Chương 45: Orian’s Tale, Part 1

No one laughed. One of the sailors slowly lowered the cards in his hand. Another reached for his cup, then seemed to forget about it. Arien leaned forward. He had expected another ridiculous tale about cheating gamblers, drunken captains, or some disastrous night in a foreign port, anything to take their minds off the weather. Orian drew slowly on his pipe. The ember flared between his stained teeth, briefly lighting the deep lines around his mouth.

"This happened to me when I wasn't much older than Arien sitting here. Some of you have heard parts of it. Most haven't. I was born in a little town in the New Empire. A town that was already old when your kingdoms were still deciding which goat track deserved a crown."

"Hey, none of that imperial propaganda," one of the sailors called out. Orian raised a finger.

"First, facts are not propaganda. Second, I mention it because the town was small, but old enough to be proud of it." He settled deeper into his chair as the lantern above him creaked on its chain.

"Our shrine had stood for centuries, and some of the oldest houses had been built over foundations older still. Naturally, our well had the sweetest water in the province, our tavern served the strongest ale, and everyone in the next town was a liar, a thief, or both." A few men chuckled. One of them lifted his cup in agreement.

"Some things never change," Miley muttered. Orian let them laugh. He did not join them.

"We weren't rich, and no one important had ever come from there. But our elders knew every road through the hills and strangers rarely passed unnoticed. We were not fools. Our town stood in the south of the New Empire, not far from a forest older than any road on our maps. We simply called it the Forest." The New Empire meant little to Arien beyond distant southern lands and its seemingly endless war with the Old Empire.

"Every child knew the Forest was haunted. Adults preferred words like Monsters, bandits, or ancient ruins. They still barred their shutters after dark. Only fools and the desperate went beneath those trees."

"And young men trying to impress girls," one of the sailors called out. Orian nodded.

"As I said, fools and the desperate." Laughter moved around the galley.

"We even had a game when I was young. We'd creep past the first trees, where they still stood far apart, and see who could remain there the longest." He turned the stem of his pipe between his fingers.

"I've walked through plenty of forests since then. Only that one ever made my skin crawl. The moment you stepped beneath those branches, every instinct told you to turn around. Yet I never saw anything. That somehow made it worse." The laughter had faded.

"Usually, all it took was an acorn falling behind us or a bird bursting from a bush. Then we'd race back into the sunlight and spend the next hour insisting we hadn't been frightened. Orian thumped a fist against the table hard enough to make the cups jump.

"Give me the open sea any day."

"Aye," several sailors answered.

"When I was still small, a husband and wife came to our town looking for land. They had two young children with them, twins a few years younger than me. The ground near the Forest was cheap, so that was where they built their home. The elders warned them. The farmers whose fields bordered the Forest warned them. Even the tavern drunks warned them, which should tell you how obvious the danger was.

"The couple stayed anyway. And for a few years, nothing happened." Orian paused. The hull groaned around them as another wave passed beneath the ship.

"Then, one winter morning, I was carrying a kindling from the cooper's yard when I heard screaming from the north road." His gaze drifted toward the dark window.

"There was snow on the ground, but both children were barefoot. One dragged the other by the wrist, slipping every few steps. They wore nothing but white nightshirts. At least, they had been white before the blood soaked into them. Their feet left dark marks in the snow. They were both screaming, talking over one another. Something had come through the door. The Forest was angry. It was hungry. That was all anyone could understand.

"Mayor Heid had them carried to the tavern and wrapped in blankets beside the hearth. I slipped inside with half the town before the innkeeper chased most of us children back out. I still remember the smell of smoke and blood. Even beside the fire, one of them couldn't stop shivering.

"The mayor gathered every man willing to go to their house. Farmers came with axes, pitchforks, and woodcutting hooks. My friend Faid's father took an old spear that had hung above their fireplace for longer than either of us had been alive.

"They left still arguing about who should walk first and whether they ought to wait for more men. Faid and I stayed near the well, pretending we weren't there.

"They returned less than an hour later. No one was arguing then. Faid's father had blood on one sleeve. He walked straight past us without even seeing his son. Another man stumbled behind the tavern and vomited." He tapped ash from his pipe.

"I didn't learn what they had found until the next day. Faid overheard his father telling his mother after they thought he had gone to bed. There was blood across the floor, the walls, even the rafters. What remained of the couple had been scattered throughout the whole cottage The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"The next morning, the town bell called everyone to the square. Mayor Heid wanted the cottage searched again in daylight and the ground around it checked for anything the first group had missed. More than anything, he wanted to know whether whatever had killed the couple could reach the rest of us.

"Old Samara, our healer, wanted the cottage burned before anyone went near it again. She said the Forest had given us a warning, and only fools answered warnings by poking at them with sticks.

"Most people called her superstitious. Quietly, mind you. Samara had delivered half of them into the world and threatened to send the other half out of it whenever they ignored her advice." A few sailors smiled knowingly.

"Mayor Heid decided otherwise. Once the sun was fully up, he sent another group to examine the cottage and the fields around it. Two watchmen went with them, along with Faid's father and several farmers who knew how to read tracks well enough.

"The women remained at the tavern with the children. I sometimes carried firewood and washed cups there, so that morning I volunteered before the owner could find someone else. I wanted to hear what the twins had seen.

"They had been washed and dressed in borrowed clothes by then. The blood was gone, but somehow they looked worse without it. They sat beside the hearth holding hands, their shoulders almost touching." Orian's voice grew quieter.

"Their eyes were empty. Like dolls left sitting on a shelf."

"At first, the women spoke gently. They asked what had woken them, whether they had heard anyone outside, whether a door or window had opened. The twins only spoke of the Forest's anger. Its hunger. Something moving through the walls.

"Then the questions became firmer. They separated the children and asked the same things again, changing the words each time. The women were frightened too. They wanted an answer that made sense.

"They never received one.

"The men returned around midday with nothing useful either. They found the twins' footprints in the snow and the mess left by the group that had gone there the previous night. But there were no unfamiliar tracks. Nothing approaching the cottage. Nothing leaving it.

"Before nightfall, Father had nailed our shutters closed and dragged the kitchen table against the door. Mother kept two lamps burning even after we went to bed. From upstairs, I could see light in almost every neighboring window. Everyone seemed to have had the same idea.

"No one slept much. We lay awake listening to boots in the street, timber creaking in the wind, and every sound from outside that seemed too close." The ship rolled beneath another wave, and a few cups shifted across the table.

"Sometime before dawn, I woke to a woman screaming.

"By the time I stumbled outside, half the town was already in the street. People came running in nightclothes, carrying lanterns, kitchen knives, even fireplace pokers. Someone shouted that the scream had come from the northern edge of town, and the crowd began moving that way.

"I followed with everyone else. We found the house near the last row of buildings, with several frozen fields still separating it from the Forest. The trees were visible beyond the rooftops.

"Mayor Heid pushed through the crowd with two watchmen and went inside. When he came out again, there was blood on his boots. He ordered everyone away from the house.

"We learned soon enough what they had found inside. The entire family had been torn apart just like the twins' parents. The husband, his wife, and all three children. This time, there was no one left to run for help.

"I had never seen panic like what followed. Some wanted to abandon the town before sunset. Others accused the twins of bringing something back with them. Samara stood beside the well, repeating that we should have listened to her.

"Then someone remembered that the dead husband had gone to the cottage with Mayor Heid on the first night. His wife had also been one of the women who questioned the twins." A sailor Arien knew as Ned shifted in his seat.

"Those children brought something back with them," he muttered.

"A curse."

"There are no curses," another sailor snapped.

"Tell that to my grandmother. She—""Oi!" Orian brandished his pipe at them.

"Whose story is this?" Ned raised both hands.

"Right. Where was I?

"The whole town gathered again that morning, but this time there was more silence than shouting. Heid sent a rider to the nearest city with a request for guards and a priest.

"Samara wanted both houses burned. She wanted the twins gone too. Sent to the city, a monastery, anywhere away from us." Orian grimaced.

"That nearly started a fight. The dead family had relatives in town, and apparently fear of a hungry Forest was one thing, but watching your inheritance go up in smoke was another." A few sailors gave humorless snorts.

"In the end, Heid compromised. The houses would stay for the moment, and every able man would take a turn patrolling the streets after dark.

"That night, no one in our house pretended to sleep. My sisters and I shared one bed with Mother. Every time boots passed outside, she stopped breathing until they were gone." Orian stared at the bowl of his pipe.

"Father was on the first patrol. I remember listening for his steps. The wind scraped branches against the roof, and every time it happened, one of my sisters grabbed me harder.

"He came home at dawn. I don't think I'd ever been so happy to see him. My sisters ran to the door before Mother could stop them, and for a little while, we thought the night had passed without another death.

"Then shouting broke out farther down the street.

"Father was back outside before Mother could ask what was happening. I ran after him. By the time we reached the house, three men were struggling with Jovik, trying to drag him away from the door. There was blood beneath it.

"Jovik had spent the entire night on the same patrol as my father. Whatever had killed his wife and children had done it while he was walking the streets with everyone else.

"And Jovik wasn't just any man. He had been inside the first cottage with Mayor Heid.

"That was enough for some families. Before noon, wagons were being loaded in the streets. Most people stayed. Some had nowhere to go. Others had spent their entire lives building what they owned and couldn't bring themselves to abandon it because of something they couldn't even name.

"But Heid finally gave Samara part of what she wanted. Before sunset, all three houses were burning. Black smoke drifted over the rooftops, and the stink of wet wood followed us even indoors.

"Heid also decided we could no longer afford to wait for the twins to recover on their own.

"Verna, the widow who owned the tavern and had taken them in, stood in his way. She said the children barely ate, hardly slept, and sometimes spent hours staring at nothing. They needed rest, not more questions.

"Heid told her three families were dead." Orian's jaw tightened."'I'm sorry for the children,' Heid said.

'But I'm responsible for everyone else too.'

"Children gave us nothing new. Hunger. Anger. The Forest. Again and again, until even Heid lost his patience.

"He grabbed the boy by the shoulders and demanded that he stop repeating nonsense. The child stared through him and whispered the same word again."'Hungry.'

"Heid lost his temper and struck him across the face."

"Can't say I blame him," one of the sailors muttered. A few quiet voices agreed. Orian glanced around the table, but said nothing.

"The boy's head snapped to the side. For the first time since he had run into town, his eyes focused. He looked straight at Heid. And when he spoke, it wasn't a child's voice anymore. Several voices came from the same mouth." Orian's voice dropped almost to a whisper."'The Forest was here before you came. It will be here when you are gone.'"'And it is hungry.'"