Enchanted Forests (38 page)

single walnut sailed feebly through the air, off target. No sooner

had the men sprinted through the gap than me ropes of moon-

light snapped, the fragments growing dull and gray as they fell.

The men stood on the lip of an earthen amphitheater. At the

center a troupe of women danced around a brightly shimmering

pool. They ranged from young to old, from thick to willowy,

some as dark-skinned as hill oak, some as fair as aspen. Yet all

shared a grace that set them apart from human dancers. When

their feet lifted, the grass sprang up as if untrampled, rich with

wildflowers and herbs. Each time their soles landed, the ground

shook with a vibrant, life-giving pulse that traveled outward into

the far reaches of the forest.

Oxal found himself swaying to the rhythm of the instru-

ments—where the musicians were, he couldn't say. He only

wanted to partake of the joy and vigor bathing the amphitheater.

Here was a treasure barely hinted at in me myths. This could

only be the sanctuary where sap was taught the joy of flowing,

where antlers learned to sprout from the heads of stags, where

252 Dave Smeas

the streams learned their babbling. The spirit of the forest

reached out from here, giving every sapling and brush finch its

purpose.

The forest had not attacked the soldiers out of an evil nature,

but out of the need to preserve this nest from which its essence

sprang.

The women began to chant. As the melody wafted into the

treetops, Oxal was unable to contain the upwelling of celebration

inside himself. He cried out.

Instantly the music ceased. The women spun toward the men.

Their eyes widened and they fled toward the limits of the amphi-

theater. As each reached the bole of one of the great trees, they

were swallowed up as if they had melted into the bark.

Oxal's cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. "I ... I ..." he

began, and turned helplessly toward Rahnnic.

The prince's gaze clung to one of the last of the dancers. Oxal

saw a glimpse of supple legs in flight, aubum tresses waving be-

hind, and then she was absorbed into a tree unlike any the soldier

had ever seen. Only when she was out of sight did Rahnnic turn

and face the pool.

"Forgive our trespass," he said. "We mean no harm."

The dryads did not answer him. Waving away Oxal's mutters

of apology, the prince skirted the pool and began to approach the

tree that had engulfed the aubum-haired woman.

While he was still many paces away, the oldest, hoariest mem-

ber of the ring contorted and groaned. From its bole emerged an

ancient crone. Oxal, who had been moving to join his lord,

stopped and retreated. Though the apparition had assumed the

general shape of a human, she seemed half made of earth, roots,

and grubs, with hair of twigs. The soldier had no doubt she com-

manded the obedience of every plant and creature of the forest.

"Few of your kind have stood where you now stand, magi-

cian," said the goddess.

"I know. Mother," Rahnnic replied. "Few have had such

need."

"I know your need. You seek to take the brightest sapling of

my grove. How can you ask me to surrender that which I love

so much?"

"Before you had ever seen her, I loved her. Can you tell me

that you love her more? Or can you find a place for me here?

Show me that either is true. and I will accept it."

The great mother of the forest leaned forward, staring. Off to

the side, Oxal shivered. The crone's eyes glazed over, seeing

THE HEART OF THE FOREST       253

something more than the moonlight could show. Oxal sensed that

were she to turn his way, she would peer right into him, uncov-

ering every memory, every quirk of his character, every true

emotion he had ever felt. Even the edge of her glance was

enough to make the soldier sink to his knees as if reduced to in-

fancy. Yet the prince stood firm.

Gradually the mother's head bowed.

"Yours is a pure soul, Rahnnic of Irithel. Would that there

were a place for you here. But you are of fire and air, a rider of

me sun's rays and seducer of the moon's light. I cannot alter

your nature enough to find you a place here. Nor can 1 stand

against the light blazing in you now. It must be given its moment

to shine.

"Take her, then. Take her quickly, while I can keep from

reaching to snatch her back. Take her with my blessing. Promise

only that if your passion should ever dim for her, you will return

her to me."

"I so promise," Rahnnic replied.

The mother turned. Like a baby being bom, Arameth emerged

from the trunk of her tree. She seemed dazed and almost uncon-

scious, except that when Rahnnic reached for her, she rushed into

his arms.

Oxal climbed unsteadily to his feet, almost ashamed to be

watching, as if he'd stumbled over a couple making love.

Arameth seemed only slightly older than Rahnnic. The gambit

had worked- The decades ahead were theirs to share.

It was only as he handed the prince a blanket with which to

cover his wife that Oxal realized something was wrong. Rahnnic

had already seen it, and the blanket fell nerveless from his fin-

gers.

"She is not as you remember her," the mother of the forest

confessed. She held out a round, polished acom as big as a hen's

egg. "Take this. In time you may have need of it."

Rahnnic's hand shook as he accepted the acom. Stricken, he

led his princess from the amphitheater.

The end of the quest was not as Oxal would have imagined.

True, hordes of onlookers lined the streets of the capital. Musi-

cians played, clowns distracted impatient children, and decora-

tions hung from shop lintels and street tamps. But the gaiety

faded at the first glimpse of Arameth.

The princess frowned at the structures of brick and tile and

lumber as if she had never seen them before. The people she ig-

254 Dave Smeds

nored altogether. She demonstrated only one sign of intentional

thought—occasionally she grasped Rahnnic's hand.

The somber discussions within the palace were the worst or-

deal. Since the prince was reluctant to speak, it fell to the soldier

to describe the liberation of the princess.

"She seems to know Rahnnic," he said, intimidated to be

speaking to so many royals, "but gives no other sign that she re-

members her life as Arameth- It's been too long. The human part

of her has withered. All the way back she would sit in silence,

listening to the babble of streams, raising her face to the sun.

swaying as the breeze stroked her. Like a tree."

The royal family could see for themselves the truth of the ac-

count. Rahnnic and Arameth retired to private quarters. The king

tripled Oxal's pension as a reward for his fealty and granted him

permission to leave.

Though he was a palace guard, Oxal seldom saw the prince

over the next few seasons. Most of that was at a distance, as

Rahnnic guided his mate through the gardens or along the ram-

parts, viewing the seashore where, in an earlier life, they had

shared many walks.

The princess remained wordless, though occasionally she

voiced sounds that mimicked the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Only a few sights made her smile, chiefly the arrival of birds,

who would perch on her and sing. Sometimes on moonlit nights

she would dance, and Oxal heard it whispered that it was not

such a dance as the proper ladies of the court would dare at-

tempt.

One day in autumn, Rahnnic came to the barracks where Oxal

had just completed his round of duty.

"It was a year ago today I took Arameth from the wood," said

the prince. "Come. You were my witness then. Be my witness

now."

With Arameth at his side, Rahnnic guided Oxal to a secluded

area of the royal gardens where a large tree had recently been re-

moved. Soft soil, wet from that morning's storm, filled the cavity

where the stump had been dug out. There the prince planted the

acom given to him by the mother of the forest.

Scarcely had he stepped back than a sprig emerged from the

soil. It swelled within moments into a full-sized evergreen bright

with waxy leaves and amber flowers. It stopped growing only

when its bole was thicker than a man could wrap his arms

THE HEART OF THE FOREST      255

around. It vaguely resembled a laurel, but its bark was a smooth

tan and tiny clusters of acoms hid in the centers of the blossoms.

Arameth stepped forward, smiling radiantly. She slid hastily

from her garments, fluttered to the evergreen, and vanished.

Rahnnic sighed, tears hovering on his lashes. He pointed at the

ground on which he stood. "She was becoming ill. Though she

has left the forest—willingly—the forest will not leave her. This

will give her time to remember herself."

"How much time will that be?"

"Who knows? I will have a bench made so that I may sit in

her shade. I have memorized her dance, and will perform it with

her. Perhaps that is all that I can hope for."

"I am sorry. Your Highness, that things have not gone better."

"Do not be sorry for me, sir. I have her again. That in itself

is greater fortune than I had a right to expect. I waited a century

for her companionship. I can wait another, if need be, to see her

fully restored." A branch of the tree reached downward, stroking

his cheek with soft leaves. "You see? She knows that I love her.

Surely the rest is worth a bit of patience."

Oxal quietly took his leave. The prince remained, hand ten-

derly pressing the tree-

The soldier made his way down the familiar cobbled streets to

his modest house. Ayana was waiting as he stepped across the

threshold. She took one look at him and said, "It is done, then?"

"Yes." Oxal coughed. "Yes."

Over supper he described the scene at the garden. "The legend

is fulfilled," Ayana replied. "For better or worse, they are re-

united. It makes a mighty tale."

Oxal nodded absently. He was watching his daughter. His

baby, Fihelia, now fourteen years old. She was placing the screen

in front of the hearth for the night, looking for all the world like

a grown woman tending to the duties of her own house.

Gradually his aging, scarred features eased into a smile.

He and Ayana had shared these walls for over thirty years.

Quietly, with harmony. Passion had not blazed for them as in

legends, but they had grown accustomed to each other in ways

that soothed the soul. He had never truly appreciated that fact

undl he had returned from the forest. And now, more than ever,

he wondered how it could have been that once he had been en-

vious of Rahnnic, Prince of Irithel. It had not been a fool's quest.

A prize had been waiting, after all.

Holy Ground

by Thomas S. Roche

Thorns S. Roche has published fiction in several antholo-

gies and a number of magazines such as Truth Until Par-

adox and The Splendour Falls and Marion Zimmer

Bradley 's Fantasy Magazine. When not working on his sto-

nes, he has been a bus driver, a temp and a medical

writer.

We came out of the hills screaming bloody murder, our horses

lathered and choking, Rajni's shoes striking sparks, the lightning

flashing around us. The Enemy was behind us, their pale skin

glinting in the lightning flashes, longbows spread out like wings,

armor black as death. Their arrows cut past my ears. The edge of

the forest was only minutes ahead of me, and it loomed like

damned salvation.

"Have you gone crazy? We can't go into the forest!"

I drew rein as my dozen-and-a-half companions did the same.

"It's our only chance. You know the Enemy won't go in there!"

"We've got to stand and fight! No one but the priests—!"

"Go to hell, then!" I turned and spurred Rajni toward the for-

est. As the Enemy grew closer, the men turned to fight- I lost

sight of them under the sound of clashing metal and screams of

battle. If they wanted to die defending their city, that was fine

with me, for all the good it would do anyone. Forget them.

A party of the Enemy branched off to pursue me over the open

field—perhaps two dozen. I did not doubt that my companions

would soon be dead, or in chains.

I pushed my head down farther, my hands grasping Rajni's

HOLY GROUND

257

reins. Lightning hit the ground nearby; the explosion made Rajni

stumble and throw me. It was pure luck that I landed on my feet.

Realizing that I had disappeared from his back, Rajni slowed

to a trot, just slow enough for me to catch up. The Enemy closed

in. They were almost upon me. I raised my hands to Heaven.

The lightning came down between me and them, exploding a

tree stump, and the party drew rein, their horses spooked. I saw

one rider go flying, but then I didn't look back.

Despite myself, I closed my eyes and said a prayer.

The sounds of pursuit grew closer. They were much more

heavily armored than me, but they knew I was trying to reach the