The boy, the sheep and the forest

Doran had never travelled beyond the village before, and as he stood at the edge of the narrow dirt track winding into the distant hills, he was filled with anticipation of the journey ahead.  The two sheep, destined for market in the neighbouring village, tugged gently at their ropes and Doran felt a swell of pride at the responsibility his father had bestowed on him with this important task, but his mother’s parting words had instilled a lingering sense of trepidation in the young man. 

"Stay on the path," she’d warned him that morning, her voice firm as she adjusted the satchel slung across his chest. "No matter what you see, no matter what you hear, don’t stray from the path.  And above all, don’t set foot in the forest."  She’d said it with such intensity, fearful almost, but when Doran asked her why, she’d simply looked at him blankly and said nothing more.

The rays of the late September sun warmed Doran’s back as he and the sheep headed west, along the well worn trail following the river through the hills.  Doran’s mind was absorbed in his mission, visualising the market where he was to sell the sheep, and the return journey, reaching home before sunset, to please his parents and set his mother’s mind at ease.  ‘At least the walk home will be easier without them,’ he thought as the willful sheep pulled at their ropes, tempted by the tufts of grass dotted along the sides of the path.

***

Doran had been walking for over two hours, the sun was climbing a low arc in the southern sky and he rested on a bank of heather to drink from his flask and eat some bread and cheese from his satchel.  He tied the two sheep to a small ash tree and lay back on the springy purple heather, watching the strange shapes in the clouds where dragons and other great creatures battled against the blue.  Doran closed his eyes for a moment, the sun warm on his face, but his reverie was cut short as the sound of urgent bleating forced him up with a jolt.  He looked around, there was one of the sheep, tied to the ash, but the other was nowhere to be seen.  Panic grabbed him, he took a hold of the remaining sheep’s rope and began to call for the other animal, searching left and right, down into the river but there was no sign of the missing creature.  The trees beyond the bank of heather rustled in a slight breeze that was edging its way into the valley, and with no alternative, Doran clambered the banking to the forest’s edge, where instantly he spotted a tuft of wool caught on the gnarled trunk of a great oak tree.  He stepped towards it.

The narrow path between the densely packed trees was barely visible beneath a blanket of fallen leaves and foliage, and as Doran led the remaining sheep, hoping to quickly locate the missing one, he sensed a heaviness in the air, thick with spores, it seemed to press down on him, as though the forest was alive and watching.  Strange fungi that Doran had never seen before, clung to the roots of the trees, while sinuous branches twisted together above his head, blocking out the sunlight.  Something hidden stirred with his every step, murmurs and whispers, beckoning him further into the forest, and Doran continued his search, into the depths of the rustling trees.

***

“Come on,” Doran whispered, tugging the rope, as the remaining sheep hesitated, digging its hooves into the soft forest floor.  Despairingly, he looked around in every direction, ‘I’ve failed already,’ he thought, ‘not even made it to the market, what will I tell mother and father?’  Then his eyes fell on a holly bush on the path ahead and another tuft of wool, he yanked at the rope and the sheep begrudgingly followed onward, and soon they were so far into the heart of the forest that when he glanced back, Doran could no longer discern the edge of the looming trees and where the winding trail had begun.

Onwards he went with a strange compulsion to keep moving forward, but finding the missing sheep was slowly becoming less of a reality and Doran wondered how he could go to the market with just one sheep and somehow reverse his bad fortune.  ‘Perhaps I can find a way of working for some money at the market’ he thought, ‘then mother and father will never know that I lost the sheep’.  The naive idea began to form in the corners of Doran’s inexperienced mind, and unsure of how long he’d been following the forest path, he decided to turn back the way he’d come, but when someone touched him on the shoulder causing him to spin on his heels, his mother’s words of warning flashed across his mind.

***

“Come with me,” said the man.  He had a dreamlike aura about him, as though no matter or creature could ever cause him distress or harm, his voice had a sing-song quality, and the slingshot hanging from his belt looked as though it had never been used.  “You’ll be safe, don’t worry,” he said, his brown eyes casting a swathe of warmth over Doran, immediately dispelling the shock of his presence moments before.  “My name is Nodens.  Here, let me take your sheep for you,” and he reached for the sheep's rope.  Doran hesitated, he could think of no reason why he shouldn’t go with the man, but his mother’s words returned for a fleeting second, and instinctively he tightened his grip.  He looked at the man, words would not come to him, his mind was a void, and something in Nodens’ eyes made him release the rope, the sheep bleated softly and the stranger motioned them on through the forest.

The earthy smells and sounds of the dense woodlands filled Doran’s senses as he followed Nodens who strode with ease along the trail, brushing overhanging brambles and tree limbs to the side, holding them back so they could pass through. “Don’t worry,” he said again, as he turned to Doran, “it’s not far now.  I’ll take you to a place where you can rest.”

Still, Doran had no words, trying to anticipate what would happen next, confusion mingled with a strange sense of calm as he glanced around at his unfamiliar surroundings, unsure of the direction in which he was being taken and still questioning whether he should turn back with the remaining sheep.  But now the trees all looked the same, and the path was criss-crossed with others, all clarity of purpose and direction gone.

Doran hesitated, but Nodens turned back and smiled.  “You’re not the first to wander this way,” he said, and Doran felt his feet resume their movement, following the man through the trees as they became thicker, older, their ancient trunks twisted and knotted, full of secrets and memories.  Then, gradually the trees started to thin out and a soft glow began to seep through the forest canopy ahead, the whispers that had followed Doran since he entered the woods grew louder, becoming more like human words and voices.

“Nodens!  We wondered where you were,” a woman with dark flowing hair carrying a basket of blackberries rushed along the path towards them, she faltered when she saw Doran.

“Rowena, don’t fret,” said Noden, noticing her startled expression, “I found this lost soul in the forest in search of one of his sheep.  I believe it may be here already.”

“Of course,” said Rowena, her face relaxing, then she looked at Doran with an expression that seemed familiar but he couldn’t place, “what’s your name?”

Doran was about to answer when something moved into his mouth and held his tongue fast so it wouldn't move.  His mind searched, in the dark cells and matter, he grasped to find it, but the word ran from him, escaping into the nooks and small spaces.  He stood dumbfounded, then, it snapped back, for a fleeting moment and he snatched it before it escaped him again.  “Doran,” he said, and then again, “Doran, my name is Doran.” 

They followed Rowena a little further into a wide clearing where the light from the sky cast a soft glow over strange flowers and other peculiar botanicals that swayed gently as though caught in an imaginary breeze.  Among the plants and flowers were people, dozens of them, going about their business or sitting in small groups.  A man who sat carving a piece of wood, turned as Doran approached and smiled, the same disarming smile as Nodens, settling the sense of unease that kept washing back and forth over Doran.

Doran and Nodens sat on a low bench outside a small wooden building, as they watched the people coming and going, it struck Doran that some of them looked a little familiar, yet they seemed strange, as though he had seen them in a dream he couldn’t quite remember.  “Who are all these people?” he asked.

Nodens turned to him with a wistful smile, as though contemplating faraway thoughts.  “They’re all like you Doran,” he said as Rowena came out of the building and handed them both a carved wooden cup of ale, “they wandered into this place and now they belong here, as do you.”

Doran felt something in the very depth of his stomach turn and rise in his chest, something disturbing and unfathomable.  “No, you’ve got it wrong,” he said, panic rising, “I just came to find my…” he stopped.  ‘What was it I was looking for?  I was going somewhere…’  Doran tried to retrieve the morning's events from his memory but instead of words and images, all he could find were empty pages, fluttering in the breeze, attached to nothing.  “I don’t understand,” he said, but before Nodens could respond, a woman with a fearful look in her eyes approached them, her pace urgent.  She reached out and grabbed Doran’s arm.  “Do you remember me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

 “No... I don’t think so,” Doran looked at the woman as her face crumpled with disappointment, but she didn’t let go. “I thought you might,” she said, her eyes wide, “I was from somewhere once.  Before...” she trailed off, then released her grasp, turned, and hastened away again.

“Don’t worry about Flora,” said Nodens as he rose from his seat, “she hasn’t quite completed her adaptation, it will become easier for her soon, once the forest has taken all that it needs, and then she will remember nothing of her old life,” he smiled as his hand ran over the bark of a small sapling, “I’ll leave you to rest a while, and don’t worry about your sheep, they’re grazing quite happily in the pinfold.”  Then Nodens left, following where Flora’s feet had fled.

A wave of scattered memory flooded over Doran for a few fleeting seconds, enough for him to again recall his mother’s words and his heart pounded as he looked around at the people in the clearing. “The forest has taken their memories,” he whispered to himself unaware that Rowena was still close enough to hear.

Her voice took him by surprise as she spoke. “The forest takes more than your memories.  It takes your name, your past, your place in the world.”  She sat down next to Doran.  “Those who enter this place, do not only give their own memories to the forest, but they are also erased from the memories of those who knew them on the outside.”

“But...” Doran stammered, his own memories escaping his reach again, “why do you stay, why don’t you just leave?”

“Why would we leave?”  Rowena glanced up at the canopy above as though it might be listening.  “The forest provides for us, it gives us new names, new purpose, warmth and sanctuary, we want for nothing here.  I have no recollection of my life or my name before I came here.  The forest named me Flora.  It will name you too… it will name you very soon.”

Terrified at the thought of his memories being erased, of being forgotten by all those he knew and loved, Doran leapt to his feet, the ale cup tumbling to the ground.  No longer fearful of the consequences of losing the sheep, there was now more at stake, his very existence, his place… and then all reason escaped him again, but the rising terror propelled him onwards and he ran from the clearing, back along the twisting path that had brought him there.  Rowena watched as he disappeared into the trees, and the corners of her mouth twitched.

***

Doran stopped, bending at his knees, gasping for breath, pain in his side, he felt he’d been running forever, but he didn’t know why.  He sat at the foot of a tall beech tree, the ground below soft with layers of husks, to his left lay one path, to his right another, and he no longer knew if the route ahead was the way he’d come or the direction he was going.  Around him, the forest whispered and sighed, faint melodies twisted through the branches, and the plants and flowers around him pulsed with a mysterious energy.  Doran knew he had to be somewhere, but he no longer knew where, he knew he had to run but he didn’t know why.  He held his head in his hands as the madness of it all took hold of him with overwhelming force, the parts of his mind that had once fit together making perfect sense, were falling away, becoming more and more impossible to put back together, missing, upside-down, broken.  Doran sobbed as fleeting images of his mother, their home in the village, and his father’s pride flickered and vanished.  With a sorrowful moan, Doran wiped the tears from his face, his trembling hands pulled a knife from his satchel, and using the last part of whatever remained, he carved the final scraps of his memory into the tree’s knotted bark, each cut of the blade an attempt to save himself, fighting desperately to recall each letter.  ‘Doran’ he finally scratched, though its meaning faded in its completion, and then, under the weight of pure misery and helplessness, he collapsed heavily to the ground and fell into a dreamless sleep.

***

The boy who was once named Doran, was woken by the gentle lights of Nodens and Rowena’s lanterns, as they looked down on him at the foot of the beech tree.  They roused the boy gently and led him through the trees, and as the boy walked with them, the last pieces of identity evaporated into the dense thickness of the forest, and everything that had once been Doran became an unremembered memory sinking into the roots of the plants and trees.

The trio arrived at a small dwelling where Rowena washed and fed the boy who had once been Doran and settled him into a soft bed by a warm fire.  As the boy’s mind stilled, Nodens and Rowena sang, haunting melodies and songs, ancient words of the forest, absorbing memories and identities to feed itself and thrive, deep within the ever present spirit of the trees, wrapping itself around every part of the boy, until once again he began to slumber, a sleep that took him to the heart of the forest, where plants and flowers caressed him, and the darkness moved over him and named him, a name that the forest bestowed.

***

In a village, a morning’s walk from the forest, a man and woman stood in their small home, discussing the mysterious disappearance of two sheep the day before.  Neither they nor their neighbours had any idea what might have happened to the missing creatures, and although loss of livestock was always felt keenly, this time something unsettled them more than it usually would.

The woman glanced at the small bed tucked into the corner of the room, still freshly made, creases formed across her brow as she tried to recall something, but the thought slipped out of reach before she could grasp it.  The man, still pondering the missing sheep, noticed her confused expression and asked what was wrong, but the woman could not say, she had no words and simply shook her head.

Some miles away, deep within the ancient forest, sunlight touched the leaves of the dense canopy, and a gentle wind rustled through the trees, casting fleeting patches of light on the bark of an old beech tree.  No trace remained of the single word, once carved by a terrified hand, and lichen and moss now thrived where the name had once been, consumed by the forest, every last part of it gone.