Three Moons

Whispers in the Forest

“I think it’s time for a little test,” Old Maeve told Lile one day as the pair sipped their morning tea and ate chunks of sweet honey cake. Maeve, amongst other things, was an impressive cook. This was another skill Lile hoped to learn from her. 

Since the Basamortah conquest, Lile's diet had changed drastically. Gone were the days of eating pig roasted on a spit and drinking mead by the fire. Lile had not eaten meat of any kind in three years. When the Baron, Lord Ganix, became the steward of her village, he confiscated all the animals. Wool and animal furs now had to be purchased from him and meat was off the table quite literally. The forests belonged to him too and what had once been fair hunting was now poaching. Meat was for the Basamortans, the Deargish could live off vegetables. And so they did. They ate all the roots, grains and leaves that they were allocated. But with most of their resources being sent away to supply the Basahmortan army, suffice to say they had all lost a lot of weight. 

Lile had hoped, since she was living in a forest outside of the Basamortah Empire, that she might eat meat again, but Maeve was strictly against it. She forbade Lile from killing animals of any kind. The rabbits that the wolf had left had been amazing and it had been with great regret that Lile had returned to a meatless diet since then. Maeve's demonisation of the natural order of life was completely foreign to Lile, but she accepted the wise women's ways as an apprentice should...for now. 

Despite her ongoing lack of meat, Lile was gaining condition thanks to the plentifulness of fruit in the forest. And honey! Devine honey that, like meat, had been taken from her since her subjugation. Someday she'd be brave enough to ask Maeve if she could make mead.

“What sort of test?” Lile asked eagerly as she flicked absentmindedly through a book she couldn't read. They were eating their second breakfast in the third room of Maeve's workroom which doubled as a study. Maeve had left this book open on her workbench and Lile had been trawling through the indecipherable script. She was illiterate but she enjoyed the patterns. 

 “A foraging test. You will go into the forest alone and you will come back with the three ingredients I ask of you. And stop touching that book with your sticky fingers” Lile let the book alone and finished her breakfast. 

“Into the forest alone?" she asked, mouth full of cake.  She was unsure whether she was excited or afraid. Of course, she wanted to prove to Maeve that she was learning what she had been taught, but she was a little unsure of how well she would manage herself in the forest. What if she got lost? What if she met the wolf? Sure, the wolf had left them alone, as both Maeve and, apparently, Gren, had said it would. But occasionally Lile caught a glimpse of it lurking amongst the trees. It was around and she preferred to keep a distance from it. And the wolf was not the only other thing living in the forest. The trees hid a multitude of spirits and creatures.  

Lile was still effectively blind to magic. She could not see the lights and colours of Maeve’s enchantments. Nor could she see Gren who visited them frequently. But she could hear. It began with Gren, though she hadn’t realised it, when he had come whistling past their door. She had heard the whistling and thought nothing of it. Then she heard the whispers. Voices from amongst the trees. They began as an indecipherable ‘sshshsshsh,’ and sometimes a ‘chchchchch.’ Maeve heard this too. Maeve had been hearing this all along. What she did not hear were the melodies that rose at the break of day and sank at its close. The forest sang, frequently, often mournfully. 

When Lile told Maeve that she could hear melodies from the forest, the woman had compressed her lips and slipped into deep thought. 

“When I first came here,” she had said, “I saw long before I heard, and I still see much better than I hear. It seems you are developing better ears than eyes. You already hear things that even I cannot hear.” 

This disappointed Lile somewhat. If Maeve could not hear the songs, then maybe Lile would never see the colours. That's what she had really wanted, to see the beautiful colours and lights that Maeve always talked about. Whenever the wise woman spoke of them, the spectacular imagery painted in Lile’s mind was akin to heaven itself. But Lile was not discovering the breathtakingly beautiful forest that Maeve knew. Rather, she was becoming acquainted with a more sombre wood that she didn't understand. How could the spirits of the forest be so low in morale in such a peaceful and beautiful place as this?  

Despite her qualms about venturing into the forest alone, Lile’s pride and resolve was greater than her fear. 

“When?” she asked Maeve, hoping she had not given herself away as a bit of a coward.  

“Today, after breakfast,” Maeve replied.  

“What ingredients?” 

“Cleow, water gorn and millow,” Maeve said without hesitation. “You’ll be making your own tea tonight.”  

“But you’ve never even shown me where to find cleow. How am I supposed to find it alone?” 

“Ask your friends, the trees.” 

“The trees?” 

“Yes, the ones that speak to you.” 

“The trees don-” Lile stopped, realising what Maeve was telling her. 

“You think it’s the trees speaking to me?” 

“That's what you have said yourself, isn’t it? That the voices come from the trees?” 

“I suppose, but I just meant that that’s where the voices sounded like they came from. I don’t know if it’s the trees talking.” 

“Where does my voice sound like it’s coming from?” 

“You.” 

“Well done.”  

Lile blushed, feeling mocked by the older woman. All of a sudden she was actually eager to escape into the forest on her own. Once she had finished her tea and cake she did exactly that. With a small sack in her hand, she stepped over the enchanted barrier she still couldn’t see and entered the forest. Alone. Almost immediately, she heard a soft melody, similar to that of a pipe but richer, larger somehow. At first, it was just one, but as it played out it was joined by another. A multitude of voices singing just a handful of long drawn out notes. She couldn't help but wonder if the forest was singing for her, to her. 

Lile knew where to find the water gorn and immediately headed for the nearest creek. They frequented the creek to fetch water in the evenings and it was no trouble for her to find. The daily traffic had worn in a narrow path that was easy to follow. She heard it before she saw it. The sound of fast trickling water gave a beautiful voice to the forest. Not a creepy tree spirit voice, but the natural voice of vitality flowing through the veins of the earth. It was the way a forest should feel, alive and flourishing, not sad.   

She stabbed a broken branch into the soft mud of the bank of the creek so that the path back was marked. Then she wandered down the creek until she found an area where water gorn grew plentifully. She was frugal in her takings. Maeve had not specified how much she was to gather, but over the last few weeks she had repeatedly instructed Lile that in whatever she gathered she ought to leave plenty for the forest. Wastefulness showed disdain for nature. The water gorn would not keep for long, Lile gathered only a little. She cut the weed clean with a knife so as to not put strain on the roots by tugging at it. She quite liked her knife. It was a gift from Maeve. ‘A wise woman’s best friend,’ she had called it. She then returned to her marked path, removed the branch from the earth and began her hunt for millow. 

She walked back along the path, branch in hand, keeping an eye out for fallen, dead trees. The ones that stood alive and well had changed their tune slightly. They were singing a new song. She quite liked this one, not too mournful, just gentle, like a lullaby. The thought of finding a dead tree suddenly disturbed her. A few weeks ago it would have meant nothing. She lived in a wooden hut, slept in a wooden bed, threw wood on her fire, was currently walking around with a stick in her hand. But for the first time, it occurred to her that the trees were conscious to some extent. Was scavenging a dead tree in search for millow much different from rummaging through a carcass? She shook her head. Don't be silly, she told herself, just find the flower and don't think too much about it. 

She stuck to the path, not wanting to veer too far off, for fear of losing sight of it and getting lost in the forest. It could happen easily, Maeve had warned. You can become disorientated, think you’ve only wandered a little way, turn around to go back, but you haven’t turned around at all. Soon you’ve wandered deeper and deeper into the forest and you’re utterly lost. And that’s dangerous, very dangerous. So she searched the surrounding forest from the safety of the well-worn track. Before long, she was back at the clearing. Maeve sat out the front of her cottage, absent-mindedly stirring something in a pot beside her. She waved at Lile when she saw her. Lile waved back, then turned around and trudged back into the forest. 

Her plan hadn’t worked. She had wandered all the way back without spotting a single dead tree. She would have to leave the path to find one. From her belt, which she wore for utility over her dress, she pulled out her knife. She could mark the trees and perhaps walk as far as she needed without getting lost. She twirled the knife around in her hand as she thought. She wondered which trees would be easiest to cut into. There were the bone trees with thin bark that would be easy to cut into but they were common as anything. If she marked them, she would have to search every single one to find her way back. Better to only mark the more distinct trees and save herself time and possibly her life. 

Cottish trees were the behemoths of the forest. Thick, ancient giant towers that stood as a significant feature wherever they were. They were impossible to miss. Lile didn't believe she had ever seen a young one. They were all huge. But, she had seen only three or four and while there was one near the clearing she would have to walk a fair distance before she found another. 

The bahl trees were also unique. They were all bent in strange angles and riddled with knots like old hags that had become stuck in the mud. They were particularly fun for climbing as they never grew that high and had plenty of low hanging branches. Their bark was thick but soft. She thought they might cut easily enough. Having set a plan, Lile stabbed her branch back into the ground and strayed off the path toward the first non-bone tree she could find. It was a short bahl tree with branches that stooped right to the forest floor. With little thought of what she was about to do, she scraped her knife into the tree's thick branch. A loud wail erupted from the trees. Lile jumped back, dropped her knife and her sack, and lost her footing. She landed roughly on a root and was yelped at by - she couldn't believe it - another tree. 

"That was very unkind," a voice said sternly in her ear. This caused Lile to yelp. On hands and knees, she scurried away from the direction of the voice as quickly as she could. 

"Whose there?" she demanded shakily. She looked to the left and to the right but saw no one. 

"Can you still not see me?" the voice asked in her ear again. It sounded odd, like it was the echo of voice and not a voice itself.

"Stop that!" Lile cried throwing her hands over her ears. 

"Stop talking? But you asked me a question." The voice was muffled now, shut out by Lile's hands. This relieved her somewhat as for a split second she had feared the voice was in her own head. 

She composed herself through heavy breaths then said, "You still haven't answered my question."

"You told me to stop!" the voice whined.

"Get to it, who are you, and why are you invisible?" 

"I'm not invisible, you're blind!"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Gren."

"Gren?"

"Gren."

"Gren?"

"Yes, I'm Gren already!" the spirit snapped.

"Ok, right, sorry," Lile said, holding her hands in front of her face to shield herself from the invisible spirit which was now buzzing angrily around her. Gren was a lot sulkier than Lile had expected. "I'm Lile," she said. 

"Yes, I'm aware. You should apologize you know. Very uncalled for, hurting trees like that."

"Oh, I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I was just trying to mark a path." Though she knew she couldn't see him. Lile's head was still spinning this way and that trying to follow the voice. 

"What did you need to mark a path for?" Gren asked.

"I have to forage on my own and I don't want to get lost."

"Why don't you just ask the trees for help as Maeve told you?" 

"Well," Lile replied as she finally picked herself off the floor, "I can't actually talk to trees."

"Won't," Gren said shortly. 

"Huh?"

"Won't is not can't. Can't say you can't when you won't try. Can say you won't. You won't talk to trees. Maeve won't be happy. I'll tell her how unkind you are."

"Stop, stop, stop." Lile was starting to wish so badly that she could not hear magic. The trees could sing as much as they wanted, but Gren needed to shut it. To think, Old Maeve spoke of him like he was so wise. But perhaps he did know a thing or two. "Could you help me? Talk to trees I mean."

"Sure, you can start by apologizing to that one," Gren spoke as though he was pointing to something. Of course, Lile couldn't see, but she knew which tree he meant. She walked over to it and for a moment just stood there feeling stupid. 

"Uh, sorry," she said. A low and gentle melody rose out of the tree. Just two or three notes that alternated. They were not sad notes. She hoped this meant the tree wasn't upset with her.

"I don't speak tree," she whispered to Gren. Or at least she thought she did. She had no idea if the spirit was around, not being able to see him and all.

"I do," Gren whispered back. 

"Well then translate for me already," she hissed. Perhaps she shouldn't get mad at the spirit. He might not understand humans well. But his lack of helpfulness on top of her discomfort with the situation was beginning to frustrate her. 

"He is happy to meet you," Gren said. 

"He?" 

"The tree."

"I didn't realise trees could be male and female."

"Some are one, some are both." 

"Oh, um, does 'he'  have a name? 

"Besnik."

"Besnik?"

"Besnik."

"But that sounds like a human name?"

"Can trees not share human names?"

"Well, trees in Gael Forest shouldn't have Poshite names. It sounds a lot like a Poshite name to me."

"Po-shite?" Gren asked slowly.

"It's a tribe from the south, near Basamortah. Actually been part of the Basamortan Empire for a long time. They have names like Dren, Granit, Spartak. I met some of them when the wolf army camped at our village. They weren't so aggressive like true Basamortans. Just kinda sad." Sad like the trees, she thought privately. Now that she thought of it, perhaps a Poshite-like name was well suited for such a tree. 

"Lile." From behind her Gren spoke her name, softly, solemnly. "Don't be scared."

"Scared of what?" she asked. He didn't answer. "Scared of what?' she asked again. 

"Scared of him," he said.

Scared of Besnik? I'm not scared of a tree." She spun around to face Gren, though she knew she couldn't see him. There in front of her, larger than she had ever realised with bright yellow eyes, exposed fangs and bristling black fur, stood the wolf.