The Forest Path
Fangorn, TA 500
“I don’t want to be Gothmog again!”
“That’s too bad, I am the oldest; you have to do what I say. Memaw and Papa said so!”
“Just two years! It’s not fair.”
“It’s absolutely fair, now you’re Gothmog and I’m Ecthelion, and I’m gonna kill you!”
The small child screamed and shrank to the ground, covering his face and head with tiny, dirt-stained hands. His sister stood over him, large stick in hand, ready to clobber him. He too had a stick, but it was tossed down on the ground in favor of the fetal position. He was small for his age, a tiny six and three-quarters young boy with dirty blonde hair and big green eyes. His sister, contrarywise, was large for her age; she was already almost as tall as their mother with muscled shoulders from working the field with her father. She was a bully, but a sisterly bully was something different from an unrelated bully. Bystanders might stop an unrelated bully from hurting someone, but a related bully? Well, that was either no one’s business or just childish roughhousing.
“Trina, please.” The little boy was weeping now, curled up into the tightest ball he could to escape and defend himself.
“Oh my god! You are such a little baby!” Trina threw down her play sword, making sure to throw it as close as possible to her little brother without actually hitting him.
He uncurled after a while, certain that his terrifying banshee of a sister had indeed left him alone. Sometimes she liked to hide behind the woodpile and jump out and tackle him. Trina was a mean old bat sometimes. She didn’t use to be. Before Mama and Da started working for that rich fellow , Trina was the best sister he could have asked for. She was nice, told him stories, helped him with his drawings, made his little toys to play make-believe with. Now, Trina acted as though she hated him. Did she hate him? He didn’t want her to hate him. What had he done wrong? He loved his sister and wanted to make her happy, but she was always so mad.
She wasn’t behind the woodpile. He breathed a sigh of relief. Just two more days until Memaw and Papa came back from their trip to the nearby town. They’d come to visit when Mama and Da had to stay longer at Mr. Steelshanks’ field. He hadn’t seen them in a week now. He didn’t like them being gone so long. Why did they have to be gone so long? Why was everything so bad?
The sky was a blank grey. He could feel the sun and see a little of its outline, but from horizon to horizon, there was nothing but plain, sad grey. It was getting colder too. Autumn. He liked autumn for the leaves and the pumpkins and the apple cider. He didn’t like the cold. It seeped into their home and into his blankets. Used to, he would snuggle up with his big sister; they’d keep each other warm under a giant pile of blankets, but now she called him a baby for wanted to huddle for warmth. He shivered alone in his bed. He had a stuffed rabbit once, but it had gone missing.
He shivered. It was really getting cold. It was hard to believe it was only noon. The light was weak and blah that he almost thought it was twilight.
The forest loomed like a giant creeping bush.
There was green, then there was Fangorn green. It was a scary green, a green that, if you squinted, looked more like black. Some sounds occasionally came out of the forest too. Sounds that made him very unhappy and anxious. Animals were rare in the forest; most of them lived in the surrounding fields and hills. The sounds that came out of Fangorn were not animals.
“I bet you’re too chicken to go in there.” Trina appeared behind and grabbed him by the shoulders. He yelped and jumped, causing her to burst out in a cruel stream of laughter. “Such a baby.”
“I am not a baby! I’m six and three quarters! I’m not scared.”
“You are so scared, you’re a scared little baby who’s too scared to go climb a tree in there.”
“I am not scared!” he yelled, his temper flaring. It only provoked her to laugh even more.
“If you’re not scared, then go in there and bring out an apple. I dare you, you little fraidy cat.”
“Mama and Da said never go into the forest without an adult,” he said, trying to sound reasonable.
“I knew it, chicken.” She smacked the back of his head and began to walk off.
“I am not a chicken!” he yelled, fat tears welling in his eyes. Why was his sister so mean? “I’ll go if you go.” He added just as she was about to turn the corner into their little cottage.
That stopped her. “Fine,” was all she said. She disappeared into the house. He was about to follow her inside when she came back out with her coat. “Let’s go.”
“Can I get a coat too? It’s getting cold.”
“No.” she rolled her eyes and started down to the edge of the forest. He hesitated. He really wanted a coat, but if he didn’t follow her there was no telling what she would do to him. Calling him names would only be the start. He grabbed the stick she’d given him to play “elf and balrog” with and followed her. Whatever was in that forest, he didn’t want to be unprepared. Trina only scoffed when he suggested that she carry one too. “I’m not a baby. I don’t need a stick.”
They stopped at the edge of the forest. It loomed over them like a giant verdant wave. The trees were dark and gnarled, twisted around and over each other. It was an impenetrable wall of wood, thorns, and leaves. He wanted to turn back.
“Chickening out already?” her voice was callous and sharp. She used her coat to push aside branches, creating a hole just big enough for her to crawl through. Resigned, he followed her. The tree branches were thick and strong; the bark was hard and scraped against his skin in the most uncomfortable way. By the time they made it through the wall of trees, he was scratched in a dozen different places, his face smeared with dirt.
“You look like one of the Woses,” Trina said after he tried to brush all the leaves and twigs off him.
“Do not!”
“Do so, now stop being a baby and come on. I’m tired of waiting for you.”
“I’m not being a baby,” he muttered. She didn’t hear him, which was a good thing because she’d probably smack him if she did.
They plodded through underbrush so thick it felt like quicksand. Each step made him feel like he was about to sink into the ground and never come out again. He had a less difficult time than his sister, using his sword-stick to help pull himself out. He snickered to himself. He’d been clever to bring the stick. Trina was kvetching ahead of him, saying all sorts of words and phrases he didn’t understand but knew meant she was wrathful.
Then, the underbrush just fell away. There was a path.
There shouldn’t have been a path. No one ever went into Fangorn. Mama and Da told them so. Told them never to go into the forest because no one goes in. But there was a path. They’d told them all sort of scary stories about boys and girls that went into the forest and never came out again. But there was a path. They told them under no circumstances should they go into the forest. There were things in there that didn’t like people. But there was a path.
“Trina…” he said, his eyes wide as teacups. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to get on the path. There was something weird about it. Something that didn’t feel right. Their parents had told them no one goes into the forest.
“Come on, you whiny little…” she trailed off and walked onto the path. He wasn’t sure what he was expected, but it wasn’t that. She set foot on the path nothing happened. He thought the earth might crack open or maybe a trap would spring or something. But nothing happened. He was taken aback. What if it was just a path? Tentatively, he climbed down from the underbrush and onto the hardpacked dirt pathway. He thought it might have been squishy, filled with worms or something. But it was just hard dirt. He bent over and touched it. It was cold and wet. The dirt was dark, very dark. It would make wonderful soil, he thought. He clawed a handful of the stuff and put it in his pocket. Perhaps his Da would appreciate it. He ran to catch up with his sister.
“Where do you think this path leads?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful.
“How should I know?” was all she said, she didn’t even look at him.
He felt sad. He thought maybe this adventure would bring them closer, the mystery of the path, the scariness of the forest. But he’d been wrong. There was a tightness in his chest. Why couldn’t things just go back to the way they had been?
Something moved behind him. He heard the sound of a tree branch falling. He whirled around, ready to face… nothing. But there
had been a sound. He looked all around, but there was nothing. No animals, no people. Just trees. So many trees. Had that tree by the path always loomed like that? He wasn’t sure.
They walked for a very long time. His stomach growled. Trina didn’t say anything.
“Trina…” he ventured after more time passed, “do you know where we are?”
She didn’t say anything for a while. He thought maybe she was ignoring him again or hadn’t heard him. “No,” she said finally, “I don’t.”
He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a very bad thing. That she was just as lost as he made him feel better, but that neither of them in which way they were going made him feel even worse.
“Maybe we should turn around?” he suggested, praying that she’d agree.
“No. We have to keep going. We can’t turn back.”
“But why?”
“Because I said so; because this path has to lead out. It has to.”
He didn’t want to disagree with her, but he very much did. There was a strange path in the middle of Fangorn Forest, a path that shouldn’t be there to begin with; there was no reason it would lead out. It would lead
in if anything. They should turn around. He stopped and looked back the way they’d come. It looked like a tunnel, with the trees overhanging so much. It was spooky. He was could feel his stomach rumbling from more than just hunger. What time was it? Surely it was getting late now. How long had they been walking? He wanted to turn back so bad! He took a step. Then turned back around. His sister had not stopped, she was still moving forward, into whatever was on the other end of the path. He didn’t want to find out what was there. But he didn’t want his sister getting lost either. He groaned and took off after his sister.
They walked for another long amount of time in silence. Each time he tried to bring up something, she shut him down or ignored him. He could something was wrong though. Her face was all gray with worry and concern. She was lost. They were lost. But she was not going to admit it. Not to him, the little baby.
“Trina,” he said again for what felt the hundredth time. “I don’t like it here. I think we should turn back and go home. It’s almost dark. I don’t want to be out here when it’s dark. It’s scary in here. I think the trees are moving.”
“You can go back if you want, little baby. I’m going to find out what’s on the other side of this path. I’m going to be brave. You can go home, chicken.”
“Trina, I’m not a chicken! Stop calling me that.”
“Bwak, bwak, bwak,” she made the chicken sound and began to hop around from one leg to the other imitating a stupid chicken. “Chicken.” She stopped abruptly and gave him a look so cold and mean before turned around to continue walking that he thought she might actually be a different person. His sister was mean, but that look…
There was a sound ahead. Not the sound of trees moving, which he was sure he’d seen several times. It was not the sound of animals either. It was… drums? Voices? He wasn’t sure. He raced to his sister’s side, momentarily forgetting that she seemed to hate him now, and hugged her. She didn’t push him away for a good few seconds. She did though, eventually, and shoved him at that.
“What’s that sound?” he whispered, suddenly wary of being heard.
“How should I know?” Trina was not worried about the same thing, apparently. “Come on, let’s get a better look and give me that stick.” She grabbed his stick right from his hand before he could protest. He whimpered. “Shut up, and follow me, or stay here and getting eaten by one of your moving trees.”
Having no recourse, he went forward with her, moving into a position behind her. The sounds grew louder. The sun was setting out in the world. The shadows lengthened and came alive. There was something very bad happening ahead of them, he could feel it. He tried pulling on Trina’s sleeve, to slow her down, she didn’t even turn around to smack him, just shook him free and continued walking. He didn’t want to follow, but he did. Soon the forest was as black as midnight. There were no stars to be seen, the canopy was so thick with tall trees.
There was a light ahead though. It was faint, a hazy orange glow. There was something sickly and weird about it. Trina seemed to hesitate. Even she knew it was odd. Her hesitation only lasted a few moments though. Whatever was going on in her head, she was not worried about the light or was too curious. He just wanted to go home.
Soon, voices were distinguishable. They were chanting something. The rhythm of their words was strange and stilted. He couldn’t pick out any words, all of them sounded like gibberish. He looked to Trina. She’d stopped and was crouching down. They were close, almost close enough to see. The strange orange light was full of shadows now, dancing back and forth like frenzied animals. His hands were shaking. He wanted to flee, he wanted to go home, he wanted to pee. There was an odd feeling in his gut then. A curiosity. He wanted to see what was happening behind the curve in the path. He wanted to see the orange light, the dancing shadows, the creepy voices. He looked at Trina. She had the same look in her eye. Without speaking, they clasped hands and crept forward, moving as slow as they could. There were more sounds now, the drums, the voices, and the sounds of trees moving. Not the same kind of moving as swaying in the breeze or cracking in the cool air. They were moving on their own. The creaking sound was old, ancient, and dry. The movement sounded like it was a thing not meant for moving or walking. They peeked around the corner.
The scene was frenetic and strange. There were people there, some dressed in rags, some dressed in vestments more befitting the elves, and some even went naked. They were all dancing around a fire. It was a strange fire, the flames seemed to move and react on their own like it was a living thing. It touched some of the people and they shrieked. It was cries of pain though, it was more like laughter. He winced and tried to push his neck down into his body like a turtle. He was going to be sick. There was something, too, just beyond the fire. It was… a tree? A tree but not a tree. It was a ghostly thing, here but not really here. He knew what that thing was as soon as he saw it: a Huorn. There were so many stories about them. They stole people from their beds, wrecked their homes, killed their crops and animals. They spirited away infants to parts unknown. They were the source of all bad luck to anyone living within the shadow of Fangorn. He’d never seen one. No one who told the stories ever had. But they all knew the stories, they all knew exactly what a Huorn looked like. It was so huge, bigger than he’d imagined. It was truly a tree. Branches reached high into the sky like the claws of a vulture, a vast trunk of mottled greens and browns and reds. There was something painted on it. A symbol. He squinted but he couldn’t make it out. He inched closer and closer. His sister hissed and tried to pull him back. He ignored her. Who was the chicken now? He inched closer, staying as close to the trees as he could.
It was not paint. It was… it was blood.
His eyes widened. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting. His legs felt weak. He wanted to crawl into a hole.
The Huorn spoke. The sound was awful. It was terrifying. The roar of an animal from a hundred feet underground. There were words. Atavistic human sounds coming from a tree were more unnatural than he’d imagined. He knew ents existed and they spoke, but they weren’t so much like trees as… as this. He whimpered. He could almost tell what the thing was saying. He had never been more frightened. He wanted his Mama and Da. He wanted his Memaw and Papa. He wanted his sister.
She crept up closer, huddling alongside him. She gasped and started to scream, he covered her mouth in a hurry, his eyes glued to what she was screaming at.
Their Mama and Da were there. So were Memaw and Papa. Mama and Da were bound and tied to a stone. They were naked. Memaw and Papa were standing over them, their attention rapt on the horrible words the Huorn was speaking. Tears started flowing down his cheeks. What was going on? This was all wrong. This couldn’t be happening. This was just a dream. A bad dream. That’s all. But… but… it wasn’t. It was not a dream. He knew that and he wanted to vomit.
A shriek rose up near them. For a heartbeat, he thought they’d been seen by one of the… people. But no, they hadn’t. It was a sort of call and response. The Huorn said something in that deep, feral not-a-voice, and the people gathered shrieked with glee and blood rending ecstasy. It dawned on him then. They were worshipping the Huorn. The revelation made him puke, but he had nothing in his stomach as his stomach and throat merely spasmed and went through the motions of vomiting. He wanted to shrivel into that ball he’d been in early that day.
“
BRING…. FORTH… SAC… RI… FIC… ES…”
He understood the voice. He knew what it said. He knew what it meant too. He looked to his sister, but her expression was blank, transfixed, broken. Her eyes were glassy. She’d understood too. But she couldn’t understand what she’d heard. She was… hiding.
He wanted to run. But which way? Did he try to rescue his parents? Save them from the bloodthirsty tree? From his Memaw and Papa? How… how could he? There was nothing he could do. He was just a little boy, a little baby. All six and three-quarters years old. What could he do against all these people? Against the Huorn? He stumbled backward, snapping a branch as he did. His sister snapped from her stupor and stared at him with venomous eyes. She bared her teeth and hissed at him.
“Be quiet!”
He mouthed something; he couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be. He couldn’t make his voice work. Nothing came out, not even sound.
They both watched what happened next with heavy limbs, their blood run cold. Their Memaw and Papa untied their Mama and Da, but they didn’t set them free. They took them to an altar made of branches and bones. Mama fought, tried to get away, tried to run away into the forest. Da didn’t. They were lain down and another man, wearing a strange headdress of leaves, branches, and thorns, appeared and with him a wicked-looking dagger. He stabbed them. Over and over and over and over and over and over. Tears clouded his vision. He heaved again, but still, nothing came out but bile and saliva. There was a great shrieking, the unified sound of more than two dozen worshippers. They hooted and hollered and went raving mad. The Huorn spoke, but he closed his ears to the sound. He didn’t want to hear the voice of the thing. He just wanted to go home and sleep in his bed.
A hand grabbed him.
He was ready to fight, but it was his sister. Tears streaking her horrified face. Her eyes were glassy and uneven. “We… have to… run…” she mumbled, her voice cracking and breaking. She stumbled as she picked him up. They ran. They ran as far and as hard as they could. But each time they looked back, that orange haze was just behind them. The path looked utterly different. None of the trees looked familiar. The trees had moved to block their path, to lure them away from the safety outside the forest. Still, they ran and ran and ran. If they stopped, they’d be dead. The Huorn and its raving lunatic cultists would catch them and sacrifice them, just like they did to Mama and Da. Memaw… Papa… they were with those people. They had helped kill their parents. That didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Why would they do that? They ran and ran and ran. It did no good though. The orange light was always just behind them. The shrieking grew louder and more frantic. The voice of the Huorn.
“We have to leave the path,” he said, his voice breaking.
“What? That’s… that’s crazy…”
“Please sister, please Trina. They’re going to get us if we don’t.”
They left the path. They jumped into the underbrush and its quicksand-like feeling. Trina had lost the stick and her coat a long time ago. They were stuck, trapped. Still, they tried to move. The underbrush was not kind, it knicked at them, cut them, slashed them with thorns.
“I’m sorry,” Trina said. “I’m sorry for stealing your bunny.”
He looked at her, his eyes barely staying open. They were both completely covered in grime, dirt, and blood. They’d been trying for hours to escape. It would be light soon, but he didn’t think they’d see it. “It’s okay.” He said. He reached for her and squeezed.
The orange light filtered around the corner and filled the forest.