Into the Deep Wood

It felt as if Val’s life spark had grown so dim that it had barely been there. She did not speak now; her skin dulled, and her hair had not been brushed. She did not talk back, dare to sneak out, steal food, or hope. She went to bed when chores were done and woke before the sun if she went to bed at all.

She’d learned much about the hut, the glade, the Hag, and the forest. The Hag’s loony musings began to make a bit of sense once she could throw all sense out of her head.

The hut - it was alive. Where once she thought in a half-dream state she saw it breathe, now she knew that it did. Between the wooden logs which formed the walls was flesh. Sinews ran the length of rafters, and bones supported its frame. It breathed. It ate, but Val did not know how - the Hag had not explained that part. And it was blind.

“It cannot see, and so it cannot go - just sits here rocking to and fro! But where’s the windows - there’s the door!” The Hag pondered, moving things around seemingly without a cause and rearranging dishes and spoons.

The forest was an ever-fluid realm. The oak she had slept in so long ago could be anywhere now.. Her village? She did not know if she could ever find it again. Although she had not planned on it, some part of her had once thought that someday, when it was all over and she was much older, she may go back and see her mother again.

“Does what it wants, tomorrow here and today there. The wood is where the Nothing caresses the something, Little One. It doesn’t have to follow the rules of Something.” the Hag spoke much of the Nothing. Almost none of it made sense to Val. She’d gathered here and there that wood spirits came from this Nothing. But beyond that, she did not know.

Val regarded the Hag carefully. Sometimes, it seemed as if the Hag could read her mind. Sometimes it seemed like she could steal her memories. Val could not prove it, but some dishes the Hag ate smelled just like home. Like the honey-brushed bread of the summer solstice or the carrot stew her grandmother made when she was little.

The chorts lurked outside the boundaries of the Glade, teasing Val with the voices of people she had known. They had none of their own and only poorly portrayed those of others. She’d learned that they were easily scared by loud noises. Before, she’d be terrified of one in the dark - now she knew that she only had to take a wooden spoon to the back of a metal pan, and they would scurry away in fear. They also greatly feared the Hag. the old crone had only noticed them when Val had been afraid.

Lately, it had seemed as if the Hag was preoccupied. So often, she would fuss and then look up as if she had heard something beyond Val’s comprehension. She’d run outside and scan the outskirts of the Glade. She’d run back in, muttering to herself and vigorously rearranging.

Sometimes, she would forget herself and begin sweeping, scrubbing, and scraping ashes from the stove. Then she would come to and scream for Val - and beat her for forgetting to finish her chores.

“I have forgotten, Grandmother. I am sorry for my stupidity and laze.” Val would apologize, her head down.

It was just such a day that the Hag stirred almost excitedly all morning. She’d gone out of the hut and back in repeatedly, muttering something to herself. She forgot to give Val a list of chores and scoldings that morning, putting Val on guard. The Hag kept raising her head and sniffing the air, nodding to herself in confirmation of something.

That midday she stepped outside, and Val felt the air change. She set her broom down and wiped her dusty hands on her skirt - her once beautiful dress dirty and faded. She followed meekly, curious and hesitant to see what the Hag had been doing.

There she saw two tall men standing down the hill and across the grassy plain, right on the border of the woods.