Chapter 1: The Woodfolk

 

One morning in mid-May I started out walking. The light of the rising sun glistened, reflecting off dew-covered leaves and grass. Dawn brightened a blue sky before me. Underneath high, distant clouds, rose shades fled before advancing armies of pinks and golds. Brilliant shafts of fiery light shot through the retreating darkness of night, and innumerable pale, tiny wildflowers bowed and nodded in a gentle breeze, greeting me and welcoming me to their forest abode, to the majesty of their fair land.

 

I felt as though I had been transported to a new world where improbabilities were highly likely, where strange sweet music seemed echoed endlessly through dense stands of huge conifers, and the intense, green peace of growing things pervaded the air with effortless ease, with an almost tangible feeling of tranquility.

 

I walked all day in an alternating pattern of sunshine and shadow, and I surveyed with pleasure the scenery as it passed before me. I shifted the light weight of my pack to my other shoulder and listened intently while colorful birds perched on the outstretched limbs of  trees and sang melodiously to the clouds and the sky.

 

Green, spring leaves fluttered in a vagrant breeze and produced a rustling sound like the soft, delicate tinkling of chimes. In this verdant splendor I walked for hours, yet it seemed hardly minutes had passed when I noticed the sun slowly sinking toward the tree-rimmed horizon. All around me the air was clear and crisp, fresh and cool, and the late afternoon sun was warm upon my back. Day's end was drawing near, and my shadow slowly stretched itself farther in front of me, then merged into the gathering darkness of the night.

 

A spray of flickering starlight began to filter down to me through the thick netting of branches and leaves that arched over the road. The moon was still hidden somewhere beyond the curve of the earth, and the sighing wind sang softly in my ears. Despite the darkness and my solitude, I felt no fear of the night. I was too much enchanted with the murmuring voices of the forest, and I walked along, singing the words of a song that came unrehearsed to my lips, unbidden to my thoughts.

 

In that enormous, ancient forest there lived a tribe of people who, though not great in physical stature, possessed, every one of them, a heart great in its capacity for compassion. For untold centuries these people had made their home in this great forest. Their ancestors had come to this place at a time when pliant saplings had grown where now stood towering giants. It was their land I had chanced upon in the course of my wandering journey, to where I don't know, for I confess I had no conscious destination, only the seemingly endless road in front of me.

 

These people, who called themselves the Woodfolk, moved silently through shrub and brush, paralleling, along the border of the trees, my course along the road. Sometimes my ears caught fragments of their weird, chanting songs, which I mistook for the sound of the wind in the trees; and all the while I was unaware of their presence, until I took a sharp turn in the path. There, standing in the middle of the road, were three men. Two of them were young, still smooth-skinned and dark-haired; the third was an old man with a face creased by time and hair silvered with age. Even startled as I was, I felt no fear because none of the three stood higher than my elbow.

 

Halted there on the road, I faced the three with a question tugging at the corners of my lips, but none of them spoke. The old man only pointed back in the direction from which I had come, his meaning apparent in the stone-like rigidity of his features: "Return from whence you came; go no further." With a motion I signaled my desire to reach the other side of the forest. With still no word spoken, the old man obligingly stepped aside, but in his eyes a stern warning blazed: "Beware!" I passed between the two young men who cast their eyes away from me as if frightened by their knowledge but unable to impart it to me.

 

I climbed ever higher into the rising hills. Full dark brought with it a host of stars that winked and blinked at me as if conveying some message in a cosmic code I did not understand had failed to make itself known to me. A half moon rose, shadowed by high clouds that glistened silvery in its diffuse light; a chill wind whispered an echo of the winter now past and cooled my bare face and arms. I still heard snatches of the Woodfolks' eerie songs. By now I was aware of their source; each simple melody unusual in its harmony of many voices. I stopped to listen to the faint strains that reached me, but soon the errant echoes faded in a sudden shifting of the wind. I started walking again, intrigued by the mysterious quality of the Woodfolks' songs, yet unconcerned by the more mysterious meeting I had with them.

 

The hour grew late, and I began to cast my eyes about for a likely place to rest and camp for the night. Openings in the undergrowth of the forest floor appeared at scattered intervals. One I came upon showed promise as a site for an encampment, widening as it did in about twenty feet; into a small clearing about fifteen by thirty paces and extending in a rough oblong directly away from the forest road. I stopped on the road for a moment to survey the scene around me. I estimated that I had traveled perhaps thirty or thirty-five miles that day. It had been a good day for travel, but I wearied of walking, so I headed for the short path to my side. In pleasant expectation of a night's rest ahead of me, I planned to make a meal of the oat bread and dried fruit in my pack.

 

A savage howl broke the peacefulness of the forest, one echoed by another and another, together shattering the reverie of my thoughts and causing in me a reaction of both fear and revulsion at such a loathsome, menacing sound. That was the last thing I heard for quite some time as I was dealt a terrific blow from behind, and I lost consciousness with a gasp.

 

When I awoke many hours later, my body twitched as if in a delayed reaction to the attack I had somehow survived. I looked up at the sun in mid-sky, trying to recall the sequence of events of the night before; then I began to check for my belongings, and I discovered, to my dismay, my pack was missing and with it my knife, although its scabbard was still attached to my belt. The loss of these, though grievous, did not represent a truly great obstacle. I could forage in the forest to sustain myself for the time I was there.

 

The wound to my head, although not serious, was painful. Any movement caused my head to start throbbing, and my stomach was uneasy from the nausea of hunger. I knew what I must do, but the warmth of the sun on my face was soothing, and I lay where I was for a tine, enjoying the cool breeze, the birds‘ songs, the bright sun, and the deep, blue sky. Presently I heard again the strange song of the Woodfolk drifting on the wind that stirred the leaves of the tall trees that surrounded me. The sound slowly grew louder as the strange little people drew closer. The old man from the previous night appeared at the corner of my vision. A handful of others followed him, including a young boy of about ten and the two young men I had seen the night before. I struggled to sit up, but the pain in my temples broke loose with renewed intensity, and I fell back to the ground. The old man's wary eyes must have seen my first feeble movements, and as he made his way toward me again I tried to rise, again unsuccessfully. As I collapsed once more, I was engulfed once again by the dark ocean of unconsciousness.

 

When I awoke again, it was in the darkness inside a room of some sort. On the floor beneath me was a mat of soft branches and mosses and over me a blanket of woven leaves. Nearby was an earthen jar which, I discovered, held fresh water. My throat was parched. And dry, and the sweet water was cool and refreshing. Curiosity then took my attention, and I peered about the room in which I lay, if room it could be called. The walls were smooth but irregular, and I thought it was a cave, but the walls were not of stone. A moving shadow on the far wall drew my attention to a doorway through which I could see the flickering light of a fire, although I could not see the flames. I could see beyond, in the uncertain light, the shapes of trees ringing the fire in a large clearing. Occasionally a figure could be seen stepping into the deep shadows at the edge of the clearing. Looking around my shelter again, I noticed a large earthen bowl resting in a recess in the wall. Testing my strength I discovered that, by using the wall to support myself, I could reach the bowl. To my delight, the bowl contained what appeared to be fruits and berries, but they were of a variety I had never before seen. I assumed they must be edible and chose several large pieces. Tasting one of them, I found it was pulpy and slightly tart but very satisfying. I ate the remaining pieces, and, noticing my pack leaning against the wall, I lay back to consider my circumstances.

 

At that moment the old man entered the room and stood looking at me from near the doorway. His features were as if carved from stone or wood; his face was like sun-browned leather, and bushy white brows knitted above his blue eyes. There was a sparkle of intelligent humor in those eyes as he peered wonderingly at me. His mouth suddenly widened into a friendly grin as he turned and, still without speaking, stepped through the door and into the night.

 

The old man had seemed amiable enough, and I was not in any obvious way a prisoner, but I was very curious why he did not speak. If I had not heard the songs of the Woodfolk in the forest, I would have thought them all to be mute. In order to continue my journey, I hoped to recover as quickly as possible from the ordeal of the attack of the night before. With the thought of the road still ahead, sleep stole over my weary mind.

 

I awoke early the next morning with dawn streaming through the doorway of the room. In the center of the circle of trees, a thin plume of smoke rose from the embers of last night's fire. Huddled beside the stones around the fire pit, an old woman sat hugging herself for warmth. Frost glistened on the ground like glittering gems, but where I lay was warm and comfortable. The warmth in the small room was too much to bear, so I quickly left intending to question the old woman, but there was no longer anyone by the fire pit.

 

Looking around, I discovered that the room in which I had slept was in fact a hollow at the base of an immense evergreen tree. The entire ring which sheltered the clearing was made up of only seven huge trees. Overhead a small patch of sky showed blue through the deep green of inter-woven branches of trees. Returning for my pack, I put it on and looked about once more. I started walking toward the sun which peeked through the branches of the trees that guarded the clearing. I walked through the great forest more slowly than the day before. Small birds sang from high branches in the trees, but it seemed a different song this day, as if subdued and solemn from the events of the previous night. A haunting note pervaded their melody, and the trees sighed in resignation at the irresistible force of the wind.

 

Around me the morning was pervaded with a chill which the sun could not penetrate, no matter that the sun had risen high in the sky, and no clouds obscured it. I had been on the road for a long time in my wanderings. Many years I had lived with no place to call home, no place of rest. No where had I found an answer to the question which would not let me know peace. It was, I admit, not a useful pursuit chasing rainbows which the eye could perceive but which‘ the hand could not grasp. In the foolishness of youth, however, the answer I sought was overlooked. To me it was the struggle for realization which was my salvation, not the victory but I digress. I was in the midst of that great and ancient forest, alone and weaponless,    and, in that wildwood, there lurked an evil which could destroy me. Yet I did not fear for my life, rather for the loss of hopes and dreams of tomorrows I might never see. Tomorrow's promise did not hold the means to the end of my search.

 

The road which had taken me deep into the forest was symbolic of another path which I had followed for most of my life. All my senses were alive with the pulse of my heart's straining, and I could not forsake the effort to determine my own course through the unknown of the great forest. The miles strolled past; the morning blended into the lengthening shadows of the day, and the road I traveled was steadily climbing into the rugged    that spread out before me. Throughout the day the land around me grew wilder and more alien.