Chapter 3
'Do not go into the western woods Falk, there does he dwell with his cold sharp promises'
The strangers voice was not a pleasant one. It was relaxed in a way that made it seemed forced, when someone with a great deal of anger is struggling to sound pleasant. It sounded like steel scraping on rock. But Falk could stand still no longer. Though in his mind he screamed at himself to run there were other voices in his head that told him running was not an option, he'd been running for hours and was as lost as lost can be. Though it might be against his better judgement the being who'd spoken to him was undoubtedly the He about whom the villagers of Alesven whispered in fear, this was his realm and entrance to and exit from it would be governed by his will or at least his knowledge. Falk chose not to run.
The herder from the Northfold walked through the line of think spindly trees towards the figure who spoke. As he entered the large clearing Falk noticed several things. The rain which had dogged him even as he walked amidst the statues was not present here, though nor was the sunlight, the clearing was filled with an overpower greyness, infinite shades of slate and iron colours defined the trees and the leaves and the dirt. There was a house, it was a ramshackle thing, built up on high stilts as if to protect it from flooding, though how it could flood here far from the seas and rivers Falk knew not. Shadows clung to the overhang of the roof and the windows, it was made up of a dark wood which only enhanced its obsidian countenance.
Also Falk noticed that the clearing was devoid of the statues populating much of the area, all bar one, a half finished piece on which the stranger now worked. With his back to Falk the being worked feverishly carving and cutting. The legs were shaped already but from the waist up was still rough and misshapen. More of the tree remained yet to be be planed and moulded into the shape of the figure it would become. As Falk neared to within a few metres of where the stranger was he finally stopped in his labours to address the newcomer.
“The original question still stands boy, who are you?”
“I am Falk, Falk of Alesven”.
“Falk, Falk of Alesven”, the stranger repeated his words, rolling them over and around with his harsh voice, contemplating them, dissecting them for some other meaning.
“And why Falk, against the wisdom and tutoring of your elders and betters have you come here, why have you trespassed into the Western Wood?”.
Falk answered hesitantly, “How is it that you know of the lessons of the western wood” he asked. At that the being gave something that Falk assumed was a laugh, a guttural coughing sound. As he laughed he turned for the first time to face Falk. His features matched the cruelty of his voice. From behind he'd appeared hunch-backed and deformed with arms longer than his legs, his face was a picture of malice. A sharp hairless facial structure formed an almost V shape at his pointed chin, his nose was similarly thin and pointed downwards, his eyes were beady and dark. The skin was a pallid grey, the cheeks pockmarked and scarred, his ears were pointed and very small. The beings mouth was also thin with dark lips that held a blueish tinge, they formed a cruel dagger like grin which was as far from friendly as unfriendly can get.
“In all the places of the outside they teach the likes of you to be afraid of the likes of me, whether you come from Alesven or Blessard or Far Dowlden, whether you be a city dweller or a hill-walker, whether or not you sleep on silk or straw, I have long known that you are told to be fearful of the western wood” He paused for a few moments and then added ominously “And Me who dwells within it”.
Falks fear was stirred with every word, he realised oh too late his mistake. He made to back away from the being of the western wood, to stumble lost forever would be a better fate than to seek the guidance of this man, if he could be called that. But as Falk moved backwards those thin and spindly trees which ringed the clearing came suddenly to life, they grabbed at the boys arms and legs, gripping and pinching and holding him with a tightness stronger than any resolve he could muster. The deformed figure came close, so close that Falk could smell his fetid stench, could see that blackened teeth behind thin dark lips. “What are you doing in my woods boy?”. Falk struggled petrified under the steady stare of his captor. “Please, I beg of you, I came seeking my lost sheep, I sought only to return him to my flock and intended no insult with my intrusion”.
The figure cocked his head and looked mildly amused at this answer. “They use to come for glory and gold, and now they come looking for lost sheep” he cackled. The trees gripped Falk so hard that he cried out in pain, those that held him hardest bit through his clothing and drew blood from his skin. With a gesture from the stranger the trees released Falk and he fell to the floor clutching his bruised and blooded legs. “Please sir, just let me go” Falk begged.
“Go?” said the stranger “You can't go yet boy, you haven't asked of me a wish”.
“I wish for nothing but my freedom” pleaded Falk, but the stranger seemed not to hear.
“They come to me, they make a wish, they leave and then return, and if they do not honour their debt, then both wish and maker burn” he spoke to himself pacing back and forth.
“Please, I wish for nothing, I desire only to leave and return to my flock”. Falk stood now having recovered a little of his composure, fear was still rank within him but he tried still to bargain for his freedom.
“You must have many questions” said the stranger, halting his pacing and staring directly at Falk?”
“I question nothing sir, I have stumbled into your realm by accident, I apologise for any affront I have caused and would now seek only my freedom”. The stranger waved a dismissive hand at Falks words. “Ask your questions and you may find what you seek”.
Falks mind raced. It was obvious that this being controlled the will and actions of the trees themselves, running and begging had not helped so Falk would try now to play along with his jailers game until an opportunity for escape presented itself. “Why has the sun not set?” the boy asked, the stranger cocked his head again in that quizzical manner, so Falk elaborated. “When I looked upon the Northfold before entering the woodland realm the sun was nearly set, yet this place is set in a permanent half light, an all pervading glooming that is neither light nor dark that has lasted past the coming of night?”.
“A curious intellect lurks within the mind of this sheep herder” mused the stranger. “Suffice to say that when you entered the wood you stepped far further from the Northfold than your minds knows, it is not that the sun does not set here, it is that it has not set yet, though the hour draws closer”. Even as the stranger spoke Falk sensed it, there was a change to the lighting in the clearing, though it was still grey the light which lit the clearing seem to come less from the scant breaks in the canopy of the woods and more from elsewhere, then Falk saw the source of the light, as darkness descended on the woods the silver which encased the wooden statues of the forest began to glow brighter, a thousand silvery lanterns throwing shadows through the rain filled forest.
“What about the rain?” said Falk “When I walked across the woods boundary it was a near cloudless day, but here the torrent is ceaseless.”
“Again your senses, as undeveloped and limited as they are, deceive you, in simple terms the western wood is not the western wood”. This made no sense to Falk, west was west and what could be seen and touched was what is, the strangers words confused Falk and cemented Falks suspicions that he was being beguiled in some way.
“Do you not get lonely?” asked Falk seeking to detract the focus away from himself while he formulated an escape plan.
“Lonely?”
“In these vast woods by yourself, as you say the outside are taught to fear and loathe you, do you not yearn for some company?” Again came the laughter.
“Boy, I am surrounded by company, the woods are alive with companionship for one such as me” Falk looked about at the desolate grey woods, in his time here he'd seen no creature nor heard no sign of any bird, this was a desert of tr
ees. The stranger continued, with bitterness in his voice this time.
“And as for the loathing of the world let me tell you something boy, who they truly loathe is themselves” the stranger sounded positively livid now “Do you know how many of those people cry themselves to sleep begging for someone to make their world right, begging for a wish that might grant them respite from the dull and boring horror of their pointless lives” he began to pace again “And so I grant it to them, I grant them these wishes, in exchange for but a little recognition, a little loyalty. When that loyalty is not forthcoming then by their own hand their wishes turn on them”
He stopped now and shook his fist in the air with rage.
“So then I am punished for their failings, for their dishonour they drive me into this place, and they bar me entry to the kingdom with their stones and the old magic.” He calmed suddenly and looked slyly at Falk “But sometimes they come to me still, those with wishes in their hearts, those deemed worthy by their own greed”. Falk knelt cowed in the silver light of the statues.
“Tell me your wish boy?” the stranger said quietly to Falk.
“Sir I tell you I have no wish”
“LIAR” roared the stranger, his voice was changed with that word, there was something else behind it, behind the tinny rasping croak of a voice there was a deep and angry tone like distant thunder. As he shouted he pointed an accusing finger at Falk. A branch from one of the guardian trees which had earlier released him snapped into action with its master bellow. The thin and spiteful branch wrapped itself around Falks neck with snake like speed and yanked him to his feet, tightening and strangling the boy.
“You will tell me what you wish for” spoke the stranger to the choking Falk.
“I do not know, I have never pondered wishes, we are not all so weak as you say and I do not know where to start looking for wishes I have never had”
“Start with your fear, for there does most desire find its purpose” said the terrifying stranger leaning into but inches from Falks face, held as he was by the strangling tree Falk could not recoil from the foulness of the being.
“Tell me what you fear boy, and I will cause you to never fear such things again”. Falk could feel his eyes bulging in their sockets and he began to lose consciousness, even through the descending blackness he felt the waves of utter terror battering his mind. A poor and restless shepherd boy, keen to listen and quick to forget, Falk deserved many fates but not this one, chance kindness had brought him under the violent whim of this mad and unpredictable stranger. Just as he felt his body giving up on its struggle to stay within the realm of the living he barely choked out two words.
“My father”.
The branch released him. Falk fell forward and greedily sucked in gulps of precious air. The stranger leaned in close to him “You are afraid of your father?”
“No” said Falk “Not of him but of what he has become, his age, his weakness, the leeching of his ambition by the steady hand of time, so you ask me my fear and my wish and you are right, they are one and the same, the doom of age, the bane of the mortal and if I could wish it then I would be free of such things, free from the fate shared by all those who breath the mortal air”.
The stranger clicked his fingers and the cruel branches reached out again, but this time they held back their cruelty, they lifted him with almost over the top gentleness to his feet. “You would no longer be the servant of time, I have the perfect wish for you boy” The stranger put his hand to Falks cheek. When he was less than a decade in years Falk had fallen into the Dagmir swamp, he'd thrashed and struggled amidst the leeches and the worms and the pestilent caress of the dank waters. The touch of the stranger reminded him of the swamp. His tormentor leaned in and whispered a single word in Falks ear and then stood back. “Remember that word boy and remember it well, for true as you hear these words, when you speak it time will no longer be your master”. Drained, mentally and physically as he was Falk made note to himself to forget that word as soon as he was able, just as he meant to forget this whole experience if it ever came to an end.
“And now, young Falk of Alesven, we will talk about the price for the priceless blessing you have just received, we talk about your loyalty, we will talk about what you will do in exchange for your freedom from the servitude of time”. Falk rubbed his bruised, swollen throat. Though he thought himself numb through fear and pain when he looked into the beady malevolent gaze of the statue maker he felt the fires of his dread stirred anew.
The Statue Maker Page 3