Into the Light- Lost in Translation

by Michael White

  Up and Down

  Paul stood in the empty clearing as darkness fell once more about him. The rain continued to pour from the canopy of leaves high above, pooling on the forest floor and drumming against the blanket of leaves upon which he stood. He thought about searching for the forest path again and he stumbled through the clearing in the direction that he thought it lay in but after a time he thought that surely he would have come upon the path by now, and yet he had not. His mind was full of the events of the night that was slowly but surely slipping towards dawn. The strange barrier that the white stones had repelled him with. The red shirt. His heart began beating faster as he remembered the huge snakes taking his companions. Desperation forced his feet forward; his friends may be dead already, or perhaps he had a chance to save them?

  He laughed in derision at the thought of this. He had no weapons, or more accurately, no skill of using weapons. Or even the remotest idea where he was, never mind where they were. He could not even enter the camp if he did manage to find it for there were none there that could raise the stones from within the camp, and he had no doubt in his mind at all that if he tried to cross the white stones then exactly the same thing would happen again as had happened before. Half expecting to catch sight of the owl that had on two other occasions saved him he stood staring up into the now grey lit branches of the trees, yet he saw nothing, owl or otherwise.

  Still the rain continued. With his cloak huddled tightly about him Paul decided there was no point in proceeding any further. He would wait until dawn and see if he could get his bearings once he could gain some idea of where he was in relation to the forest road. At the back of his mind was the thought that if the path that went through the forest was at least one hundred miles long then the forest itself could be just as wide, and if that was indeed the case then he could very easily wander around lost in it until he either starved to death or lost his reason.

  Finding shelter under the branches of a large Oak tree Paul huddled down in the cloak and pulled his hood forward. He sprawled there for a while until he lost track of time altogether. He suddenly started awake and it was the first indication that he had had that he had been sleeping at all. Looking anxiously around him to ascertain the reason for his sudden waking he blinked as a bright beam of sunlight shone on his face. Nothing else in the clearing seemed to give concern, and so Paul stood up carefully and stretched to ease the weariness from his bones. Yawning he was pleased to see that myriads of bright sun beams broke through the trees overhead, lighting the clearing as they did so. The rain too seemed to have stopped. The ground looked wet and slippery underfoot, but there was no fresh rain falling down from the trees other than rain collected on the trees there, that were swaying slightly in a warm breeze.

  The wind blew several leaves at his feet and with the slight wind came a smell of the soaked earth. The scent of the loam of the clearing filling his head with its rich aroma. He looked about the woods trying to gain a sense of direction. He knew that Wavebrite said that the forest road headed due west as it wound towards Anchor Bay but he had no compass or even sight of the sun to get an indication of which way west actually was, and so he stumbled through the woods for a while. Eventually he realised that he had no idea where he was at all. Finally, he sat down on the stump of a large oak, the main trunk of which was lying on the forest floor, toadstools and fungus encroaching upon the rotting wood of the long since fallen tree. He sighed deeply and pulled down his hood, for the day was beginning to look and feel as if it was going to be quite warm. As he lowered his hood he felt his right arm just above the wrist ache a little, and he pulled up his sleeve to look at it.

  He knew that when he had been clutched by the ghostly hand of the strange spectre in the mine his arm had felt painful for several days, feeling both hot and cold in turn, but it had eventually faded and since then had given him no trouble at all. There was the strange black skull shaped mark on his arm however, but it had not been giving him any cause for concern, though try as hard as he could he was not able to wash it off It looked as if the skin had been tainted somehow, perhaps a little like a tattoo, but it felt ominous and threatening too somehow.

  Yet now the skull mark on the inside of his forearm had begun to ache again. Examining it looked a little swollen and was cold to the touch. Sighing again he rolled down his sleeve and looked about the clearing.

  He knew he had a decision to make, but the crux of it all was that he had no idea where he was. Until he had discovered that then he had no real purpose to his wandering. He looked up through the trees but the leaves and branches were so tightly meshed that he could only see but a distant glimmer of blue overhead that was the sky. Looking across the clearing he saw a tall oak rising high above the forest floor, its lower branches wide and thickly gathered. He rubbed his chin, looking at the tree for a while. He had to know where he was. The one way he could find that out was to find out the position of the sun. Once he had that then he could make his way accordingly.

  He knew that the old adage that the sun rose in the east and set in the west was not actually strictly true. It was only on the equinox that this was the case. Any seasoned hill walker knew this, though the actuality of where it rose and set was nit picking really for it rose due north or south of east at different times of the year, and set due south or north of west at others. The difference was negligible, but it had saved him a surprising number of times at pub quizzes. Smiling to himself Paul crossed the clearing and taking a foothold on the great oak, raised himself up to the lower branches, and pulling himself up onto them, he began to climb.

  The lower branches were surprisingly dry, but as he climbed upwards he realised that this was because of the shelter of the branches above, and so as he ascended higher and higher he began to notice that some of the branches were wet and slippery, and this slowed him down considerably. He found himself having to take great care as he got higher that he did not slip or lose a hand or foot hold on the wet wood.

  It was hard going and his ascent was slow. Added to this he soon began as he climbed higher and higher to realise just how tall the tree and the others surrounding it actually were. They were enormous! Paul marvelled at his lack of vertigo as he climbed. He had never been entirely comfortable with great heights, but climbing the tree did not seem to concern him at all. He knew thought that this was because the foliage all around him even at the height to which he now rose, blocked out all of his surroundings and he had no idea of how far up he actually was as he could neither see the ground below him or the sky above.

  Yet as his ascent continued slowly he began to see more of the sun streaming down through the leaves from above. He climbed a little more and then as he reached an especially wide branch he hooked his feet into the branch and lay back against the trunk of the oak, resting for a while. The climb was proving to be arduous and it had sapped him of his initial eagerness for the climb. HIs right arm was also throbbing quite badly now, and again he rolled up his sleeve and examined the cold, swollen skin. He massaged it gently with his other arm for a while and then continued his ascent.

  Again, progress was slow but slowly he began to feel a stiff breeze rushing through the trees from above. He thought that there was little doubt that this rush of wind was not noticeable from the forest floor other than as a slight breeze, for the sheer volume and closeness of the forest protected the ground from it. Yet he found it incredibly refreshing. The climb was hot thirsty work and he had found that he could drink small amounts of rainwater that had puddled in the oak leaves high above from time to time, and now the wind cooled him down too.

  A little further up the tree Paul began to suspect that his ascent was near an end. This occurred to him in quite an unsettling way, for as he reached the roof of the forest the branches he was climbing were starting to become thinner, and as the wind increased the nearer he got to the top, they began to sway. His vertigo had not bothered him at all up to this point as he had no reference point to use, but as the branches swayed
around him he began to feel dizzy and ungrounded. He forced himself upwards, and just as a swimmer breaks through the surface of the water when rising from the deep, he suddenly burst through the canopy of leaves and the sun shone down on his head, blinding him almost instantly.

  He clutched tightly at the swaying branch, blinking furiously in the sunlight waiting for his vision to clear. A minute passed and he opened his eyes again, drinking in the sight that was now revealed to him.

  The plain of tree tops ran as far as the eye could see in every direction. The sun shone high above him, but it did not seem to have reached its zenith yet, hanging glowing in the deep blue sky to the east. Paul turned carefully to what must be the west. It had occurred to him as he had climbed the tree that perhaps the land where he now found himself did not obey the same rules as where he was from. For all he knew the sun may rise in the north and set in the south, but he discounted this as there was nothing he could do about it. He had to get a direction, and if it was an incorrect one then he was no worse off than he was before. If indeed the sun was rising presently in the east, then now he knew which way he had to head to hopefully eventually exit the forest.

  Yet he was loathe now he had a direction to head in to leave the view behind him. The sense of solitary beauty was almost liberating. A stiff wind blew across the leaves and tree tops, like waves breaking against the foliage. As he looked in every direction he saw off to the east mountains rising beyond the forest, the snow-capped peaks running further to the south out of view. To the west he saw a glimmer of blue on the horizon.

  “It may be the sea!” He said out loud, but he could not be sure. He stared at it for a while, hoping it would jump into focus, but it was too far away and remained tantalisingly out of view.

  He looked up towards the sky and saw several large birds circling to the north. He squinted in the sunlight. He thought that perhaps they were eagles, but he could not be sure. They were just too high and too far away. Finally, he turned west so that the sun beat down on the back of his neck, his hood long since having been lowered during the climb.

  Looking down through the branches and making a careful note of the direction he was headed so that it was burnt into his mind he sighed, and with one last glance across the top of the forest he began his descent. He lowered himself down through the branches in a slightly different direction now. He knew that the part of the trunk he was descending down was pointing west, and this made his descent just a little more difficult, for instead of taking the easy route he now kept to this particular side of the trunk, even if this time the gap between the branches stretched him or made his downward path difficult. Yet slowly he made his way down to the ground, and as he descended onto the larger branches of the tree the swaying eased and he found his foot and handholds were much steadier, and so his confidence increased and he swiftly descended back to the forest floor.

  Eventually he dropped the last few feet to the ground and stood with his back to the tree, panting for breath and getting his bearings. He looked at his hands. They were green stained from the moss and the trunk, and his arms and legs ached through the efforts of his climb, but more through the descent, which had made greater demands upon him as he made his way back down to the floor of the forest. He knew that it was always going to be more difficult climbing down than it was climbing up, and his neck ached from the strain of constantly checking where he was going to place either his hands or his feet next.

  A vague sense of gloom fell upon him as he stretched his arms, his right arm still throbbing above the wrist but for now he knew that he needed to ignore this. He knew now as much as he was able that he was pointed west, and so he must ensure that he continued to do so. He was not greatly enamoured by the thought of having to climb another tree to check his direction. The forest floor was dark and gloomy, light only breaking through in small patches from above, and the smell of wet soil and leaves reached him and encouraged him forwards, the petrichorian scent seeming almost to urge him onwards, deeper and deeper into the wild woods.

  Carefully he noted a tree on the other side of the glade. It was pointed west of where he now stood, the trunk of the oak he had just climbed still behind him. Carefully he made his way across the carpet of leaves, avoiding the thick gnarled roots as he made his way to the west pointing tree on the other side of the glade. Having reached that he did the same again, and so slowly but surely he made his way west through the forest. He knew he had to make haste if he had any chance of finding the forest path and only then would he be able to even consider saving the Groblettes from a grisly fate at the hands of the snakes, but even so his progress was slow but measured; he knew if he lost track of where was west then the only thing he could do was to climb yet another tree, and he did not want to do that.

  Not only that but he reckoned that by noon the sun would be at its zenith, making a compass direction difficult to ascertain. He would have to wait he knew until it began its descent to the west to get a definite cardinal compass direction. So heavily was he concentrating on maintaining a westerly course that it was some time before he began to realise just how hungry he was. He reached the next tree he had determined to be west facing, and he slid down the far side of the trunk, still facing west and stopped to get his breath.

  He had no food and he knew he would have to ignore the pangs of hunger that racked him. He steadied himself for a while before picking out another tree that was west facing and making his way through the woods towards it. Upon reaching it he paced around the trunk and took stock so he could determine the next westerly milestone.

  This was difficult this time though as he now stood at the top of a small hill which led down before him into a small dip in the forest floor. It fell sharply from where he stood, and then rose back upwards on the other side. Paul considered going around the dip, but he knew this could possibly confuse his sense of direction, and do he steeled himself and began the descent down the hill in a straight line, heading west.

  As he reached the bottom of the hollow he saw that small bushes edged the dip off to the north, their apparently thorned branches laden with small black berries. Beside them in the centre of the dip there was a single oak tree that rose high into the air before him, standing almost like a sentry over the glade itself.

  Making a careful note of the westerly tree at the top of the hill before him, Paul walked across to the bushes and looked carefully at the berries, kneeling down as he did so to examine them. Avoiding the thorns, he plucked one of the small berries off the bush and squeezed it. It felt ripe enough, and so he crushed it onto the palm of his hand, the thing black flesh releasing dark juice into his hand in a mess of seeds and liquid. He sniffed at it carefully.

  “Smells like blackcurrant.” said Paul to himself, his words seeming to almost violate the silence of the small dip in which he found himself. Finally, his hunger overtook him and he gingerly placed another of the berries he plucked from the bush and placed it in his mouth, crushing it slowly between his teeth. He swallowed the juice easily. It actually tasted like blackcurrant He eagerly chewed the skin, seeds and flesh of the fruit and as they seemed to be perfectly harmless he began to pull more from the bush, eating them eagerly as he did so, the occasional squashed fruit staining his moss covered fingers with a dark black juice.

  He ate the berries for a while until his stomach stopped groaning at the lack of food, and he kneeled before the bushes, filling the pockets of the hooded cloak with as many berries as he could carry, for he knew that he would almost certainly have need of them later. He had come across no source of nourishment other than the berries and so he carefully stowed them in his pockets.

  “Thief.” said a low, deep voice behind him and Paul shot into the air, and almost spinning on the spot turned to face whoever was behind him. He was startled therefore as he turned to realise that there was nobody there at all; just the large oak in the centre of the clearing.

  “Who’s there?” called Paul, though he was not sure to whom he was speaking
for the glade seemed to contain just him and the tree.

  “Thief!” said the voice again, just as deep but this time angry as well. Paul looked at the tree in confusion and paced around it to the other side of the trunk whilst at the same time carefully keeping an eye on his west facing tree on the other side of the dip as he did so, ensuring that he would not lose his sense of direction.

  Surely someone was hiding here. Yet when he reached the other side of the trunk he discovered the dip was empty. There was nobody there! He rushed back around the trunk and leaned on the tree waiting for the voice to come again yet there was nothing.

  Nervously Paul stepped back from the tree, leaning to his left and then to his right to determine whether someone was playing tricks on him and hiding by moving around the trunk as he walked around it. Still there was nothing. He stood motionless, unsure what to do next when from the ground a long ivy looking vine - but much thicker rose from the ground and swiftly wrapped itself around his legs, holding him firmly in place.

  “What the…!” began Paul, but he did not get the chance to continue as he stood before the huge oak, immobilised by the vine holding his legs.

  “Thief!” said the tree and the trunk rippled as if a glamour or illusion was suddenly being removed. From the trunk a shape separated itself and walked two paces forwards before standing still and looking down at him as if he were some kind of insect caught in a trap.

  Paul looked up at the figure that was regarding him now with disdain. The creature that faced him was tall. At six feet tall himself Paul could not help but notice that the creature towered over him by a good two foot. It wore a cloak of green leaves, which glowed and shimmered about it as if the foliage that formed the cloth was caught perpetually in a harsh gale of wind. Its body was covered in a hard grey bark. Its hair was of moss and its mouth and face were surrounded by a beard of dark brown vines. Its eyes were small, peeping out from the bark with anger flaring starkly in the small green pupils of its eyes that looked down upon him. Once again the deep voice shook through the small hollow.