The Forest and the Mist

  A sweetness like honey drips over your tongue, bidding you forward until the icy mist grasps your toes. Those memories you once held dear crumble under the weight of a weightless fog, but you can't tell, for you are still tasting the honey.

  Fae walked along the endless dirt path that stretched as far as he could see. The brown road snaked in and out of the rising hills and the fragrant scent of the red fairy flowers, that dotted the luscious fields, was fresh in the air. The breeze took with it a wave of their petals every time it blew through, a gift from nature to nature for the birds were delighted by the pleasant wind, and the gorgeous swirling colours of the petals that followed in its wake. Indeed, they sang a majestic song that could not be rivalled by any other troubadour Fae had ever heard. And as much as Fae was enjoying the charming scenery around him, Fae could not help but begin to get a little bored. The road he had been travelling on had been almost the same for the past seven days.

  At first the peaceful journey had seemed like a godsend, a break from the many dangerous toils he so often faced, but there was something different about Travellers. Something within their hearts made them curious and unnaturally attracted to danger, there was something that made them want to venture to the furthest shadows of the land, giving them an unusual desire to uncover secrets that did not want to be uncovered. And it was that same feeling that was now welling up within Fae, niggling him to stray from the beaten path. But if there was one other thing that Travellers were famous for, even more than their curiosity and knack for danger, it was their wisdom and discerning judgement. For one could not survive long as a Traveller without those qualities. And it was that wisdom which now spoke to Fae. He wanted to leave the road and lose himself in the fields, lose himself in adventure, but he waited – for he knew his adventure would soon come.

  A small silence lapsed as the birds took a break from their song, a silence which Fae relished for a moment, but he soon broke it and began to sing a song with his own voice. It was a song that had originated from a town close to this part of the land, and a song about a certain forest that Fae believed was actually very near to the road he was now travelling upon. He opened his mouth and a voice emitted from his throat that was not as beautiful as he would have liked it to be.

  Oh boy who wanders skies and seas

  Where be it that thou dwell

  In hope that you' be wanderin’ free

  I ring this solemn bell

  On beaten paths an upturn'd trees

  We'd not find you there

  The wood did truly swallow thee

  A fate in no way fair

  Years and years we searched for you

  And no glory in this loss

  We'd hoped that it in no way true

  A line we could not cross

  The forest laughed and laughed at us

  It had got him in its grasp

  It laughed until we were but dust

  It laughed a ghastly rasp

  For now we mourn all day and night

  And forbid that wretched place

  That any should go near that sight

  And vanish with no trace

  He stopped a few lines short of the end. Fae wished there was a lute playing along with his grating voice, but then again, he knew he was doing the fabled song no justice. There were a few other songs that described the boy who had gotten forever lost in the woods, though this ballad was by far his favourite. He considered it a treat if ever he heard a bard or troubadour playing it in any of the inns he ever stayed at.

  He was walking for only a little while longer before he came to a fork in the road, and the road split into two different directions. The path that led off to the right was wide, smooth and had clearly been used as a way of regular travel. The one that led off to the left was overgrown with weeds and thorny bushes and was undoubtedly seldom used, though the dirt path itself was still clear enough among the calamity of the flora. He faltered in his decision for a moment, but the left path called for him lustfully to tread upon it. Fae couldn't help himself. He gave in to the temptation and set off along it. The path didn't prove as hard to navigate as he first thought it would, although slower going than a wider road – he still managed to push forward.

  Fae knew this path would soon lead to a forest, probably the same forest from the ballad. He was not mistaken, for before too long trees began to sprout around him and thicken as they went along. He started to notice the song of the birds disappear behind him, and the shades of the canopy stretch wider until it completely blotted out the blue sky. And then there was the mist. It appeared out of nowhere and curled up around him, soothingly icy, forming white hands around his arms that pulled him gently forward. Soon, the silky vapour had completely surrounded him and everything, apart from the nearest tree trunk, was completely white. The mist was appeasing to look at, Fae found himself being mesmerised by its appearance for hours on end. Although he did his best to keep his wits about him; his sword hand ready to snatch up his weapon in a moment's notice, the forest seemed so dreamy, and he wondered how long he could stay awake.

  The soft thudding of his light footsteps pattered beneath him. On and on. And on. Fae didn't know how long he was wandering through the forest. He suspected that it wasn't for too long, but he did find that he had fallen into a ditzy daydream at one point and another – and so Fae knew that it was quite plausible that he had been wondering for a matter of hours, rather than minutes.

  The mood of his travels was much different to what it had been earlier on in the day; whilst before the land seemed to be dancing joyfully, now a dreary stillness had settled in its place. There was no calming breeze and no wonderful scent floating in the air. All the teeming life had now disappeared, along with any of Fae's previous desire to sing. All that he was focusing on now was his way forward. Step by step. His mind processed this thought over and over again. Step by step. And he carried on like this for some time before he came to notice that the mist was beginning to thin a little. It happened quickly, Fae stepped around one of the trees and found that he had come through a wall of mist and could suddenly see well past his hands and feet. He had wandered into a clearing, with the trees of the forest forming a large circle around an old, two-storey house. The fog did not seem to protrude into the clearing, except in very thin whisps. Instead, it was mostly simmering among the corners of the circling wood and blocking the sky with a ghostly white body. The house before him was made of murky wood, it was shabby but also still intact. At the front was a porch that stuck out awkwardly with some steps leading up to the front door.

  Fae continued forward, the silence eerily settling in. He approached the house calmly, the tips of his fingers smoothing over the hilt of his sword strapped to his back. The touch of the cool steel gave him a little comfort that permeated his heart like a warm wave and began to undulate. For he had seen much worst before, and he refused to let this forest get the best of him. But soon an unnerving feeling crept over him naturally, and then he felt the warmth being sapped away. After that there was nothing. It was as though he had forgotten how he should be feeling about a place like this, he didn't even feel unsettled anymore. The old wood creaked under his feet as he climbed the three steps up to the porch. At the other end was a slightly rotten door, that had been chipped on the side and cracked through the middle. He approached it and turned the rusty handle, it opened with a loud creak. He found himself in a small hallway. There was a dusty mantlepiece on the side and three crooked hooks for hanging coats. Several candles hung in places along the walls, their wicks burnt char black, and the wax melted halfway down. Fae guessed that they hadn’t been used in a while.

  The hallway led down into an open space that was furnished with two cushioned lounges and a fireplace that housed nothing but crumbled ash. A staircase spiralled upwards towards the second storey, and the stained windows looked out into the whiteness of the mist. The place was oddly intact for something that Fae guessed was seldom used.

  Fae ventured into the living room and then the kitchen. It looked surprisingly similar to any regular kitchen, apart from the natural signs of wear and tear. It was much more preserved than the other parts of the house, the oven was blackened on the inside, the benches were wide and smooth, and several pots hung upon hooks on the walls. There were even spices in the cupboards and cutlery in the draws. Fae walked around the room even more fascinated now. Most of the windows upon the walls were uncovered, but the fog of the forest only let in very milky sunlight.

  The room adjacent to the kitchen was a large dining area. There was a brown rug in the middle, a wooden table and several chairs, as well as a chandelier with unlit candles. The mantlepieces were quite bare, and there was very little décor around what should have been a grand home. Fae began to move towards the spiralling staircase when he suddenly saw a shadow move in the corner of his eye. His sword made a sharp zing as he tore it from the sheath on his back, and he held it carefully as he spun around to face the dimly illuminated kitchen (from where he had noticed the shadow). He pointed the sword forward, however he began to lower the weapon once he realised that the shadow was actually a small boy. No older than ten, Fae guessed. He wore ragged clothing, had short blonde hair and a blank expression on his face that Fae thought was quite uncanny. The boy stared up at him as though he were completely lost in thought. But he wasn't. Fae lowered his weapon, but didn't lower his guard and bent down onto one knee so that he was eye level with the mysterious boy.

  "Hello there," Fae said.

  A few moments passed before the boy replied.

  "Hello."

  Fae feigned an attempt at a smile.

  "Can you tell me how a young boy like yourself ended up getting lost in a place like this? I don't doubt it's well past noon. Won't your parents be worried for you?"

  The boy shrugged.

  "I don't have parents. I don't think I do."

  Fae looked into the boy's blank blue eyes with curiosity. In one way, this explanation did make sense – after all who, other than an orphaned boy, would venture alone into a potentially dangerous forest such as this one. But then again, Fae suspected that things were not as they seemed.

  "What’s your name?” Fae asked.

  The boy shrugged again.

  “I don’t know,” the boy replied with a cold, monotoned voice.

  “Where are you from?” Fae asked.

  “I don’t know,” the boy replied with an unchanging demeanour.

  “There’s a town not too far from here. Riverton – or Riverwood, as some in the Upper North Lands call it. Have you heard of it?”

  This time the boy didn’t even reply but simply shrugged. Fae scratched his chin. There was something magical about this place, something that made him wary and cautious. And although he was eager to write down his findings and even discover more of its workings, Fae knew he had to leave immediately.

  “Will you take my hand?” Fae asked holding out his open palm for the boy to hold. The boy clasped his hand gently, and Fae led him through the house. The shadows that had earlier kept to their places in the corners of the room had now begun to creep over the walls and floorboards. Fae led the boy through the living room and down the dusty hallway. When he opened the front door and found himself on the front porch, he was surprised to find that it was already dark. That was odd. It had seemed to be only a few hours after midday when he had gone into the house and now night was upon them. Was the forest playing tricks on him? But it was just then that something else caught his attention, a lantern hung on the porch glowing with flames; seemingly lit of its own accord. For Fae had not heard nor sensed anyone walking among the house. Fae turned behind him and took another look into the hallway through the door he now held open. Several of the candles that hung in their places on the walls were now alight, flickering with bright blazes at their wicks that created dark dancing shapes from the furniture around them. Although Fae was still calm, this strengthened his resolve to be out of the forest. Fae closed the door, led the boy along the small porch and across the clearing towards the forest. Thin strands of mist swooped down upon them, sending a cold chill down Fae’s spine and causing him to shudder.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The forest wall edged closer. Fae had nearly made it to the first of the trunks before the boy spoke.

  “It won’t let you out.”

  Fae looked down at the boy.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “The forest. It won’t let you out.”

  “How long have you been here for? In this forest?” Fae asked.

  “I don’t know,” the boy replied.

  Fae ignored the boy and stepped forward. Almost immediately as he rounded the first tree, the mist swirled up around him, overtaking his vision until all he saw was white. Then he felt the boy’s grasp slip out of his own hand and disappear. The fog tore at him coldly, pulling him in all kinds of directions, until he almost lost his bearings. Suddenly he began to forget what he was doing and where he was trying to go. Before he knew it, he was standing back in the same forest clearing, with the same old rickety house in its midst. Only this time the boy stood on the balcony watching him, a shadowed silhouette from the lamplight that shone behind him.

  Fae turned around – the wall of trees loomed high above him, guarded by the mist at its edges. Fae walked back into the forest. The fog twirled about him, exactly as it had before and he only yielded the same results.

  After Fae found himself back in the clearing for the second time, he approached the boy who still stood staring out from the balcony.

  “I told you it wouldn’t let you leave,” the boy said.

  Fae slept outside that night. The sky was completely blurred out so that there were absolutely no traces of the stars and constellations. The Sylvan Satyr was a constellation that Fae longed to see, as it would help him get at least some sense of direction. But even the moon was barely visible and in no way beautiful. With the soft and dewy grass seeping soggy water into his thin layer of bedding, he sat upright and held his journal out in front of him, but for the first time in a long time, the Traveller forgot what he ought to write. He held the journal in his hands and stared at its blank pages for minutes and minutes before giving up. He flipped the thin book closed and saw Fae written in bold letters that had been etched onto the leather cover. He wondered who Fae was. The thought didn’t last long. He packed up his ink jar and quill, then let the mist softly soothe him into a deep sleep.

  Fae woke to faded sunlight. He saw the old house in front of him, the wild grass, and the forest that circled the clearing, obscured a little by the dewy clouds that had fallen from their place in the sky. He had a vague recollection of his venture into this forest clearing on the previous day, the wandering, and the curious prying. His memories began to swirl up to the surface of his mind, but something bade him let them go. He clung lightly to that familiar feeling of discovering the mysterious house, meeting a strange boy. Had that been him, or someone else? The Traveller had an affinity for such a journey, as if it was somehow a part of who he was, and yet. Let them go. The voice was calming, and relaxing. And so he obeyed; feeling as though this was something that he should do.

  Fae wandered endlessly around the clearing for the rest of the day. There was nothing special about it, and after he had done a full circle, he had forgotten the reason he had circled it in the first place, and so he did another loop, and another. The boy joined him, staring out from the balcony for a while. Then he would disappear back into the house. Fae roamed aimlessly for the rest of the day until the foggy light turned into darkness. And then, purely out of habit, Fae took out his journal, opened it to the first page and began reading.

  On the 4th day of July, in the year that Harpus was governor of the Southern Provinces.

  The caves roll around in wonder and fascination; there are caverns that grow rare herbs, and the waters here can cure many illnesses. Though some of the caves are infested with goblins, and there are rabid wolves in others. I was almost wounded, but narrowly escaped with my life. I got back to town, rested, and left the next day without even buying or selling.

  Fae flipped the page over and continued reading.

  8th day of August, in the year that Harpus was governor of the Southern Provinces.

  I discovered the wizard that everyone is afraid of, in the wild parts of the mountains, a day’s journey from the town. A mere healer. He greeted me and offered hospitality. He assured me that he would not ever have done anything to curse the town folk. Plagues come and go – some more deadly than others. I believe him too. I have no reason not to. The elven kind are reviled in many parts of the land, and this elf was indeed full-blooded, so it was extremely plausible that some people would want to blame him for something he did not do.

  The Traveller closed the journal while thinking about these events that seemed oddly familiar to him – though they were somewhat dream-like. Could he have been the one who had written them? He thought it over for a long time, and although he couldn’t decide whether they were his own writings or whether they had even happened at all, he once again saw something written on the front of the journal that he recognised extremely well. Fae. At once remembered that this was his name, and at that moment he was weakly gripped by a small sense of reality. He flipped the journal over to a blank page, took out a quill and jar of ink and scribbled over the empty page.

  My name is Fae. My name is Fae. My name is Fae. My name is Fae.

  His name was Fae, and although the soft voice returned to him and told him gently that it wasn’t true – told him smoothly to forget his thoughts, Fae decided otherwise. He decided not to listen to that voice. He gripped the leather in the vices of his strong hands, holding it dearly as though it were the only portal left back to his soul. Then the memories, little by little, began to rain down.

  The next day was a day the same as the one before, and the one before that. Unyielding thick white mist blocked the sun. The grass was dewy and wet, and Fae felt the cool whisp of the morning sear through his thick coat as if he were not wearing one at all. Fae sat still on the grass – deep in thought for some time, staring off into the distant trees that swayed ever so slightly with a non-existent wind. The grass was a little comfortable beneath him, though the splintery wood of the house jarred up against his back. His memory was still blurry; however, he kept hold of some of the stray threads that threatened to be pulled away. Most importantly, he didn’t let go of his journal, and he kept repeating his name over and over in his head.

  I am Fae, I am Fae. I am Fae! Fae! I am Fae.

  Fae couldn’t tell how much time had passed before the young boy came outside to join him. Time didn’t seem to flow like normal within these mysterious woods, there was night and day, but there was something strange about the way the sun moved. Fae stood when he heard the steps of the young boy upon the creaking wood, drew himself up and took a seat beside him on the porch. The boy didn’t really take much notice of him.

  “Hello again,” Fae said.

  The boy turned to look at him, quite confused by the sudden greeting.

  “Have we met?” the boy asked.

  “Indeed, we have,” Fae said, “but you hadn’t told me your name. Might I ask what it is?”

  “I don’t remember,” the boy replied, his face as blank as ever.

  Fae prodded for more information.

  “Tell me something about yourself. Anything.”

  “There isn’t much worth telling,” the boy replied.

  “How about we start with breakfast. What did you have for breakfast this morning?” Fae asked.

  “Breakfast? That was so long ago!” the boy remarked, “how do you expect me to remember something like that?”

  “It wasn’t so long ago, not as long as you might think.”

  “Oh, but it was so very long ago,” the boy replied.

  Fae questioned the boy all day, and even a little into the night but with very little success. He had an inkling he knew what to do; he had an indication that he was on his way to leaving this forest – but the boy was far, so very far, even from passing the shadows of the trees. For he was stuck in its vice and so ingrained into the forest that it seemed there was little that could be done for him. Maybe the boy had been here for longer than he had first thought. But how much longer? a few months? A year maybe? Fae knew he must leave before too long. If he couldn’t do what he had to the next day, then he would have to continue onwards. The forest was already beginning the penetrate the mental barriers he had set up in his mind. And he wondered how long he would be able to hold out against its enticing voice.

  The parchment of his leather-bound journal was smooth and dry. He flicked through the pages precariously, there were many inkblots that stained the edges, and the writing hadn’t been written with much care. It was, however, clearly legible. As he turned another page, something caught his eye, something that brought back what seemed like an old memory. The boy had disappeared into one of the rooms of the house. Fae searched for him frantically and found him on the second floor facing one of the walls, looking out the window.

  “Have you ever heard the story about the boy who got himself lost in a forest somewhere close to these parts?”

  The boy turned. There was a slight change in his expression – barely noticeable. A flicker of the eyebrow, maybe, a few extra blinks. Fae couldn’t point it out directly, but he knew it was there.

  “He wandered too far in. They never found him. It may even have been this very forest. They wrote ballads about him. The bards have sung his story far and wide.”

  Like usual, the boy stared for a while, but this time he didn’t answer. Instead he looked up at Fae with eyes that didn’t know how to reply. Fae could tell that the boy was searching his feelings, and that he was confused with inner turmoil.

  “The boy,” Fae said, “do you remember his story? Maybe you came here in search of him. You’d certainly not find him for he has surely withered by now.”

  “The boy. I don’t remember the story but…”

  Fae bent down onto one knee.

  “But?”

  “But my name…is Cato.”

  “Ah. Very good. The ancient elven name Cato, means ‘to know all’. Tell me Cato, how much more can you remember about yourself?”

  “Not much. Not much at all.”

  “Well, now you know your name. And that’s a good start.”

  Fae looked out the window. It was as dark as ever. Fae rummaged through the house for something, anything that he could use to lead the boy. As if fate was bending to his wishes, he found a rope in one of the drawers next to the bed. Or was the place taunting him? Was the place trying to tell him that nothing he did would help him – or the boy. Fae didn’t care.

  Cato didn’t move from the same dark spot in which Fae had left him. When Fae felt as though he had done everything he could to prepare, he took Cato’s hand.

  “Do you still remember your name?” Fae asked.

  Cato nodded.

  “Then let us be off from this wretched place,” Fae led Cato out of the house, and up to the edge of the treeline. There he tied one end of the rope around his own wrist, and the other end of the rope around Cato’s own wrist. He knew that Cato had to navigate the forest on his own, but Fae couldn’t help tying a lead, just for good measure.

  “Let us go forward. And don’t forget who you are. The forest has power over you by tempting you to forget yourself, but it will not force you to relinquish your memories. Ultimately it is your decision. Don’t listen to it and don’t lose yourself to it,” Fae said. He was becoming more and more certain that he would be able to get out. Cato on the other hand – well Fae didn’t know how much progress he would make. Only the boy himself would know that.

  Fae stepped forward, and Cato followed sheepishly. Immediately the mist swirled up in circles around him, the icy cold cutting through his thick travelling garments like sharpened daggers. The mist thickened and thickened until all he could see was white. Deep, deep white. Fae continued to walk forward; the mist penetrated his mind – but Fae did not give in. He held onto himself and continued to remember who he was. The journey out was almost the same as his journey in. Time flowed in a funny way. Fae wasn’t sure if he’d been walking for minutes, hours or days. Eventually, though, the mist started to thin out. He began to see the trunks of the trees around him, and then before he knew it – Fae had stepped out of the forest and into an open, sunny field. The red fairy flowers grew around him, and he could smell their beautiful familiar scent that filled him with an extraordinary feeling of relief. He closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh. It was like a weight had been lifted from his mind, a weight of forgetfulness. Everything seemed clearer now.

  Fae looked around in search of Cato. Fae followed the line of the rope from where it was tied around his wrist. It snaked through the green clover-filled fields until…the other end was torn. It didn’t look as though the boy was coming out. He felt a wave of disappointment come over him. Fae thought to return to the forest in search of the boy; after all, he had discovered how to leave, but the wiser part of Fae, the part that had kept him alive all these years, told him that returning a second time would probably give the forest a stronger hold over him. There may not be much more that could be done. Fae turned toward the open fields, ready to be on his way, but something stopped him. A soft set of footsteps trod upon the grass behind him. Fae turned once again to face the menacing forest. Out of the mist came a small figure, a boy. Cato. The boy laughed and ran forward, Fae bent down onto one knee as the boy bounded toward him.

  “You made it,” Fae smiled.

  “Indeed!”

  “And your memories have returned?”

  “Yes, well, kind of. They’re a little unclear. I feel like I’ve been asleep for a long, long time. But I remember much of it. I remember that I was playing in front of the forest with my friends. We had been told not to venture into these woods, but I was so curious! Mama and papa must be extremely worried for me. I’ll be in a lot of trouble when we get home. They’ll send me to bed early, and I’ll not be allowed any sweet food.”

  Fae laughed.

  “By the sounds of it, you may indeed grow up to become a Traveller one day. Let’s get you home.”

  Fae led the boy through the fields and back onto the road. Two miles down the track there was a lively village, a village that Fae had ventured to before. Many of the people there recognised Fae, though they didn’t seem to react to Cato in any kind of familiar way. The boy tried to show Fae around his town, but found it hard because things seemed to be laid out a little differently to what he was used to.

  “How could a place like this have changed so much in a couple of weeks,” Cato seemed baffled.

  Eventually, they found a cottage on the edge of town, Cato wasn’t exactly sure if this was his home, but it was the most familiar house, in the most familiar spot he could find. Fae knocked on the door and an old lady answered.

  “Hello there,” the lady said with a welcoming smile on her face.

  “Hello. I believe I have a child who lives here, Cato.”

  The lady’s eyebrows rose.

  “Impossible. Begone with such foolery. Why do you come here to torment me with the ghosts of the past? Begone!”

  Cato took a step back, a little abashed – though Fae quickly pressed the issue before the lady had a chance to close the door.

  “Then Cato is a name you recognise? Might I ask you what relation Cato has to you?”

  The lady hesitated, as if deciding whether entertain the question, or close the door right there and then. Eventually she answered.

  “You're obviously not from around here. Cato was my older brother. He disappeared into that vile forest one hundred years ago. Just as the stories say."

  It was then that everything fell into place for Fae. He was surprised himself, though he did well not to show it.

  "And if you recall as I do, the stories do not mention the name of the boy. For that, I assume is not often spoken of. Step outside and look into the eyes of this young boy. I assure you it is your older brother. I, Fae – a Traveller of the road, ventured into the forest and found him there."

  The lady took a step forward, Cato stepped backwards in fright – though Fae held onto his hand comfortingly. Their eyes met and the lady's face was struck with a sense of recognition. Then the lady gasped.

  "Cato? Cato."

  The older lady held out her arms, and then they embraced. When Fae had finished explaining about what had happened in much detail, the boy was paraded around the village, and that night there was a lot of celebration and festivities. Fae joined them for drinks and the feast. They welcomed him warmly. During the months that would proceed this event, a new ballad would become popular in the bars and the taverns; a ballad sung by many voices – some beautiful and compelling, and some slurred and drunken. This new ballad told the tale of the boy who had returned from the enchanted woods after a hundred years in the company of a Traveller.

  During the festivities on the night that Cato had returned to the town, when Fae got a chance, he asked one of the young men a question that had been on his mind ever since Cato had been discovered.

  "How many years has Marcellus been governor of this province?"

  "Almost six years. Why do you ask?"

  "No reason," Fae said and finished his drink.

  But Fae now knew that he had spent longer in that forest than he had thought. Yes, time changed in those woods, or maybe the mist of the wood was so mind-numbing that it was impossible to keep track of time. For Fae had been in the forest for a little over two years.