Road and Forest

by John Stevenson

darkness became intense. Suddenly it didn’t seem such a good idea, but he trusted to his own senses to guide him.

  He was sure he had walked several times the estimated distance, when he began to catch glimpses of a pale gray sky though gaps in the canopy where a tree had fallen.

  As if by signal there was a shrill chirping as cicadas began their early morning mating rituals, this in turn seemed to wake the birds, as near and far they too began calling each other. But down at ground level it remained night, and the air remained cool and moist.

  He kept on, and though he could see more and more sky, the pale light could not penetrate the thick canopy to ground level.

  Looking around all his sense of direction blended into one. He knew he must keep going straight ahead, and that he would find the track soon, but a nagging fear began to tell him he had become lost. Being lost in the forest when night closed in again was not something he relished experiencing. But his fears were unfounded, and pushing through a thicket of dense tree ferns he stumbled out onto the track, at least he thought it was the same one.

  Nicholas stood in the middle of two shallow ruts. Either way the track wound into the cover of the trees, and he made a conscious effort to turn right. To the left led back to the road, or was it the right? He wanted to keep going but the horse needed a rest, so at the first clearing of edible grass he came across, he stopped.

  The horse would have stayed there, but Nicholas wanted to go on and as a compromise he decided to walk. The animal seemed to agree to the bargain and sauntered after him snorting loudly whenever it saw another suitable grazing patch, or trickling stream that offered a drink.

  After a few hours the orb briefly appeared and he tried to judge the time in the way of field workers. Point the hand to the sun, and observe the shadow cast by a raised finger, but under the canopy the orbs weak rays were too poor to use, so Nicholas roughly gauged time by guessing how high in the sky it was.

  The forest was unnervingly quiet in the darker patches. At other times the chirping of the cicadas was deafening when he passed close by whatever tree the insects had chosen. Mostly he saw no animals or birds, though the trees were alive with them, for whistles and screams came from every direction.

  He had crossed innumerable small creeks, but then he came to a stream several meters across. It had bothered Nicholas that he had not seen the main watercourse, or heard the sound of the fast running water, but now he saw not far away that this stream fell out of sight. He wandered closer, and looking down he saw the river. Quickly he understood that hidden in its deep channel he had possibly been following it for some time. But he wasn’t certain now that this was the one he had to cross, or if it was just another that ran into it.

  Above, the canopy was open, and he felt what would be the heat of the day; coupled with the clear water below, it occurred to Nicholas that the last bath he had, had was around six weeks ago. He raised his arm, and tried to sniff; there was no noxious odor, but once the thought crossed his mind he felt unclean.

  Pressing on, the track now generally followed the stream, its banks becoming steeper all the time.

  He passed several small rock outcrops, where the rushing water tumbled over, crashing into deep pools below; and more in number of stretches where the rushing water foamed white over hidden rapids.

  It was late in the afternoon that Nicholas came upon an extension of the creek bed, made up of round tumbled gravel. Between it and the forest was a soil bank with ample sweet grass for the horse.

  Facing him a short distance away was a double waterfall. The water made a curtain on its highest fall. Below this was another more confused drop into the pool lapping at his feet.

  On a piece of ground between the grass and bare rock had been built a small hearth, inside were the remains of a campfire. More intriguing still was that alongside this, a rough shelter had been built against the rain. Obviously this was a regularly used campsite. This wasn’t at all the place where Nicholas wanted to be, but he was at what amounted to a dead end. There were several others tracks leading off in different directions, but these were no more than slashing’s through the undergrowth, and would not readily allow the passage of a horse. Besides all of them struck up, or away from the direction he had felt he had to go. Undecided what to do next he stared about until the horse without bidding walked across and leaned down to eat the grass.

  “It seems you have fewer problems making a decision than I,” he muttered, as he began to remove the saddle. Nicholas continued to talk to the uninterested animal. “What do you think? Are they still-hunting us? You seem not to miss your master. That could be a good thing, for the more I think on it, the more I dislike the sound that his neck made. No, you have no care do you. You’ll probably still be eating grass when they snap my neck too.”

  Dropping the saddle besides him, he led the horse to the waters edge. It ambled in until the water covered its fetlocks; it glanced back at him and bent down for a drink. “Take your fill, and I will too.” He glanced around the clearing and saw a stack of cut timber. “Then we should be off; this place is too well set up for us to risk being here too long.” He collected some kindling, and the driest timber from the base of the pile, placed them in the fireplace and stuck a flint. He fell silent, watching the fire take hold as his mind took stock of his situation. The episode with the Veldt troubled him. It was beyond doubt that they would inform other guard of the fight. They had chance to see and talk to him; add that to the guard in Boramulla, and then there had been some unavoidable meetings with the workers on the road, if they too were reported? What other conclusion was there. It wasn’t just paranoia to assume the description would tally with his true self, dead or not? Then the barrier across the bridge; there had been none on the other bridges. That likely meant two things. That at this point the road was the only way through the forest; that wasn’t a welcome thought. To continue through the dense undergrowth for any distance with no bushman’s knowledge of the direction to travel, would be foolhardy. His experience already showed how easily it would be for a person to walk in circles for days without knowing it, or fall victim to anything lurking in the shadows of the trees at night.

  The other thing the soldiers at the bridge could mean was that they could not, or did not arrange other checkpoints closer to the village in time. If they had come a long way out to draw the trap for a killer of a low level soldier; would they normally do that? They would want vengeance; that was for sure, but groups of men this far from the scene of the crime seemed too extreme a reaction. So did they suspect it was him? But they had seen him dead, or as good as. There could be no way they would know about Reigel... But he had seen the fast riders that first day; they would not be certain of having him behind. They could have drawn the net far and tight, and now having closed off the obvious ways of escape they would be combing the land between for witnesses. Why were they so desperate? He was certain now that it wasn’t paranoia; they were seeking him, and he was trapped; sooner or later the noose would tighten completely.

  Nicholas grabbed at the jacket with such ferocity that the horse stopped drinking and stared back at him. “Well...” he stated almost as if he expected the horse to answer, “If they are looking for a guard, that I can change.” Nicholas stripped off the uniform, suddenly realizing how glad he was to be rid of it. He went through the flaps making sure he had left nothing of value; rolled it into a rough bundle, and purposefully dropped the clothes into the fire. He stood back in satisfaction and watched them begin to smolder.

  Looking around the clearing he caught sight of a rope bridge, he hadn’t noticed at first as its aged materials blended into the foliage. It was roughly constructed, comprising of three ropes, with occasional tie pieces. It looked too flimsy to use, and it made him think of crossing the waterway. Other than that, he would have to wade or swim, but it was well into the afternoon, with no time to dry wet clothing. Suddenly the uniform had a purpose but as he looked down he saw it was already burning. The only othe
r option was to go back, but the likelihood of finding another almost idyllic spot like this wasn’t worth thinking about. He was so absorbed with his dilemma that the voice took him by surprise.

  “G'day friend.”

  Nicholas froze; then slowly turned around.

  “I hope I do not intrude?” A man stood at the end of the track. He was dressed in simple clothes, with a short cape over his shoulders. Across his back was an axe, a bow, and a cruel looking curved blade on a long handle. Each of these had a rope crossing, from his right shoulder to his left waist. Hanging from the other shoulder was a large pack made from some animal skin. Nicholas knew immediately that this was a woodcutter; his step was sure and had been silent. “I hope I find you well, even if at a little disadvantage,” he said with a friendly smile.

  Nicholas was not certain if this referred to the fact that his weapons were some meters away across the clearing, or the fact that he was as good as naked.

  The man seemed unperturbed by Nicholas, or his silence, and walked across to the campfire, laying his things about it.

  “I… I did not think I was imposing on another’s property?” Nicholas said.

  “And you are not.