The Forest Folk

They walked for hours. The terrain was hilly. The vegetation was thick.

Sarah foraged as they traveled, gathering blackberries and morels into a woven basket. Quinn ate every berry he saw first. Davion gazed at the diverse flora and fauna with curiosity. Zebulun gazed at them with reverence.

They arrived near dusk. The forest folk camp surrounded a huge fire pit in the middle of a large clearing. Logs sat around it, but at some distance. Tents made from animal skins surrounded the center.

Sarah led them in. A group of forest folk assembled to greet them. A handful were black of skin, but most had skin some shade of brown, with black hair, making them look not much different from the average citizen of the kingdom.

Except for the tattoos. And the tribal branding. Many had piercings of metal or bone through various parts of their bodies. They wore animal skins. The women went bare-breasted. Few citizens of the kingdom looked anything like this. City folk would laugh at them; farm folk would accuse them of witchcraft.

The forest folk marveled at Zebulun’s towering physique, and at Quinn’s pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair.

An elder stepped forward. "Welcome, Sarah. And to your friends." He bowed slightly to the group.

"This is Emet," said Sarah. "He is a revered elder, respected by all."

She turned to Emet. "This is Zebulun Koh. He’s a captain in the army. These are his companions, Davion and Quinn."

"Again, welcome," said Emet. "We plan to feast tonight. Our hunting parties brought back a few deer and one boar."

"We brought food as well," said Sarah. "The stew includes a turkey Zebulun shot this morning. He’s a hunter as well."

Emet nodded, smiling with his eyes. "We have something in common, then."

Quinn stared at one of the black women. She was tall and lean — taller than he was. She had a bow slung over her shoulder. She noticed him looking, looked him up and down, and gave him a lustful smile. He put his hand on this chest and smiled back at her with false shyness. The hulking brown warrior next to her noticed her look, looked over at Quinn, and raised an eyebrow, but he smiled as he did it. Quinn looked at him, then back and her, then back to him and winked.

"Are you flirting with the forest people?" whispered Davion.

"What? They started it," whispered Quinn. "Besides, look at them — they’re cute!"

Davion gently shook his head.

They milled about as the women prepared supper. Quinn went to talk to the couple, whose names turned out to be Elu and Zoya. Zebulun noticed that Zoya didn’t help the other women, but no one seemed to care. He asked Sarah about it.

"She’s a huntress," said Sarah. "It’s uncommon, but occasionally a woman of the forest wants no part of woman’s work. She wants to go hunting with the men instead. She has to do twice as much to impress the men as a man would, but those who pass the tests are respected and treated as men."

"Of course," she said, "It depends on the tribe in question. Some are less tolerant about such things than others."

Zebulun nodded.

They feasted with the forest folk. They ate roasted boar and venison with various fruits, roots, and mushrooms. The turkey stew went quickly.

After everyone had eaten beyond their fill, the stories began. Elders stood and told legends of their tribes: legends about the creation of the world, the origin of their people, and the numerous gods and devils that helped or opposed them.

Zebulun whispered to Sarah. "They’re not all from the same tribe?"

"No," she said, in a low tone. "Most of the ones here are from the same tribe, as this is one of their camps, but some are delegates from other tribes of the wood. They’ve come here to try and figure out what to do about the impending invasion."

Zebulun said nothing. The old tales continued for a few hours.

After the stories, a woman returned with Sarah’s iron pot. It was simmering with some new stew.

"Ooh. What’s in there?" asked Quinn, obviously still hungry.

"A special kind of mushroom," said Sarah. "It grants visions."

"Ooh," said Quinn. "What kind of visions?"

"It puts you in touch with the spirit of the forest."

Quinn smiled. "Sounds promising."

The forest folk consumed the brew with relish. Quinn drank as much as any of them. Davion opted for a small sip, out of curiosity. Zebulun passed.

"Not in the mood for visions?" asked Sarah.

"No," said Zebulun.

She looked at him with kindness in her eyes. "Maybe some other time."

When everyone had drank, the natives passed around a pipe. Zebulun had tried tobacco, but this smelled different. He took a shallow puff, as did Sarah. Davion took one puff out of curiosity. Quinn inhaled a huge amount and burst into a coughing fit that left his eyes red. He took another puff each time it went around the circle. His eyes glazed over after the third.

"I feel strangely calm," said Davion. "What’s in that pipe?"

"A flower that grows wild in the forest," said Sarah.

"I feel nothing," said Zebulun.

After an hour, the forest folk brought out drums made from animal skins and began to beat them in unison. People got up in ones or twos to dance around the bonfire to the rhythmic beat. Women sang to the beat of the drum. Star folk appeared and danced in the sky above the people.

"Yes!" said Quinn. "I love dancing!" He sprang up to join the revelry. He danced with grace, prancing and twirling. He threw in the occasional cartwheel or handspring, to the delight of the forest folk.

"He can make friends with anyone," said Davion.

Zebulun looked at Davion. "How do you feel?"

"Strange," said Davion. "I feel tense and relaxed at the same time. Everything seems bright and colorful. Sometimes I think the trees around us are swaying, but there’s no wind tonight."

"Hm."

Sarah appeared and whispered to Zebulun. "The elders would like to speak with you alone, if you’re willing."

Zebulun nodded. He told Davion he’d be right back and followed her into the wood.

Five elders stood in a small clearing a hundred yards from the big one. Sarah stood off to the side.

"Thank you for speaking with us," said Emet. "Sarah tells us your kingdom plans to take our lands from us."

"Yes," said Zebulun. "They want to turn your forest into lumber for their ships."

Emet looked incredulous. "How many ships could they need?"

"A gigantic fleet," said Zebulun. "Enough to conquer far-off lands. You can’t supply an army halfway across the world via land, because everything that can haul food over land also eats food. And you might want to conquer a few islands. To forge an empire requires ships."

The elders shook their heads.

"We have nowhere to run," said Emet. "To the east and south of the forest are unlivable swamps. This is our home. We must fight for it."

Zebulun looked Emet in the eye. "Have you known war? Have the tribes of this forest warred with one another?"

"In the past," said Emet. "It’s been over a century since a major conflict. But we train. We are skilled with spear and bow."

Zebulun shook his head. "You don’t know war," said Zebulun. "It’s not just men killing each other on a battlefield. It fills men with hatred. They may rape your women or murder your sons. They’ll take everything you have, and burn whatever they can’t take with them out of spite."

"Still," said Emet, "We must fight. What choice do we have?"

Zebulun took a deep breath. "You can’t beat them in a fight. They have better weapons than you have. They have steel armor. They’re trained to fight as a unit. You’d be slaughtered."

"So," said Emet, his brow furrowed, "what, then? How do we defend our lands?"

Zebulun looked at the stars. "I’m reluctant to tell you anything that will help you kill my countrymen."

"But," he said, turning his gaze to Emet, "it’s only fair. They are coming to kill you."

He took a deep breath. "You’re not warriors — you’re hunters. Don’t fight them. Hunt them."

Emet narrowed his eyes and contemplated Zebulun for a moment before nodding his head in understanding.

They returned to the clearing to find Davion staring into the fire. Quinn danced with the forest folk. Sarah appeared to be meditating. The entranced drummers went on and on.

Elu approached Zebulun. His pupils covered his iris. He looked at Zebulun with a smile and said, "I want to fight you."

"Fight?" asked Zebulun.

"Wrestle," said Elu. "Brother’s Rules."

"What are those?"

"Don’t do anything you wouldn’t do to your brother," said Elu. "I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to fight someone your size!"

Zebulun thought for a moment. "Alright." He stood and faced Elu. He was taller, but Elu was broader.

The forest folk paused their dance to make room for — and watch — the action. The drummers kept going.

Elu shifted into a crouch and stepped to the left. Zebulun crouched slightly, his hands before him. The two circled. Elu’s eyes shifted, watching the movements of Zebulun’s hands and feet. Zebulun never took his gaze off Elu’s eyes.

Elu lunged for Zebulun’s waist with both arms. Zebulun spun out of the way. Elu grabbed Zebulun’s right wrist with his right hand; Zebulun twisted his to Grab Elu’s, rotated, and used his left hand to push against Elu’s elbow, twisting his arm.

Elu twisted out of his grip and grinned. He shot in, grappled with Zebulun, then threw his leg behind him and pushed him over it. Zebulun fell prone.

Elu leapt on him, but Zebulun rolled him over and rolled to his feet. He and Elu circled again.

Elu dove at Zebulun, grabbing both legs and pulling them out from under him. He tried to twist Zebulun’s leg, but his opponent rolled again and somehow got his legs around Elu’s waist and squeezed.

Elu found it difficult to breath. He struggled to his feet, Zebulun’s legs still wrapped around him. Zebulun released him and rolled into a standing position.

Elu beamed at him. "You’re good! That was fun!"

Zebulun bowed.

"Alright," said Elu, "I’ve had enough. I’m going back to dancing!"

Time passed. Zebulun looked at Davion, who had been staring into the fire for an hour. "What do you see?" he asked.

"I see faces in the fire," said Davion. "Shifting and morphing. It’s…​ subtle."

They were quiet for a moment. "What do you make of the forest folk?" asked Zebulun.

"They seem to follow the left-hand path," said Davion, still staring into the fire.

"What do you mean?"

"Their tattoos," said Davion, "and branding and decoration. Some are obviously tribal, but others are highly stylized and distinct. And the wild, random dancing. These folks seem to value individual expression."

"What did you mean by left-hand path? I’m not familiar with the phrase."

"Oh," said Davion, "Sorry. It’s from ancient scripture. The right-hand path is associated with order, harmony, and stability. Followers value rules, honor, and duty. It’s focus is the good of the family or tribe. I suspect you fall on this side."

"A fair judgment," said Zebulun.

Davion continued. "The left-hand path is associated with liberty, creativity, and individuality. Followers don’t tend to care much for rules, preferring fun and achievement. It’s focus is on the elevation of the individual. Quinn is a fine example of this side."

"No doubt. Where do you fall?" asked Zebulun.

Davion stared into the fire. "I appreciate order and stability. It’s difficult to study philosophy if one is afraid of being murdered in one’s home, or if there’s civil war, or chaos and rioting in the streets. I saw hunger riots once, as a child. It was after two poor harvests in a row."

A shadow passed over Zebulun’s face. "I remember."

"It was terrifying," said Davion. "Hunger turned to fear and wrath. People acted like beasts — without reason or compassion."

"Having said that," Davion continued, "I see little use in the endless, petty laws, rules, and regulations that ministers — with nothing better to do — dream up for us to follow. Did you know that there are hundreds of rules every subject of the kingdom is expected to know and obey? Over three thousand. It’s ludicrous."

"I guess," said Davion, "I’m somewhere in the middle."

Zebulun watched the forest folk dance. They demonstrated their individuality and creativity with wild abandon. "I bet they change paths when threatened," he said. "Bet they line up shoulder-to-shoulder and demand everyone fall in line."

"No bet," said Davion. "The old tales are full of examples of people trading liberty for safety when frightened. They raised up kings to defend them, only to find that the kings abused them just as they feared The Other would. The ultimate example has to be people selling themselves — or their children — into slavery to feed their family."

It was Zebulun’s turn to stare into the fire.

Davion looked up. "What happened to Quinn?"

"He went off into the woods with Elu and Zoya," said Zebulun.

Davion furrowed his brow. "Is that safe?"

"He’ll be fine," said Zebulun, amusement in his eyes. Sarah chuckled softly.

Quinn returned an hour later with Elu and Zoya, all of them glowing. They ate berries, laughed, and smoked the pipe for a while before they rejoined the dance.

Davion lay down on his side and stared into the flames until he drifted off to sleep.

Zebulun looked up at the stars. Sarah placed her hand on his shoulder, leaned towards him, and gazed up at the stars with him. "Suns like ours?" he asked.

"So they tell me," she said.

"Are there worlds like ours closer to those stars? Does our sun look like a star to them?"

"Yes."

Zebulun gazed up into the heavens for some time.