The Witch of Which Woods

Oliver wanted to prove himself for the first time in his life, and, finally, he had the chance to do just that. A golden pin of acceptance into the Hunter’s Clan was given to him by the mayor last night, a fine addition to his uniform. There was nothing out of order to him in the slightest as he gazed into his stained reflection: no brown lock out of place, no fold in his camouflage jacket or knick in his snakeskin boots. All was polished and ready from his weapons to the pin, showing off a fancy fonted H engraved inside a larger C. The only thing left to do was unleash the dog and make sure all the candles were blown.

“I can’t come back to a house of ash,” he said to his dog. He looked down at the shaggy, ungroomed sheepdog, almost expecting an answer other than the cheerful tail wag. “Two days I’ll be gone,” he continued, waving the smoke away with his leather glove. “That’s why you have free roam of the place. You are in charge, now, so make sure to scare robbers and thugs away.”

Yes, in Oliver’s mind this house is the crown jewel of the village, despite it being located a good mile away from the nearest neighbor. He wasn’t rich or proper in any way, and the only time he ever saw villagers was when he brought goods from his farm into the market. However, in his head, he sees himself surrounded by many admirers, everyone applauding him for his weekly gathering of crops, and his house made surrounded by statues of himself painted in a layer of gold. Perhaps this journey was his great opportunity to materialize that dream, and make it so everyone can see what he does.

Oliver, tying a rope across the front door for added security, smiled to himself. What would the villagers say when he comes back with triumph? The thought alone is enough to urge his feet toward the path, sending him on his way.

“Rations! Get your rations of bread!” a saleswoman yelled in Oliver’s ear. “It’s the last we got after the growth of the woods this year! Didn’t you hear, laddie?”

“What?” Oliver asked, not showing a sign of worry. “Did the woods gobble up your yeast farms, Madam Baker?”

“As a matter of fact, they did! The woods are-a growin’ so they are! It’s the curse of the witch! Buy your bread while you can!”

Oliver continued to not pay any attention to what this woman was saying, but completely bypassed her stand as she was still talking. He concluded that her statements were rubbish, since he was going to end the curse. That’s what all of his training was for, after all, and he remembered it like it was yesterday (which, in fact, was only a few days ago).

He watched as the Hunters in training swung their steel swords crafted by the finest metal the blacksmiths could get their hands on. Raising his own wooden one, he mimicked in exact detail what they were doing and even learned how to spin the sword by the handle, making him look cool. That was the day his training paid off, and the instructor took notice of his persistence. He took him over to the side and asked, “Son, why don’t you become an official member of the Clan?”

“I would outshine the others and disrupt their confidence.” Well, that’s how he wanted to respond, but instead he found himself breaking down. He explained his financial situation and lust for glory, and the promise he made to his late fiancee. They went into a deep conversation about his soon-to-be-wife who died from apricots that they didn’t know were poisoned. The woods had grown toward their farm that year, and became just close enough to influence the quality of their apricots. They were also the finest fruit they produced, and without them they could not pay for a doctor’s visit. The instructor of the Clan knew this memory of his - they talked about it all day, and through pity he made him a member of the Clan.

The noises of the market took him out of his thoughts and he shook the remnants of the memories out of his head. This was no time to get emotional, he had to end the curse for Marine.

A jeweler scrambled to hold up a black necklace as he shuffled by, claiming, “To match your beautiful hair, sir!” Oliver blushed, looking toward the carpenter shed instead. If only he had the money, then he could spend it on luxurious materials such as that. Although his instructor let him into the Clan, he was unable to purchase the fine weapons and necessities everyone else had. Maybe, after this quest, he will be able to afford all of the gems in the marketplace and get himself a steel sword from the blacksmith.

Shavings of wood blow past him, carrying in the wind from the carpenter’s saw. A toned, bald man, who was wearing a mask to shield his eyes from the splinters he cut away, sighed in exhaustion while cracking his back. At least he’s not working like that, Oliver thought. His farm may be brutal at times, but the corn was tall enough to give him shade and his dog has given him excuses to take breaks.

Straightening his posture and popping his chest out to allow his pin to shimmer in the sunlight, he expressed a cocky smile as he walked through the market. Oliver could easily have taken the shorter route to the forest, since it was starting to grow in his own backyard, but he wanted the feeling of the complete start to a journey. That, and now he was able to show off his courage as he approached the treeline. Just as he hoped, the people stopped to gaze at him as he strutted along, some of them even following him to the entrance of the forest.

“Who is that guy?” “Is he an outsider from another town?” “Why is he going into Which Woods?” they asked amongst themselves, Oliver being able to hear some of it. None of what they say is able to hinder his confidence, and when he approached the forest he turned around to face everyone.

“I have been chosen to search these woods and break the curse that haunts all of you!” he announced. “In two days time, I will have conquered whatever lies in here, and all of you will be free to roam wherever you please!”

Instead of cheering, most of the villagers glanced at each other with confusion and worry, whispering doubts to each other. Some of them were even placing bets to guess how long it would take until someone had to take care of this stranger’s land, if he were to vanish for more time than he said. They are too shocked with glee to say anything to me, Oliver told himself. “I understand,” he continued. “Save your thanks for when I return.”

More silence, but his smile was unwavering as he turned back to the forest. “Right,” he clamored loudly, feeling a striking nerve in his chest. As he stepped past the first tree trunk, the wind howled, bringing some leaves with it. For the first time that year, a flash of lightning cut through the afternoon sky followed by a clap of thunder, and clouds blew over the sun as if even the heavens wanted to cry.

However, Oliver saw none of it because of how thick the treetops were, only able to catch glimpses of what lied beyond them. To him, it all seemed normal, the thunder being merely a loud breeze passing by. Or, perhaps, it was the sound a certain type of stick made when he stepped on it.

No one has ever returned from the woods once they entered, so anything about trees, twigs, and even wildlife is foreign to him. Was there a type of wood that made the sound of thunder when snapped? He did not remember learning about it in Hunting School if there was, not that he paid much attention to that type of stuff. Who needs an instructor telling you survival tips when you were a natural-born hero? All he needed was a weapon and to learn how to use it. Oh, and of course, the golden pin attached to his coat. He didn’t need training to enter the woods and end the curse. He already made a plan if he was to encounter any monsters - raise his sword and defend himself. Honestly, he thought, how has this forest claimed so many of us?

The question turned into the memory of Marine. Her hair fell in ripples like silk and bounced whenever she would laugh at his jokes. Her eyes were wild like the forest itself… until they dulled, and he had to close them for the very last time. Oliver’s eyes feel wet, so he looks into his pockets to distract himself. Pulling out something round, he finds it was the only gift given to him by his only friend.

His hunting instructor gave him a compass of some kind, that when wound, it would tell him the time of day. There was no need to figure out how it worked, that is what he first thought during the week of preparation for this quest. But, what he wouldn’t give to have an hourglass or timedial at his disposal. Taking the compass out of his pocket, he observed the many symbols on the edge, two sticks of different lengths both stuck on the symbol that looks like: XII. What did that even mean, honestly? How was he supposed to tell time with this if it didn’t make sense? With a sigh, he put the bronze painted compass back in his pocket. He knew it was only painted the color of bronze from the beginning, or else he would have sold the useless thing. There wasn’t even a button on the side of it to start the infernal machine, the nerve!

Oliver, trapped in his own thoughts, tripped over a tree root and landed his face in the leaves. Of course, his first injury of the journey has to be a scrape across his cheek from a stray twig. Blowing air harshly out of his nose, he shoved his elbows under him and forced his body to pry itself from the earth. He wiped his sleeve across his face, not knowing he only smeared the dirt more. He stood up, moving his knees out to bend and make sure he didn’t break anything. Oliver was a fragile little thing, and he had to make sure he looked the part when he returned from the woods.

A leaf under his boot cracked, but the noise continued deep from the forest. It must be some of the noises of the wind, he inquired in his mind. The woods made everything sound different from what he heard, so it would not surprise him to think the trees make the sounds of a dog when rustled a certain way. Of course, it all made sense in his mind.

The thought made him notice the wind more than he did before, and he realized how chilly it got since he first started walking around. It would have been better had he not noticed, the feeling in his chest coming back just as it did when he gazed at the forest entrance. Darkness was somehow able to shroud the grounds without him taking notice, and he could barely make out the shapes of the trees in the distance. It was like a daze; if he shook his head too much, the image before him became a blurry mess.

“Perhaps it is time for me to sleep tonight,” he announced to the forest. “Ah, this seems like a good spot!” He took a few steps forward and bent himself down, patting the leaves into a bed. Begrudgingly, he sat in his pile and shifted around for a few moments in order to get comfortable. He was not comfortable. There is no way I am sleeping in the filth, he thought to himself. No, after he built his own bed from scratch there was no way he could sleep on the floor again in his life. Besides, the addition of a hero skipping sleep for the sake of the town puts emphasis on his story, almost as if he was on a time constraint.

His thoughts were interrupted when the wind crackled once more, but this time it was louder and more frightening. No matter, he was no coward! Some stupid noise was not enough to- and then he saw it. A flickering orange glow painting itself across the tree trunks and some of the leaves. Every time the wind crackled, the light would flicker almost as if they were connected. Standing straight up, unsheathed his wooden sword and held it in front of him as a shield ready to attack at any sudden movement. Perhaps it was at night when the forest came alive and attacked any stragglers who dared to step foot in its walls. He creeped closer to the orange colors, glancing between the trees as if they were to reach down with their branches at any point and snag him from the ground. Yet, when he rounded the corner, he found a more pleasant scene.

There was a campfire which was the thing producing the glow, and even looking at it made Oliver feel warm. The smoke streamed into the sky, hitting the ceiling of leaves and spreading out over them. At the base of the campfire was a woman, and she was mesmerizing. Her hair swept across the ground as she sat, and he guessed that it would reach her feet if she stood up. It was orange like the fire, and, from what he could see, her skin was fair yet bruised on every limb. She wore no shoes and her dress had no sleeves, so he could see the fresh scratches on her shoulders and down her arms. It looked like she was attacked by trees.

The girl turned her head over her shoulder and took notice of him before he could straighten his posture, and before he could compose himself she said with a gasp, “My gods! Sir, you frightened me.”

“I’m sorry, er, my apologies, madam! I am Oliver of Timber Village, and I have come into these woods to end the curse!” he proclaimed.

Instead of a cheer or worship, the woman frowned and stared back into the fire. “I imagine you’re part of the Hunting Clan, then?”

“It’s actually the Hunter’s Clan. Hasn’t been called that for about two hundred years now,” he explained, only a bit confused as to how she got mixed up. “Anyway,” he pressed, “I must continue on my journey. Farewell!”

“Good travels, Sir Oliver,” she said sadly.

He only walked a few paces forward when he stopped and looked back. Something about the way she spoke was different, and it made him curious. Only Marine addressed him as “sir” before, and it formed a weird warmth in his chest. As his thoughts about the bizarre feeling grew, he started wondering about her. What was she doing in the middle of a cursed wood, surrounded by vicious and untamed trees? I should help her, he contemplated. Perhaps the more I stay around her, the more that warm feeling will return.

Oliver set aside his goal for a moment and traveled back to the glow of the campfire. It held more of a physical, external warmth. This he also greatly accepted, for the night was starting to get frigid. “Uh, g’evening, milady,” he greeted, catching her attention once again. “I was just thinking that this is no place for a damsel such as yourself, so I will escort you back to my village where it is safe. The curse of these woods produces monsters, the likes of those you were likely attacked by.”

“O-oh, I was never attacked. These are from a long time ago,” she explained with a gesture to her wounds. The statement did not clear anything up for Oliver, though, and made him more confused than before. She continued, “That is very kind of you, but I can’t leave this forest yet. I lost something and I’m trying to find it before the monsters do.”

“Surely this item can be replaced,” he urged. “What can be so valuable that you would put your life in danger?”

“It’s very personal to me,” she snapped. “No one has ever helped me look for it, so why don’t you be like the rest of your Hunter’s Clan and be on your way!”

How she yelled hurt Oliver in a way he had never experienced before. Back at the village, people treated him as if he wasn’t there to begin with, and he felt a lonely type of emptiness after Marine left him. Yet, somehow, this woman was able to make him feel warm and hurt in the same night. He wondered if he were to stay near her, that he would feel other things. He watched her expression turn to that of surprise when he chose to kneel on the ground next to her instead of walking away once again. “I’ll help you look for it,” he said, offering his hand. “What kind of hero would I be otherwise?”

He knew the sight all too well, the sight of a face when it hadn’t smiled in ages. That was exactly what he saw when she took his hand and stood at his side. She grabbed a bottle that he assumed was used for water, and they both stepped into the night.

There is no sense of how long they were walking for, but after a bit Oliver found that he missed the safety of the campfire and how it settled the hair on his arms. He had a jacket, but he gave it to the girl to cover her shoulders as the breeze ran colder. He wished he knew how to wind that compass, then maybe he could tell how much longer it would be until sunrise.

The silence was the most annoying, to Oliver at least. He wishes that the girl would bless him with the sound of her voice and fill his desire for new emotion. It seemed that only when she talked did he feel those different things. He began to think hard of a question, and opened his mouth for the first time in hours. “Can you tell me what this thing is that you are searching for? It might help me find it easier if I knew, so I can help find it.”

“I am sorry, but I don’t think I’m able to explain it. You wouldn’t be able to understand,” she replied.

That made him irritated and angry, he didn’t like what he felt, either. He huffed and asked bitterly, “Where was the last place you saw it, then? We might have a better chance if you tell me something.”

“Um…” she hummed, closing her eyes as she walked. Oliver glanced at her, seeing how thoughtful she looked with her nose scrunched up like that. A few owls made noises above them before she gave her answer, “Toward the West. Do you have a compass by chance?”

“No, only a strange one. My instructor told me it is supposed to tell you how much time has passed,” he explained, pulling out the bronze device. “But, I haven’t found a way to make it work yet. I know we are going in the right direction because of this.” Oliver raised his hand and pointed to the treetops. “The birds are nearer than before, and they always nest above vegetation because it’s where the worms and bugs are. My farm is on the outskirts of the village, to the West right by the forest. I would always be able to hear the owls at night.”

“Ah, I see. I’ve never tried a form of navigation before. I have always just wandered.” Her comment stirred a great deal of sadness in his chest, and it made him even more curious than before.

“How long have you been wandering, milady?”

“I’ve lost track,” she answered. He thought that would end the conversation, but she turned her face to him and asked, “What about you? What is your farm like?”

“Huh,” he started, shocked. This was the first time someone asked about his life. “It’s not an animal farm by any means, that’s what the shepherds are for,” he explained. “I grow grains, vegetables, and I also have some fruit plants. The vines always prove the hardest to keep up. None of my crops are vast, though…” he admitted, face falling. “And, some of them end up dying after not being harvested in time. I’m the only worker.”

“It must be very hard,” she said after a moment, “having no one to help you after so long.”

“Yes…” he said with a nod, feeling understood. “I know, you can come to my farm after we find what you lost. I’ll show you around all of my fields, and I even have a dog.”

“Yes, you must show me,” she responded. He did not know why her tone reverted back to sadness, but he knew that after he helped her then the sight of his farm would make her happy again. Oliver hopped over a stone, trying to look like a professional Hunter, but his toe caught the top of the rock and he stumbled. Thankfully, he did not completely fall over this time, and the girl did not seem to notice. He looked at her, she was staring at the ground as she walked, and Oliver realized he never asked her name. After so long, it seemed rather rude to ask, so he decides to hold off the question for later.

Another age of silence passed until they came across the swamp. The girl seemed perplexed by its appearance, and Oliver had to explain, “It’s just a pool of stillwater. No, milady, please don’t drink from it!”

They took a break on the other side, Oliver dipping his boot into the water as if he wanted to test the durability of his snake skin boots. He only allowed the water to engulf his foot up to his ankle, and was concerned to see the boot did not seem to be water resistant. Pulling it out entirely, he found that the swamp was way more sinister than water. The girl looked in awe as his boot slowly disintegrated, only leaving what was left of the calf. She laughed and commented, “Good thing I didn’t drink from there!”

As they continued onward, Oliver started to get a sense of doubt and dread. They have been walking West for so long, and it feels as if they are getting nowhere. Yet, finally, as they reached the edge where the tree trunks started to thin, the girl gasped at a glow in the distance. She ran up to it, Oliver following behind her, and gazed down into a patch of pink peonies.

“You helped me find it, I can’t believe it was just past the acidic swamp,” she said, cupping a flower head between her fingers and picking it from the ground.

Oliver looked over her shoulder eagerly, desperately trying to see what was so special that she risked her life in the forest to find. It was a stone, the same color as any other he had seen, and it was covered in moss. The same pink flowers circled the stone like a wreath, and only when Oliver knelt down was he able to read the words engraved onto the stone: Here Lies Cadence, Heroine of the Forest. Astonished, something in his chest tightened at the words. “This is what you lost?” was all he was able to ask.

“I was not able to rest, but you found my grave for me. Thank you, Sir Oliver,” she said, curling up over the flowerbed. She closed her eyes one last time, and her spirit faded away.

Oliver stood up, unaware that the monsters no longer roamed the forest, no longer hunted the spirit of the heroine. He felt, for the second time in his life, heartbreak. As he took the short path home, Oliver felt the sun rising behind him and thought that he ought to figure out how that time compass worked, for he did not wish to waste any more of it.