Woman of the Forest

It was noted by the village folk, the old men and women, who were all that were left of the village, God's Fortune...that the forest, an hour's walk into the sunset, had a strange effect on those who ventured to its edge.

I say to its edge because those who had the courage to approach the forest,never went any deeper...at least, no one the old villagers knew.

Maybe the people from the Trust in the Heavens, had other experiences, but on the rare moments when the citizens of the two villages met, there was NEVER any talk about the forest.

Although the forest was directly in a line with the two villages, no path that anyone knew of, crossed through it. Well-worn trails passed to either side, and although the roundabout route took twice as long, no one complained.

It was rarely acknowledged that the forest was there; let alone, that it was an inconvenience to travel.

There was something ultimately shameful about that forest, it was mentioned so seldom, if ever, that it had never in the memory of the most ancient residents, had a name.

Travelers rarely passed between the villages -- they were both so unremarkable, that no one had any business there. With no young people, there were no children; as the population of both were elderly, the trade was so small that merchants had ceased traveling there.

The locals of the two villages made do with their small fields for crops, and the animals they could raise in their pens. The women and men were clever, and could mend their ragged clothes, so that they were always serviceable.

The death of any resident was a bounty for the others. All the dead person's possessions were divided evenly amongst the survivors. Clothes were refashioned to suit men or women. The fields that the departed had filled, were now available to feed others. The animals that could not be divided were slaughtered and made into salted, or otherwise, preserved meat.

There was a mist that surrounded the two settlements, encircling the two towns with the forest in the center. The mist never penetrated the streets of the villages or the confines of the woods.

It was assumed that there were wolves in the forest, but they never bothered the livestock of the villagers, so were not feared. The wolves howling could be heard on dark, still nights, but still the villagers did not fear this sound. Some ancestral memories told them it was nothing to be feared.

The truth was known to no one in the villages. The secret was kept by a woman who lived in the center of the woods. I, alone, was blessed to know her story. Many years after the events described in this tale, a terrible war raged in the region. The villages were destroyed in the fighting.

The villagers who survived were disheartened and moved away; there were very few at this time, and they moved on in the wake of one army or another, the women earning their keep as cooks, the men as wagon drivers or laborers.

Only the Forest remained. Untouched by the war initially...it was first logged for timber. After several of the foresters were overcome with a 'brain sickness' or were enchanted depending on the supervisor's level of enlightenment, it was decided to purge the forest of evil, or the infection it harbored.

The purge was fire, the officer in charge of the burning was Pawel of the Steppes.

Pawel hated this duty, but he was a mercenary and bound by oath and contracted to carry out the will of his employer. This war, like many others, had hurt the poor folk the most. Pawel would never deliberately target the peasants, as he came from similar stock. But in the midst of general carnage, the little folk suffered the most. By the time Pawel had arrived on the scene, all the villagers -- the aged villagers -- he was told, had either died or fled.

There was the problem of this mysterious forest. It had not been exploited by the twin villages that bordered it. This was strange. If there was a lord that owned the forest, he was unaware of who that might be. For a lord might forbid the cutting of trees because the timber was his by right, and he might have forbidden the taking of game because that was the property of the nobility.

The little folk could, at least, legally clear the dead wood and the brush for firewood, and snare rabbits for food; for the lords did not care for these.

But it seemed that in these woods, none of this had happened and yet, when the timber was harvested for the army, the men who cut the trees were ill.

It was whispered that there was a witch in the midst of the forest, enchanting the men because in their delirium, they claimed to see a spirit woman, either naked, or clothed only in leaves and branches.

This woman enthralled them, making them desirous of lying with her because with her spell, she made herself irresistible to men. After they lay with the witch, they were greatly weakened and could not cut timber. After they recovered, they did not remember the witch, but would not reenter the forest even under the threat of lashings.

After the first few refusers were lashed nearly to death, and still refused to enter the forest, the leaders of the army determined there was an unhealthy spirit or vapor in the woods, that could only be cleansed by fire.

Pawel was certain this forest, untouched for centuries by man, harbored some ancient disease, that, indeed, fire would cleanse it.

He had seen a great rebirth of life after great fires in the many wars he had seen...the wars were always wasteful, but life was tenacious and would sprout from the ashes.

So he had no misgivings. All the soldiers and foresters were removed from the area. Pawel, alone, remained. This was his responsibility, and he would see it done correctly.

He spent days doing nothing, well it appeared that he was just resting, but he listened, he watched, he got the sense of the winds, the movements of the animals. He wanted a fire that would move steadily with the prevailing winds, but burn slowly enough that the wildlife, or at least most of it, could escape the smoke and flames.

On the third day, he made his plan and set the tinder -- the firestarter...The next day, he waited 'til the morning dew had burned off, leaving the firestarter dry.

He mounted his plain, steady, small horse, Hatchet, a gelding of a mousy-gray color. Of a long face and droopy ears, it was not the impressive charger, civilians imagined a soldier riding. But Pawel did not charge into battle, his horse saved his aging legs from long marches. It was calm, reliable, and as covered in wounds as Pawel.

Pawel lit the torch he carried from his campfire, where he had just brewed his morning tea...steppe tea...a blend of herbs that he knew from his youth. Flaming torch in hand, Pawel rode to the tinder, the firestarters he had laid out on one edge of the forest

They all caught fire quickly, and soon had the undergrowth at the edge of the forest ablaze. The nature of the trees and brush in the forest made for a smoky blaze. Pawel was surprised...the forest was dry, old with much dead wood...but it smoked like green wood.

And a green wood that smelled of the incense from Eastern Lands!

The dense, fragrant smoke clung to the earth and snaked through the forest like a primeval beast, a beast that crawled on its belly.

Slowly, Pawel rode Hatchet to the end of the forest, opposite from where he had started the fire.

He freed his war bow from its saddle scabbard and chose the proper arrow for his quarry. His quiver held war arrows that could pierce armor at close range, and steel-tipped arrows with sharp barbs for wounding war horses. The majority of the arrows were long-flight arrows for harassing the enemy from a distance. Mounted people of the steppe, would ride at their enemies and lose a stream of arrows at extreme range, retreat, and repeat.

The enemy would be wounded, annoyed, their horses fearful, their ranks becoming disorganized. The horse archers did the job of weakening the enemy, so that the men on the giant armored warhorses would have an easier job, thundering down on the disorganized enemy.

That was the theory, but it was an old trick, and a well-trained enemy found ways of countering it, so that the charge of the heavy horse or the heavy infantry was not easy; many would die in the fray and the side that won, was often the first to break, their morale dissolved often only minutes before their opponent.

Battle was such a game of chance. Little wonder most commanders preferred to outmaneuver their enemy and force them into a spot, where they were forced to retreat, surrender, or negotiate.

But now, Pawel did not need any of those arrows. He picked a light-shafted arrow with a small deadly tip. It would fly fast, but only for a short distance. Thus, he could kill game on the run from the fire and have it for his midday meal.

But the smoke was driving the animals more than the fire, so they left the forest on the trot, not a full-panicked run.

After passing on some young deer, Pawel loosed on a fat doe. She fell at the shot, but still breathed. Pawel brought Hatchet up to his prey, and dismounted to slit its throat to kill the animal and bleed it out.

Pawel gutted the deer, saving the heart and liver, putting the lungs, stomach and intestines to one side. These would be devoured later by the predators of the area, the four-legged predators.

As he worked, the last of the forest creatures left the forest. Pawel could now feel the heat of the flames, though he was one-hundred meters from the tree line.

"All my children have left their home. Now they have no home."

This he heard over and over, first a whisper on the wind, then amid the crackling of the fire, now as a howl of anguish.

Through the dispersing, scented, dense smoke of the conflagration Pawel had created, strode a human figure...as small as a large child, but no child.

A woman! Her hair was that of marsh grass in summer, a pale-tan brown, unkempt, it was fully half as long as she was tall.

Protecting her sex, was a luxuriant bed of the same color, but twisted and curly with twigs and forest debris mixed in.

Her arms were thin and long, ending in large, strong, calloused hands, encrusted with the dark soil of the land.

She was filthy all over, save for areas around her nipples and mouth

Her nipples dripped milk, and Pawel realized that she was suckling herself to live!

He was moved to the greatest pity, sorrow, and horror of all his eventful life. This being looked impossibly old, frail, and emaciated. Pawel had the mixture of his feelings for women, the elderly, the poor, and the hungry added to the need to clothe the naked soul.

That was his first thought -- to place his war cloak, thick and heavy, on this being. It proved too heavy for her frail frame to manage! And she recoiled, as if not used to anything other than the earth or rainwater touching her skin.

Pawel understood some of her distress...Having already removed his cloak, he removed his tunic...but that was of heavy wool, as well. Down to his silk shirt, he doffed that and protected her modesty with that.

It was unlikely that this Forest Lady, as Pawel dubbed her, had ever been in contact with the concept of modesty, but the minimal extra warmth calmed her, or perhaps it was the smoothness of the material, weightless but still giving protection.

Pawel's heart broke when she nestled into his arms....and wept.

"My children...have fled, they have no home."

Pawel had the beliefs of the steppe deep in his soul -- his people believed they could receive all the qualities of the animal -- bravery, strength, and agility -- from eating the heart of a freshly killed deer.

Pawel sliced a bit and chewed, he knew enough, sadly, of starving people that they could not handle a sudden increase in food. He chewed the heart well, and approached the nearly comatose woman.

Her parched lips were slightly open, and he wet her lip with a finger moistened with his saliva. Her eyes opened slowly. "My child...I must eat my child to live." And her eyes looked deeply sad, the sadness that goes beyond pain to the knowledge that deep inside a pretense was gone and the will to live emerged strong.

Thus it went for some time. The Forest Lady slept a good deal. At first, Pawel fed her only his saliva which had some of the deer essence in it, then pre-chewed a bit of the same meat. When they finished the heart, they devoured the liver...in the meantime, Pawel cut the rest of the deer into strips and smoked the meat over willow branches.

He moved himself and the woman into one of the huts, that had been abandoned by the villagers, and not trashed too badly by soldiers.

He boiled water from the old well after he determined it had not been fouled with dead things to prevent it from being used by an enemy. With this water, he made teas from the herbs he always carried. Whenever he could, he collected the herbs that the coici of the steppe taught him were good medicine for various ailments, relaxing drinks, or energizing potions.

Slowly, the Forest Lady grew stronger. She took nourishment well, for the most part. More than a few times, Pawel needed to cleanse her fouled bottom. Usually, it was Pawel's fault, or so he told himself. Foods that were too rich, her body could not handle.

Once Pawel found a cow that had run wild, her calf dead at her side, her udders painfully swollen. To Pawel, a gift from heaven...all that milk for drinking, cooking, for fermenting. But not the Forest Lady, her gut rebelled.

As she grew healthier, she shed the clothes she wore that Pawel had given her. His shirt was beyond repair; it was torn and dirty. So far, the Forest Lady resisted all attempts to bathe her...she generally groomed her own privates, repairing to a private place for necessary functions. But otherwise, she was pretty ripe. Pawel was allowed to comb out her long hair, which was much better textured, now that she was eating.

After a bit, Pawel realized that they did not share a language. Of course, he had first 'heard' her when they met, but he now realized it was all in his mind...she translated what she spoke into understandable language in his head.

As she grew stronger and the supply of dried venison diminished, Pawel did more hunting and gathering. The Forest Lady was also formidable as a forager. Still, Pawel was itching to move. He thought with the forest gone, the Forest Lady would follow him.

She seemed to tolerate him well enough and had recently been showing some signs of affection, little things, half smile, watching him as he worked, watching him as he bathed and shaved.

Once, he thought he caught her spying on him as he was about doing his necessary private business. It was hard to be sure, she blended easily into the forest. But this woman seemed to be more of a voyeur, than the average village boy.

The breakthrough on bathing came in the midst of a tremendous thunderstorm. The Forest Lady seemed greatly energized. She loved the thunder and lightning, and at the height of the storm, she danced in the downpour switching herself with branches and rubbing off the accumulated dirt with pine needles. In the midst of it, she came into the hut with Pawel, and communicated that she needed one of his herbs...as she rubbed the herbs on her wet skin and wet hair, it lathered up and produced a strong but pleasant fragrance.

"This is the scent, this is MY scent." She smiled, as this registered deep in Pawel's consciousness.

The cleanliness changed her more than anything. She was radiant and appeared many years younger. Her eyes took on that look, that Pawel recognized from other women, that said she desired to mate with him.

She 'spoke', "Pawel will lie with Devana."

Pawel experienced a chill -- he knew the name from the coici, they spoke of Devana as a friend to all women. But, she lived in the forests and there were no forests in the steppe, so none of the women of the steppe honored her, but they knew of her.

Pawel heard her again, "Do not be afraid. I thank Pawel for saving me. I honor Pawel by asking him to lie with me. I NEED Pawel to lie with me."

About as blunt a proposal as Pawel had ever gotten. Pawel came from a steppe culture, where women always initiated sex. Among his people, it was the summoning. No man could lie with a woman, unless he was summoned by her.

He heard himself saying, "I must bathe also before lying with Devana. It is proper." And so, Pawel stepped out into the storm with a handful of the same herbs to cleanse and scent his body.

There was nothing unusual in lying with a goddess. She was as many women were, except she was very old and yet recently rejuvenated. Her breasts were not as a young bride's, but were still not the saggy tits of a baci. She was more energetic than the average woman in the act, but not unusually so...she was in control, but not in a way that would unman any male.

It was very, very pleasant.

In the morning, Pawel awoke alone in the bed...the old peasant bed had new straw, and was scented with fresh herbs that helped one sleep.

Devana was out...looking at the dawn...she was transformed...even more than the thunderstorm transformed her.

She turned to watch Pawel stare. He heard, "Yes, you see correctly. I am transformed. I told you I needed you and I do.

"Do not be afraid. I will make demands on you, but never more than you can meet. The male essence, the seed, the act of penetrating my body are necessary for my survival, for me to thrive -- for me to LIVE. I must live with Pawel. Please, you must help me to live."

And so she did, and she lives to this day. She was saved by Pawel, and now lives as she did before the village and the forest died. But that is a tale for another time.

For now you must know, lecherous reader, that she needed Pawel's seed every day; she thrived on it, and not just in the usual way. She did not need to procreate, so even though she greatly enjoyed the way that brought life to the womb, she took Pawel in every orifice; enjoying his manhood in her alley of elimination, as well as her means of ingestion.

For, gentle reader, she needed the man seed to live and be powerful.

(Pawel will tell the scribe more of his adventures with the Forest Goddess: Devana. I thank kenjisato, my editor, for making sense of my prose.)

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