Child's Twilight [finished]

“Slowly. Shh. Slowly, Cowa—”1

Through the brush and shadows a dark horse trod. The air, dank with the smell of earth and life and the sound of otherworldly whisperings, hung unobtrusively as the steed and his companion passed leisurely. He carried a boy who had lost his roundness of face and wideness of eyes as he had aged – but still he dawdled in his youth. The boy, clad in a simple flax tunic and leather breeches, pushed back fair wisps of hair that sang in the rare speckled sunlight, peered forward and then briefly backward: no longer was the edge of the forest visible, nor was there anything straight ahead. But Cowa was not disconcerted and snorted gently, stirring an adoring pat from the boy, whose eyes gleamed in attention to his stallion. “Ssh, Cowa. Ssh.” And again the boy looked up from his place astride the powerful stallion, searching. Yet: nothing. In tranquility the boy reached outwards to the passing trees, touched them, left his hand as he wended onwards, reached to the next one, linked. He heard the forest’s stifled conversations heighten, felt the tree-beings brush gently his mind’s boundaries in respectful greeting, and he reciprocated the gesture.2

They continued for many miles in this manner, the boy atop Cowa spreading the buzz in the thick atmosphere below the impenetrable treetops. There were no more words and much more distance.3

It was at an unobtrusive place that the boy laid his palm suddenly against the neck of the horse, bidding him to a gradual stop. He drew his hand from the nearest trunk, ending the discourse, bidding goodbye, and dutifully ignoring the tree’s resulting twinge of unhappiness. Cowa grunted in ennui and shook his head gently, enticing a soft and affectionate “Hush” from the boy, who watched idly atop his mount. There was nothing for some time.4

He watched carefully for movement, still, silent, back unkinked, eyes switching gently from here to there, seeking. The hum of the trees became a little louder, Cowa a little more interested, the quietness of the forest broken by the stifled footsteps and the shift of the soft earth they displaced. Though the sun’s reach hardly stroked the ground beneath the canopy, the air was still bright and he became aware of the rippling of the bushes in front of him. Very soon, a near-human form was clearly discernable from the green behind it, followed quickly by two others. The boy held up one finger in greeting and the three before him returned it. The most prominent, the tallest, the most olive in skin grinned and bowed minimally. The boy bent forward as well and then leaned back.5

“Where is Chyr?”6

The tallest one, dressed most elegantly in animal wraps and leather britches, threaded long, dark hair behind his ears. “Chyr is occupied and sends his apologies. He has had us come to escort you in his stead.” The black eyes, widely set and sharp at the corners, were soft and echoed the upturned lips. The boy nodded, but when one of the other two came forward to take hold of Cowa’s reins, he shook his head and turned his steed quietly away. Without guidance, he plunged again at their previous duteous pace into the depths of the trees. The three behind him looked after him and then followed.7

The trees wound about them the farther they went, spiraling above them and enveloping their party. The boy reached out here and there to palm the trunks, withered or strong or sharp with thorns, thick with bark or thin as paper, craggy or smooth as silk, and listened with eyes closed to the voices leaking into his mind. Leisurely, the boy felt internally the warmth of gladness at his presence and a powerful welcome, the woods embracing and tender and near. The closeness the boy felt was almost oppressive as the forest threw itself about him and pulled him tightly in and he chided himself for not having been to visit here in so long, wondered how Chyr would scold him for it.8

And yet, amidst this enthusiasm and amiability and hospitable greeting, there was ever-so-furtively lurking a bitterness in the trees’ tenderness. A streak of vivid poison struck the boy lightly. A tap: here; there; a pause— and then the acrid feel was back again. He frowned at it. The trees were unhappy. He pushed towards the acidity, sifting through to reach the darker and colder touches, but they were too deep and he could not get to them.9

Cowa threw his skull in agitation and the boy’s unused hand fell to the stallion’s shoulder as he let go the reins, imposing a soothing gesture onto his companion to calm him. Cowa, steadying, guided them faithfully though there was no path, the boy lost in his tolerant search. The three behind were silent, untiring, watching, and listening with ears less astute to only a perceived thickness throbbing about them. Where the dark horse treaded they followed, seeing how the light faded and how the fair boy before them still glowed.10

The bushes broke. Sunlight lurched from where the trees had parted and the tall, elegant forestkin held up a burly arm to shield his sensitive eyes from the brightness. He blinked, squinted, tossed his head as the other two of his kind found themselves also blinded, and slow them to halting, uneasy steps. When they pushed past the brush, pupils dilating, they found the boy already dismounting in the large clearing towards which they had been pushing since their initial venture into the forest. The boy did not look up as the tall one advanced on him with wary movement. He stroked Cowa’s side with a brush he’d retrieved from the saddlebag, cooing softly in another tongue, and pressed his face to the stallion’s neck.11

The clearing was wide and clean, the trees crowded about the carpet of grass and flowers that there grew, reaching out into open sky, cast entirely in the golden glow of the raging sun above the glade. Directly opposite of the party squatted an unwieldy tree, thick and gnarled and spun of history. In the air hung near-invisible faes who sung and danced and watched with mild curiosity the visitors who tarried in the shadows and near the far edges of the thicket tarried a doe and her two fawns. Rabbits nibbled blithely at clover. The forestkin looked about him in admiration and then back at the boy, who had now moved to offer a carrot to the beast and kiss the horse’s nose in thanks. The forestkin held out a hand. The boy, looking then to him and back to Cowa, nodded and handed him the reins. Touching his horse again, he turned away into the sunlight.12

Steps careful and deliberate, he stopped once to greet a rabbit halfway across the glade, twice to soak up the glare, and a third upon having reached the opposite edge, testing the spring of the grass, breathing in the full air. He was unmoving before the ancient and looked up at the blueness of the sky and the stretched branches, the green of the canopy, letting his eyes wander downwards through the maze of whorled bark, past the gnarled trunk to the sprawling roots and the bed of downy clover and moss. This tree was silent. A fierce breeze washed over the meadow and its guardians, sending the grass to sweeping across itself and the limbs of the trees to swaying— leaves rustled and the boy’s hair heaved about his face and ears, clothing spinning about in aching to be torn away with the wind. The boy knelt and the wind died.13

Drawing one finger over the knotted body of the tree, he allowed his presence to be known, reacquainting himself with the elder beneath his touch. A stirring. He felt a wakening, a movement, outside of himself, and a gradual growing of awareness. Now he laid a palm on the bark and there was a shiver, another flare of consciousness. Softly he paused, and the ancient so old and timeworn roused itself to recognition. The ancient bade him closer and the boy placed the other hand to the trunk, allowing his forehead to fall to quiet rest on the tree’s body and his eyes to shut. The Age, fully awake, now, drew him in, and the link was complete.14

Silence. Darkness. Warmth. Suspension. The physical realm was lost on the boy as he now allowed himself to be dragged into a mutual dominion, shared by both him and the Age. No movement— no sound— time crawled. The boy was no longer aware of breathing or thinking or the anxious twisting of his insides at the force of the Age’s pull. The inconsequentialities of that sphere were cast off. He waited again, hanging— in the unperceivable dark and the stifling hush.15

“Aah—” The Age sighed, then, with relief and satisfaction at the familiarity. The crisp sensation stilled the boy and he listened wholly without use of his ears. Those material possessions were of no value here. Internally, there was only that phantom feel. “Fehrn-Ho,” the Age called him dearly: “Child.”16

“Yes.” He recognized the old tongue, letting his mind further mingle with the Age’s, leaning forward, into the obscurity, edging against the boundaries that separated them. “It is me.”17

“What brings the honoured one here, to the depths of Our forest?” The Age mused blithely, making itself softly known in the boy’s mind, probing at its limits with infinite and practiced touch.18

“I was asked here.”19

“By Chyr.”20

He nodded, unseen. “Yes. By Chyr.” He paused lengthily. The Age did not interrupt. “Our forest is distressed.” There was placid acknowledgement of this statement and a ghostly agreement. “I cannot locate the source of this anguish. It was too far down for me to reach.” The light grief at his inability he could not hide, knowing too well how open he now was. The Age, though it recognized this woe, did not temper it with encouragement; youth was not an excuse any longer.21

“Yes. I know of this pain. Our forest has made it known to me.” Insouciant again, the Age conveyed no more.22

“I would ask you, please, to relate these concerns to me, Hyath-Wa, if you think it wise.”23

“Mmh— you recall the ancient language, Child.” The Age observed with ease and pleasure.24

The boy, although noting the discourse, did not mind it. “Yes. Ancestor.” And addressed the Age in rough translation.25

“Your mind is as entire as it was last we met.” Blind, the boy felt the Age press its essence nearer. “You remember.”26

“As clearly as though it was yesterday.”27

“When your father still lived.”28

The sting of death, though still lurking, faded quicker than usual at remembrance. “It wasn’t long ago.”29

“A fraction of a second in the scope of all time. And you know that.”30

“Chyr reminds me daily of Our being apart of a grander stage.”31

“You are thus wise.”32

“Thank you.”33

“Yes—” The Age breathed without breathing. “I call to mind this specific day. When first We linked.”34

The boy, eternally patient, awaited the fully-fleshed reminiscence.35

“The sun is hot and the faes float, ever-crooning, ever-dancing, ever-present, and deer, tawny, spotted, young, prance from end of Our clearing to the other and Our clover is taken in by the rabbits and a zephyr overtakes Us and the grass leeeeans westward and my surrogate branches swing one way, the next— It is a calm day, the air warm and comforting and spacious beneath the canopy and Our forest sighs of lore and all is jade, emerald, green, cast gold by the sun, the sky sapphire and fathomless.” The Age disrupted the image as a rock does a pool of water to impress upon the boy the equivalent of a smile. “I had been waiting to meet you, little one.” 36

“You enter from the right, toting discarded cap, hair yellow as corn and eyes blue as the sea, you stumble one way— another— your father left behind, but yet unseen— You glance about you with a gaze knowing but lacking understanding, unafraid and bold, not believing yourself lost, and the faes and deer and rabbits see you but do not fear you and laze in the sun and do not stir though your eyes wash over them again and again and again, drinking, digesting, and their cerulean depths reflect the equally-azure heavens and glimmer— Still the sun gyrates farther across the immense sky—37

“You see me— Wait— Approach— Stop— Watch— Come nearer, inspect, stop— I can see you closely, now, and you radiate curiosity and honour and nobility and subtle pride and youth and an insight lost to most men and I know then that you are the one I’ve waited centuries – millenia – to meet and presently you sit before me, search my surrogate bark for an answer I do not possess, listening to the treetalk with ears inexperienced and yet acute and then you touch your hand to me and breeeeeathe— Breeeeeathe— And I brush your mind’s fringes and you do not pull away and rest against me and there is blackness and we at long last meet, animas thrust suddenly upon each other but you do not quail, steady and strong and admirable—38

“When finally we part your father is waiting loyally by your side and is guarding you and the deer and rabbits and faes appreciate that, for they leave him be and still loll or graze or carouse, and as you wake from our communion he grins, knowing he is a mere bystander and does not belong to the World as you do, and I can see he is impressed by and proud of you beyond my skill to measure, so totally that he exudes this ultimate satisfaction even though you are only a small boy— Drawing yourself up, you stand and regard your father and smile back at him and I know you, too, are fulfilled, and you both make your serene way back from whence you came and the rabbits and deer and faes watch you move on placidly and I see you go, only anticipating our next link—” The unseen vision then passed as the Age wound its memory back to itself, plugging the intentional leak. There was silence, then, as the boy suppressed more remembrances that were triggered by this one in the same way a spider’s entire web is shaken when only one region is stroked.39

“Chyr praised me that day. He had the temples lit up in celebration, for it was only then that they knew I was who I’d been prophesized to be.”40

“I congratulate you on your growth, Fehrn-Ho. You have aged commendably.” The tributes, otherwise rare and miles in between, were heartening.41

“I apologize for not having been back since that once. There is no viable pardon I can offer for being so long-absent.”42

“There is no call for apology, Fehrn-Ho. You know your place in Our World’s scheme and that you go where She wills you. The simplest truth is that She has not willed you back here until now.”43

He knew this to be true and reproached himself for attempting redress needlessly. “Chyr is concerned. He has, as I have, felt the pungency Our forest ekes out despite his duller senses. It is a dark and venomous clench and deep-set beyond the gentler feels. Hyath-Wa, I cannot discern what is the genesis of this suffering on my own. I am not yet keen enough; I, in spite of my years, am inadequate. But I cannot dispel my responsibilities, still, and I would ask you to help me.”44

The Age was silent for a long time. The boy could not detect any movement opposite him, against his exterior, but ever he suffered the quiet in equal peace. It was enduring and dreary, but surprisingly unsure and without the usual, fierce conviction. The boy inched forward, anxious, humble, silent though questions and concessions flooded up, anticipating the firm replies and reprimands to which he was so unspeakably accustomed.45

“Fehrn-Ho?” The Age left off abruptly, only doubling the torque secreted in the boy’s mind. But the boy kept still. The doubt that welled up against him, clearly not his own, was unnerving and he did his best to conceal a quaver. “You have been among men far more than I, Child. You have seen their ways, you have experienced their desires, you have destroyed what is man in yourself. I will tell you what I know. Perhaps you will understand it better than I do and perhaps you can enlighten me.” The Age suddenly approached him, filling what gaps there were left between the two, and though the boy was surprised, he did not retract. He paused and impressed upon the Age a small and meager bow of sorts.46

“I do not expect to have much wisdom to offer, but I appreciate your benevolence. Thank you, Hyath-Wa.”47

The Age vacillated again, still edgy, its movements against the boy’s psyche spontaneous and jerk-like. The boy steeled himself against the unpleasantness as best as he could, remaining an anchor drowned in a wind-tossed sea. When the touch began to become unctuous, losing its firm and steady hold, the boy did not shy and was strong.48

“Men are beginning to lose their faith in Us, Fehrn-Ho.” There was a hint of distraction in the statement that glimmered and then faded. And, although the Age’s grip was more slippery than previously, the boy felt himself being pulled instead of pushed against. Disquiet welled up inside him uncomfortably and, try as he might have to dispel it, persisted. He quietly gave it no heed. The Age went on. “Men are turning from Our World and Our temples. There are great battles, Fehrn-Ho, between men that occupy their time in Our World’s stead. They soak Our soil red as iron with their blood and slaughter each other so thoroughly that not half of them are left standing once finally they finish.”49

“I am aware of the violence of man. It is, however, intrinsic to men and I have learned that it is unstoppable. They are unfaltering creatures, though, with hearts unlike those of any other being living on Our World. Besides: We weather their wars like stone does a rain shower.”50

“Fehrn-Ho, you have not seen the destruction they wreak.” In a sudden, desperate judder, the Age tugged the boy close, loosening the boundaries. Affrighted, the boy shook himself free a bit and edged away. The limits were set for a reason and to have them wobble jarred him. “Our forest has been eaten away at its frontiers, my old friends carted away to be seared and severed in their terrible fire-freckled factories. Our gentle cratures are poached and looted, their fleshes reaped and skins scraped away and the rest of them discarded to rot.”51

“Hyath-Wa, we did make a pact in the beginning that there would be sacrifices on either side, most particularly Ours?”52

“But not of this magnitude, my Child!”53

At this, the boy sidled away, again the unrest augmenting at the unsettled shift of the Age’s behaviour. “I am Our World’s Child and hardly only yours.” This remark was, however, ignored as the Age continued, and the boy shifted farther away, tensing.54

“You remember, Fehrn-Ho, that the agreement was to allow Our fellows to be stolen without greed. But instead of using Our bodies for warmth or shelter, We are used to fuel their war engines and smelt their swords! We perpetuate man’s want to destroy other men, a bloodlust you call ‘natural’. In none of my millennia have I seen such brutish and savage creatures! I do not understand, my Child! Why are we subjected to the whims of man when I can feel the torment of Our World suffering beneath them so painfully?” Again the boy was drawn in, sucked from the lighter touchings, the perimeters bashing awfully against each other to wail and shudder. He struggled from the tight and oily grasp, scrambling back towards his own space, but the hold was too strong. “You say that, from your experience, men are possessed of grand hearts in spite of their inherent violence. I will add to that list selfishness, foolhardiness, ignorance, and ill will towards Our World who is courteous enough to allow their presence upon Her faces.”55

“Men are flawed. But We are all flawed, Hyath-Wa. We are not without our faults, any of Us.”56

“You were once man. But you have quashed that in you, Fehrn-Ho, and I am proud of that. You have destroyed that which is sickly and decrepit and faulted in you. You are Our World’s Child, now, as you were truly meant to be.” Despite the boy’s struggles, the Age held him closely, and the boy writhed in the clutches. “You must have noticed, Fehrn-Ho, that it is not only Our forests that are being obliterated by man. You must have spoken with the Ages of the skies and the earths and the seas. This cannot be the first time you’ve been told of this eradication.” The Age halted a moment, rasping the animas together again, at which the boy groaned, feeling the weakness and distress of his mind and how the throbbing boiled. He did not respond, though, knowing that, no, this was not the first he’d heard of some kind of desolation, though none of the Ages had been so maddened or unforgiving or explicit as this one. Instead, he wallowed in the dull ache of the last grate, stilling in the slick and slimy embrace of the Age. “Our airs are thickened and poisoned with Our own immolated selves; Our soils are tainted with the unclean blood of Our bloodthirsty, covetous, ravenous, unfortunate brethren, and at least one sun-stroked plain is burned to black because of it; Our waters are barren and viscous with waste and swill and deprave all who drink from them. We are being destroyed, Fehrn-Ho, and I want to put a stop to it.57

“I will destroy Our forest. Our entire breadth here will be gone, annihilated, sucked into oblivion. I and Our forest will return to Our World. Men have had their chances and they have squandered what respect and patience and leniency We have afforded them and if they are unwilling to abide by Our rules, We will not accommodate them any longer.”58

“You cannot terminate Our forest, Hyath-Wa!” Determinedly, the boy squirmed, clambered to gain freedom, the ooze and venom seeping steadily over his psyche. Nausea overtook him at the diseased anger and indignance sweeping up against him and he retched, throwing his mind to and fro to rid it of its captor. “It is thoroughly unwise.” And though his defiance was sickening, the boy did not see the point in assuming complacency now. “Men may have made mistakes, but it is not irreversible and you cannot possibly presume to abandon Us now.”59

“I am not abandoning Us. I am leading Us. Once the other Ages have seen what I have done and my reason, they will follow. Our World will be barren as the day She was conceived and We will starve the men off of Her stretches. Eventually there will be no more blights and We will return.”60

“Our World needs Us to survive! By throwing Ourselves into oblivion We are crushing what We strive to save! By doing this you are betraying what We have worked towards for millennia.”61

“We will return in time to save Our World and rescue Her from malnourishment. We will start from the beginning again with a clean palette and We will purge Ourselves of filth. Your words, my Child, are sage and truthful: Our World will weather men as stone does a rain shower yet. We have enough power to outlast Our parasites.”62

“You are wrong. You have said yourself that We are weak. We may ultimately endure, but We scarcely have enough energy to last Us in hibernation what eons it may take for men to finally perish.”63

“Men are frail; they have bled Us dry and like ticks bloated and distended they will quickly fall off and We will be free of them.”64

“Men are strong. Hardly falling from clout, they are on the rise. They will not be cast off as easily as you say.” He held down another moan as he was forcefully wrenched from what space he had gained, only to strike against the Age’s bounds once more. Spinning, he recoiled, a novel pain thriving within his battered insides. There was no more thrashing. He was quite still. The mire surrounded him and he floated in it. There was no ability for true flailing; beyond the smog of dull throbbing, the boy had no more strength. The Age, sensing this, gently soothed the boy’s barriers, calming its fervent movements, but did not loose its total clinch.65

“We will vacate Our space together, my Child. You will accompany me to oblivion.” The Age dug lightly into the fringes of the boy’s mind and, hushing a whimper, the boy remained as a statue.66

“No.” The resolve remained intact although the vessel was bruised. “I have my place on Our World and my job here is far from being finished. I will not abscond now.”67

“My child, you will need to leave this plain eventually. The skies and earths and seas and forests will all withdraw soon enough. There is nothing more you can do here; We have won already. It is only a matter of time before the others follow me and men perish.”68

“I will stay. My place is not eternally with you; it is on Our World’s grounds and I will not shun what I was placed here to do.”69

“My Child—” The Age strengthened its drilling, burning the boy’s walls away. “—You are a fool for all your faithful perseverance. It is laudable but stupid. You must come with me. You are no longer human; you do not belong here anymore.”70

“You are mistaken! You are wholly mistaken! I am human still and just as human as I was the day I was born, just as human as those that burn Our forest and murder Our creatures.”71

“You are the one who is mistaken, my Child. You have aborted that which has made you human. You are perfect. You are the Child. You are needed elsewhere. I insist that you follow me.”72

“I refuse.” Curling in on himself, the boy quelled the enormous urge to twist away, the pressure great and building. The Age did not turn away.73

“You cannot refuse.” And, essaying one last terrible scathing, burst past the boy’s confines and felt the softness beyond, relishing it and its youth and gentle, passionate credence, ignoring then that grand spike of agony that shook itself free from within the boy’s inner sanctum and caused a fitful spasm to rack the entire web that was the boy’s pneuma. Slowly, from without, the grossly thick and infected grime seeped in, and the boy heaved, feeling himself smothered and constricted and suffocated by the absolute hatred and ire that infiltrated so easily. Hurriedly, he attempted to block the breach, but the puncture would not close and still the affliction eked its way through though he pushed himself fully against the fissure, straining against the revulsion he disgorged. The Age laughed in dulcet tones of earth and dynamic green despite its utter plague. “You cannot fight, my Child. Do not wage a war with me that you cannot win.” But, yet, the boy threw whatever weight he could against the fracture, frantically attempting to force out what poison the Age exuded so viciously.74

Suddenly, the oily touch was distant, pulled away, and no more miasma flowed in. The Age was far, absent from about him, and the darkness was full and empty. Remote, the Age could still be heard, howling and dictating and orating and roaring from its displaced spot, left definitely behind. It raged and boomed with infinite bluster, but it could not touch him any longer. Sagging, the boy felt an exhaustion creep up on him as the dim lightened and the depth of the link ebbed. Vaguely, as the physical realm swept back upon him, he was aware of firm hands on his shoulders and arms, pulling him towards what he had left behind, and he allowed himself to be dragged. The brightness grew, wound about him, bore him up, and he weakly felt his body return to him, the soreness of his joints and the burn of his skin and the agony of his head. He allowed himself to slowly pulled, feeling the resistance and the sturdy, tender hold that gripped him. He heard the muffled instructions beyond himself, still lost amongst the umbrae, the volume growing as he buoyed up.75

Then he was seized again by the slimy hold, the mucous embrace advancing on him, the toxins catching him off guard as they surged in again. He made a frenzied, tired effort to keep them out, but they scorched him and he could only push so much out before he could not manage to hold his place anymore. The Age pressed close – too close – and tore at the outer limits again, ripping them seam from seam, rending them horribly, slicing and splitting and gouging at the already-gaping holes. “You cannot escape,” the Age thundered within the boy’s confines, sending him to shuddering, and grasped him tighter despite how furiously the boy resisted. “You are mine. You cannot escape. You cannot. You will not. I win.”76

And then he was pulled away once again, the sludge left behind finally as he was wrested to the surface.77

He landed supine with great force, as though thrown, on the soft grass and, flipping onto his side, he promptly and convulsively vomited, coughing and spitting, and groaned. Clutching at his head, he snagged a handful of hair and took decisive hold of it. Eyes snapped shut, squinted, and brow was contorted. He kecked again, hacking, and lay there a moment, quiet.78

The forestkin looked on, faces creased with startle and concern, sprawled about on the ground surrounding the boy, haphazard, spun copper and bronze in the fading sunlight, panting, collapsed, catching what breath they’d lost. They watched the boy carefully, pulling long hair behind their ears and wiping their brows, quiet to the boy’s heaving and his crumpled form. It was the elegant kin who approached the boy first, crawling quiescently over to lay his hand flat against the boy’s back, under which he felt the utter twitching and suffering of the boy’s entrails as they fought to empty themselves of whatever filth had gotten in. He swallowed thickly, dubiously. “Are you well?” He watched the boy shake his head slowly, wagging it limply as a dog would its tail after having been beaten. “What’s happened?” Incredulous, he soothed the angry knot of the boy’s spine between the shoulder blades. “The Age sucked you in— I saw your hands and face disappear into its bark and core. We ripped you away once your entire ribcage had been consumed. The Age— see how it still trembles and agonizes! It is unnatural!” But the boy did not look, still clawing at his skull, hands quavering, stomach pitching with bile and repugnance. The forestkin saw this and leaned softly nearer. “What ails you?” There was a lengthy pause of jittering and ragged breathing.79

“My mind has been rent.” A whisper was all that managed to escape past the clenched teeth and unsteady tongue. “I’ve been poisoned.” He spat, throat burning with stomach acid.80

The forestkin, furrowing his brow, frowned and laid fingers upon the boy’s temple. The frown deepened. “Come, then,” he suggested gently, grabbing hold of the boy’s shoulder. “Sit up. Come away from there.” Slowly drawing the boy up, he rummaged in one of numerous pockets, keeping a careful eye on the boy who swayed dangerously when upright and finally came to rest with head bowed over crossed legs. “Eat this.” The kin proffered a retrieved root, earthy brown and spangled like a spider with too many limbs. “It will ease you and your mind. It will help heal you.” One quaking hand received the gift and delivered it to the boy’s mouth. He ate it slowly, with difficulty, esophagus refusing most swallows with frenetic distrust. It was after much time that the root was gone but still the boy clinched his head between his hands and did not sit straight. The forestkin patted the boy’s back carefully, running fingers over the braids of his bones.81

“It said it would destroy this forest.” The boy’s voice was stronger now, if infinitesimally so, and the kin bent near him to hear. The news paled him. “And all its inhabitants.” The two forestkin opposite watched intensely, eyes thick with worry and alarm. “That humans have ruined this world and the forests and skies and— they would be cast into oblivion.” Mouth tumid, the words were viscid and slurred.82

“The other Ages intend to follow?”83

“It said they would. I don’t know—” He shook his head again, tangling his digits in his hair terribly. “It is devoured by rancor. It tried to take me with it to the center of the world, but I wouldn’t let it.”84

The tall kin sighed greatly, nodding, and crooned a soft “Ssh” to the boy. “It’s all right, now. We’ll go see Chyr. We’ll secure a cot for you at the stronghold and you can sleep. Can you stand?” He placed both hands on either side of the boy’s torso, providing balance, while the boy lifted himself, weak-kneed, to his feet. He was followed by the three kin, and upon their standing one whistled. Cowa appeared soon after, black steed glowing in the vibrant orange hues of the setting sun.85

There then was a tremor. Beneath the swaying green and reddish tint and Cowa’s obsidian hooves and the boy’s old, weathered leather boots, the ground gave a mammoth groan and shift, causing trees to bay and the deer and rabbits to scamper off. The faes were inert, poised in their reveling, in trepidation watching the clearing, their inquisitiveness too great to quell. Yet, instead of waning, the groan persisted, amplifying, the trees’ howling coming to no end and the soil’s bawling shoving shivers up the boy’s spine. The birds in the trees escaped momentously, perforating the canopy as they took agitated flight and Cowa whinnied, restless, and danced on his hooves.86

Slowly the boy became aware of a stirring beneath him, a pulling his could not justify, eventual and gradual, dragging him backwards. He snatched the tallest kin’s arm, whose owner looked at him sharply, and motioned downwards. “Do you feel that?” A pause ensued and, impatient and nervous, the boy asked again, “Do you feel that?”87

“Yes.”88

“We’re moving.” He stopped, for the creep had grown more vigorous and those who had not felt the pull previously surely did then. The third forestkin presently gave a cry and took several backwards strides, pointing the opposite way.89

“The Age,” he crowed, “The Age pulls us in!” Immediately the boy spun to look.90

The Age was in hysterics. Its lovely, engraved bark shook and rattled, now a mottled grey rather than its original and glowing tawny. It pulsed, distorted, looked as though it would tear itself entirely apart or else find an aperture and, seething, burst free from the physicality of its delegated tree-body, spitting and roaring and vindictive. Its crown of leaves swelled and pitched and threw itself one way and another, a squall of implacable hate. The boy looked on, astounded, disturbed, and found that, yes, they were closer to it and its aching contempt than they’d been last he looked and, yes, they wore steadily nearer, but not by their own doing. “What!” The boy exclaimed, unable to quench the sorrowful outburst. “But I did not think it would be so soon!”91

With a shove, the drag heightened, tugging and yanking the small party forward, catching the boy off balance and casting him to the thicket floor. In another instant, the tall kin had grasped the boy beneath the arm and hauled him back to his feet, seizing the rearing Cowa’s reins. “Get on,” he urged once the stallion had grounded himself, pushing the boy into the saddle. “Get on. Here, take the reins. We’re getting out of here,” he proclaimed, and pointed towards whence they’d come. “Go. We’ll catch up.” The other forestkin had been drawn close to the Age and were scrambling away, laying hands upon the bark with creased faces and furrowed brows, searching the whorls with gentle fingertips despite the malice seeking to devour them. When the boy hesitated, watching wide-eyes and open-mouthed, the kin beside him grabbed the horse’s bridle and spun him around to face the exit. “Go!” He slapped Cowa’s flank and, with another whinny, the steed was off at break-neck speed through the thicket and into the damp woods.92

The moaning beneath the trees was by no means lessened when the boy was engulfed by the forest. It was a terrible, rumbling, woeful clamor of quivering leaves and rasping bark and eerie whispers of malcontentment and sadness and rage, but, by far, the pleas to do something, save something, stop the impending desolation perturbed the boy the most. The trunks rushed past him, shrinking back towards the clearing and the hungry Age as he thundered through the forest, clenching Cowa’s reins so determinedly his knuckles blanched, ducking past low boughs and avoiding the thick brush. Glancing back to see the kin close behind, their quickness and agility aiding them well in their efforts to catch up to him, he saw then that the woods behind him were empty and swiftly he ground Cowa to a halt. He was mindful of the time limit, but even more horrifying than it were the absences of his companions, for whom he watched vigilantly in the shadows, turned painfully in his saddle. Time passed. Seconds slipped away as the ground beneath his feet and nothing appeared from the gloom. No deer, no rabbits, no faes, no kin: nothing. Already the forest was barren, silent beyond the susurrated screaming, and the hollowness twinged likewise in his chest. Time passed. He turned the stallion around again and headed back to the clearing.93

But the entrance to it had disappeared. In its stead wove thick, gnarled branches, slipping to and fro in their fitfulness, never quite open and never quite closed. The boy looked on with awe. Hastily, he jumped from Cowa’s back, feeling as he landed on the spongy earth his skull judder on its column and his mind quake. He lost his footing, sank, scrabbled back up, and pressed himself against the living wall to be sure he did not fall again. At the little crevasses he pulled, hands nerveless and shaking, willing the temporary gaps open. They refused sorrowfully, pushing his seeking mind away with the utmost apology, and still squirmed, ignoring with much difficulty the boy’s entreating, anguished solicitations to please stretch, for certainly the kin were beyond this portal.94

Finally, a small gape yawned at knee-level and the boy bent to it in hurried, obsessive thanks, and reached into the red and vivid brightness beyond, arm searching in vain for another arm, a leg, a piece of clothing, anything. He yelled past his arm, attempting to attract urgent attention, and fished again for contact. Beyond his ability to see, a large, rough hand clamped about his and he cried out in relief, curling his fingers about this unseen palm, and pulled it nearer to cause its possessor to crouch. Emptying the hole of his obstructing arm, he saw in the red glare and purple shadows the tall kin’s face, the cold and clear eyes, and sobbed breathlessly.95

“You’re trapped,” he barked and pressed a hand to his forehead. He shut his eyes and exhaled unsteadily, kneeled, unmoving. The kin’s arm snaked through to grip the boy’s shoulder savagely.96

“Get out. Find Chyr. Do you understand me?” The voice, despite the eyes, was ragged and worn and demanding. “You understand? Get out.” But still the boy lingered, knees planted, hand to his face, shoulder bowing beneath the strong hold of the forestkin’s. He was given a shove, sent backwards sprawling, and hurried up to shoot a questioning glance back to the forestkin whose fearful might had tumbled him. “Get out!” was the following screech, and the boy, his expression waning from astonishment to anguish, hastily clambered to his feet. The arm withdrew and the hole closed definitely.97

He swung himself over the saddle again, stumbling in the stirrup, and took tremendous hold of Cowa’s mane as he slipped from his perch. Cooing an apology to the horse, he threw himself up again, only this time stable, and goaded the stallion forward. With a lurch, they were again off, beneath the crowded keenings and weepings and bellows, the grating trees and their stormy headdresses, the concentrated darkness and the blanket of soil quickly running beneath their feet. Laying a hand precariously on Cowa’s shoulder, he guided the horse when need be, darting around thorn-festooned bushes and overleaping impenetrable scrub.98

Without call, the steed stopped. The boy, jolted forward, just managed to keep himself from being completely thrown and, regaining himself, peered up. Before them stood a tall wall of trunks, insurmountable, tied securely together, allowing no light past. The boy gawked, casting glances in either direction; the hindrance ran eternally, and the boy shook his head, grimacing at its protest and unending ache. “This was not here before,” he murmured, and looked again to both sides, directing the stallion to the right.99

Barriers, bulwarks, ramparts, and blockades: the fence went on for what seemed like forever as the boy and his equine companion, knowing too well the time restriction that loomed, hurried forward alongside the wall of trees, searching for some chance hole in the barricade. Cowa snorted irritably, tossing his large skull, and the boy pressed his hand now to the horse’s cheek, empathizing, easing. But still the drumbeat of Cowa’s lengthened strides was uneven and distressed, echoing in the empty forest.100

Up ahead: a breach. A gash left unchecked in the Age’s impossible parapet. Alleviation washed over the boy and he pushed Cowa to greater speeds, seeing what glimmers of red-stained brightness permeated. They neared. A sudden uproar shook the woods, the barrage swaying as though buffeted by some great gust, the leaves and green shivering in some strange frigidity, and the boy saw the hole begin to close. Faster, he spurred the stallion. Faster, quicker, like lighting, like the wind itself. And, when it seemed as though they would not make it, they burst past the wall, out of the darkness, the trees only clipping Cowa’s heels as they slammed shut.101

Streaking through the forest, now blazing as though on fire, dyed vermillion beneath the sun’s expiring eye, the trees were blurs, farther apart, easier to navigate. Bars of bloodied sunlight touched the pair nimbly sprinting through the jail of the forest, snatching up what hues were there and devouring them to jealously impose a crimson gold so bittersweet. Cowa listed forward, scantily saving himself a dreadful fall, as the magnetism of the Age picked up and the trees scrolled past them with renewed fervor. But already the forest was brighter, separating— and rolling past the two more swiftly, rushing, rushing, a bough ducking near to nearly lop the boy’s head from his shoulders, a bush stretching to scratch at his forehead instead of his eye, faster, faster, faster. Cowa ran, panting, mouth thick with foaming saliva and bleeding cuts, the bit terrible and chafing, steps growing ever more unsteady as they were ripped out from underneath him as soon as they were placed. Faster, faster, faster, and the sun broke not two hundred yards from them, the forest ending, the ordeal over, though the pull grew and the trees edged dangerously close, bending to tear and keep and hold, blitzing by faster, faster, faster. An unsturdy step— Cowa faltered, pitching sideways, shoulder ramming brutally against a trunk already fading into the background, faster, faster, faster, breath and heart faster and hooves faster and eyes faster and ground faster and a sudden, momentous, glorious surge from the reach of the woods into the vermillion sun, far from the Age and its newly-found monstrosity.102

Cowa blundered forward, still charging, and staggered, falling, lobbing the boy from his back who fell finally in the soft down of sand and now lay there, quelling adrenaline and fear, clutching at himself to rid his body of ache and shivering and hurt, still quavering, still ill. Grabbing again at his fair mop, he sat slowly to see the ragged, torn edge of the forest slip farther and farther away, slurped and swallowed and vanished by ravenous spite and enmity, until it was gone. Not even a twinkle in the distance, the forest had disappeared, leaving solely this vast, wide, destitute desert behind it to remain and burn and hate. This forsaken desert, upon which he posed, new to this world and not so temporary. The boy looked around him, backwards to find the ripped and shallow fringe of the hills, tattered and torn and injured and pained where the trees had once begun, to his sides still the russet-tainted yellow sand soon to be bleached as white as a bone, and forwards a stretch of flats so bleak and vacant, devoid of life as far as his eye could see.103

He did not notice how Cowa had crept up on him, fragile equine skeleton mercifully saved by the cottony, new sand, and how he now lowered his heavy head to the boy and nudged him, nostrils wide as they pled for air. The boy looked at him, stopped, and undid the bridle, stealing the bit from the stallion’s mouth. He wiped the rosy froth from the horse’s lips, bade him rest in the fading light, clutching at the wiry chin as Cowa knelt beside him, soft black coat glossy with perspiration, and looked once more about them. It was dark, the red now violet and soon blue, and the forest that once so dutifully stood here had now obliterated itself in a fog of loathing. He and Cowa sat silently, stilling themselves, listening to what noises there were not and looking upon that which was absent. Finally, throwing his arms gently about his beloved companion’s head, the boy pressed his face to the stallion’s and wept.104