbox.

  He eased his weight back down. Sleep would have to wait.

  But he understood.

  "To Roninhythe, a nearby city, and then probably on to Rayfort so I can speak with m—" Rhen stopped short, biting the word father back into his lip. He looked up sharply, but Jin's concentration was elsewhere. Eventu
ally, the boy would have to be told, but not yet. He still wanted to be Rhen, just Rhen, at least for a little while longer. "So I can get word to the king," he said, finishing the sentence softly.

  "Is Roninhythe," Jin stumbled over the word, forcing it out, "is it a stone city?"

  Rhen laughed loudly—he didn’t know what he had been expecting, but not that. The question was so simple, so straightforward when compared to the events of the day.

  "Yes, Jin, it's a stone city. There is a large defensive wall around the limits and beside the port there is a great castle towering into the sky."

  He smirked as Jin's eyes widened, imagining the scene. The oldworlder boy was about to be in for a big shock. Just wait until we reach Rayfort, Rhen thought, picturing his home. Its multiple defensive walls, the glittering town homes of the rich, and of course, the palace—stained glass windows, halls lined with silk tapestries, walls of white rock slabs that blinded in the sun.

  Much different from animal skins and the forest.

  "How tall?" Jin asked, looking up at the nearest tree.

  "So tall," Rhen said, leaning in close, "that you can see this very forest on the horizon even though it is miles away. So tall that the highest tree you have ever climbed will seem small in comparison."

  "It seems unnatural to build such a thing," the boy shook his head, disapproving.

  Rhen smiled, raising his eyebrows in jest. "To my people, it would seem unnatural to live in the woods, without horses and carriages and stone walls."

  "To my people, it—" Jin stopped short, drawing his knees into his chest, shaking slightly.

  Rhen winced. Just witnessing the sadness on the boy's face was painful.

  "To your people?" Rhen asked, trying to cajole the boy, to let him know it was okay to speak about them even though they were gone.

  But Jin shook his head, digging his chin farther into his knees.

  Rhen backed off, giving him space. He needed time to heal, time to adjust.

  So instead, Rhen stood, completed the stretch he had started just before Jin began speaking, and reached for Ember. She walked over to his outstretched hand, rubbing her soft neck into his palm.

  Scratching behind her ears, Rhen listened for the contented rumble of a sigh, the sign that she forgave him for needing to be rescued yet again. And there it was, vibrating against his hand. Ember dipped her head down low enough for Rhen to kiss the white patch on her forehead and then stepped to the side.

  He undid the straps on the heavy saddle, rubbing down the disrupted hairs and pulling an apple from the pouch. Ember took it happily.

  "What is your horse's name?"

  "Ember," Rhen answered, not turning around as he peered into the bag again. His red silk shirt was still there, untouched. A pit in his stomach dropped, and Rhen brought his hand quickly to his chest, sighing with relief when he felt the small bump under the roughly woven shirt.

  His ring was still there. His unique royal seal. The only thing on his person that truly denoted his birthright. His safeguard.

  And the only way to ensure any letter he wrote would go straight to the king.

  "Ember..." Jin said in a drawn out breath, "to go with fire?"

  At that Rhen did turn, meeting the boy's questioning gaze.

  He squinted, trying to read through the silence.

  He couldn't know.

  Rhen hadn’t touched the fire. He hadn’t breathed it in like his body had begged him to do. And Jin had practically been dead, lying in a hut, when he had drawn the forest flames in.

  There was no way the boy could know.

  And yet, some intelligence sparked in those dark eyes, some impossible knowledge seemed hidden in their depths.

  "Ember," Rhen said slowly, "because her coat is the color of dying flames, and because as a foal she saved my brother from almost certain death by fire."

  "It's a girl?" The boy straightened, excited.

  "Relax, she's still a horse," Rhen laughed. Jin tilted his head, confused.

  Apparently, raunchy jokes were not part of the Arpapajo culture. Something to add to the boy's education, Rhen noted wryly.

  Having a traveling companion could be more fun than he expected.

  "I'll explain later." He sighed, looking at the tent over Ember's head. "But for right now, we should both sleep."

  Rhen stepped forward, lifting the flap of the enclosure.

  Yes, he grinned. His prayer had been answered. There was a sleeping mat, not extremely thick, not even very luxurious looking, but still softer than the ground.

  He looked back into the night, where Jin now stood scratching Ember's neck. The two were getting along quite nicely, leaving Rhen completely shocked—Ember was normally quite dramatic around other people, a little bit of a princess in a castle made only of princes.

  But the sight calmed his nerves too.

  Jin was keeping secrets, of that Rhen was certain. And in time, he would uncover them. But for now, it was enough to know that Ember trusted the boy. She was the best judge of character he had ever seen—after all, she almost got sent to the butcher for spitting on the king.

  Rhen laughed quietly at the memory. It had been years ago, but his father still referred to Ember as Rhen's damn horse.

  He blinked, refocusing on the current night.

  "Do you want to sleep in the shelter?" He called out.

  "No," Jin shook his head. "Tonight, I want to see the stars."

  Rhen shrugged.

  He had slept under the stars enough times to know it was not as romantic as it seemed in the stories. No, he thought as he lay down on the mat. Soft cushions were much more awe-inspiring.

  As sleep sought to overtake him, Rhen's overactive mind did its best to keep him awake. There was so much left to do. He had to find Cal, he had to get word to the king, and he had to determine if more Ourthuri had disembarked on his lands.

  Where were these unflagged ships? How did they go unnoticed? And how could he stop it?

  And just as Rhen was on the brink of a breakthrough, the answer surely on the tip of his tongue, a snore sounded on his lips—loud and thunderous enough to be heard in his dreams.

  Dark dreams.

  Dreams of a future he hoped beyond all hopes to change.

  ––––––––

  5

  Jinji

  Roninhythe

  ––––––––

  They had been traveling for days and all Jinji could think was, Oh the spirits that man is loud. He was loud when he was awake, talking and talking, until even her short answers caused her voice to run hoarse, and she was in awe that he had sound left in his body. He was loud when he slept, drumming thunder into her ears at all hours of the night, keeping even the animals awake.

  Loud.

  Loud.

  Loud.

  And all she wanted to do was quiet him for a mere moment. Even Leoa did not talk so incessantly, dragging on and on. Her friend had known when words were no longer needed, were more of a bother than a comfort.

  But not this Rhen, this newworlder who had saved her life only to make her die this slow, intolerable death.

  At first, it seemed like a purposeful distraction. The farther they moved from the forest, the deeper the pit in her stomach grew and the louder he seemed to become. Every so often, Jinji would catch him watching her, turning his head up to observe her expression as she rode Ember. And for a while, she even appreciated it. The talking kept her from thinking, from missing, from feeling.

  Only two days before, she had turned to watch as the treetops disappeared from eyesight, fading into the green grass of a rolling hill, and in that small, seemingly insignificant moment, her home was gone.

  Rhen caught her arm as she slipped from the horse, shock numbing her grip. He continued chatting while her breath grew short, her eyes filled up, her stomach bundled into knots. She couldn’t recall a word he had said, but he didn’t wait for responses anyway. Instead, he pushed on with words that Jinji barely comprehended,
yet were somehow enough help.

  But now, he continued, battering her with speech she did not want to hear, and all she wondered was if the distraction were really for him, not her.

  "Jin?" Rhen nudged her leg, pointing an elbow deep into her thigh to grab her attention.

  She looked down, meeting his wide eyes and preserving her voice.

  "Did you hear me? I said you can see the city of Roninhythe on the horizon."

  She didn’t wait for him to finish and instead darted her eyes ahead, earning a low chuckle.

  Her mouth dropped open—that earned a louder chuckle.

  There was a stone Jinji used to climb as a child, all the children did—they would dare each other to stand at the top. She could picture it perfectly, dropped in the middle of the forest, almost like some giant creature had casually discarded it amongst the trees. And Jinji remembered staring at the height she had to overcome to end Janu's taunts, wondering how anything other than a tree could grow so tall.

  Even so far in the distance, Jinji's breath caught at the sight of this stone city—a patch of gray rising from the green hills, cutting into the sky, angular and unnatural. Ahead of them, a road—also gray, also unnatural.

  She looked at the green below Ember's hooves, at the soft warm way the grass cushioned her feet. What would it feel like to walk on something so unforgiving, so tough? Even dirt after a long hot summer baking in the sun had some give, would eventually soften under her feet.

  As if called, the elemental spirits danced into her vision, sparkling along the grass in a faded green hue. Looking up, Rhen was still shrouded in a blanket of hot red fire, sparking and spinning around his person.

  Above the city, the wind howled, throwing yellow spirits into spirals, weaving webs out and over the walls, spilling back down to disappear from Jinji's vision. The very sight of so much unchallenged air set her on edge. Where were the green spirits, swooping out of the trees to mix with the breeze? Where was the water, dripping down to be caught by the wind, or the heat of a fire, blazing red?

  Where was the balance?

  It was unnatural.

  Jinji shivered, hugging her arms close, for once listening for the rumble of Rhen's voice.