The Man In the Forest Part 6

She was eager to get going the next morning, and forced herself to sit and eat breakfast. She packed her bag hastily, paying little attention to the paints and brushes she was shoving in it.

When she was ready at last, she stood outside looking at the forest, hesitating. She wasn’t sure where to go, or whether or not she should take Ichibod. Laknir had said he would find her, but how could he if even she didn’t know where she was going? Ichibod, though he seemed no worse for wear after their long journey yesterday, nonetheless appeared rather content to graze in the paddock with Flora, so she decided to head out on foot.

She looked for Ranth, but, seeing no sign of him she hoisted her bag over her shoulder, turned north and started walking. The forest seemed more alive somehow, and she wondered if her encounter with Laknir had made her more sensitive to the power about which he’d spoken.

She walked for hours, enjoying the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the earth under her feet, listening to the birds sing and fly and rustle the leaves on the trees. Eventually, she came to a small clearing in which a single old tree stood tall against the sky. Immediately, she stopped, knowing that this was the place. She dropped down onto a fallen tree and swung her pack off her shoulder gratefully. Stretching, she looked around her, taking in the clearing and breathing deeply. Her legs ached and she drank deep from her water flask, content for now to just sit and recover her strength. She tried not to look for Laknir, but found herself scanning the tree line nonetheless, and, as the minutes ticked by, disappointment set in.

What is wrong with me? she asked herself, frustrated, what spell has this immortal cast on my poor mortal heart that I long for him as a drowning man might long for air? She’d never been the sort of mooning, romantic girl she’d despised in the town. Above all, she had always valued her independence, vowing that no one would touch her heart without her permission. She didn’t want love, she never had. She loved her mother and her sister, and that was enough. Or so she thought until…

She stood up abruptly, cutting off her own thoughts. Mechanically, she began unpacking her art supplies, setting up the collapsible easel and placing a fresh canvas on it. She took a breath, and studied the tree. It was an oak tree, a very sturdy species, and much higher than the surrounding trees. It stood alone in the clearing but for bunches of wildflowers growing at the base of the trunk. In pencil, she began to lightly sketch the outline as she started to see the painting in her mind. Without knowing why, she set the tree just off center, leaving the focus of the painting blank.

It was hours later before she paused. She’d moved on to paints, mixing them carefully to get just the right colors, and the work had progressed well. She sat on the fallen tree again, wiping at her forehead and drinking deeply. Her stomach growled suddenly, bringing to her attention just how hungry she was. She rummaged in her pack until she found the sandwich she’d made. Ravenous, she tore into it, her hunger seeming to intensify as the flavors of the greens she’d put in it hit her tongue. They were all vegetables from her own garden, with just a hint of mustard on the hearty grain bread, and so much more flavorful than the greens she’d slathered with butter and cheese as a child.

It was a moment before she noticed that he’d arrived. He seemed to appear between one blink and another, but she supposed it was only because he moved so quietly. She was just washing down the last of her sandwich with another cool drink of water when she looked up and saw him. A part of her wanted to leap up and run into his arms. Thankfully, she still had some dignity. She smiled at him instead, and he looked at her with that same peaceful contentment he’d shown the day before. He was leaning against the tree like it was an old friend, exactly as if he’d been leaning there since the beginning of time and would still be there at the end. Looking at him, she realized suddenly what had been missing in the painting.

Without speaking, she went to her easel and began to paint again. She worked for another hour picking out the details of his form, his clothing, his face and committing them to the canvas in a fever. But try as she might, she couldn’t get his face right. Just when she would think she’d got the line of the jaw, she would notice the eyes were all wrong, and then she would get them sorted and find that the nose wasn’t correct. She hadn’t painted many people, preferring landscapes and wildlife instead. She had been commissioned to do a portrait once, but the subject had greatly objected to her honest portrayal of the subject’s aging appearance, and threw a tantrum when Ryan refused to alter it, insisting stubbornly that she would only paint the truth, and if the woman wanted a portrait of a young, foolish girl she could buy one at any market fair. The woman had screamed at her then, and Ryan vowed never to do another portrait. So now, here she was, unable to capture the face before her, cursing her lack of skill.

She was on the verge of tears from frustration when he moved. He came around the painting without even glancing at it, and took her into his arms. She let her hands fall to her sides, afraid to get paint on him, and buried her face in his chest. She breathed in the scent of him (like crisp morning air, or warm sun after rain) which relaxed her immediately, and he tipped her face up to kiss him. His kisses were sweet and rich, awakening a need that frightened her. Later, after he’d left her, she felt his loss keenly.

The kisses didn’t stay with her this time, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness as she walked home. She had asked to see him the next day, but he’d said no.

“You must go into town,” he’d told her, “It is your market day.” She didn’t ask how he knew what day she usually took her produce to market.

She was distracted at the market. She usually harvested what she wished to bring the day before, but since she’d spent the day before in the woods, she was only able to bring as much as she could harvest that morning. Also, she was short with one of her best customers, Mrs. Eversmyle, who eyed her sharply but didn’t say anything. It annoyed her, the way Mrs. Eversmyle looked at her, as if she guessed something of what had happened. But how could she, Ryan assured herself, who could possibly dream up something like Laknir? Still, it worried her, for she did not wish anyone to know who she had met in the woods, and she compensated by being extra nice to Davey Phillips who blushed and stuttered because he had always been a bit sweet on Ryan and had never seen her smile so brilliantly at him.

Her mother and sister came by to visit her stall, as they always did on market days, and when Ryan snapped at her mother when she noted how little Ryan had brought to market her mother looked at her with a similar expression to Mrs. Eversmyle’s.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Mother said casually, as she was helping Ryan pack up her baskets and count out her profit. As much as she would have liked to refuse, she knew she couldn’t. Her mother could be very stubborn when she wanted to be, and if she believed there was something wrong with Ryan, she would make the trek out to Laknir Lodge every day for a month if she had to, just to get to the bottom of it. So Ryan had dinner with them, only half-listening to her sister describe Elsie Louise’s birthday party, and how when she turned 12 she wanted to invite every boy in the neighborhood and have a 12 tiered cake.

“One for every year,” Heather finished with a nod.

“You are not going to have a 12 tiered cake, Heather, unless you choose to bake it yourself,” Mother said wryly. “And you don’t turn 12 for another year, so I think we can leave off planning for a little while yet.” There was silence as Heather sulked, stirring her stew unhappily. “I saw Tom the other day,” Mother mentioned casually, without looking up from the bread she was buttering.

Ryan’s spoon clanked against the side of her bowl.

“He’s home for the summer to help out his father,” Mother continued. “Maybe you should go see him?”

Ryan frowned at her stew. “Why would I do that?” she mumbled.

“I thought you were friends,” Mother replied, eyeing her daughter shrewdly.

“We are,” Ryan said, her voice sounding strained and slightly defensive.

“But?” Mother prompted.

Ryan looked up finally. “I’m just busy, Mom. I’ve got my garden, and the barn roof needs patching, and I’m supposed to take Flora to Apple Ranch to be bred, and I still haven’t painted the house…” she trailed off.

“Still,” her mother said, “I’m sure Tom would like to see you sometime before he has to go back to the university.”

It was late by the time Ryan set off for home. Her mother had asked her repeatedly to stay the night, arguing that it was too dangerous to travel so late, but Ryan refused. She had her gun, and it was a full moon. They argued right up until the moment Ryan mounted Ichibod and threatened to leave without saying goodbye.

Reluctantly, Mother watched her go.

The Man In the Forest Part 5

She regained consciousness slowly. She felt warm and there was a sweet smell in the air, and light shining very brightly on her still-closed eyes. I have overslept, she thought. It is dawn, and I should get up to feed the chickens. But there was something odd about the brightness of the light. It did not feel like dawn light…

She sat up too quickly and hissed in pain as her head protested by pounding violently. She clutched it and moaned involuntarily. There was also a crick in her neck, she noted unhappily, and decided that fainting was not at all as romantic as Heather would have her believe. If she lived through this, she would be sure to tell her.

“I’m sorry, I did try to catch you,” came a familiar, and rather distraught sounding, voice. She turned to see that Laknir was sitting a little ways away, looking anxiously at her. “It has been so long since I spoke to anyone I’m afraid I quite forgot the sort of effect I can have. I would have moved you to a more comfortable locale, but I did not wish to frighten you further. Are you all right?” He said all this without taking a breath then fell silent while he looked her over with a critical eye, presumably to ascertain that she was, indeed, all right.

Ryan moved her head experimentally and found that the pounding was already subsiding, and the crick in her neck seemed to be working itself out as she stretched it gingerly.

“Yes,” she said at last, though her voice was a little hoarse. She cleared her throat and said, “Yes, I am all right.”

The easy smile returned to Laknir’s face. “Good,” he said, looking away from her, and out over the meadow. He seemed to be giving her a chance to regain her bearings, and she took it gratefully.

First, she looked for Ichibod, and found him rolling happily in a patch of dirt. Apparently, whatever had just happened to her hadn’t affected him. Next she looked round for her things. Her pack with the art supplies was a few feet to her right, and the paintbrush she’d grabbed to defend herself was beside her where she’d dropped it. She glanced at Laknir to see that he was still staring in the other direction then chanced a look back at where she had entered the valley; where her gun was laying. It was too far away to do her any good, and anyway, he didn’t seem interested in killing her just then. Finally, she looked at Laknir himself.

His hair was brown and messy and hung down around his face, just brushing his shoulders. His features were sharply cut, but seemed almost delicate, and he was clean shaven. He would look young if it weren’t for his eyes. His eyes were the blue of the river, but their depths were bottomless. Not human, she thought. But then what, exactly, was he? He was tall, but too lanky and too handsome to be an ogre or a troll. He didn’t have the air of a magician (besides which, no magician would choose to live so far from adoring crowds of people). She supposed he might be a shapeshifter of some kind, but they tended to be wilder and less articulate, and considered humans beneath them. That still left a wide range of beings about whom she knew very little. And it was a general rule that non-mortal beings were not all that friendly toward humans. Panic threatened again, feeling like cold, hard rocks in her stomach.

“I am the heart of this forest,” he said, still not looking at her. Her surprise held the panic at bay.

“You’re…what?” she asked, feeling incredibly stupid. He looked at her then, and when their eyes met she felt the panic start to make a bid for freedom again, but she grabbed it and shoved it back, trying desperately to regain control of herself.

“You are wondering what I am,” he said calmly. Some of the panic must have broken through to her expression at that because he added, “I cannot read you as well as you fear, but I have seen that look often enough in my life to know it well.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said slowly, hoping to keep the fear out of her voice.

“Places that are around long enough tend to attract a certain type of being. Forests, mountains, even ancient cities. A forest like this has power; lines of magic that have existed since before the emergence of time itself. You feel it, whether you put a name to it or not. Even the townspeople feel it, though most of them are too wrapped up in their own human selfishness to notice.”

She bristled with indignation on behalf of her own species, despite the fact that she, herself, had thought worse things about humanity. It was the way he’d said “human” with such disdain that stung her pride.

“I have insulted you,” he said, and she turned to see him watching her again. She didn’t like the way his eyes seemed to see straight through her. It made her feel empty and vulnerable, and yet…there was something strangely thrilling about it. “I didn’t mean to.”

It wasn’t an apology, nor did he seem all that contrite, so she didn’t answer.

“I’ve messed this up, haven’t I?” he said after a moment’s silence, looking up at the sky.

“Just what, exactly, is it that you want from me?” she asked, shocked at her own daring. She was tired of playing this game, and almost wished that if he was going to kill her he would just do it already. He turned to her, clearly surprised by her question.

“I want your company,” he explained as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. This was so out of the realm of what she expected him to say that she was struck dumb.

He began to explain. “I am alone here. I like solitude, but there comes a time when ‘alone’ becomes ‘lonely’. The forest speaks to me in a way, as do the animals, but it isn’t the same. Animals are mostly concerned with the day-to-day problems of finding food and avoiding predators. They aren’t exactly inclined to sit and have a conversation with you. Ranth is perhaps the one exception, but even Ranth cannot be relied upon to stay when I wish to discuss something; he is a cat after all. And, anyway, he mostly speaks in verse and riddles which can give one a headache after a while. You see,” and here he leaned toward her, eyes pleading, hands out as if in supplication, “I only made that snide remark about humans because I am so very jealous of you all. Human beings live together, form bonds of blood and friendship, take comfort in each other. And they create things. They build homes and make music and…and art.” He smiled shyly at her.

“So why not go into town?” she asked. “Why me?”

“Because you are like me. You enjoy your solitude, and you love this forest. You feel the power here better than most because you know how to listen. And because you are hurt, in a way that I do not understand, and your pain is honest and powerful as this forest is powerful, and I want to know why.”

She stood up abruptly and turned away from him. This was too much.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and she jumped because she hadn’t heard him approach her. He seemed even taller when he was close, almost as though he would block out the sky and she would drown in darkness. But there was kindness in his eyes, and a thirst for something she couldn’t name…connection. Maybe that was it. He needed to connect to her and he didn’t know how. And, she realized with a shock, she needed that connection too. Maybe she had been alone too long. She saw something familiar in Laknir, something she recognized because it was the same something that looked back at her from the mirror. The realization washed away her fear, leaving pity behind. As ridiculous as she knew it must be, she felt sorry for him.

“I forgive you,” she replied, and it felt like permission. Before she understood what was happening, his hand slid up to hold the side of her face and he bent to kiss her. When their lips met she felt a soft pop as little lights burst behind her eyes. She was glad of his arm around her as her head reeled, and she feared she would faint again which would have really vexed her. She’d never thought of herself as the fainting type, and to do it twice in one day…but she didn’t. He drew back and she felt the ground under her feet again. The kiss was exciting and frightening and different from…but she didn’t let herself finish the thought.

She returned home just as the sun was setting with the promise that he would see her tomorrow.

“How will I find you?” she asked. “I’m not certain I could find my way back here.”

“I will find you,” he said, brushing her hair back in an already familiar gesture. “Search out a place to paint as you always do, and I will come.”

His kisses stayed with her, and she felt lost in a daze as she rubbed Ichibod down and saw that he had clean straw in his stall and enough feed and water. Flora had been lonely in the pasture all by herself, and bumped Ryan several times with her nose almost as though to reprimand her.

Hardly noticing where she was going, Ryan fell into bed without dinner and slept deeply. Her dreams were full of sorrow and betrayal, but when she woke she couldn’t recall them.

The Man In the Forest Part 4

Painting that dowry chest shook something loose inside her, and she fell to painting with such vigor she had to remind herself to do simple things like eat and water the garden. She began taking long, rambling walks through the forest, hauling several canvases, paints, and brushes with her. She would climb over fallen trees, push her way through dense foliage, and come out into gorgeous clearings bruised and scratched, but happy. She attempted to be quiet while pounding through the shrubbery, so as not to disturb wildlife she might like to paint, or (more importantly) attract the attention of some large predator. She knew there were bear in the forest from having seen their scat, as well as other, more mysterious creatures. And while she knew better than to believe her father’s stories about a dragon in the woods (no one had seen a dragon in over 300 years, and that had been on a mountain, not some backwater forest) she couldn’t completely dismiss the tales of an Amarok sighting by hunters deep in the forest. She hoped if there was an Amarok, it wouldn’t find her worth the trouble. Nevertheless, she always carried her gun with her on these outings, just in case.

Her need to find new bits of forest and wildlife to paint became an obsession, and she tried not to think about what she might be avoiding by throwing herself headlong into this mania. To that end, one morning she got up even earlier than usual, slipping out into the still dark to feed the chickens and let out Flora and Ichibod. She performed her usual morning chores as quickly as she could, eager to get to wherever she was going today. She didn’t question this urgency at the time, but let it sweep her up in a heady excitement. Her foot jiggled impatiently as she sat drinking the last of her coffee, her mind going over the list of items she would need to take with her.

The sun was just breaking as she set out on Ichibod, her supplies hanging awkwardly from the saddle. She hadn’t questioned it when she began to saddle Ichibod, though she usually took these trips on foot, alone. She was just settling herself in the saddle when movement caught her eye.

She paused and looked carefully for the source, and was astonished to see the cat for whom she’d left bowls of leftover rabbit staring at her. It was the first time she had ever seen him clearly, for he was usually dashing just out of sight whenever she spotted him in the barn. But now, here he was, looking up at her as if to be certain that she saw him. His fur was a warm golden honey color with black spots, and he was larger than most domestic cats. He flicked his tail once, twice, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the undergrowth. She stared at the spot where he disappeared for a long moment before setting her hands firmly on the reins. She turned Ichibod’s nose toward the rising sun, and set off into the forest.

She traveled for a very long time, never questioning her direction or worrying about getting lost. She was usually quite adept at finding her way in the forest even when the trees were so thick overhead that she couldn’t see the position of the sun, but with every step it seemed her surroundings became less and less familiar, until she was hardly certain she would be able to find her path back home. But still, she went on. Ichibod was a strong horse, but he had not been ridden so much lately, and she kept a careful eye to see that he wasn’t tiring, and made sure to stop several times to let him rest and check his hooves for rocks. At one such break, as she was sitting with her back against a tree chewing a bit of ifgore root (a very tough but nutritious plant), a rustling noise startled her. Her hand reached for her gun instinctively, just as the cat stepped purposefully from the brush. Had he been following them? Or was she following him?

He looked at her with the same measured gaze as before, then looked at the gun lying on the ground beside her, her hand still outstretched as though to grab it. She suddenly felt rather self-conscious, and let her hand fall to her side. The cat sat down and began to clean himself.

He sat with her until it came time to leave. She stood up, brushing the dust from her clothes, and when she turned back she found the cat had gone. What was this game? She wondered, frowning suddenly. What if the cat was not all he appeared to be? There were stories of spirits using innocent creatures to lure unsuspecting people to their deaths. Was the cat a powerful being in disguise who wished to harm her, or was he just hoping she would feed him?

Ryan looked around her, searching the low brush for any sign of the cat, panic beginning to grip her throat. Everything seemed wrong. She fought to determine which way she’d come, staring at the unfamiliar trees as though they would speak to her and tell her where she was going. Did she even know how to find her way back? But if there was some magic here, why hadn’t Ichibod reacted? Horses were usually fairly sensitive to that sort of thing. She clutched her head, shaking away the questions she couldn’t answer. Just a little farther, a voice whispered in her mind.

The panic grew, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Determined to calm herself, she took a deep breath and looked up, searching for the position of the sun. The thick canopy blocked her view of the sun, which might have fed the panic but for the sight of several birds which caught her eye. They were birds of a kind that she had never seen before. She forgot the panic as she reached for a sheet of parchment and piece of charcoal. Drawing the little yellow and red birds calmed her, reminding her why she was out there. And the part of her that knew it was just a little farther also knew that what she would find there would be worth it. Without any more thoughts of spirits and magic, she set out once more.

She heard the water before she saw it. She had been hearing the rushing sounds of a river for some time, but this was the roar of a waterfall, and the air felt wet and sweet on her face as they drew nearer.

At last, they came around an outcropping of rock and saw it.

“Whoa, boy,” she said, bringing Ichibod to a halt. They were on a little rise looking down on a wide, sloping meadow. The river cut the meadow in half diagonally, and at the far left she could see the waterfall. It was not quite as high as she’d thought from the roar it was making, but it was still twice as high as she sat on Ichibod. There were only a smattering of trees in the meadow, so the sun, now almost directly overhead, shone full and bright, catching the spray from the water and turning it into hundreds of prismatic rainbows. The meadow was covered in flowers of every description as well as long golden grass which swayed gently in the breeze. In awe, she dismounted, moving further out from the tree line. Ichibod seemed restless, but he waited for her pull off his saddle and unhook the reins before he headed down into the valley. He tossed his head happily as he cantered away toward the river, and, without slowing down, plunged straight into it. She followed cautiously, leaving the saddle at the edge of the tree line, but taking the saddle bag with her supplies. Ichibod splashed about in the water like he was a newborn colt, the water only coming up to his chest, then paused to drink deeply. She watched him, then, after a moment’s hesitation, she cupped her hands in the water and brought it to her lips.

It tasted sweet and was deliciously cold. She splashed some on her face, gasping with the shock of it. She had no desire to wade in as her horse was doing, so she settled down a little ways from the river on the side of the hill, stretching out to look up at the sky. She was only going to close her eyes for a minute…

“Ranth told me you would be coming today.”

She sat up violently, her pounding heart bringing her fully awake in an instant.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your nap.”

She looked around and saw a man crouching a few feet away, smiling peacefully at her. She started to scramble to her feet, her hand reaching for the gun she’d stupidly left with the saddle and coming up with only a paintbrush to defend herself. The man didn’t get up. In fact, he looked rather like someone dealing with a frightened (possibly dangerous) animal, and trying to look as unthreatening as possible. From the length of his legs she guessed he would tower over her when he stood up, and was glad that he remained where he was.

“Who are you?” she demanded, the paintbrush in her hand still held out in a sort of defensive pose. Though what she thought she might do with it, she had no idea.

“I live here. There, actually,” he nodded his head toward the other end of the valley where a house she hadn’t noticed before sat in the shade of several trees. It was difficult to tell if the house was very small or if the trees were very large, but from what she could determine, one of the trees appeared to be growing right through the roof.

“Please forgive me,” she said, starting to back away, “I did not realize I was trespassing. If you will let me retrieve my horse, we will go.”

“Oh don’t go,” he said standing quickly. She saw that she had guessed correctly: he was very tall. She swallowed hard as she looked up (and up) at him, for while his manner was very easy, there was something strangely menacing about him. There was power in those large hands, and intelligence in his eyes that did not match the youth of his face.

“Please,” he said softly, “I have no wish to frighten you away; you, who love these woods as I do, who love their quiet and their mystery. You, who paint their wonders with such graceful strokes, and search endlessly for ever more wonders to paint. I would speak with you, and break bread with you, if only you will let me.”

She was staring openmouthed at him, aghast that someone so clearly magical had taken such interest in her. Something bumped her legs, and she gasped and looked down to find the cat rubbing against them. He looked up at her with the most astonishing green eyes and began to purr, as though he, too, were asking her to stay.

“Ranth has told me much of you,” the man said, his eyes on the cat.

“Who are you?” she breathed again. Her head was reeling, face flushed, palms clammy. She felt dizzy, and there was a rushing noise in her ears that had nothing to do with the waterfall. It grew louder and louder so that she could barely hear what he said next.

“I am Laknir,” he said simply.

And with that, she fainted.