Into the Deep Wood

Her dreams were troubled, her mind plagued by grief and hopelessness. She could not remember them when she had finally woken up. All she knew was that she was drowsy and weak, her body adjusting to the stress it had been under in the past week. She had forgotten where she was, and only as her eyes adjusted to the dark room did she remember the old woman in the forest.

This was her hut.

It was dark, Val guessed likely the middle of the night. The fire embers were glowing, but no tongues of flame played on their surface. The room was filled with the sickly sweet smell of rotting wood, plants, old cloth, and moss.

The old woman was nowhere to be seen.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Val saw the room. Her pack had been untied and hung up to dry. Her belongings were neatly folded on the wooden bench. She did not recall getting out of her wet clothes, but now she wore a heavy linen nightgown that smelled like moth weed.

Feeling a bit more at ease, she slowly studied the small dwelling. Across the walls, herbs and plants had been hung to dry. She recognized some of them - although not all. On the other side of the fireplace was a large stove opening. They seemed to draw from the same source to produce heat. An old heavy iron crock was in the stove, and pinchers to remove it were hung nearby on the wall. It looked heavy, and Val wondered if it had been used with how frail the old woman had looked in the recent decade.

On the other side of the room stood a table and chairs. On it were stacked jars, contents unknown. Next to the table was a large old chest, its hinges rusted and the lock hanging loose and open.

Val felt a wave of faintness. She realized she had not eaten in a long time - but how long? Her stomach ached and growled, but she saw no food nearby. There were no bowls or plates, no pitchers of water.

Water, gods, she was so thirsty.

She spun around, hoping to find a basin or any sign of a cellar where some might be. Though, there was sure to be a well outside that she could use.

She carefully made her way to the door. Was she safe to go outside if it was night? There was no lantern in sight, no torch. And they had still been in the woods.

She unlatched the lock. But who’d closed it if the old woman was not inside?

Blinded by the light of day, Val flinched and hid her face in her arm. The midday sun shone outside the hut. Val took a step back and rubbed her eyes as they adjusted. It was so dark inside the hut she was sure it was the middle of the night. But there were no windows; how was she to know?

Val looked past the boulder-ridden path, past the clearing, and onto the Deep Wood menacingly framing the horizon. You’d never guess it was day there; it was so dark. To the left was what looked to be a swamp, with reeds and cattails standing tall throughout. To the right was a grassy field, and in the middle of it, a large dirt circle. Such circles were also in the villages, the grass trampled by many feet at the bonfire site and gatherings, where villagers would meet to sing and dance.

She looked for a well. It would have to be at the base of the hill, if anything. With the mire nearby, there was sure to be underground fresh water.

Barefoot, Val walked forward and down the path. She did not notice it on the way there, but a neatly swept one was weaving between the boulders. Along it here and there stood tall stakes with torches on top - a precaution for the nighttime, she guessed. To keep the spirits at bay.

As she reached the bottom, she saw the well and hurried to it. It was not a hand pump like they had in the village. Instead, there was a rough stone wall, wooden poles connecting in the middle with a rope hanging down into its abyss. Val pulled the rope, and the weight of whatever was at the bottom made her heart sing - a bucket of water! She pulled it out and drank hurriedly right from the rusty edge.

She drank so much that when she stopped, she doubled over and threw it up. Then drank some more. She didn’t realize how incredibly thirsty she was.

Val sat down and caught her breath. Where was the old woman? Who was the old woman? There were no signs of anyone else living nearby. The grass near the hut was overgrown and showed no more care than the rotting fence or well. Val had remembered she heard stories of women who could not bear children being banished to the woods after they’d angered the village by stealing children for their own.

Was she one?

Val lowered the bucket back into the well and pulled it up again, full. She’d take it back up to the hut so they would have fresh water. The old woman was undoubtedly too frail to carry a heavy bucket up the hill.

As she walked back up, she saw that the door had been swung wide open. On its threshold stood the old woman. In the light of the afternoon sun, she could see more clearly that the grandmother was wearing a thick old dress with holes and stains across it and a shawl on her shoulders. Her long, unbrushed hair hung in clumps on each side of her wrinkly face. She was now leaning on a walking stick, one that she must have used before, although Val had not noticed it on the way to the hut.

“Rising with the sun after three days and nights, and she comes bearing gifts!” The old woman cooed, welcoming Val into the cottage.

The door was left open, allowing the daylight to spill into the room and reveal a mist of dust floating in the air. The old woman took the bucket of water and set it on the table. Val looked around and saw fresh bread, salo, and cheese arranged neatly beside it. She hurried towards it, her manners forgotten as she eagerly stuffed it into her mouth. She’d felt like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. The old woman watched her from across the room, her face arranged in a way that one would perceive would be a grin. Once she had a bit in her stomach, embarrassed at her lack of etiquette, Val wiped her mouth and thanked the old woman sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t eaten in a long time. Thank you, Grandmother.”

The old woman nodded several times, her nearly toothless mouth parting in a smile.

“My pleasure, little one. Eat your fill. There’s plenty to be had. Plenty of grain and plenty of wild pig around here. The vegetables grow out back; the apples ripen in the wild orchards just to the west of here. Golden, sweet as honey. Eat.”

Val picked up an apple, which was nearly transparent gold. Honey apples were rare as the trees were finicky, and if the conditions were not exactly right, they would not bear fruit. She bit into it, and it was the sweetest thing she had ever eaten.

“You’d said three days and nights. What did you mean by that?” She asked in between bites.

“Little One was asleep three days and three nights, one for every day and night spent in the forests. The forests eat you from the inside; you can’t spend so long in the woods.” the old woman answered.

“It cannot be…” Val whispered, staring at the ground. Although, she believed the old woman. She’d felt the toll of the long sleep on her body. Her hunger and thirst. Her aching muscles.

“What’s your name, Little One?”

Val felt a ping of hesitation; the old woman was somehow too eager to ask the question. Something did not sit right. But she was a guest here. The old woman had saved her life.

“My name is Valeria, Grandmother.”

The old woman's toothless smile widened before disappearing entirely in the folds of her face. “Valeria.” She repeated. “Ask.”

Val, though she had questions, did not know where to start.

“Do you live here by yourself?”

“By myself! No, many live here. Many, many in the trees, in the bog, and the woods. The birds, the wolves, the frogs. Never alone.” The old woman’s voice was sweeter now but felt like the sweet that hung in the air from rotting wood.

“Are there other people?”

“People, people.” the old woman sang, “People live far away; they chop trees, and they kill the wolves. No people here, Little One.”

“How did you end up here?”

“I’ve been here always, Little One. Grew with the trees and aged with the trees. Do you ask the hill how long it’s been here? The rocks?”

A realization dawned on Val. The old woman had lost her mind. She half sang the words she spoke as if she was trying to recite a poem that did not rhyme or flow. She’d probably been here so long on her own that she’d gone mad.

She’d better be careful with what she said; the elderly became unpredictable when their minds began to deteriorate. She had seen it happen back home. And she needed the old woman; she did not think she could survive without her right now. She had no supplies, no lantern. No direction to follow. She would steer toward simple questions and simple answers.

“Do you have a family? Kids?”

“Kids! Lots of kids. Lots of kids lived and played here. Grew up, all of them.” The old woman smiled again. Val did not know what to make of this smile. She did not feel at ease with it. “But some, they come they do.”

“What should I call you, Grandmother?”

The old woman seemed deep in thought. “A name? No names. I’m Mother to All. Mother to Nothing. To creatures of day, the rabbit and fawn.”

All-Mother. In her earlier life, she must have been someone who could not bear children. Her village must have given her reign over all their kids, although she could have none of her own. The riddles she spoke began to make some sort of sense.

But Val did not ask follow-up questions. There were no real answers here. She did not know if the old woman had imagined a world around her that did not exist. Or who took care of her, if anyone?

She suddenly became aware of her nightgown and embarrassed at her dirty dress drying on the line. The old woman seemed to pick up on it and jumped up, hurrying to the large chest next to where Val sat. She threw the heavy lid open and pulled out colorful fabrics and ribbons.

Val’s breath caught at the beautiful red and white dress the old woman produced. It was shoved into her hands. She ran her fingers across the fabrics and stitching. She’d only seen dresses like that when she had gone into the city with her father. It was tied at the waist with a red ribbon, the skirt stiff with starch.

The old woman kept digging, producing a warm shawl adorned with birds and flowers - which quickly ended up in Val’s hands.

Val marveled at how stunning these clothes were. If they were here, why had the old woman worn dirty rags? Why were her clothes so shabby? Perhaps she’d worn them in her youth, and they no longer fit. She was grateful either way.

Val paused, not wanting to get undressed in the room with a stranger. But the old woman stopped paying attention to her, fussing with the oven and the iron cauldron inside. She scooped the ashes out, surely meaning to light it. Val slipped out of her nightgown and into the dress. It fit perfectly, falling right above the ankle. She’d wished there was a mirror to see herself; there was nothing this fine in the village.

“Go. Return by sunset. Can’t be in the woods past dark.” The old woman said without turning around. She’d surely held the same superstitions as the villagers, but being all alone in the woods, it was likely she’d seen them like Val had.

She did not wait for another invitation to leave the hut. The interaction with the old woman left Val feeling uneasy. She did not mean to use the elderly grandmother; she would pull her weight and do all she could as she recovered and found the courage to ask for supplies to keep going.