To Cahan, Crua was a land of paths running through forest and over plain. The creatures that walked rather than floated or flew created byways through which they followed their food, webs of travel and communication, of sight and scent. The people of Crua found and used these paths, and those that led in useful directions widened and hardened under the light above. Those that did not were quickly reclaimed by the land. In the plains and fields of Crua these paths often existed for many generations.
In the forests, if not maintained they were quickly erased.
The forests existed in layers: the soil, and all that lived and slowly decomposed within it. The layer of low plants, the wildflowers, herbs and grasses. Trapvines that caught the feet of unwary walkers, or the throats of smaller creatures then tightened about them until their thorns pierced something vital and life flowed, warm and wet into the ground. Flowers that dazzled and closed about the tiny flyers attracted by their treacherous beauty. Above that the shrubs, the bushy plants that grew berries that burst with sweet juices in the mouth, some bringing joy, but the wrong ones, just as bright and enticing, bringing a slow and lingering death. All clad with thorns to protect their fruits, long and sharp and often dripping with poison or armed with vicious barbs. Hiding the berries were ferns, with great fan-shaped leaves, some as small as a finger, others taller than a person, shading ground busy with a thousand tiny creatures. Plants grew that shot clouds of seeds into the air, plants dropped seeds that burrowed into flesh and doomed the creatures they attached to into becoming the medium of their growth.
Then the understorey, the young trees struggling for room, thrusting up in their hurry to reach the light and crowd out their rivals. Some saplings thin and bendy, some growing stout and strong, each another placed bet in an eons’ long gamble on the best way to achieve life.
Above them, the canopy, the mature trees.
Life everywhere.
In Woodedge the trees were not so great, the undergrowth not so thick. Near Harn the trees were cut regularly, managed by the villagers for fuel to burn and carve, but beyond Woodedge, in Harnwood and Wyrdwood, the trees grew to heights it was difficult for most to imagine.
But the forest did not stop with the canopy.
Above the canopy where few would ever see, was the emergent layer, the domain of the Rai of the forest, the great old trees which had grown above their competition and looked down upon all.
Knitting all of this together were the vines, thick and thin, some carrying water, some with bladders that allowed them to float, some with thorns and some with poison and each and every one, like any other plant in the forest, had a place and a use. Where there were not vines there was moss, hanging in great carpets, coating trunks and rocks. And within this huge organism of many parts, a final hidden layer, a secret web that united every plant and animal within the forest. A web of unseen cilia that pushed through the earth and the plants and even the creatures that lived there. The only proof of it the explosions of fungal blooms that were its fruit. They appeared in dark corners or on damp mornings to be harvested if they were familiar, and ignored and feared if they were not. Others grew hard and strong, and outlasted even the trees.
The caravan fought its way along a path marked with waysticks, their flags torn and mossy. Going was slow, constantly stopping to trim twigs from trees which had grown over the path and could rip the gasmaw net. Ont complained continuously, until Sengui pointed out that if they lost the gasmaws they would have to gather floatvine to keep the heavy raft off the ground, and that would take far longer than trimming a few trees.
The air was thick with whistles and howls and cracks and the drumming of forest creatures. The scent of the forest, healthy and green, filled his nostrils. Cahan was uncomfortable with these people he travelled with, wary about treating the wood in anything but the most respectful fashion. Take from it if you must, but not too much or it might take back. Though he felt no great threat from Woodedge, the great forest was weak here.
“We should camp soon,” he said, “before the light is fully gone.”
“I would rather be out of the forest,” said Ont. He spoke in the way of people who believed themselves important, with scant regard for how little he knew and how loud he was. “I have heard there are orits about.” His words made the other traders, Gart and Sengui, nervous.
“Orits are rare in Woodedge,” said Cahan, striding ahead of them. “And if you keep away from them and have nothing they want to eat then they have no interest in you.” He stopped and turned, addressing his words to Ont. “And, before anyone starts talking of them, swarden are found even deeper in the forest, and never in Woodedge.” Ont gave him a look that suggested he thought him half-Osere. “The worst we can expect is wild gasmaws, drawn by those in the net. If Sengui has some long spears in that raft we can puncture their gasbags if they bother us.” He walked on, not looking back to see if they were comforted by what he said.
“Another Osere-brought tree in the way,” said Sengui from behind him. “I don’t remember it being this overgrown before.”
“That’s because the Forestals weren’t preying on us before,” said Gart. “Ont here is scared of forest beasts when it’s forest people we should worry about.”
“I have seen an orit,” said Ont, “terrible it was, bigger than four people stood on each other’s shoulders and it roared and screamed and…”
“Whatever you saw,” said Cahan, “that was not an orit.”
“Listen to him, the forester thinks he knows more about—”
“There is probably a reason we call him Forester, Ont,” said Sengui, and that shut up the butcher. The light, filtering through the trees that dappled and spotted them as they walked was fading to a browner twilight, the way the leaves of the trees would fade when Harsh began to bite.
“There should be a campsite soon,” said Cahan, “but from the way the path has been we will need to clear it before we can rest.”
“And I cannot imagine the maw cages there will be in a decent state,” said Sengui. She turned to one of the guards, a man called Furden, the other guard was his firsthusband, Duhan. “You two, go ahead and find the clearing, make it as ready as you can.”
“But we are to protect…”
“You think you can stop Forestals who are armed with bows?” she said. “The Leoric sent the Forester for that, so he stays with us. You go ahead.”
“But what if we…” began Duhan.
“The Forestals want our goods, not our lives,” said Gart. “You will be fine and if they are out there now then I suspect they will be more likely to come for us than you.” The two guards waited a second then nodded.
“Very well, but if anything happens, you can tell the Leoric.” The two traders watched the guards walk away.
“Nothing will happen tonight,” said Cahan.
“You seem very sure,” said Ont. Cahan suspected he would have liked them be attacked, if only to prove him wrong.
“Listen to the wood, butcher,” he said. “Listen to the creatures. If people were out there they would not be so loud. You can hear Woodedge settling, the change from night to day creatures. And the night creatures are the most shy. Nothing is out there.”
“I have heard the Forestals are ghosts,” said Ont. “They move through the wood without being seen or heard and can even vanish into the air.”
“Such rumours do nothing but help them,” said Cahan. He was tired and his mind ached from being around people. As he finished speaking, Gart picked up a fallen branch blocking their path and threw it into the wood to be lost among the mass of creepers, bushes and moss-covered vines. They walked on. Despite what he had said, Cahan was wary. He had the feeling there was something out there, something watching them. He did not say so as he did not want the traders any more worried than they already were.
He smelled smoke as they approached the camp, then saw it. Thick and white, hanging in the spaces between the branches, curling around trunks and seeping through the leaves and bushes. The two guards had cleared much of the overgrowth of vines and plants from the old camp and used them to build a fire. Now they were fixing holes in the cage meant to keep gasmaws in. Sengui took one look at their work and shook her head.
“We are only here for the night, it will take us longer than that to make that thing escape proof,” she nodded at the cage. “I will feed them once we have eaten, they will have to survive in the net. Help me tie it down.” When that was done they settled in to eat and then sleep, though Cahan spent the night listening to the forest, straining to hear sounds that should not be there.
In the morning Cahan made sure the fire was fully out, splitting a wetvine so it ran into the place where they had set the fire and whispering an apology to the forest, asking it not to be angry and telling it how this place would be fertile now. Shoots always grew greener from ashes.
He stood, sniffing the air, listening. There was something subtly different about the forest this morning. Cahan was tempted to put it down to the fire. The forest and its creatures hated fire, and deep in the forest lighting one could be lethal. But here, in Woodedge, not so much, not enough to account for the difference in sounds.
But if there were people out there, that would account for it.
He put a hand to the forest floor, digging his fingers into the dirt. There were ways available to him, to reach out and feel what was about him. What moved within the forest that was not part of it.
You need me.
He pulled his hand from the dirt as if he had touched a hot coal.
“We should go,” he said. He thought he saw something, a flash of grey in the undergrowth. A branch moving the wrong way from the wind. The reborn? Following him? Was that why he felt watched?
They walked all morning, through the slowly quietening wood, stopping occasionally to clear the path and make way for the net of gasmaws. Wild gasmaws were noisy, they whistled and buzzed and whooped but the farmed ones, those cut and broken ones made safe for people to use as they saw fit, did none of those things. They let out only a low mournful hum and it put Cahan on edge, the same way the slowly changing sounds of the forest did.
The Forestals were out there, he was becoming sure of it.
Only a matter of time before they sprang their trap.