The Woods
“Kordelia,” I whispered, with a faint, forced breath, “please don’t abandon me.” My eyes, heavy from exhaustion, refusing to remain open, trying to find her radiant figure through the mist. “I cannot do this without you.” My consciousness starts to fade as I drift into a slumber. The last words I hear are Kordelia’s. Although I cannot see her, her voice sounds as though she is just out of reach. A gentle whisper in my mind.
“I will always be with you, Einar…you just need to find me.”
The morning sun shone dimly through the fog which covered the land of Caius, much like a quilt loosely covers the bed it rests upon. Dawn had just arrived and brought with it a revitalized energy synonymous with that of a fire stoked from embers. I cross the threshold of my haven and out into the fields surrounding it. Fields of emerald-green grass atop rolling hills are surrounded by forests of ferns to the east and a lake, to the west, big enough for those who have not sailed across it to believe it were an ocean.
The lake, which was named Aila by the first inhabitants of Caius, continues to be a popular space for the people to flock to on warm, sunny days. However, the sun had not yet passed through the foggy veil. This meant the beaches along Lake Aila were going to be untouched. The footprints in the sand — remnants from the joy of yesterday — having been erased by the occasional gust of wind traveling inland from across the waves. The perfect morning for a walk on the beach alone.
As I walk towards the lake, following the sounds of the water crashing upon the beach, a figure starts to appear in the fog. The body forming, as I move closer, as though each atom is materializing from the surrounding fog. Eventually, I have closed the distance enough for the atoms to create a figure resembling a woman. Curiosity draws me closer, hoping for more clarity. With every inch of distance that decreases between us, more details are shone. Her hair, which creeps down her back in waves mimicking Aila’s, appears to be the same brown as the trunk of the ferns in the forests. She’s wearing a white…no…pastel, light-blue dress which hugs her form, but trails off in the back. It reminds me of the way streams of wind pass around a tree, only to rejoin again on the other side. The back of it is cut out, exposing slightly-bronze skin which, somehow, refracted the few rays of sunlight which existed into a radiant glow. Much like sunlight forcing itself through the colors of a stained-glass window. Except, now that I am close enough to the point where there is no fog-induced obscurity, I notice something strange.
The light which enshrouds her skin is not refraction from the sun, but a glow emanating from within. She is the light.
So as to not disturb her peace, I turn up the beach. Searching for my own peaceful morning. After a few paces, I hear a voice come from behind me. A voice I can never forget. Syllables which carried a melody so beautiful, yet had timbre similar to the keys of a piano being pressed down slow and firm. Steady, yet flowing. Immovable, yet gentle.
“Please join me, Einar.”
Four words which piqued my interest, but sent a shiver up through my core.
Four words which would change my life forever.
Startled, I stop in my tracks and turn back towards the woman. Every hair along the back of my neck is on edge. Hidden, thankfully, by my shoulder-length hair. I take small, patient steps back towards her.
“H- How do you know my name?” I ask. My shrill voice an audible indicator of my apprehension. “Do I know you?”
Caius is a small-enough town where the people are all friendly, but still large enough to make it impossible to know everyone.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” her voice, still unwavering and steady, flows through my ears, “but you have not called upon me.”
At this point, I am standing face-to-face with her. She’s beautiful. Not just in a conventional way, but…a beauty so rich it is almost superhuman. Her hair seems to not only be the color of the fern trunks, but also has gentle highlights reminiscent of Autumn leaves dipped in blood and left for weeks. Her skin, still radiating, is decorated with symmetrical features—eyebrows rounded and even with points as sharp as a dagger, a nose forming a perfect divide between the left and right hemispheres of her face, and lips the color of the pinkest rose I’ve ever seen. Her eyes, a deep green with patches of gold and the blue of the lake, immediately captured my gaze. I could feel her vision scattering like electricity through my blood.
It’s not as though she was looking at me. She is seeing me.
“I’m sorry. But I don’t understand,” I reply, shakily. “How can you possibly know who I am…have waited for me…when I don’t know who you are?”
A part of me keeps asking questions simply to hear her voice. The music she makes when those rose-petal lips part.
“My name is Kordelia,” she says. “I have been sent to watch over you, but could not interact with you until you found me.”
“Sent by whom? Who are you?” I asked. Something about her made me feel lighter, like a breeze picking up and weaving through my hair. The light which enshrouded her, radiating from within, is now imbuing me with warmth. The closer I came to her face, the less I could feel time. She was neither old, nor young—she was without time. Her weightlessness engulfed me, like stepping through a mirror.
“Who are you?” I pressed her again, desperate for something tangible to cling to.
“I am many things to many people,” she replied with a smile, which lit an ember within my heart I didn’t know was even there. She continued, “I walk with men through the sodden fields of sorrow. I take the currency of their pain and transform it anew. But I am also there during the dawn, when an infant cry echoes out into the hollow cavity of night for the very first time and the mother’s heart expands to make room for someone new.”
She reached out her hand and touched my chest right above where my heart rests. A rush of unnameable mystery made me clutch her wrist to avoid falling. Her skin, it is so warm and delicate, but feels strong and unbreakable.
“But this is about you, Einar, not me. For I see the things you cannot see. I love the parts of you which you are too ashamed to meet.”
At first, I felt annoyed. I’m not one who enjoys being spoken to in riddles. Perhaps, though, this was not a riddle, but some sort of divine wisdom. A wisdom usually gained with age, but Kordelia looks no older than 30.
“Follow me,” she demands as she turns to walk away from me. This felt like a demand, but she did not wait for me or look back to see whether I was following or not.
I had never seen someone walk with such grace. Kordelia would make any gazelle seem as though they were a newborn fawn. The train of the dress only helped to illuminate this grace. The gentle breeze swept across it, creating ripples through the fabric. Like ripples through time itself.
We walk among the sand for, what feels like, an eternity. There wasn’t much dialogue, yet there was a peace that filled up every space of my body. A peace I have never felt before.
Prior to departing from one another, her lips part again. It was as though she was waiting for me to show that I am listening intently before speaking.
“There is a place you are destined to reach. This place is called Dara, and the journey there is one which will test you. It will not be easy. Nor will it be quick. However, when you make it, you will be truly fulfilled, Einar. And I will walk alongside you, so long as you continue to hold on to my presence.”
Ugh…another cryptic message.
Before being able to respond, she walks away towards Caius. Disappearing into the crowds filling the main corridor. Aptly named Main Way, the street is the largest street coursing through Caius. At around 20 miles in length, going north and south, it spans the longest distance through the town. The street is made of the dirt, packed down by the constant foot- and hoof-traffic. The sun had started to warm the Earth and the fog was lifting. Every type of human walks Main Way as equals — the rich and the poor, the sellers and the buyers, black and white and brown and everything in between. This small colony, founded by the earliest of spiritual nomads called Guides, has blossomed into a safe haven for all peoples. The citizens of Caius, though they have their trials just as every other human, are all relatively happy. Everyone looks out for their neighbors and trade everything from advice to valuable goods. Life in Caius is, to say the least, comfortable.
I continue for a minute to find the blood-dipped hair of Kordelia amongst the thousands of scalps in view. Being distracted by calls from merchants lining the trodden road. From the left, “I have the best jewelry in Caius!” From the right, “Come check out these shoes, brought over from the far-away land of Hermos!”
My uncle, leaning against the side of our haven, tries to grab my attention yelling out, “Who were you talking to out there, nephew?!” Did he not see her? I continue on searching as though I didn’t hear him, briefly wondering how long he’d been standing there. I’m desperate.
A young boy, probably ten years old, runs up in my direction to fetch a ball thrown by a group further down the road. His hair was jet black and disheveled and had dirt covering his face. Such is the appearance of the children, all outside under the morning sun to catch up and play with their friends.
“Hey! What’s up?” The boy greeted me with child-like enthusiasm as I pick up the ball and hand it to him.
“I am doing well! Have you seen a dark-haired woman in a light-blue dress pass by? Her skin is so bright you couldn’t have missed her,” I inquire, hoping this boy, who seems as though he had been playing since long before the first meeting with Kordelia had ended, could give me a clue as to where she is.
His voice changed from one of enthusiasm to one making me feel as though I had insulted him with my question, “Sorry to break it to ya, but I don’t know who you’re talking about!”
Ignoring his belittling tone, I carry on scanning Main Way. I was hoping to hear her voice just once more before the day began, but she is long gone.
I go back to my haven to meet with my uncle and prepare for our day filled with cleaning and chores. While going through the mundane tasks of sweeping and wiping, I start to think of how this journey Kordelia has called me on seems all too much like a journey traversed much earlier. The story of how my uncle and I found ourselves in Caius.
My uncle, Frode, and I immigrated to Caius as refugees fleeing the war to the west. On the opposite bank of Aila from Caius, there is a small plain pressed against a range of grey mountains called the Achal Mountains. These mountains, once thought to be impenetrable, became the quickest route for others like us who were fleeing the carnage from the nations of Corvus and Odyssomai, which were battling over a large city called Aaru. Aaru was a land of resources and wealth where the people, not too unlike those of Caius, have found happiness. That is until these two nations have decided to try and spread their influence. Corvus and Odyssomai have been going through an eternal cycle of pursuing dominance, creating a truce, and the truce being broken. Those who choose to remain are often killed or, if they are fortunate, will be indoctrinated into one nation or the other. Corruption hangs heavy in the air. Hiding in plain sight as distraught citizens walk through their daily lives begrudgingly. Knowing that this day might be their last. My parents ensured my escape, along with my uncle’s, as they, along with 50 others distracted the guards. They were part of a rebellion group called the Asier, which fought to disrupt the two nations and work uphill to inspire the lost citizens. Not a day goes by when they aren’t occupying my thoughts.
The only path through the Achal Mountains is a small smugglers route tucked along the side of the jagged giants. Jutting up and down, curving along the face of the peaks with steep drops to one side and grey shale to the other. One misstep is a sure death. Wherever the path widened is where we would retrieve our blankets made of sheep’s wool from our packs and made small beds out of the thin layer of snow lining the hard ground. I kindled a fire with the mechanical fire starter I slipped from one of the merchant stands while escaping Aaru. My uncle and I sat around the small, flickering flames which, surely, would not last through the night.
“How are your feet, Einar? Make sure you direct them towards the warmth of the flame. You will need them in the future,” he quips, punctuated with a wink and a smirk which crossed his face.
While I sit puzzled by the last words, which felt like an attempt at a humorous warning, I decide to ask him, “How did you become so wise? Some of the things you say don’t make any sense!” It felt as though each word out of his mouth was a pearl of wisdom waiting to be polished and strewn as a necklace.
He gave the predictable answer.
“It comes with age, dear nephew!” There’s that smirk, again.
Although my beard—stretching from hairline to hairline, connected with a mustache bridging across my face—is filled with ice from my breath mingling with the dark-brown and blonde streaks of hair, I am thankful for the warmth it provides my cheeks and neck with. A blanket for my pale face. I reach up to scrape some of the ice from the fibers and feel the scar left across my upper cheek from the blade of a Corvus Nation guard. Feeling the slightly raised, hairless patch reminded me of how the guard pursued me while I was trying to flee with a loaf of bread I swiped from a Corvusian merchant. A loaf of bread. I got away with my life, but will carry this scar forever.
My thoughts slip back into the present and, while continuing to clean the haven, I explain to Uncle Frode the morning I had. About the woman named Kordelia, the quest she cryptically described to me, and my lack of motivation to leave my life of comfort for a quest which will be, in her words, a “test.” My uncle, turning to me with his light-brown eyes and long, grey beard said to me, “What do you feel in your heart? What is it telling you to do?”
I pause for a brief second, turning my ears inward. Listening. Not to my uncle, but to myself. I can’t seem to hear a voice, but I feel something. Invigoration. Restlessness. Like my legs are yearning to stride. But still a humbling feeling of terror when faced with the unknown. Like goosebumps on my skin being raised by alternating waves of excitement and fear. “Who will take care of you if I go, uncle?” I gently ask. Though he is as tall as me and seems healthy for his age, his years have brought with them a fragile body. “I’m not sure how long this journey will take, where it will lead me, or if I will ever be back. I’m scared, uncle.”
Remaining calm, with a serenity that comes with years of living and attaining wisdom, he replies back to me, “Do not be scared, Einar. I have taught you all you need in order to achieve your goals. It is up to you, however, whether or not you will remember them during the trials of your life and cling to them as motivation. I can assure you, my boy, I will be fine.”
He pauses and his gaze turns downwards to the Earth. I can see him shut his eyes, almost as though he is reminiscing upon the struggles of his own life—the unavoidable mistakes that have brought before me the man I see. Those brown eyes I have learned to associate with safety find themselves locked back onto mine. He seems to be holding back tears as he whispers to me, “Call on Kordelia and make sure you never lose sight of her.”
The final rays of sunlight start to disappear behind the Achal Mountains as I head back towards Lake Aila. Heeding my uncle’s advice, I packed a backpack with essentials for the trek: water, small meals, blankets, and tools. I have a small, foldable tent left over from a small hiking trip my uncle and I took a year earlier strapped to the outside of my backpack. I stop right at the edge where the water laps up onto the sand. Two lovers kissing over and over, but always being pulled from each other. I close my eyes, let go of my doubts about the journey ahead, and let out a deep breath. As I lift my head back towards the horizon, I make out a figure coming from my right side. It’s her. It’s Kordelia.
I feel waves of peace and anxiety flow through my blood. Peace, simply due to her presence. Anxiety, due to what her presence entails: the start of an unknown journey with unknown obstacles.
“I think I am ready, Kordelia,” I softly say, my eyes not leaving the horizon. I just want to take it all in once more. The vibrant reds and soft purples scattered across the sky. Something within me tells me this will be the last sunset I see over the grand Lake Aila.
“It is not a matter of thinking,” she replies, with the voice I have longed to hear since our last words, “it is a matter of believing. Believing in yourself, in the lessons taught to you, and in the journey itself. While Dara is part of your destiny, it is the path traversed, leading to the threshold of that great city, that will be your reward.”
Believing in something requires me to see it. It is hard for me to “believe” in a journey I have not departed on yet. That being said, I…trust her. Again, she reaches out her hand to me. This time, the palm facing upward to the star-filled night sky. Her hand illuminating the air around it, almost as though a candle is trying to shine towards the heavens, obscured by a thin, lace cloth. The light, originally a singular beam, scattered through the linen to produce a glowing orb.
I meet her hand with mine, grasping onto it as though it was a hand breaking through the surface of water—under which, I am drowning. As though this single hand could bring me to safety.
“I’m putting my trust in you,” I say with a sturdy voice, sure that I will not regret the decision.
And so begins the quest to Dara, the land flowing of milk and honey which, apparently, is destined to await my arrival.
We abandon the beach, once again a lonely paradise. The sand holding the footprints—remnants of the day’s joy. We walk east, passing, first, my haven. I decide to stop inside to see my uncle one more time before leaving.
As I enter the threshold of comfort for, what I feel to be, the last time, it was as though Uncle Frode was waiting for me. He is sitting at the dining table—a round, wooden piece of craftsmanship we spent a week working on last Spring. Usually, I am reminded of the songs of the birds that flew overhead and the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees surrounding us as we put hands to wood. This time, seeing it lit by a lonely candle in the center, with my uncle seated on the side opposite from me, I am reminded to take in every detail of his face. The way his wrinkled forehead gently descends into bushy, grey eyebrows. His lips, almost completely hidden by his facial hair, are strong, having carried millions of words of wisdom across them. His head was balding around the sides, so he trimmed them down, leaving only the top of his head covered in a strip of hair as grey as his beard. His hair, which he took pride in, was braided at the back and carried down to the middle of his back. This face, one I looked to for comfort, would be the last I would see before embarking on a journey that is far from comfortable.
“You need to trust her, Einar. You must. You will not make it through the woods without her.” His words seemed sharp, cautionary even. All I can think, in my head, is what are the woods he is speaking of? The mystery in the words he said sent a chill up my spine. But I do not want to be the last words spoken to him being those of questions and inquiry.
“I will. I love you, uncle. It is you I have to thank for catalyzing my metamorphosis from a boy to a man. I hope to make you proud,” my voice broken and frail from the tears trying their hardest to flow down my face. I let them.
“I am already proud of you. Go, now, nephew. Your destiny awaits you.”
His words embolden me and light a blaze stronger than any wildfire within my spirit. I correct my posture as he stands up. One final embrace, a taste of comfort, before turning my gait towards discomfort.
I cross the threshold, once more, into the cool night. Kordelia was waiting for me, a smile forcing its way across her porcelain, unblemished face. She was, by no means, stoic. However, her tone was that of urgency and comfort. One which both inspired movement, while allowing rest. To see her smile this wide was a sight which brought me a new-found motivation.
“Well,” I let out with jubilance, “the night isn’t getting any younger! Shall we begin?”
She nodded at me and turned her gaze towards the forests of ferns to the east.
One.
Two.
The first steps are always the hardest.
We cross the rolling hills of grass and come to the doorway of the forest.
“How are we going to make it through the forest without light?” I question, almost rhetorically. The answer, obvious in my head, is that we can’t.
“You do not need light, Einar,” she replies, “simply trust your path is true, and so it shall be.”
Immediately, the words my uncle spoke that night up in the Achal mountains bounced like sound off of walls within my mind. This must’ve been what he meant by me needing my feet in the future. I just thought he meant to complete the hike through the mountains, not that I will have to trust solely in the path my feet take.
I have learned, by now, that Kordelia is someone I should not question. If she says I need to trust in my path, then that is exactly what I should do. Heeding her advice, I move forward. Crossing the threshold between the fields and the forest—the known and the unknown.
We walk on, through the gentle breeze in the Spring night, under the canopy of branches and leaves. When we first started through the forest, the canopy seemed like a protective shield, surrounding me in a blanket of safety. Now, hours later, it feels like a bag covering my head, obscuring my sense of vision and direction. I can’t help but to keep Kordelia’s words on a loop through my head: trust your path, Einar.
I try to focus on my own thoughts, taking my mind off of the path untrodden. Anything I can do to keep from thinking about where my feet may land. Cyclical. The one word which comes to mind as I create connections, in my mind’s voice, about how similar this quest is to the emigration out of Aaru and into Caius. Though the imagery, altitude, and motivations are all different, one fact remains: the unknown has always made me queasy. Thinking of this seemed to backfire, though.
My insides start to feel as though they are doing backflips under my skin. I feel a million needles all stabbing into my skin in waves, starting from my feet up to my neck. Though it was not enough to make me lose sight of Kordelia, it was enough to catalyze a change in the forest. The once vibrant greens started to lose their tint, like the transition from Summer to Autumn. When the first signs of temporary death start to creep up through the roots, signaling the leaves to slumber as the temperature slowly begins its trend downward.
The sight was enough to create an uneasy knot in my stomach, my hearing turning towards the outside, rather than my own thoughts, to alert me to danger. Hypervigilant. As though my ears would find any threat and bring them towards me. Manifest them to me. Kordelia, however, seems unfazed by the changes, still flowing along the path like a boat on a calm river. I start to wonder if it is all in my head. If the changes in the forest were just my anxious mind influencing my perception. I subtly hasten my pace to catch up with Kordelia and peace starts to settle back in. Reassurance.
We stop for a moment in a small clearing. There’s a boulder almost completely centered in this rotunda of trunks and moss. Nature. My fears, which started to fill me from the soles of my feet, abated by the morning rays of sun, slithering along through the slits between trees.
“Are we going to sleep during the day, Kordelia?” I ask, unsure of when I will be able to rest.
“This is a time of rest,” she replies, “of introspection. You may sleep, if that is what is needed. But it is time to examine how this first night made you feel, and what you need to change, or maintain, to keep moving forward.”
Unease. Fear. Anxiety. Accomplished. Ambitious. All things I have felt from our first steps into the forest to where we are now. Though, I know it has only been one night, there is still a sense of triumph. One night down out of, well, I don’t know. The uneasiness, fear, and anxiety were all products of trekking through the dark — vision obscured by the veil of night. Not knowing where you step, but having trust that step will land safely. A brand-new concept to me, but one that has allowed me to make it through the first night. Maybe Kordelia is on to something.
Exhausted, it seems as though reflection put me at peace enough to doze off. I start to dream of my first steps into Caius. After 7 days and nights of fleeing the war through the Achal Mountains, we arrived at the base of the eastern slope—Aila, in all her beauty, finally within view. We found a fisherman who was willing to transfer my uncle and I across the lake to a town he described as “a land of promise and comfort.” As the motor propelled the boat forward through the glass of the water, like a knife through the thinnest of paper, I could start to see the town inching closer and closer. The streets teeming with people. No dust kicked up from fights between soldier and citizen. No shrieks being heard as children are ripped from their mothers’ arms. Just laughter and joy.
The boat came up to a wooden dock which, clearly, needed refurbishing. The fisherman tied a knot around a post, securing the boat in place amongst the gentle waves. We gather ourselves and thank the fisherman as he walks us up to the glass encasement at the exit of the dock. Two men were on the other side of the streak-less glass. A sheet of metal cross-sectioned the glass at chest-height with a cutout in the glass going over it. I assumed this was to hand documents back and forth from layman to soldier. Small holes were etched through the glass creating a circular pattern which carried a soldier’s voice from the inside to our ears.
“Where are you two from?” One of the men asked. He was tall, towering over my six-foot frame, and wore maroon-stained armor which hugged his figure. His face, being exposed from the absence of any sort of helmet, was as dark as a moon-less night. I am not used to seeing someone with his skin color in such a proud and noble occupation. Not that I mind, I actually feel happy seeing him. It is just that Corvus and Odyssomai made sure that anyone having skin darker than a fragile snowflake would never be able to aspire to such a position.
“Aaru,” my uncle replied, noting my silence as coming from intimidation, “we are seeking refuge from the Eternal War.”
We handed the guards our identification cards. They ran it through this machine which engraved “Caius” across the top. The guard handed our IDs back to us with a smile. “Welcome to Caius,” he exclaims with happiness. Like a host welcoming their guests. The painstaking, blister-forming escape has led me to a place of comfort.
My eyes, still hidden through half-shut lids, try to come to focus. The blurry image of Kordelia starts to become defined. She is sitting up on the rounded boulder, a sense of determination projected by her facial expression. Not so much contemplative as much as it is one of eagerness. An excitement to move forward. I decide to stand up and go over to her. I am no longer intimidated by the glow of her skin, as she has become familiar to me—a friend.
“What are you thinking about?” I inquire, half an oat bar rumbling around between my teeth.
“I am thinking about how proud I am of you, Einar,” a smile smearing across her face as the words leave her lips. “Many who find me either fail to make it through the first night or refuse to take my hand in the first place. You, Einar, have done both. We are almost through the forest with only one more night until we reach the final row of trees and moss, with Dara in plain view. However, this next night will be the hardest night between here and there.”
“You’re telling me this journey was only going to take two nights?!” I ask with a tinge of resentment. “Why did you make it seem as though it would be a lifelong quest, Kordelia? I wouldn’t have worried my uncle so much!”
“Einar, this is a lifelong journey,” her reply seems much more stern than the tone through the former part of the conversation. “Your uncle knew this the second you told him you met me. He has seen my face when he was young, as well. Not much younger than you. Just as Dara is but one stop in your journey, you were a stop in his.”
I try to question her further, my mind scrambling to comprehend the words that left her mouth. This was to no avail, as she remained silent while rising up from the rock. Staring west as the sun’s rays start to recede from the forest through the trees—sunrise in reverse.
“Are you ready?” She questions, completely ignoring every word that has been spilling from my tongue.
I slowly nod in apprehensive agreement. With no hesitation, she turns her figure back towards the east and starts to glide through the twig-laden ground. I follow, much less graceful.
About thirty minutes in, her elegant movement comes to a slow stop. “This is where most who venture on this journey fail,” she warns. “The Woods. Einar, remember, you must trust your steps and don’t let anything distract you from me.”
“How hard can it be?” My lips try to chase the words to swallow them soon after my throat created them. Sarcasm is, after all, my defense mechanism.
I will never forget the scornful expression written across her perfect face before floating forward into The Woods.
Within the first five minutes, the atmosphere around us transforms into one of eeriness and darkness. Death. Thinking back of when this change happened, I can’t bring it to recollection. It came out of nowhere. Trees coming to life all around me. Their trunks creaking like the wooden floor of a neglected haven. If I listened closely enough, I would swear there was a heartbeat. A chilling breeze cuts through The Woods, stirring petrified twigs and long-forgotten leaves across the barren floor. The ground seems as metal as my feet tread across it. It is a wonder how any sort of tree grew in this soil. After, what seemed like, another five minutes, a mist creeps along the floor, like a wandering spirit looking for a long-lost lover. Or, more accurately, like a lioness lying in wait in the tall grass, stalking her prey. Waiting for a single moment of weakness to go in for the kill.
The mist seems to absorb through my skin, condensing into droplets, and traveling through my veins back into my heart, pushed to circulate through every part of my body, mind, and spirit. Distracting me from Kordelia as it whispers into my ears. Whipping thoughts of failure and deceit against my eardrums with every lap of the tongue. My steps slow and my gaze falls to the ground. My posture, one of confidence and eagerness, now drooping down with my shoulders falling forward. I feel empty. Like a void has been created in my very core, drawing in every ounce of my being. What little light was left within me, drawn into this black hole. There are no more thoughts or emotions. It was like The Woods sucked the life right out of me. The only reason I am still taking step after step, as slow as they may be, is because it is the only thing I can do. I cannot remember how long I have been walking when I finally abate my gaze from the twigs and leaves towards the horizon. The mist has fully enveloped me in a cold cloud of…well…of nothingness.
The frigidity brings to mind the arduous journey my uncle and I had taken to make it to Caius. The nights through that smuggler’s pass were ice cold. I remember the air being so cold, one night, that it seemed as though being made of the hottest fire would still not warm me up. My uncle, as he always did, brought humor to the perilous journey, making sure the dangers were not first on my mind. Something I remember him saying frequently is how, if my eyes lost their blue patches, the grey would blend in with the stone. It wasn’t funny. But, given the circumstance, even reading a multilingual dictionary would bring a chuckle from between my chapped lips.
I’d give anything, right now, to have the comfort of that dry humor.
I have become eternally exhausted. Void of all motivation. It is almost as though I can feel the warmth of my spirit leave me with each exhale, slowly snuffing the fire out into a pillar of smoke leaving my lungs. Breathless. My body aching and trembling under the weight of the mist. I can hear The Woods taunting me. Laughing at my feeble attempts at movement. Baiting me to surrender. I try to muster up motivation, courage, anything. I am just too weak to manifest these things—to relight the embers Kordelia had ignited that night on the beach when we first met.
I start to think about that night. The stars shimmering in the black of night, puncturing the dark dome of the sky with millions of holes. The continual ebb and flow of the waves slapping against the cool, damp sand. The refreshing breeze hiding any trace of humanity on the shore. The gentle glow of Caius behind me, illuminating the healing waters of Lake Aila. Kordelia’s fa…wait…Kordelia.
I did not notice that, as I was using these thoughts about the comfortability of that night on the beach to cope with the void in my being, the once stone-hard ground had become one of thick, oily dirt. I’m slowly drowning. My sight, blurred by the mist and my own grogginess, finds her through the veil. But just barely. The pool I have found myself in has swallowed me up to my shoulders by this point. My heartbeat becoming a thundering drum within me, pounding against the walls in my head. My spirit, begging to be alive, trying to get me to come back to life. My mind, devoid of all thought, clashing with that spirit. A battle.
The mire has made it to my chin.
My heartbeat, once filling this hole with rhythm, now slowly fading into that of a kitten’s paws across the wooden frames of merchant stands. My mind is winning this fight, consuming my spirit into its void. Drawing it in swiftly like the surge of tides pulling sediment deeper into the abyss.
Hell. This must be hell. The place I begged to be. Not with words, or desires sent through the air, but through my actions which have sent me on this path. A path predetermined for me. One I am only slightly familiar with. Though this forest, these Woods, is a place I never dared to wander, I find myself right in the middle of it all. I’ve experienced the unease of The Woods before, though. Explored this abyss. Just…not like this. All the “could’ve”s and “should’ve”s won’t bring back the thing I miss the most: knowing myself. I thought I was confident in who I am, that I was unwavering in my self-esteem. Knowing who I am in this very moment, though, seems like an impossible task. Knowing what I desire through the time I’m here; this was the trade for my payment. Coming to the surface of my mind is the unquenched desire to feel hope deeply. So much so, have I longed for hope, that I lost myself in the process. Burying deeper into this abysmal cove. My own, personal hell. I never thought I’d end up here. But I guess that’s what happens, when your self-worth stems from fear. The fear of not being accepted. The fear of not being loved. The fear of going unnoticed. The fear of my kindness leading to my spirit being shoved. I’ve been tossed aside and pushed away in Aaru, like used merchandise. I’ve been walked over and spit on. I have turned into a monster — someone I don’t even recognize. These Woods, I feel, I will forever wander. This abyss will be my demise.
“Kordelia,” I whispered, with a faint, forced breath, “please don’t abandon me.” My eyes, heavy from exhaustion, refusing to remain open, trying to find her radiant figure through the mist. “I cannot do this without you.” My consciousness starts to fade as I drift into a slumber. The last words I hear are Kordelia’s. Although I cannot see her, her voice sounds as though she is just out of reach. A gentle whisper in my mind.
“I will always be with you, Einar…you just need to find me.”
Those were the last words I heard before this…beast…had enveloped over my ears and nose. No longer able to breath, I close my eyes. Thoughts of death flowing through my mind. The vacuum of my mind enveloping all of me into its cold embrace.
My eyes are now covered. I can hear the Earth. It is almost as though the deeper I am swallowed into this abyss, the louder it gets. Like a thundering voice trying to call me back to the surface. I think of my uncle. The wise uncle. And think back on his words, “You need to trust her.”
Though my eyes are completely covered in the darkness, I feel as though I can start to see.
“I am here, Einar,” her voice piercing through the pit to my ear drums. Immediately, I feel a blaze start in my heart with that tiny ember first awakened by Kordelia. My heartbeat, once slow and faded, now picking up its cadence.
“Kordelia!” I shout out with my mind’s voice, hoping it will somehow reach her ears. The fire within me spreads, engulfing me once more. Using my blood as a transportation system to every atom in my body. It continues spreading, though, displacing all of the darkness and slime of the pit. Releasing me. Freeing me.
Once again, I see Kordelia’s hand stretched out towards me. Trying to pull me from a place I am not destined for. As I force my hand up to touch hers, something happened…a change. The ground underneath me starts to solidify, raising me up out of this seemingly endless hole. As I emerge through the skin of the Earth, I see the mist fading away. Its whispers transforming into birdsong as the leaves in the trees above me magically become saturated with hue. The forest is coming back to life. There is one thing missing, though.
“K- Kordelia?” I send out a voice as powerful as it is meek. Humbly seeking to find what I know…what I feel…is right next to me. I feel the overwhelming peace and tranquility I have come to associate with her presence. The warmth of the sun, even in the darkest of nights. A gentle breeze through my hair taking with it all uneasiness. The water of Lake Aila, warm and comforting, washing away all dirt and debris.
“I am still here,” her voice replies in my mind. I cannot see her, but I can hear her. “It is time to move forward.”
My posture corrected to its upright form. Confident and strong.
One.
Two.
My steps, a stark contradiction to my posture, treading the path with grace and elegance. Effortless. Flowing along the path, I look up and see the canopy of trees. Once again, feeling as though I am shielded by them.
In what seems like the blink of an eye, I was transported from The Woods to the edge of the forest. I still cannot see Kordelia, but this does not worry me because I can feel her presence. I start to wonder if I ever actually saw her. Was she a figment of my imagination? It would explain why my uncle never saw her talking to me on the beach. Or how the boy on Main Way didn’t see her pass by.
“I am not a figment of your imagination,” her voice scattering in my skull, almost insulted at the thought I had.
Wait…it was just that. A thought.
“How did you know I was thinking that?” I ask with a calm uncertainty in my mind’s voice.
“As I told you before,” her voice starts, “I have always been with you. You simply needed to call on me. Do you see where I have brought you?”
Dara is, most certainly, in plain view. The golden spire, piercing through the sky above. At the tip of the spire, a glowing, translucent orb fell around the magnificent city like the bottom of a ball gown. Surrounding the city are lush gardens full of plants and flowers. Some I am familiar with, some which I have never seen. There are paths that fork all throughout this green, vine-ridden pavilion of plant life, gently winding through like a river. The path opens up to expose a large field of grass. This grass was not like the grass scattered among the rolling hills near Caius. It was much softer, as though each blade was made of the finest velvet. Each blade acting in unison as the warm breeze flows over them creating ripples. Ripples not too dissimilar from the ripples formed on Lake Aila when throwing pebbles into her depths.
I swiftly course through the gardens and the ripples to the shroud of protection encasing the city. It was as though I know these paths, Kordelia’s presence creating a confidence within me to trust my path. I don’t even hesitate before approaching the translucent film and cross through it.
If I could see my own face, it would have been the most peculiar sight. An expression of perplexity and confusion finding itself stamped to my skin. I look back through the veil at the garden, then look down at myself. I am glowing. My skin covered in light just as Kordelia’s was.
I stretch out my hand, just as she had done for me so many times before, and lean forward towards the veil. I touch it out of curiosity and it simply hugs around my fingertips like a healer’s glove.
“What was that?” I ask as I pull my hand back, still adjusting to the new vibrance my skin holds.
“Light,” she replied quickly. “Have you noticed how the light from one candle can illuminate even the darkest of spaces? Seeming as though the darkness is repelled by the blaze? So it is here. This shield is made of light and repels any darkness which tries to enter. You, Osmund, are full of light, now.”
“Wait…”I, hesitantly, respond, “Osmund?”
“Yes. Osmund,” her reply is full of cheerful tone and exuberance, “you have trusted me and followed me through The Woods. Yes, you almost failed, but you didn’t. You are here. You are a changed man, and every changed man needs a new name. A name that, both, prepares them for the journey ahead while also commemorating the triumphs of the past.”
“Why Osmund?” I question, still wondering if I even look like an Osmund.
“Because you sought out my protection and, as such, I will always be here to protect you and guide you to your destiny.”
“You mean…” I pause, out of pure curiosity, “…this is not my destiny? Dara is not my destiny?”
I can hear her laugh and it filled my mind with joy, bringing a smile to my relaxed face. Wait…she laughed? “No, it is not. Dara is but a stop on the path towards your true destiny.”
She continued on, the tone in her voice shifting to one eerily similar to the one she had that first time those rosy lips parted on the shores of Lake Aila, “This is just the beginning…”
Modern Witch of the West 