Into the Deep Wood

Val ran.

Ura had been right. They’d all been right.

The claws gripping in the dark, the figure looking at her from the yard, the grotesque thing moving like a spider among wooden beams of the barn.. That poor sheep…

It was her fault.

It was all her fault.

Quickly, she gathered her things and tied them in a bundle, draping it over her back.

Val didn’t know her plan, but it was first and foremost to get far away from there. To get far away from her mother, grandmother, and neighbors. To lead this thing anywhere but here.

Perhaps she would go down the main road toward the city? If she started now, she would make it in a few days, surely she had enough food for that.

No one could know she had left, or they would try to follow. They had not known what Ura knew.

From somewhere in front of her, she heard her name. It was him.

Had he seen her leave? Intent to make up for his months of avoidance, had he noticed her running away and followed suit?

“Valyaaa!”

It sounded as if he had forgotten her name and taken a guess - by chance, almost getting it right.

“Valeriaaaaaa!” Now it was her mother, to the left, from a neighbor’s yard.

And then, there were many.

The screams came from all directions leading to the main road. Each spoke her name.

She turned and ran the other way toward the forest, realizing too late that they were herding her there.

They did not relent until she crossed the field, only looking back once, but the parting grasses creeping toward her from the other side only made her press ahead faster - right into the trees.

Never stopping and so exhausted, she was beginning to drag her feet too much. They caught on exposed roots and slipped on the dewy foliage. She was so deep into the forest that the trees swallowed the light of the lantern mere feet away

It would run out of oil eventually, and she could only hope that by that time, she either found shelter or exited the forest on the other side - if there was another side. The thing only approached in the light, and it recoiled from her candle when it had knocked over the basin. Val only prayed that the folksongs had held true.

The sun, the sun, it burns so bright,

The devils dancing in the night

They fear the day, they fear the light

They’ll hide, they’ll hide away from sight

Very little felt like it mattered at that moment but to keep going. One foot in front of the other as long as they would move. Were she to perish here, she would do so believing in her heart that she had saved them all

Her grandmother, her mother, and the elderly gathered on the wooden benches outside their homes—the little children who played in the gardens constructing makeshift forts out of fallen branches. Of the livestock the village depended on to survive the winter. Of the food reserves in the cellars.

It was her fault.

It felt like she ran for hours, imagining rustling in the trees behind her. She heard her name again, but it was away.

The trees were no longer familiar. No longer were they the thin birches she knew so well. Even the smells were different.

A bird would screech, and she did not know the bird by its call.

Val did not bother looking ahead, only at her feet as she stumbled more often. There were more roots exposed here as the soil had washed away. Walking became a bit harder, and she guessed that the forest was beginning to ascend a hill. Thick brush kept forcing her away from a straight path, and she’d gotten scared that she would be led in circles.

Just as the last remnants of hope left her, the moonlight broke through the trees, revealing a clearing. It was so bright here that Val almost had to squint.

It was a large meadow with a single oak in the middle. Its branches stretched wide - each one as thick as any tree itself. Its roots stood tall and curved above the ground and stretched far and even into the trees beyond.

Struggling to grip the bark with her bare hands, Val pulled herself up to the first branch positioned barely above her head. It was thick enough to stand on but not secluded by the foliage. She pushed her pack to the next one, following suit with grunts and huffs.

It was far enough that looking down made her head spin, but she finally found a bunch of branches that had woven together enough to lay down against the trunk. Her breaths were hard, her bag clutched to her chest.

This was as good as it would get. Not that the wood spirits could not find her here, but as long as she kept her lantern lit, she hoped they could not approach.

One over the other, everything that she had packed was slipped over her head. This provided little warmth at first, but enough.

The morning hours did not wake Val from her sleep, the canopy of leaves shading her from the early rays of the sun above the clearing. It was not until well past noon that she stirred.

Val rubbed her eyes clear of the drops of dew that formed on her lashes. She grabbed the lantern for fear that too much oil had been used. It was already out and cold, and very little oil left now, enough for maybe a couple of hours once it got dark.

She would have to look for pine trees to collect their sap to use instead. If all went well, she could stay here a while before she found the strength to venture on.

Luckily, a cluster of pine trees was nearby, and she’d carved some bark off using her knife. She’d do so to a few of the pines so that by the next day, the sap would harden on the outside. She scraped what she could off a wound where a branch had snapped off, but it would not last her long. She hoped through the night until she could collect more.

Before returning, Val gathered handfuls of wild berries and dried branches. She would scatter them around the oak, so their crunch would alert her of anything approaching.

As the dell darkened through the evening, she lit the lantern again. The pine sap burned far smokier but produced enough light to get by. Val lay awake, listening to the oak leaves whispering amongst themselves and branches groaning under their weight.

This was the longest she had ever spent outdoors without a hot meal. Without speaking to anyone or taking off her boots. Finally allowing herself to imagine her mother’s face and know that she would never see it again, she fell asleep crying quietly, her tears wetting the sleeve where she had rested it.

This time, Val had awoken before dusk. Her body tensed, and her heart beat just a little faster. In her dreams, she heard the baaing of the pregnant ewe.

The next day was the same as the one before. She gathered more sap and dried branches - dreaming of perhaps starting a campfire to warm herself.

That evening, clouds began creeping above the clearing. They were dark and spread like spilled water across the sky, making Val realize in a panic that this would mean rain.

What if it had lasted for days? How would she avoid freezing to death as her clothes got soaked and she could not leave?

When the rain came, it poured heavily.

She stayed mostly dry with the lantern by her side and shielding the pack behind her. The wind picked up, although very slightly, as the surrounding forest had broken it down to a breeze.

The drops collapsed the canopy above under their weight, soaking her and, to her horror - knocking her lantern out of place and down the trunk.

She scrambled to the edge, hoping against hope that it got stuck in the branches - but instead, she heard a clink and the breaking of glass, barely audible beyond the tapping of the rain. Val pulled her knees to her chest and began to cry, overwhelmed and scared. It was dark, and she was left without a light.

Only toward morning did the rays of light break through the clouds. Val checked the bark to see how slippery it was and if it was safe for her to climb down. That’s when she saw something foreign at the bottom.

Where the grass met the roots at the base of the oak was a gray heap, a mess of what looked like cloth and weeds - branches tangled throughout. Moss grew in patches on it like a tree.

Cautiously, she tied her pack and began the descent, watching the heap carefully, afraid it would move.

And, as she got closer to the ground, it did.

She held her breath and stopped climbing when the tangle of cloth and moss and what looked to be hair had stirred and then stood up.

An old woman rose before her. She was clothed in layers of gray shawls and a torn-up hood that Val had mistaken for moss sliding down her white-gray hair. It was messy and unbrushed, with twigs caught in the strands, but so long it was nearly down to her waist. The old woman was hunched, and her face was barely recognizable as a woman, her droopy jowls and frown lines hanging down her neck, folds of wrinkles covering her eyes, and her nose was big and crooked.

Her nostrils flared as Val carefully got down.

She was not familiar to Val, and not from the village. But hope swelled inside as she thought maybe there was a settlement nearby.

“Good day, Grandmother!” She said.

The old woman raised her head. She stood a foot shorter than Val, although perhaps she was just as tall in her youth, before age had hunched her back and bent her knees.

“Is it day or morning, girl?” she asked, her voice neither sweet nor sharp.

“Morning, Grandmother.”

“Is it the first or the third night?”

Val paused. What was she asking? How long Val had been out here?

“Third night, Grandmother…” She said finally, carefully watching the stranger.

“You’re soaked. Come along. This will not do.” The old woman said, snorting and pushing past Val. She hobbled at a much faster pace toward the woods than Val could ever think possible for someone of that age, almost forcing Val to run after her.

So she was from a nearby village after all…

Hope warmed Val. A fireplace, maybe even a warm meal, waited ahead.

She could barely keep up; the old woman almost seemed to float over the roots and branches sticking out of the ground.

“Grandmother, is there a village nearby?” Val asked, trying to catch her breath.

“Village village!” She’d answered. “Lots of people in the village!”

Val didn’t know if she should be relieved. With turn after turn around trees and bushes, they went uphill. Her legs were on fire, and just when she thought she could go no longer, they reached a glade - a steep hill in the middle, riddled with gray and white boulders throughout.

Between them, a fence stood crumbling from age and in great disrepair. Atop the hill stood a wooden hut - from the looks of it, it had seen better days as well. As they approached, Val looked around nervously for other dwellings.

The old woman’s pace slowed the closer they got to the hut. She stopped in front of the door, which looked heavy and seemed like it had once been painted, but since then, the paint had either chipped or deteriorated over the long years it had seen. The old woman knocked three times, and the door creaked open, revealing a blazing fireplace with a cot inside.

Suddenly, Val felt faint as she crossed the threshold.

“Sleep, girl.” The old woman commanded, and Val stepped forward and collapsed onto the cot, dropping her belongings.