After the Forest

Juliane skipped a rock over the cobbled streets of her small but ever-growing village. She watched it bounce between the cracks and fissures and roll to the base of one of the bushes that bordered her home. She sat on her stairsteps gazing up at the sun setting over the horizon of trees surrounding her town in a ring. Her gaze dropped to the edge of the forest and shivered. The other villagers were right. The forest was daunting and unnerving. She would never dream of going near it (later: she didn’t dream of going near it. She would walk through it awake).

Juliane stood up and dusted her hands off on her already dusty smock and headed out through the village, hoping that the materials she needed to buy were still sold at the night market. They might have been sold at the day market as well, but she didn’t need anyone else knowing what she was buying. 

The night market vendors were just starting to open their stands, but she ignored most of them, looking like shadows from the corner of her eyes, as they stared at her walking by, willing her to come to their stand, not shouting or heckling her as the day market vendors did. 

She came to the one stand she knew would most likely have her materials and stopped, peering at the vendor. He had a wrinkled face with bushy eyebrows and a thin, boney frame. 

“What does someone your age doin’ at the night market on their own?” He asked. Juliane ignored the question and looked over his table. 

“Do you have any flint?” She asked. The man looked her over before getting up from his chair and ducking behind a flap of his tent. He came out a few moments later holding up a jagged black stone. She reached for it and he jerked it back from her grasp, surprisingly quick for his age. 

“That’ll be 30 pieces darlin’,” he said, holding out his free hand. Juliane rolled her eyes and dropped a small sack of coins into his outstretched palm. He weighed it in his hand for a few seconds before quickly pocketing the money and tossing her the stone. She snatched it from the air and quickly walked away, shoving it into the front pocket of her smock. 

She soon arrived at her cottage and skipped up the steps, her boots thumping against the stone. She then remembered that her mother and father must not be woken up or else she would be in big trouble. She slowly eased the door open and slunk inside like an alley cat, making sure the door thunked shut quietly behind her. She slipped her feet out of her boots and left them by the door to go to her room. She snuck inside and flopped down on her bed and lied there for a while thinking about the next day. 

Juliane pulled out a shiny piece of steel from underneath her pillow that she had bought from a different vendor a few weeks before, and stared at is as it shone in the dull moonlight filtering in through her window. She pulled out the flint from her pocket and clicked the two pieces together and watched the small sparks fly out and die. 

She shivered as she pictured what she was going to have to do the next day. Most, if not all the people in the village would consider her crazy for doing what she was going to do. And she figured they were right. But she knew that she had to face her fears and do what was right, despite the fact that every instinct in her body but one begged her not to do it. But every time Juliane thought of this, she pulled on the one instinct that told her she must, and that it was necessary for the village. For her family. For herself. 

The village was a dark place, even when not shrouded by the cover of night, and the people who lived there seemed to be the source of the darkness. They all seemed to exude a sort of corruption and, and, wrongness about them. Juliane couldn’t think of any other word to describe it. And she could feel that wrongness starting to build up inside herself as well. It was as if the older she got, the more that feeling welled up inside of her, and she hated it. She had never hated before, but this feeling gave her the ability to hate and she hated it for that. 

The next morning after a fitful sleep Juliane tumbled out of bed and slogged out of her room to the main room where her parents were eating breakfast. 

“Good morning Juliane,” her father addressed her as she slid into a chair. 

“Good morning father,” she mumbled as she pulled a piece of bread towards her and started to butter it.  

“Did you have an adventurous night last night?” He asked. Juliane froze. 

“Last night?” She asked. A safe question. Not denial, but not conformation. She hated that she knew how to navigate these kinds of situations. It seemed manipulative.

“Your boots were muddy when we woke up. We figured you went out last night.” Her father’s words were neutral, but his tone contained only a hint of the rage and displeasure he was truly feeling. 

“Taimane had written to me about something that had happened to her so I went to see if she was alright. You and mother were already asleep, so I figured I shouldn’t wake you up just to tell you that, so I went over to check on her. I promise nothing else happened. I was probably only gone for 15-20 minutes. I promise papa,” she said, knowing the name she had called him when she was younger would soften him. Juliane cringed at herself. She never would have done anything like what she had done last night and then lie to her parents about it or manipulate them before that wrongness had settled in. 

Juliane stared wide-eyed at her father watching some of his anger fade. But when he opened his mouth, there was much still there. 

“Next time, you must either tell your mother and me, or you do not go out. Do you understand?” He asked. She nodded her head. 

“Yes, papa.” 

“Now go get your bag or you’ll be late for school,” he said, and that was that. Juliane nodded her head and did just that. 

“Goodbye, father. Goodbye, mother,” she said as she stepped out of her house. She set off on her route to school, just in case her parents decided to watch her leave, and then she ducked into an alleyway. She had figured out the path she was to take weeks ago and she knew no one would follow her down through the allies. They would be too easily heard or seen. 

So she walked with as much confidence she could through the allies, knowing very well what was going to happen the second she reached the edge of the village. 

Juliane walked for 10 or so minutes until she saw the visible line of hardy tree trunks sketching around her village. She reached the end of the buildings and stopped, staring up at the towering trees. She heard whispers and voices, some purring at her to come closer, others aiming to push her out with harsh words and insults. 

Juliane scrunched up her face, trying to block out the sounds. Her instincts again screamed at her to run, to leave, to just live with the wrongness inside her just as every other villager had done. But once again, she tugged up the one instinct telling her this was the right thing to do. It had to be done. 

She stepped beyond the edge of the buildings and then took a few more steps until she was inside the line of trees. It was suddenly deadly silent. Juliane looked around and blinked at the sudden quiet, sure she would have heard the voices in here too. But perhaps they were just from the outside trees to keep people from entering. But why wouldn’t they want people to enter? To leave the village?

She shook away the thoughts and pulled out her flint stone and steel. She clicked them together and as the few sparks flew out, the trees erupted into screaming hisses and screeches. Juliane’s hands flew to her ears but the sounds penetrated them easily and reverberated into her core. She wanted to leave. Now. But she was here. She had gone into the forest. She had to do it now or else she would never do it. 

She bent down to the base of one of the trees and ground the flint and steel together, pushing the flint forward on the steel so that the sparks flew to the wood. She did this several times until finally, the base of the tree caught the fire and it spread like, well, like wildfire. 

The fire ate up the tree, twisting up the trunk and devoured the branches and leaves. Then the fire jumped from branch to branch of the next tree like a squirrel. Juliane watched, frozen in awe, as the fire slowly consumed the trees, listening to the sounds of pain and agony squeal through the flames. Then Juliane remembered that she had to get out soon or else the fire would spread to the trees behind her and she would have no way to escape. 

She ducked through the trees, dead branches puncturing the bare soles of her feet as she ran. She dove for the edge of the town, and slid, scratching up her palms and knees. She pushed herself up and coughed heavily from the smoke she had inhaled while in the forest. Juliane turned and watched the flames burn the trees to dust. She heard yells from the village and scrambled to her feet, knowing that if she was caught, she was a goner. 

She ran through her escape route, a different one than the one she had taken before that she had decided was safer than back-tracking and raced through the alleyways. The moment she got to the square she started yelling. 

“Fire! Fire! The forest is on fire!” Although there really was no need. Massive plumes of smoke were already spreading over the village, and Juliane saw with horror that the fire had caught onto the houses, buildings, and even people. Some were shouting orders, some were running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and others were standing motionless from shock. 

Some people were filling up buckets with well water or spring water and were dumping them on themselves, their friends and family, and their houses or businesses. One villager’s hair was on fire, so they dove into a watering trough meant for horses and came up from the water sopping wet and still smoking. 

Juliane watched the chaos surrounding her, knowing she had caused it, and yet, the voice inside that had convinced her to burn the forest was praising her. It was singing at the top of its lungs. You have done well! You have saved them all! 

The fire had raged for seven more days, burning up every last bit of sinister tree and trying to do the same to the villagers. But they had come together to save each other and they all carried buckets full of water wherever they would go to put out any fire they saw inside the village. 

They had at first, tried to put the fire out in the forest, but the fire was relentless and had not seemed as though it wanted to give up the trees. So they stopped focusing on the forest, as they had always hated it anyway, and they helped each other. 

After those seven days, the forest was finally, completely gone. It had been turned into ash and had flown away to different places, never to haunt anyone again. 

Juliane had returned to the spot where she had started the fire and looked around her. Life had been different ever since that day. The sense of wrongness she had felt had suddenly seemed to subside. She felt like a new person. But there still seemed to be something missing. Juliane craved something, but she wasn’t sure what. She figured she returned to the spot to see if it had what she was looking for. It did.

She bent down to see a small tiny seed, and she realized that the area around the village seemed too open. Too empty and wide. It needed a tree. A guardian, perhaps. Juliane picked up the seed and dug a hole with her hands and placed the seed inside, and covered it back up with dirt. She stood up and dusted her hands off and looked up at the sunrise, noticing how many more colors she could see now that the trees were gone. 

Juliane would return every day to that spot and water and nurture the tree until it grew to be strong and mighty, its arm-like branches spread open and welcoming to all those who entered the village.