The Tangled Forest

by Marion Grace Woolley

  “How much longer?” I asked.

  “Not much,” he hollered back.

  Yet we kept on hopping and the shadows kept growing, and before long the shape of the trees plucked the swirling mist like fingers reaching for our feet.

  “How much longer?” I asked again.

  “Not much,” the same reply.

  I were liking the bear less and less, not that I ever liked him to begin with.

  When we finally reached the other side, we didn’t know it until we’d hopped four or five feet. Snow and me drifted into this rhythm, see. Just bouncing along behind the bear. When he stopped, Snow bounced right into the back of him.

  Rubbing my eyes, I saw we was on solid ground. I stamped my foot a couple of times to be sure. The great O of trees met once more and the forest continued ahead.

  “This way,” said Bern, walking off to the right.

  He led us to a tall tree, towering high above the rest. Someone had nailed logs to make a spiral stairway round the trunk.

  “Up there,” Bern said, raising a paw to the tree. “We’ll rest for the night and continue in the morning. You’ll be safe above the forest floor.”

  “What about you?” my sister asked. “Where will you sleep?”

  “I’ll be right down here.”

  “On the ground?”

  “We’ve all slept on the ground since we left your mother’s house.”

  “But, alone?”

  The tremble in her voice did not escape him. The bear looked at my sister, his honey eyes grown soft.

  “I’ll be just fine. I promise you.”

  “Right, well I’m exhausted,” I said, pressing one hand to the bark and holding out the other for balance. The logs had not been halved and the curve of them made me suspicious of my feet.

  As I climbed, I glanced below and saw my sister handing the bear her kerchief, warm from her breast. She kissed him swift on the nose and began to follow me skyward.

  Round and round we went. I soon became giddy and refused to look down. It would be a fair way to fall if I lost my footing. Up and up and up. The steps eventually ended and I found myself on a platform surrounding a log cabin which sprouted branches from its roof. I crouched to help my sister through the hole.

  “It’s a treehouse,” she observed.

  “Whoever made this must have had wings.”

  Inside, we found two neat-made beds, one either side of the trunk. There were an empty travel chest for clothes and a tinderbox with a little note attached. In neat, looping script it read: Please don’t set fire to the tree.

  “What do you suppose it’s for? There ain’t no fireplace,” I said.

  “Perhaps these?”

  Two lanterns hung outside on the porch. We knelt to light the tinder, knapping steel against stone until a spark caught in the tray. Snow lifted down the lanterns to light their wicks, then we replaced the lid to snuff the flame in its box.

  “They’re so pretty,” she said, as the little lights twinkled at the stars.

  It were so dark by that point that we could see nothing beyond the circle of light in which we stood. Up so high, no sound reached us from the woods below.

  There was a pail of water on the porch, with a funnel on top to collect rainwater. We found candles beside the chest and lit them, then spread out our bundles on the floor and picked at the remains of the rabbit we’d had last night. Snow had found a handful of wild mustard leaves and we wrapped the meat to avoid getting grease on our fingers.

  “I saw you give your favour,” I said.

  My sister blushed and swallowed. “I thought it might bring him luck, sleeping down there amongst the beasts.”

  “He is a beast.”

  “Rose! How can you be so unkind?”

  “Well, he is. Besides, it’s us who’ll be needing the luck if we’re not to break our necks getting down tomorrow. Anyway, how do we know where he’s taking us? He never gives an honest answer to how far the castle is. He knows these woods, we don’t. He could be taking us anywhere he pleases.”

  “I trust him. He’s never stolen from us or cheated us the entire time he lived under our roof. All he’s ever done is bring us food and find shelter.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You should try to see the good in people.”

  I tossed and turned that night. The bed were perfectly comfy, but my sister’s words annoyed me. I did see the good in people. I always smiled at the goatherds and said good morning. I liked Edwina enough that I wished she were here now. I never said a bad word about no one except the bear. There was something about him I just didn’t like.

  I woke groggy at daybreak, as light flooded the porch and the two little windows. The air thrummed with birdsong and my sister’s bed lay empty.

  “Snow?” I called, throwing back the covers.

  “Out here. Come, see!”

  I stepped onto the porch, then stepped back, clutching the doorframe tight. We were twelve feet higher than the next highest tree. There were a blanket of green beneath and pure blue sky above.

  “Oh, my.” I swallowed whilst I tried to trust my feet. “You can’t even see the valley from here.”

  It was true. Treetops as far as the eye could strain. All except for the waters of the swamp, its black surface tarnished silver beneath the mist. Our valley must have been too far to see, our home lost between the vines and ferns.

  “This is a funny sort of lookout,” my sister said. “I wonder what they were looking out for? You can’t see anything below.”

  “Maybe it’s more for hiding?” I offered. “If you can’t see down, no one can see up.”

  “Perhaps.” She shrugged and took my hand in hers, kissing it. “We should be getting down.”

  Snow went inside to pack our things and I pressed my hand to the wall, edging right the way around. It seemed as though the forest stretched from here until forever. Just as there were no sign of our valley, there were no sign of the castle, either.

  WHITE

  “Did you sleep well?” Bern asked, standing beside the last step and holding out his hand to help me and my sister to earth.

  “Yes,” I replied. “It is very beautiful up there.”

  “It’s very safe,” he replied.

  “And you, did you sleep well?”

  “Most fair.”

  “I’m hungry,” my sister said.

  “No fear of that.” Bern knelt to remove his satchel from his shoulder, pulling out a lump of cheese and six small, blue eggs.

  “I thought we’d finished the cheese days ago,” Rose said, her eyes narrowing as she took the gift from him.

  “I was holding back,” he explained. “I thought there might come a time when we were glad of it. And these,” he said, holding up the eggs, “I found in a nest just over there.”

  We took two eggs each, cracking the shells against a stone and drinking down their amber. Then we divided the cheese and chewed upon it as we started walking.

  The breadth of the forest worried me. When first we had entered through the narrow crag, I assumed it might take a day or two to cross. I hoped we might meet someone in the forest who could tell us of our father. Perhaps they remembered him, had traded words, and knew which way he went. With each passing hour, that hope faded. I stuck close to Bern and my sister, knowing that, should we become separated, we might never find one another again.

  As we walked, Bern turned to glance behind. It made me feel safe knowing that he watched over us, and knowing that he knew his way.

  “How much further to the castle?” my sister asked.

  “Not as far as yesterday,” came Bern’s reply, which made me smile.

  By mid-afternoon the heat of the sun had filtered through the trees, causing steam to rise from the earth. The biting cold of our valley had been forgotten, as though we had walked clean from winter to summer. I stopped to remove my cloak and Bern did the same, taking mine and folding them together over his shoulder. My sister chose to keep hers on.

&
nbsp; We found a thimbleberry bush laden with thumb-sized white fruit. All of us were hungry by that point and fell upon it, stripping bare its bounty.

  “The goatherds used to bring us these, but I never seen ‘em grow,” Rose said, stifling a belch behind her fist.

  “It’s rare to find so many at once,” Bern replied. “Must be a good omen.”

  That evening we came upon a clearing with a stream running through. It was more of a trickle, cutting a dyke the width of my arm, yet all about lay a blanket of white and yellow flowers.

  “We’ll stop here the night,” Bern said. “We can build a fire and huddle about it.”

  “I’ll fetch wood,” Rose said.

  Before I could say ‘I’ll go with you,’ my sister strode off between the trees.

  “She’ll get lost!”

  “She’ll be fine,” Bern replied. “She won’t have to go far to find wood, and she’ll find her way back easy enough. Here, come help me skin these.” He opened his satchel and pulled out two wild chickens.

  “Wherever did you find those?” I asked, my eyes as wide as my smile.

  “When you two went to relieve yourselves, they just walked out across the path.”

  I took one in my hands, its head flopping from side to side upon its slender neck. “Oh, Rose will be so happy.”

  “We’ll eat well tonight.”

  I crouched down and began pulling fistfuls of feathers which collected about my shoes. A little of the down floated away, catching against Bern’s boots until he came to crouch beside me.

  “You are happy?” he asked. “Here, in the forest, with me?”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  We spoke in rhythm with our plucking.

  “Only, I wasn’t sure whether you regretted it, coming all this way?”

  “It’s an adventure.”

  “But it’s your sister’s adventure, isn’t it? She’s the one who’s always wanted to wander in the woods.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m glad I’m here.” Then, to put his mind at rest, I added, “I’m glad I’m here with you.”

  Our eyes met and his beard lifted.

  My sister came out of the woods, dropping the edges of her skirt so that a pile of sticks clattered to the ground.

  “These should be dry enough,” she said, turning and walking back into the trees.

  Bern had finished plucking his own chicken and reached for mine, leaving me free to pile the sticks upon one another.

  That evening we feasted upon wild chicken, roasted in the fire along with ox tongue mushrooms and onion grass. It was one of the finest meals I had ever eaten, the juice polishing our chins like butter.

  “I’m so tired,” my sister said, throwing the last of her bones into the flames with a yawn.

  “Me too,” I admitted. “We have walked far these past few days. We should all sleep and regain our strength.”

  My sister was snoring before I had even lain down. Curled up in her cloak, she sounded like a contented cat. I glanced across the flames to Bern. He had spent most of the meal staring into the embers, but now my eyes found his.

  “Do you really think our father passed this way?” I asked.

  “Most certainly.”

  “Do you think we’ll ever find him?”

  He looked back to the flames and I felt my heart pause.

  “It has been so many years since I saw your father that I can’t even count them. If he could have come back to you, I’m certain he would have done everything in his power to do so.”

  “You think he is dead?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  In the silence, a twig cracked, sending a shower of sparks towards the sky.

  “How did you know him?”

  “He saved my life.”

  “From the trap. Yes, you said. But how did he find you there in the woods? Were you friends before then?”

  “I’d never met him before that day. He just chanced to happen by when I most needed a kind stranger.”

  “And after he released you from the trap, what then?”

  “He nursed me to health. I was unable to walk for many weeks. He brought herbs to dress the wound and keep out the rot. He treated my fever with cool forest water and cooked me wholesome food to eat.”

  “What was he like, to talk to?”

  “Your father—” he paused.

  “Go on. Tell the truth to a daughter who never knew him.”

  “Your father had a wicked sense of humour. He told a lot of jokes that’d make the sky blush. I think that’s what got me through it – the laughter. It was hard for him to stay with me sometimes, for he dearly loved to wander. I think that’s how he fed me so well, because he’d walk for hours to trap the finest prey: plump doves and fat rabbits.”

  “Did he ever speak of us? I suppose he must have done for you to come looking.”

  “Yes, he spoke of you all the time. He loved his children.”

  “Was he handsome?”

  Bern laughed. “Yes, he was handsome.”

  “So, he was funny and he was handsome, and he loved us. All told, he sounds like a man I’d be proud to call father.”

  “And so you should.”

  An owl hooted nearby. I went into the woods to lift my skirt. When I returned, Bern was sprawled beside the red heat. He glanced up and when I did not look away, he took the edge of his cloak and held it open.

  I went to him, pressing my back against his broad belly, feeling the warmth of him through my clothes. He placed the cloak over us both, and spread his arm as a pillow. Soon, I was fast asleep.

  RED

  I cursed myself when I woke. I’d meant to wait for them to fall asleep, then go, but we’d walked such a long way, and my full belly and the sound of their voices sent me straight to slumber.

  I suppose my plan must have weighed on my mind, as it brought me wide awake just before daybreak. The last of the stars were clearing up and the sky to the east were a shade lighter than to the west. Rubbing my eyes, I looked across to my sister, nestled beneath the rugged paw of her bear. I told myself it was ‘cause it were cold at night, but truthfully I’d seen their secret stares. My sister loved him, and because I loved my sister I would hold my tongue. If he proved to be a villain, she would run to me only if I hadn’t turned away.

  Dusting smoke from my skirt, I listened to their steady breath a moment, then headed to the woods.

  I’d seen it whilst gathering sticks. There, between the trees, were a small path. Too narrow to be horses, too wide to be deer. It must have been worn by human feet, and recent enough for the ferns not to have reclaimed it.

  Making my way along, I stopped to break a branch here, put a stone in the path there. Should my adventure end in danger, my sister and her love would sniff me out.

  After a short while, a sound disturbed the silence. All the sky were light now, and water laughed through the lazy air. As the trees began to thin, I saw that I had followed the stream to its source. A merry spring bubbled out of the earth, the stones about it thick with moss and starflowers.

  The beauty of this was lost on me, for a far stranger sight held my eye.

  Beside the spring were a huge oak tree, its gnarled black spine wrenched this way and that, its branches like broken knuckles that had let go of their leaves. And there, twisting and turning like the tree, were a man.

  He was tall and very slim, his body straight from hips to shoulders. He wore black tights and green britches, a green cap with a red feather, and buckled shoes which slipped against the trunk of the tree as he tried desperately to free himself. I blinked, for at first I couldn’t believe what I saw. Along with a thin black moustache, he sported a pointy beard upon his chin. Only, the tip of the beard grew very long. Very, very, long. Somehow it had become entangled in the tree. It wound round and round the branches, in and out the forks, and through a large knothole.

  I watched him struggle for a while before stepping forth.

  “Hello,” I said.

 
He screamed with the shock of me, fighting great pain to twist his head to look.

  “Oh, the heavens have answered!” he cried. “Please, please – you must help me!”

  “I’ll help you,” I said. “But first you have to tell me how this happened.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I spoke it,” he said.

  “Fine. I wouldn’t believe you.” I turned to go.

  “No, wait! Please!” I turned back, and went to sit upon a root beneath the tree. The man looked down at me, chin in the air. “It’s a silly story, and I’m embarrassed to tell it.”

  “Embarrassment’s a small price to pay for freedom.”

  “I suppose.” He sighed and clasped the end of his beard with both hands, gaining a little relief as he talked. “All right, well. It’s sort of hard to explain.”

  “Harder than hanging from a tree by your beard?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “You’re right, I don’t.” I made to stand and he begged me to sit.

  “You win! Only, it’s a very long story, so I’ll start at the end. I’ve been very badly mistreated, you see.”

  “By who?”

  “By her.”

  “Who’s her?”

  “She.”

  “She who?”

  “You know. The one.”

  “One what?”

  “Oh, for all the lily flowers. I’m never going to get to the end of my story like this.”

  “You haven’t even begun.”

  “Exactly.”

  I shook my head and stood again.

  “No, no, no – please. You can’t leave me like this.”

  “Third time is the last time.”

  “The Lady of the Forest. She cursed me, you see. She made my beard grow long and the sparrows wound it around this tree.”

  “What did you do to make her curse you?”

  “I told her she looked pretty.”

  “That’s all?”

  “She doesn’t deal well with compliments.”

  “Doesn’t she like to be called pretty?”

  “Apparently not by me.”