The Spirit of the Forest (fantasy)

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Okay guys, this has been floating round my head for a while. Take acare, there is some violence, and lots of blood. No looking if that offends you.

Don't say I didn't warn you...

She strode into the glade, and raised a hand to her forehead. She could feel every axe striking a tree; hear every scream as another tree fell. Standing twice as tall as any man, full figured, and wearing a dress made of foliage, the Spirit of the Forest halted, and turned around.
The screams were affecting her; she sighed wearily and stepped backwards to rest in the shade of the great oak behind her.

The loggers had surveyed the land at the edge of the forest nearly nine suns ago, but she had known they would return; they always did.

The forest had once covered much more than it did now. Humans had gradually reduced its size until it was as now. It still covered the best part of what they called their ‘county’, but it was a pale shadow of its earlier glory.
No doubt these latest loggers would take more land, turn the excess into farms, and go. So it would continue until only a copse was left, if that.

Despair overwhelmed the Spirit, and she sank to her knees, and held her head in her hands. ‘All is lost!’ she wailed, and seized her emerald hair, pulling it savagely. ‘I have lost control, and lost my forest!’

Another axe thudded in her mind, and she heard another scream. ‘Spirit, help us!’

The dryads cried for help, and she could offer none. Great wet tears rolled down her flushed cheeks, and fell to her chest, following her body and dropping to the ground. Where each salty droplet landed, a flower unleashed itself upon the world, pansies and daisies growing up from her misery.

She looked at the flowers as they opened to bloom. ‘From death, comes life?’ she mused ‘From my spiritual death, new lives bloom.

A spark of an idea hit her. She still had those loyal to her; her servants might be able to aid her. She rose to her feet, and roughly wiped the teardrops from her face. She composed herself; dealing with these three was akin to climbing an iced-over tree, especially their leader.

‘Children, I call you,’ she said simply, each word crisply enunciated.

‘The Third obeys,’ a sweet voice trilled back, and a Swallow swooped and before her and slightly to her left. The Swallow disappeared in a flash of light, and a female figure appeared. She wore a long robe of white, with pale skin, but in place of hair, she had glistening feathers, and her face, while pretty, was angular. Her arms trailed feathers, and looked more like wings than arms, though they ended in hands sure enough.

‘The Second obeys.’ This voice was gruff, and preceded a bear bounding into the clearing and halting to the right of the Swallow-woman. He too transformed, into a heavy-set and haired man, clothed in furs. His hands ended in great paws decked with claws, and his face was almost invisible behind whiskers, hair and beard.

‘The First obeys.’ The final voice had an edge to it, as if the speaker smiled as he spoke. She half-turned as the third speaker brushed past her, and stood between the other two, watching her with the expected smile on his face. His face was the colour and texture of polished wood, his hair was long and as green as her own, and his hands ended in long sharp twigs. His biceps and thighs were covered in dense leaf cover, though the rest of him was as smooth wood. He raised a burnished brown eyebrow at her.

‘The Spirit calls, and her children obey. What does the Spirit want of them?’ His voice sounded amused, as if the summons was a matter for joke. ‘Not that we grudge you this chance to bask in your beauty, but perhaps we had some pressing business to attend…’

‘Enough, Barkwood,’ The Spirit cut him off mid-sentence. Barkwood waved a hand to allow her to speak, his eyes glinting with humour.

‘Loggers have returned to the Forest. The Dryads of the Far Knoll call to me for aid. I wish for you to provide them that aid, my Children.’

‘You wish the loggers dealt with?’ Avian asked, her voice as lilting and musical as any birdsong, her robe and long feathers blowing in a wind that touched only her.

When the Spirit nodded, Bear added is own question. ‘Do you wish them dealt with permanently?’ he rumbled.

She stopped for a moment, and lowered her head slightly. She hated any loss of life, and knew full well that her words here could kill every human in the Far Knoll, yet what else could she do?

Barkwood stepped forward, and laid a wooden hand on her arm. ‘What other choice is there, Spirit? They will return if we only scare them. You save life by this act. From death comes life.’

She jerked her head up sharply, staring down into his eyes. He cocked his head quizzically, and smiled at her. ‘Did I say something important?’

She opened her mouth to answer, but was halted by another scream in her mind. Long, excruciating, and all too familiar. That scream belonged not to a dryad, but something stronger, something older. A nymph.

‘Barkwood!’
‘Sprit?’ His tone was businesslike now, his playful humour vanished. Banter was all very well, but lives were at stake now.
‘Go now, find out what is going on. The last call was a nymph, not a dryad. They have moved beyond cutting trees.’
‘We obey, Spirit.’ All three bowed briefly, and Avian and Bear turned, transformed, and sped from the glade. Barkwood turned to leave.

‘Barkwood’
He turned back to her. She stepped forward, and took his gnarled hand in her own.
‘Be careful, Child.’ Her eyes were full of worry, but a glimmer of anger was still visible behind the tears that welled up. Truly, the Spirit was a sentimental creature, Barkwood thought. Always caring for every creature under the sun and moon. Trees, and the creatures that aided them were his sole concern, except of course the Spirit.
He patted her impossibly soft hand with his own crooked fingers.

‘Be at peace, lady. We shall return soon, and you shall rejoice again to see Barkwood’s handsome face.’

Despite herself, she laughed. He stepped back, and swooped low into a bow. His left leg swung inwards, at ninety degrees to his right, and his right arm swept across his body to balance. He dropped almost to the floor, bending elegantly, before straightening, and bounding from the grove.


Piotr lowered his axe, and wiped his brow wearily. He’d been at this all day, felling trees, and it was exhausting work. The midday sun beat down on them all, the group of loggers sent to fell this particular section. The boss was here today to observe the beginning of the work. He had permission to start an ambitious new project, mixing the acquisition of lumber with the sale of prime farming land, both prised from this damned forest.

Piotr gazed deeper into the woods, shivering s he did so. The forest canopy was so dense that no sunlight penetrated, yet not one of the workers would enter it to gain respite from the sun. This place gave him the creeps.

Behind him, talking quietly with the boss stood that young woman who’d been watching them all day. Apparently, she was some scout, the one who had found this area for them. She held a map, and pointed to various sections to punctuate her statements.

Piotr hefted his axe again, and took a last look around before returning to work. Nigh on thirty loggers were hacking at trees, another twenty were dealing with the wood already cut, and a few others were overseeing the entire procedure. The numbers made him feel better, made him feel safe.

Oh, poor foolish Piotr. Numbers don’t make you safe, not when the land itself opposes you. So sad that now is when you learn not to anger the Spirit.

He swung the axe with all his strength, and nearly soiled himself when a hand emerged from the tree and caught the haft. Not only was he surprised it had appeared, but few men could stand before his prodigious strength. Few men stepped from trees though.

A face followed the arm, and cocked its head. The wooden features shifted into a smile, and the mouth spoke.
‘In Far Knoll, trees cut YOU down.’

Before he could react, a leg flew from the tree trunk, and tripped him.
‘Timber!’ cried the wooden man.
As he lay on the ground, the breath knocked from him, a hand composed of sharp twigs flashed down, and tore his throat out.

As he bled to death, calmness penetrating the sounds of murder echoing through the area, he reflected that he’d been right about the forest. Then, Piotr Treecutter, logger par compare, closed his eyes for the final time.

A scream resounded as Piotr died, and the wooden man looked around, and darted to the next logger, tearing rents in his chest with the sharpened stakes of his fingers. From the wood bounded another figure, a giant man covered in dense hair, waving a large tree limb as a makeshift club. Bear tackled the man to the right of the dying Piotr, even as Avian leapt from a tree, and smashed a man against a tree with her wings.

By now, the entire operation had realised that they were under attack, and many of the woodcutters swarmed to attack these newcomers. Hefting axes, daggers, and even a broken bottle in one case, they cried with anger at the death of Piotr and his teammates.

Barkwood, for it was obviously he, tripped another man, raised a knotted hand to his mouth, and gave a great cry. It sounded like the creaking of an oak tree in a gale. He returned to his bloody work before seeing whether it had had the desired effect.

It had. From those trees yet untouched, stepped more figures. All female, all clad in robes of leaves, all impossibly beautiful, they looked about themselves with fear and anger. When they saw the Children battling those who had been slaying their siblings, the dryads, as one, snarled. Their fingers elongated as Barkwood’s, into claws, and they leapt into the battle.

Though outnumbered, the children of the Spirit fought viciously, and shrugged off wounds that would, and did, slay humans. The woodcutters fought an impossible battle, yet when they realised this and fled, they were pursued, and ruthlessly slaughtered.

Within minutes, the area was clear of all but one human life. Bodies lay thrown around the clearing; blood spattered the trees and soaked the grass. The last of the remaining dryads returned to their trees, thanking the Children profusely for aiding them.

The final human stood amidst the torn bodies of her countrymen, shaking like the leaves of the trees she was responsible for killing. The scout, the woman who had brought the loggers here. Bear stepped up to her, sniffed, and brought his hand back for the killing blow. The scout screamed, and covered her face with her arms, but a sharp call stopped the blow before it landed.

‘Bear! Halt!’
Bear turned to the eldest of the Children, and frowned. ‘Why, Barkwood?’

The wooden man stepped up close to the scout, and looked her over. He peered into her eyes, ran a hand through her hair (causing her to shudder), and ran his gaze over her entire body.

‘I recognise you.’
The scout peered back at him, curiosity overcoming fear at this point. His handsome features were blank as he thought. He stood perfectly still, resembling the carvings of the Lord of the Woods she remembered from her grandfather’s house.

‘You lived here, as a child?’
Wide-eyed, she nodded.
‘With an old man?’
‘M-my grandfather, so please your lordship.’ She thought it best to curtsey, but he seemed not to notice.
‘You are of the Old Kind, why did you bring them here? Didn’t your grandfather tell you the Old Tales? You must have known the forest could defend itself, surely?’
‘But, your lordship, many logging parties have been and gone over the years. It has been generations since any were attacked.’
‘That is true,’ he mused, scratching his chin. She was surprised to notice that his long fingers left white scratches in the wood of his chin. ‘Well, you shall take a message, little girl. The Spirit is angered with the people of the land. Unless they halt the logging, more deaths will befall those who slay trees.’

‘Barkwood,’ Bear growled, ‘we haven’t got permiss…’
‘But, we need wood’ protested the woman.
‘Woodcutters were once welcome in the forest,’ Barkwood continued. ‘They knew the old practices, so we accepted them. Follow the old ways, and you may have the wood you need.’
‘But the people don’t know the old ways’
‘You do. Teach them. If they argue, tell them to come to the forest. We will teach them respect for the land once again.’

The scout looked up into the carved face wordlessly. The oak features rested on her for a moment, before they softened, and he laid a gentle hand on her head.

‘Spirit’s blessing on you, child.’

She blinked, and the glade was empty. A bird soared in the sky, a bear loped away in the forest, and a tree swayed slightly, a foot retreating into it. With a last look at the gore-soaked carnage of the lumber operation, she fled. The people had best heed this warning, she thought. The forest is awake.


The Spirit sat with her back to the oak tree, her head in her hands. The screams of the dryads had ended a while ago, replaced with cries of anger, and calls of victory. So the humans were dead. Tears dropped from her eyes as she wept, silently.

‘Avian, why don’t you ever nest in my tree? Those pretty legs would be welcome in my branches any night.’
‘Because your tree is rather small, Barkwood. There are better trees to roost in.’
‘Avian, you wound me! While there are larger trees, none are as powerful as me! Besides, where else will you get such witty conversation?’
‘Perhaps the rock beneath my feet?’
‘Such barbs, Avian? Why do you hate me so?’
A laugh. ‘I don’t hate you Barkwood. I tell you what, since you fought so well, tonight I’ll nest in your branches.’
‘Many thanks, pretty Avian.’
A deeper voice rumbled into the conversation. ‘Roost where you will, Sparrow, but stop your fellows voiding their bowels near my cave.’
‘Birds are free to do as they wish, Bear,’ she informed him, loftily. ‘Besides, you shouldn't complain of mess, as your paws are bloody.’
‘So are your wings,’ Barkwood pointed out.
‘And your hands, Tree,’ Bear growled.
‘What ho, fellow Children!’ Barkwood shifted the subject as they entered the glade, sweeping his hands out to halt them. ‘I spy a beautiful Spirit! Alas, she weeps! What ails thee, gorgeous one?’

The Spirit stood, and wiped her eyes on her forearm.
‘Well?’
‘All dead’ Bear reported.
‘All bar one. One of them was of the Old Kind. Barkwood sent her away with a warning,’ Avian amended his words.
Barkwood shrugged. ‘The Old Kind were good to the trees.’
The Spirit looked to Avian.
‘The woman was pretty.’
The Spirit looked back to Barkwood, who shrugged, and shook his head apologetically.

The Spirit leant forward, and took his hand. She saw the scene in her mind, as it was when the Children had left. She was disgusted at the carnage and the savagery with the men had been butchered, and made to release his arm, but he grasped her hand, and held it tight. He shifted the images to the lumber that was in being processed before the attack. Beside every trunk was the mangled body of a dryad. All sported axe wounds, many sliced in half, blood pouring from each wound to soak into the soil. To each body Barkwood supplied a name, and a few words on the character of the dryad. When he felt the heat of anger course through the Spirit, he released her hand.

She took a few moments to compose herself again, and unclench her fists before opening her eyes again.
‘Very well, Children. You have done as I asked; I should not balk at the how. My thanks to you all. You may leave me now.’

Again, Barkwood was the last to leave. When he reached the edge of the grove, he turned. The Spirit was leaning heavily against the oak tree, her face hidden from him. Despite her words, the deaths weighed heavily on her.

‘Spirit?’
She jerked upright, and whirled to face him. ‘Barkwood?’
‘Spirit, you never visit my tree anymore. You should. The heart of the forest is a calming place.’
The Spirit smiled wistfully as she remembered the last time she had visited. He was right; the glade at the centre of the forest was a tranquil place.

‘You would be welcome anytime you wished to come, if you need someone to talk to. Nothing can listen like a tree, trust me.’
She giggled, surprising even herself. ‘Thank you, Barkwood. Your offer is sweet. You never fail to surprise me.’

He back at her, shrugged, and walked away.

 

C'mon guys, I really do need some feedback here. Please?

 

I know the feeling, Daie. I read it and thought it very good. I'm not good at critiquing writings.

 

Your character development was excellent, Daie. I especially enjoyed the exchange between Barkwood, Swallow, and Bear after the battle. The story flowed well--I didn't find the violence excessive, in fact it painted a good picture of "the fury of nature", as it were.

I haven't been around much, but it's good to come by and see good stuff like your story. Keep up the good work!

 

I found it enjoyable, well written and it made me want to read more to this story.

There was this "Oh, poor foolish Piotr..." part which didn't quite fit to the way the story was narrated in other places, you know the way the narrator is speaking to a character of the story since it doesn't happen in other places.

Otherwise, as a brief inspection, I'd say this is pretty solid stuff and I've read much worse pieces from authors who've had their books printed.

 

Have you ever considered a job as a writer? I think most of your stories have great potential to be fully fledged novles.

 

Wow, thanks a lot. I'm studying Creative Writing in university, so a career in wiritng is the plan...