by J W Cotter
The Third Forest:
The Bleeding Prince
“What are they doing to her?” The question was simple, or so the young girl thought. For the elderly one it was more complex, how was she to answer something she didn’t fully understand herself. Legends had been passed down from generation to generation but with each passing more words were added and even more taken away leaving only remnants of the original. Closing the shutters and making her way slowly to the fire, her cane tapping on the hard floor she beckoned the children to follow and all seven of them did.
Flames burning a bright red and kindling sparking every few moments she smiled and closed her tired old eyes and thought. She was thinking so hard that for a moment the children thought she were asleep, or possibly dead. A shriek from outside the window brought the old woman back to the room and comforting the youngest boy who started to cry she licked her dry cracked lips and begun;
“After almost a hundred years on this very ground my aging eyes have seen just about everything and these old wrinkled ears have heard things that they had no business hearing” She winked at the girl who asked the question. “But fortunately my eyes and ears were lucky never to have to bear witness to what your sweet innocent senses have been exposed to.” Another cry came reaching through the shuttered window followed by a plea for help. Paying no heed the old woman continued. “My great-great grandmother told me this story when I was a little girl barely passed the height of that” she pointed at an old stool that was no more than three feet off the hide covered ground. “What she told me could have been a story to keep me awake at night, or to make sure I was a good girl for my mother but with this troublesome business outside I fear that it might have been more true than I care to believe and I give this story to you children as a warning” A pat on the head for each of the seven took her a while, she even beckoned one of them to bring her a cup of wine, sweetened with honey to wet her throat. “If that doesn’t loosen the tongue than nothing will” The children all giggled when the old woman belched loudly and wiped her toothless mouth with the back of her hand. “So the legend goes that years and years ago, centuries in fact when the tallest trees were still under the ground and the giant lake was a mere puddle there lived a man, the Red King he was called”
“The one who lived in the old town?” a boy, the oldest of the little group interrupted. “Who’s telling this story, you or me?” The boy blushed and looked to his hands. “May I continue, or do you want to tell us the rest?” He gave no answer and the others begged the woman to continue. “Well, as it happens young man you’re right, they’re one in the same man, the Red King, or Qajues to his family and close friends. For almost fifty years the man ruled this very forest, from when he took the red chair at the ripe age of nineteen he saw the people and the town flourish. Does anyone know what this forest is called, how about you boy?” He looked at his hands and then to other children who were all looking at him smiling. “If you know boy there’s no point holding your tongue, my mind isn’t what it was and these things slip me by” she said with another wink of her aged eye. His mouth opened and words fell free, but too freely as they mumbled together and the answer was lost. “Again boy, louder this time” Another shout from outside, this time it was a man’s voice that echoed through the small fire lit room. The children moved closer to the old woman as if she would protect them from whatever happened. Well her large barbed walking stick was nearby so perhaps she could give a wallop or two with that to any intruder. “Come along now there’s no need to be scared, boy do you have an answer for me” she asked once again while gently nudging a bit of wood into the back of the fire.
“It’s called the Farmer’s forest” he said grudgingly. “It is. But for a time it became the Bleeding Forest, so called because of the Red King. Truly the forest is best companion to any farmer. In my years I’ve seen my father, brothers, uncles, husband, sons, sons-in-laws and from time to time my own daughters out in the large fields reaping what the forest has so generously given us. So much grows in the Farmer’s Forest that no one ever feared go hungry nor cold nor poor.” –“Did you not go into the fields?” a little girl asked the old woman. “Goodness no, these hands were never meant for the fields, they were made for my children. To hold them, dress them, protect them and guide them. How could they ever have done all that important work if they were milking the cows or pulling the turnips from the earth?” The old woman stopped for a moment, closing her eyes she thought of her children, and their children’s children and then their children’s children. All of them, living and dead, she recalled their faces; their names on the other hand weren’t so forthcoming. “Stop please, don’t” the scream grasped hold of the old woman and she opened her eyes with a start. For a woman having gone through ten decades and countless lives she couldn’t help but shed a tear for the young woman outside who will never see a score.
“Why was it called the bleeding forest?” a girl asked as she scurried along the floor closer to the fire, further away from the windows and door. “Well I didn’t think this storytelling would be such thirsty work, another bit of wine should loosen my tongue”. None of the children moved an inch and their eyes stayed fixed on the floor, the glass jar of wine was on the table, and right in front of the table was the window and right outside the window was something even the old woman was afraid to think about. “Right right right, get out of the bloody way then! Go on shift yourself” she said getting up from the chair and with her knees cracking and her back stooped the table seemed a long way away. Of course the barbed cane gave the woman a third leg. She didn’t use a cup, or a glass she simply swigged it from the jar and some missed her mouth and dribbled down her chin to make a small little puddle on the floor. “The cat will be happy tonight” she grinned her toothless grin and took a cushioned seat by the door. “These legs won’t bring me back over there I’m afraid. And anyway the fire is too hot.” A long yawn followed her descent into the new seat and she rubbed her eyes, they were tired and dry. The children on the other hand didn’t move from their spots in front of the fire, with the closest one sweating profusely but still refusing to move. He was perhaps the cleverest of the bunch as he was the furthest from both the door and windows and whoever was screaming outside, or causing the screams, they would have to get through the old woman and six others before him. Beads continued to roll from his shiny forehead as the older girl pressed for the story to be continued. With her cane the woman was parting the lower end of the shutter and peering out into the main square of the new town. There surrounded by the most important farming males was the prettiest maiden of the town, no older than fifteen she was dressed entirely in white. “Can I see?” the girl who pressed the woman had moved closer, her bare feet silencing her steps. “Goodness perhaps the cat has been here all along” The shutter snapped closed and the woman, squinting, looked at the girl. “There’s nothing out there for you Cat, go and sit with the others and I’ll continue the story” The girl did as she was told and the story continued albeit grudgingly. “So the bleeding forest. Well unfortunately I’m getting tired so maybe I shall continue it another time” she said nodding her head and closing her eyes. A few snores were made soon after and the children slowly began to move away from the fire and closer to the window. “Hey, gotcha” the woman jerked as she shook her cane playfully at the children. “See now, if an old woman like me can frighten you to colours that should never be on your face you have no business looking out the window” she laughed an old laugh and licked her lips. The children quickly returned to their places by the fire but a faint smell of urine slowly filled the room, all of them politely ignored it. “The bleeding forest eh! Well I’m going to tell you the quick story as I truly am getting tired, the suns are fading fast and the smell of wee is giving me a headache!” Well not all of them were polite enough to ignore it; at least she didn’t use her cane to point at the culprit.
The children once again edged closer to the fire and the old woman. “L
ove. A stupid little thing that can drive even the sanest of men bat-poop crazy” she started to a ripple of nervous giggles from the children. “Two brothers thousands of years ago fought the fiercest of battles over a young woman. They screamed at each other, plotted with their friends and on one glorious day, when the tension had come to a boil, the people of Pastorious rushed the palace’s walls and watched with eager eyes as they fought blade on blade for the affection of the young maiden.” Her throat had dried quickly and the saliva took its time returning, she closed her eyes as if she were trying to remember. A few moments passed before she continued, her eyes remaining closed. “There they fought in front of friends and families, enemies and enemies all for the love of the young girl who seemed most eager to allow the brothers to duel for her. A treacherous little madam who some say caused the creation of the new Nuvarin we live in now” Another little madam voiced a question, forcing the woman to open her eyes and scowl, which did nothing to stop the dulcet voice. “What was the old Nuvarin like?” Simple question, although the old woman didn’t think so. “Do I look so old as to have lived in old Nuvarin? The main difference was that Pastorious was the only city and the only place where people lived, or so they thought but that’s a story for another time” She was about to trail away on a new tangent created by the toddler but the old woman stopped herself. “Will you please allow me to finish the story with no more questions; you may each have one question when I’m done. Is that fair?” she asked with her mouth but her eyes demanded it, they were not looking for a response. “On that faithful day the brothers fought and in the heat of battle a stray blade struck a woman, a fair woman, a Queen, a mother. Their mother. The fighting stopped, the crowds dispersed and the Queen was taken to her chambers. As her wound was tended to the brothers met again in the corridor, this time their father was there. The brother that struck his mother was in tears, he pleaded for his father’s mercy but it had run dry over the years” she paused for a moment before continuing.
“Banishment was his punishment; he had to leave the walled city of Pastorious. Now some may call it luck, others misfortune, but that night as the younger brother gathered up as much of his belongings that could fit on his back the Queen’s wound ripped open and as the entire palace rushed to her chambers the boy slipped out of the palace with his pockets spilling of golden coins, along with jewels so precious he could buy another palace. No one stopped him as he gathered his friends, each gathering their friends, all of them gathering what they needed to survive outside Pastorious. So that night, as the young Prince rode out through the gates of the city into the wilderness of Nuvarin, almost a thousand citizens accompanied him. They say his mother’s heart bled for him when she heard of his banishment and that was what killed her” Taking a deep breath the old woman wiped a tear from her eye, that story always made her think of the power of the bond between mother and child. “What happened then?” a boy squeaked. A snap of “I said no questions” was his response along with a slight tap on the head with her cane. “Well most of you aren’t as dumb as you look surely, can anyone tell me what happened next?” A flurry of hands swarmed towards the low ceiling. The cane landed on the older girl, the freckled faced one. “The young Prince took the Farmer’s forest for his own” she finished with a smile. “That he did, and pretty soon the Prince was his own King. His people were richer than they ever had been, selling the ripe crops to Pastorious along with the stranger catches from the river and the fields. People saw a better life in the Farmer’s forest than they did in Pastorious where almost a million people were crammed behind the tall walls and so they followed, slowly at first but within ten years the King had a palace of his own, a city growing from the dirt of his mother’s death and citizens nearing thirty-thousand and growing steadily. Kingsbirth he named the city, while towns took up the tradition and called themselves Maidenstrap and Brothersblade.” “That’s where we are!” a girl exclaimed as she smiled at the old woman who wasn’t smiling back at her. She simply shook her head and gave the queerest of looks before resuming her story. Another scream, louder than the previous but sadder filled the room and brought the children scurrying slightly closer to the old woman and her dangerous cane. “I fear our time together is coming to an end, so I best finish the story so I can get some sleep” She took one final drink and licked her lips. “So the brother left behind wasn’t happy with his younger brother, the newly styled ‘Red King’, and so going against his aging father’s wishes set about claiming the Farmer’s Forest as territory of Pastorious along with its many resources and riches.”
“The ‘Red Battle’ took place over two years. Thousands of people died, countless homesteads and cities perished and burned. The older brother, having the greater number of soldiers and weapons and years of training of course won the battle and now Brothersblade and Maidenstrap along with the small villages belong to Pastorious and pay her taxes, while Kingsbirth was put to the torch and allowed crumble to ash” Covering his head to avoid the full force of the cane the boy spoke up. “It’s not all ash, the palace is still there” A disapproving look was what he received, like the girl before him and luckily it seemed the old woman was getting too tired to lift her head let alone her cane anymore so his crown was spared the brunt of it. “Yes, yes, yes the palace remains but there are many reasons on why it is still there and who lives within it” A loud bell began ringing outside on the streets of Brothersblade and the light was starting to dim. “I fear our time is running short” Almost in sync the young group of children begged the woman to quickly finish her story, who lived in the palace now and how come it wasn’t burned to the ground. “Well I don’t know all the answers to the questions but from what I learned as a young girl from my grandmother was this. The younger brother kept a woman with him at all times, elderly like me put less crabby.” That little admission allowed the children slight laughter. “According to legend she was supposed to have lived in the forest with her family and others and she was known to have meddled with things she shouldn’t have been meddling with. The battle had ended with younger brother being poisoned by his Queen, who it seemed was the young fair woman who started the brother’s duel. So the young Red King was dead and the war stopped. Or was he? Fearing for his life the Red King had asked the old woman from the forest for help which she provided in the form of a potion, one that welcomes death as the beginning of a new life. On the next moon as legend had it, the Red King awoke, the same man but different. People wrote that his skin was paler, his eyes redder than they should be and his skin was cold to touch. He was stronger than any man had any right to be and he was fast, as fast as the wind. This potion that the forest woman gave him was a more of a curse than a cure. He was trapped within his palace, the sun burning his flesh whenever he gazed upon it. Food lost all taste for him and it was said that only blood could satisfy him. Blood and battle. So he took it upon himself to rid the world of his murdering Queen and his brother who forced her to do it. Unfortunately the older brother was the wiser one, he had known about the woman from the forest and knew the type of monster that his brother had become and although he couldn’t be killed he used the woman’s talent to confine and bury his brother far away deep in the Spiralling Sands of Nuvarin where the sun never sets.” All of the children were pale and afraid, their little faces not sure what to make of the story that could be either fact or fiction. “So the Red King is gone forever?” a little girl asked, hoping against hope that the answer was yes. “Well he is, but according to the stories the potion that cursed the younger brother was a strong one, one that could carry on to further generations. Alas his family was slaughtered but no one knows if a child of his escaped, an illegitimate child perhaps. All this old woman knows is that the towns are scared; the palace has light once again and the folk outside are trying to bait something they aren’t sure exists or even if they want to catch it.” With that the fire went out, the door opened to a group of younger women and the children scurried for the protection of their skirts. It wasn�
�t until a few moments later that the women realised the life had gone out of the old storyteller as well as the fire.