Hungry Heart - Book #3 - Ch. 4

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three 

Chapter Four – The Life Inside

Duril shivered, a tad disgusted by the tiny bugs that walked all over his feet and were climbing up his calves now. He liked to think he had always understood nature, and nothing of it could frighten him, at least not at the deep level he was currently experiencing, a strange unease holding his heart in its grip. Some part of his mind told him to keep his cool and focus on his breathing, all the while avoiding brusque movements and causing a shift in the activity of the bugs and possibly other tiny creatures roaming the ground at his feet.

At least the teeth he had felt earlier were gone now, and all that remained was the unsettling sensation of being crawled over by those invisible critters.

I am here, he thought, hoping for whoever the soul of the old oak was to respond in kind. “I am here,” he said out loud.

“Touch me,” a voice whispered, and Duril recognized it for the same one which spoke to him before, only now it was clear and easy to hear, not just the phantom of a thought.

“How? Where are you?” Duril asked.

“Everywhere.”

For a moment, he waited, expecting more than just that strange answer, and when none came, he stretched out his arm, waving it in a large arc until his fingers touched the inside of the bark. “Is this you?” he asked.

Right under his fingertips, something was growing. He tentatively moved his hand, and the soft tendrils wrapping around his fingers reminded him of the bodies of new plants, growing in spring.

“I am,” the reply followed, and it appeared that there was no place in particular where the voice came from, but, indeed, everywhere around.

“I don’t mean to sound too forward, but can you tell me what these creatures frolicking all over my legs are?”

“They’re visitors,” the voice replied. “I wasn’t the one to invite them.”

Duril pondered for a moment. “Are you sure? You are the maker of all the life that grows here, in this forest. And you told me you forget things. Could it be that you forgot that you were the one who invited them here?”

“It could be,” the voice replied, after a short moment of hesitation, just like a forgetful person struggling to put bits and pieces of memory together. “But I like only beautiful beings. Why would I turn to these ugly things?” There was wonder in the voice now, like it was unfathomable to bring to the forest creatures such as the ones crawling over Duril’s feet, sending shivers of disgust through him now and then.

“They are alive,” Duril said, taking his time to make sense of what the voice was telling him and all the little incongruities around him that only led to confusion. “You love all life, don’t you?”

“The life of the forest, yes,” the voice admitted, suddenly invigorated.

Not only The Quiet Woods were young, but the soul behind them, too. Just like a child, the voice hung on Duril’s every word, hoping to find reason and a sense of safety.

Duril decided to take a chance. “We heard about an old witch living here. Shearah is her name. Do you happen to know her?”

The voice remained silent for some time before replying. “I don’t know her.” Unlike before, when the voice had sounded eager and honest, it now held shadows like there was something it needed to hide.

“But the name… it tells you something, doesn’t it?” Duril insisted, trying to put as much gentleness into his tone as he could muster.

“No. It’s just a name,” the voice hurriedly replied. “Do you want me to show you more?”

“I do, but how? And is there nothing you can do about these critters trying to climb up my legs?” Duril shook one foot and then the other, in an effort to get rid of the unpleasant sensations.

“They don’t like the light. Just follow me,” the voice urged him.

Duril was about to ask how he was supposed to do that when the dark split in front of him like an old shell, and sudden light flooded the inside of the tree. He brought one hand up to shield his eyes, as they shied away from that assault.

“Come, come,” the voice urged him. “Forget about the dark and ugly creatures.”

Duril was, in a way, more than happy to do so, but he couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that he was getting further from the truth by listening to the voice and walking away. “But--” he started.

“Come, come, I can only hold the sun like this for so long,” the voice said, the urgency in it increasing tenfold.

Duril listened. His steps, heavy at first, became light, as soon as he stepped out of the bark. For a moment, he turned, expecting to see his companions somewhere around, but wherever he was now, it had to be a different place from where he had left Toru, Varg, and Claw.

It looked like a greenhouse of sorts, with tiny pots and big ones housing plants of various kinds. He tipped his head back and saw no glass ceiling, although he half-expected it. The light, that incredible white light, poured from above like a cascade and, luckily, his eyes were already adjusted to it enough so that he could look around and take in that amazing place.

As far as his eyes could see, stretched rows and rows of pots filled with plants of various sizes and kinds. Not one was like the next, and even without asking, Duril realized that he found himself inside the most beautiful and outstanding collection of fruits of the earth he had ever imagined.

Now, he understood how food could be so plentiful in The Quiet Woods. Orange trees in blossom, no higher than his knee, swayed in a gentle breeze, while by their side, others with needle-like leaves covered by a protective wax, stood tall, an early sign of the pride they would exude once they reached adulthood.

Grass with fat blades, full of earthy juice, sprouted from the soil inside the pots, teeming with life. Duril stopped for a moment and listened. Without a doubt, there was a murmur coming from all the plants and trees growing around. As much as he perked up his ears, he couldn’t make out any words whatsoever, and it all sounded like the kind of gibberish a baby would use as language.

The voice inside the tree hadn’t lied about them being so very young. No wonder he hadn’t been able to talk to them; they probably shied away from strangers, but not here, where their creator walked side by side with a newcomer they no longer had reason to fear.

“This is all your creation, isn’t it?” he asked, as he leaned forward and observed the crown of a yellow flower on which tiny bees, the tiniest he had ever seen, crawled.

“Yes,” the voice replied with pride. “Would you like a bit of nectar?”

“Sure,” Duril accepted. “But how would you--” He stopped as a small wax cup was raised into the air by the swarm of little bees and brought to his lips. With no longer a choice to make, he opened his mouth and let the sweet liquid caress his tongue. “Thank you,” he said, and the swarm descended, taking the wax cup with them. “This is a beautiful, magical place,” he added. “Is this where you grow all the trees and plants?”

“And bugs and bees,” the voice replied. “Would you like to see where I make the rivers and fish?”

“I’d love to,” Duril said, invigorated by the tasty nectar he’d been given earlier. “Do you truly make everything by yourself? With no help whatsoever?”

“No help,” the voice said.

Duril only then realized there had been something bugging him ever since they had entered The Quiet Woods. “But what about people? And shapeshifters?”

“People? You’re the first people I’ve seen in a very long time,” the voice replied.

Duril frowned. Where could everyone have gone? “What do you mean by a very long time?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I forget. I play with my friends, and then I forget what time it is. And it’s night again, and I fall asleep. In the morning, everyone is gone, and I have to make them anew.”

Play. Time. Duril recalled the words being part of the magic incantation that must have summoned the tiny lighting bug that had guided them to the old oak. “Your little friend who brought us here, it appeared after we said certain words,” he began.

“It’s not my friend,” the voice insisted. “Just someone who comes and goes.”

“Did you create your friend?”

“No,” the voice replied, sounding guarded and a bit frightened this time. “It came out of nowhere.”

“But how--” Duril tried to insist.

“To the river, let’s get to the river, and play with the fish!” The voice was louder now, excited, and Duril decided to keep silent just a little more so that he could learn as much as possible about the place.

He followed the path through the pots of plants and trees, all the while focusing his sense of hearing, in hope that he might catch something helpful in the murmurs around them. As much as he did so, however, no sense rose from the myriad of whispers accompanying him like gentle friends.

But what about the old oak? Duril tried to look over his shoulder.

“No, don’t look back,” the voice warned him, anxious and frightened.

“Why not?” he questioned but stopped in mid-movement.

“Because there’s nothing there, no life. Just look ahead, ahead,” the voice urged him. “No looking back!”

Duril felt tempted to ignore the plea, but again, he was too curious about what the voice of the forest wanted to show him. Somehow, it felt like his duty to follow it and only then offer his help, as little as that would be.

***

Toru held Varg’s wrists and leaned over so that no word from the lighting bug would go unheard. “Talk some more,” he ordered, his frustration growing. “You’re a stupid bug!” he yelled.

Claw took hold of his right arm and tried to pull him away. “I don’t think we can convince it to talk by yelling at it.”

“It’s a sneaky little--” Toru forced himself to stop under Claw’s stern stare. “I bet that if Varg opens his palm, it’ll just fly away and leave us in the dark.”

Dark. Oak. Dark.

“I don’t think that will happen,” Varg said but still opened his palm cautiously. The lighting bug lay belly up and struggled, its miniscule legs rowing through the air to no avail.

Curious and appeased momentarily, Toru stretched one finger and allowed the creature to capture it between its legs. Slowly, he maneuvered his hand so that the lighting bug could crawl back onto Varg’s open palm, this time balancing itself on its own.

Toru observed it with keen eyes. “How can you talk?”

A short buzz followed. Talk. Talk.

“It looks like your little friend is happy that you can hear it and wants to talk some more,” Claw suggested.

Toru nodded and pursed his lips in thought. It seemed that the bug didn’t know a lot of words, which meant that he needed to teach it a few. Varg and Claw both were holding their breath as they watched him and the lighting bug.

“Is it dark inside the oak?” Toru asked the first thing that came to mind. He wanted to berate himself that very moment. “It should be, it’s not like there could be light inside,” he murmured.

Oak. Dark. Light. The tiny critter buzzed happily.

Toru grinned. It looked like he was better at this than he had thought. “Is it both light and dark?”

The bug flung open its wings, but only to flutter them a little and then fold them down carefully. Dark. Light. Dark. Light.

For a moment, Toru scratched his head. What could the lighting bug mean by that? “First it’s dark, then it’s light?”

The bug did nothing but to repeat the same succession of words from before, but this time, with a lot more emphasis, like it was expecting Toru to understand and it was getting frustrated at not obtaining what it wanted.

“What could that mean?” He straightened up and looked questioningly at Varg, then at Claw.

Claw caressed his beard and his eyelids dropped as he appeared to look inside for an answer. “I think that everything this little thing here is trying to tell us must be very simple.”

“Like when talking to a child,” Varg contributed his own point of view. “It cannot be something too difficult. So, we can safely assume that it’s telling us that there is dark first, then light.”

“Duril must be traveling to a different place than this,” Claw intervened. “Another forest… maybe the heart of it.”

Forest heart, the bug suddenly said or thought, because it felt to Toru like it was speaking directly to their minds, in a language they could understand.

“The forest heart? And there is both dark and light in there?” Toru asked.

The bug continued to confirm excitedly. Forest heart. Dark. Light.

“Well, it appears that we’re getting somewhere,” Claw said out loud. “We now know that Duril is getting acquainted with the heart of the forest, and since he knows how to talk to trees, I think there is no better of us we could have sent in for talking to what makes The Quiet Woods move.”

Toru threw a glance around. The wind was just a breeze, but it was growing stronger. “Do forests move?” he asked and stretched out one arm, pointing somewhere behind Varg.

Either his eyes were playing tricks on him or a dark part of the forest, too far from them to be seen clearly, seemed to be on the move.

***

The wind blew harder, Varg noticed just as Toru asked what seemed to be an innocuous question. His gut instinct, the one thing that had kept him and others alive in trying times, made his hackles rise even before he turned to look at what Toru was pointing at.

His entire body became taut with apprehension, and his hand moved to the pommel of his sword without his conscious mind ordering it to go there. The bug flew away from his hand, as if it was as aware of danger as he was.

At a great distance from them, the darkness of the forest appeared to be on the move. Varg blinked a couple of times as Claw and Toru fell in line with him, low growls rising from their throats, their inner beasts already responding to the menace slinking through the trees, waiting to strike.

“What it is?” Toru asked, and by the change in his voice Varg could tell that his friend had already turned into his tiger shape.

Varg frowned, as his eyes fought to make sense of the shapes coming out of the wood. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and held it out before him. A ray of light fell and bounced off something that could only be a shiny smooth surface. A word climbed up his throat in an instant.

“Vrannes!”

His war cry was followed by Claw’s roar. Toru was ahead of them, leaping forward, his tiger body taut and ready for battle. Varg growled and broke into a sprint, his weapon ready. Claw ran by his side, turning into his bear in mid-flight, both his companions faster than him.

But Varg knew that an armed human could be as deadly to those creatures as a shapeshifter in beast form. He rushed in, using his sword as a spear, and sending it over his friends’ heads, and cutting clean through a large branch thick with teeth and claws just threatening to descend on Toru’s head.

An inhuman howl was the result, and like creatures bred by nightmares, an army of Vrannes came out of the forest, out into the light. Only seeing them, even from afar, was enough to bring back the fear and hopelessness so many had experienced during the war. Varg clenched his hand tightly on the hilt of his sword, reining in the wretchedness pooling in his belly at the sight of those enemies.

“Don’t let them touch you with their mouths and tongues!” he yelled at Toru and Claw.

Should he have known that he would meet such terrible foes again in his lifetime, he would have told his companions more about what it meant to fight them. The large branches of the Vrannes stretched menacingly, teeth and claws reaching for anyone they could get at, but it was that disgusting mouth in the middle of their trunk-like bodies that served as their biggest weapon, something many humans and shapeshifters alike had come to learn.

A single touch of the tongue that lolled out was enough to feel like the sting of a thousand bees. A bite was usually lethal, more so for humans who didn’t have the strength and protection shapeshifters had, but Varg had known brothers and sisters who had fallen prey to the army of Vrannes that had once risen to terrorize the north and the human settlements as far as they could walk.

That time, it had been their good fortune to have the witch Agatha by their side to tell them what to do. But now they were three against what looked like a large group of Vrannes, and there was no wise witch to help them win the battle.

Varg fought against the dark mire descending upon his mind. During those war times, he couldn’t have said what about confronting such despicable creatures made everyone experience strong feelings of despair and hopelessness. It had to be an uncanny ability the Vrannes wielded, to make fear of their appearance grow roots hard like rock inside the souls of anyone who went against them.

He shook his head and bellowed as he rushed ahead, even faster now than both Toru and Claw. They yelled something at him as he went past, but the blood was now pounding in his ears, and all he could see in front of his eyes was a curtain of red.

A slash of the sword, and one branch, the first to try and reach him, fell to the ground. The sounds of battle from times long past rustled the blades of grass and the few fallen leaves, creating a whirlwind that brought with it a fog. Forced to take one step back, Varg staggered for a moment and brought his free arm high to shield his eyes.

Then, as if guided by a hand made for miracles, the wind died down.

“What is going on?” Claw whispered to his right.

“The trees froze!” Toru shouted, and Varg dropped his arm and looked ahead.

Indeed, the army of Vrannes he had been ready to slash through only moments before seemed nothing but a copse of trees with blackened trunks, but trees nonetheless.

Disoriented, Varg looked around. The branch he had slashed through lay on the ground, lifeless. There was no trace of claws and teeth glinting menacingly in the sun like before. Dead leaves hung from it, and it looked like good timber one would use to feed a fire.

“They were Vrannes,” he said, unsure of his own words. “Did you see them, too?” he asked and turned toward Claw.

“With my own two eyes. They looked fit for battle,” the bearshifter confirmed. Both he and Toru changed into their humans and appeared as flabbergasted by the whole thing as he was.

Toru walked hesitantly toward one of the frozen trees and sniffed it. Then he sneezed, and the tree in front of him moved an inch. Varg blinked. Were they all prey to some strange magic at work here? “Did you see--”

Claw was already by the side of the tree, poking its bark. “These trees are something,” he muttered under his breath, “but I just don’t know what yet.”

There was uncertainty in the bearshifter’s voice, precisely mirroring the one in his own mind, Varg thought. Reluctantly, he sheathed his blade and walked closer, as well. “Is it possible our eyes are playing tricks on us?”

“One foolish shifter is understandable,” Claw joked. “Even two if they had a little bit too much mulberry wine. But three, I don’t think that’s possible.”

“What made the trees move?” Toru questioned. “If they’re not Vrannes… what are they? Moving trees?”

Trees. All trees.

The lighting bug seemed to have made its way back to them. It landed on Toru’s shoulder, as he seemed to prefer the tiger above everyone else, and much to Varg’s relief, the youngster didn’t brush it away like before. Instead, the golden eyes filled with curiosity as they set on the tiny critter.

“They’re all trees?” Toru asked. “Is that what you’re trying to say, Lighty?”

Lighty, the bug said excitedly.

“I think it likes that you gave it a nickname,” Claw said with a short chuckle. “Well, Lighty, it looks like something in this forest is messing with us. Care to tell us more?”

All trees.

“We got that,” Claw replied. “But we’ve seen our fair share of trees in our lifetime, and the type that moves around with claws and teeth is not what we’re keen to meet, here, at The Quiet Woods, or otherwise.”

Claws. Teeth. Not.

Claw grimaced as if he was not at all convinced by the tiny bug’s denial. “But we saw them with our own eyes. They were right there.” He pointed at the frozen trees. Or maybe, Varg thought, it was wrong to believe they were frozen, as, in a tree-like way, they were very much like any other trees, and alive.

Well, that was a bit questionable. “Is there any life inside these things?” he asked and knocked on the bark.

Maybe it was just his imagination again, but the deep wrinkles inside the surface appeared to rearrange themselves for a moment. And right after, something smacked him upside the head, making him jump into the air. Without thinking twice, Varg pulled his blade out again. “Who’s playing the fool around here?” he bellowed.

But behind him, there was no one. He threw a suspicious look at Toru and Claw, but his companions appeared to be just as startled as he was.

Toru pointed above, at a hanging branch. “The tree hit you,” he explained. “Like this,” he added as he gestured to show what had just happened.

Varg set his jaw hard and lifted his sword.

The lighting bug flew right in his face. No. Friend.

“Friend? These trees are no friends,” Varg spat. “And what do you know?”

Forest heart. All trees.

Varg grumbled in discontent but put his sword away. “I don’t know why I’m trusting a little thing like you.”

“Because it must be part of the forest heart, too,” Toru said, looking a bit surprised at Varg as if he was just realizing he had spoken out loud.

The little insect buzzed around Toru and landed for a moment on the crown of his head. The young tiger had to be right about that. Varg sighed and crossed his arms. “Do the trees in this forest think that it’s somehow funny to change into Vrannes and scare us to death? Do they like to play?”

Play. All trees. Play.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Varg commented wryly. “Everyone around here seems so bent on playing, but this is how you end up a branch short,” he added and threw a pointed look at the tree that he must have attacked only earlier.

The tree surprised them all as it brought two large branches in front of itself and crossed them, as if it was trying to mimic Varg’s stance. To check if that was true, Varg moved his arms to the sides, and the tree did the same. “Indeed, someone is trying to play the fool,” he said and laughed.

“At least, they’re not Vrannes,” Claw pointed out.

“Still, we all know what we saw just earlier,” Varg intervened.

“They had claws,” Toru jumped into the conversation, “and then, they hadn’t.”

“Even if they’re not Vrannes, which we can’t be entirely sure of,” Claw said, “we must still be cautious.”

Although that was good advice, it was given only half-heartedly, and Varg knew why. These playful trees that could smack you in jest and fool around couldn’t be the nightmarish creatures growing in the marshes of Knaeus. They were far from those places, and unless history wanted to repeat itself by un-rooting the Vrannes from their homes once more and sending them upon the unsuspecting world, there had to be a different explanation for why these trees were moving as if a different life than that of their forest siblings ran under their bark.

“They seem like good trees,” Toru offered and, without fear, he touched the tree that kept mimicking Varg’s every gesture. The tree moved one branch and placed it over Toru’s hand. “See?” The young tiger looked at Varg and Claw with shining eyes. “They must be Duril’s friends. Hey, do you know where he is? He is half an orc, but don’t let his little tusks fool you. He’s really gentle and really handsome, and he can heal you with just a word.”

“Lover’s talk,” Claw commented with a knowing smirk and threw one arm over Toru’s shoulders. “First of all, it would help if we could find out how to make our newfound friends talk.”

Talk. Talk. Lighty. Talk.

“Are you the one who is able to make our words travel back and forth, Lighty?” Claw asked. “That should come in handy, especially if you know the language of the trees.”

To make that clear, the lightning bug flew from Toru’s head to the tree and landed on one of its many branches. They all watched it.

“But how are we going to make them talk if not even Lighty can do that unless there are words it can pick up from us?” Toru asked the most practical question of all.

“Claw, it’s quite clear by now that this forest is not like the one you left behind,” Varg started as he turned toward the bearshifter. “But is there anything you remember from your time here that could help us?”

Claw shrugged and his smile faltered. “Nothing like this ever happened while I was here. The Quiet Woods might have been silent, as silent as a forest can be, but they were never as mysterious as this. I mean, what I remember mostly is just my shenanigans with Beast and Willow.”

Beast!The lighting bug took them by surprise with its excited tiny squeal. Its small body couldn’t manage more than that, but it began to move frantically, up and down the branch. Beast! Beast! It kept on repeating, trying to get their attention.

“Beast? What do you mean?” Claw asked, his eyebrows furrowed. “Could it be that you know who I’m talking about?” The bearshifter grunted as the tree suddenly poked him in the belly with one well aimed branch.

Varg pursed his lips not to laugh as he looked at his dear friend and companion. Few things could ruin the bearshifter’s composure, and it was just hilarious to watch his eyes going all wide in surprise at the audacity of that foolish tree.

Claw rubbed his belly and took one wary step behind. “Beast, is that you?” Just as fast as he had pulled back, he moved forward and suddenly embraced the tree trunk, struggling to pull it up by its roots, but to no avail.

“Isn’t Beast a bearshifter?” Toru asked. “How can this tree be your friend?”

Claw laughed as the tree wrapped its branches tightly around and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing whatsoever. Varg stared in disbelief and traded a glance with Toru. The tiger was just as surprised as he was.

“How is that possible?” Toru asked and pointed at the scene in front of them. “Claw is as heavy as a mountain!”

“Put me down, fool!” Claw demanded, but he was laughing. “Now I know you’re Beast because there’s no one else that could hike me off the ground like this!”

The tree made a show of shaking him and only after, put him down. It rested its branches on Claw’s shoulders.

Friends. Friends. The lighting bug chanted, happy to help as it seemed.

Varg laughed, not really believing his eyes, but having no choice but to do so. “So this is the mighty Beast. I really hope I didn’t cut your arm, but it’s your own fault for rushing at me looking like a Vranne bent on sucking my blood.”

The tree moved one branch and caught one of Varg’s little fingers. It looked like a caress, but then it pulled hard and viciously, making Varg howl in pained surprise. Then it let go off him, just as fast.

Varg caught his finger and began to rub it vigorously. “Ouch! Was that for what I did to you earlier? What a prankster! I think you broke it!” He made a show of letting his finger dangle like it no longer had any life left in it. The tree leaned forward, and Varg took advantage and ran his finger right into one of the long wrinkles set into the bark, making it lean back in surprise. “Got you!” he exclaimed with glee.

“If Beast is here, could it be that Willow is also around?” Claw asked.

Around.

Varg turned his head to follow after the buzzing of the bug and watched it land on the long branch of a tall slender tree.

TBC

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