Keeper of the Wood

A short story that reads as a fairy tale. A child is the protector of a small sacred wood. A man intrudes desperate to feed his family and begins hunting the kings of animals who live there.

The Golden Heart, Keeper of the Wood

I am the keeper of the wood, the birch, the moon, and the brook.

 

The birch trees sway in the evening air, and I play beneath their branches. Summer, Spring, Autumn, Winter -- it does not matter; the woods are my playground. In these woods the sun is hidden behind the horizon. Night is perpetual, the moon my friend. In this place we know not of the rain, for if it rained the woods would weep, and these woods harbor no sadness or fear.

            There is a grove north the Silver Brook where the moon beams cut through naked trees. The snow, it glistens like the stars, and it is here where I sit; my companions come to me. They come, bringing gifts like logs and twigs and berries. We come together, me and my friends, building a feast and fire, for soon the solstice will be upon us, and we will celebrate the birch, the moon, and the brook like the years before.  

            I float around and start the count, making sure all heads are here. Two plus one -- kings, queens, and sons. Five families have come before me, but missing is Bear King and his kin.

            “Where are Bear King, queen, and son?” I ask the fellowship.

The others look to one another, all shaking their heads as they shrug. Rabbit King, he insists that he will search the woods for Bear King and his kin.

So, Rabbit King disappears within the trees, and my friends and I, we wait and wait and wait, and time passes. I refuse to light the fire until Bear King and kin have come. As time continues to skip forward, my friends and I sing merry songs to distract our hungry stomachs. We will not eat until all are here. In the last moments of our waiting, Rabbit King springs from the brushes. He lands upon the kindle.

Rabbit King, he squeaks, and I listen to his words. “Bear King, Bear King, His Majesty is dead inside his den! Bear Queen, she mourns and calls for you.”

“It cannot be,” I say to him. “Bear King is dead?” I cry aloud in disbelief, for death is unnamed in this place. It cannot be, I must deny it.

I am off without hesitation, wind beneath my feet. I fly and weave through the trees where Bear King and kin sleep. But upon arrival at the cave, Bear Queen, she weeps at the threshold; her mighty roar breaks the silence of the woods, and the birch trees sway and moan. They transform from birch to willow hearing her woe and lean toward the ground, gently wrapping the queen; their tenderness calms Her Majesty.

 My hand small upon her cheek, she looks up with the saddest eyes I have ever seen.

“Milady Bear, what has happened?” I ask Her Majesty. 

She slumps within the willow leaves. “There was a man,” says Bear Queen to me. “He came into my den and while we slept raised his gun at king " and, Blast! I awakened at the sound, and Bear King was down. Fearful of the man, I must suspect!”

 “A gun?” I ask. “A man in the woods? Are you sure it was such a creature?”

“Mama scared him off,” says Bear Son from the mouth of the cave.

 And she nods her head, falling into the embrace of the willows. “Milady Child, I swiped the man, his blood it bled onto my paw. Blood, Milady Child. Blood is on my paw! Its stain has tainted my den.”

“I will fix this,” I say to her. “I will see to it that Bear King returns.”

“Impossible!” cries Bear Queen. “Milady Child, Bear King,” she reminds, “he … he is dead!”

“The Golden Heart, Milady Bear, for it speaks to me. Must remind I you that I am the protector of these woods? I assure you of Bear King’s return.”

With this promise I am off again, and find the hefty tracks of a man. His feet are long and flat and wide. He wears boots, and surely clothing too, for I have seen man in my dreams; I have seen their sin and all their nasty ugly things. I have looked upon their wretched world, past the threshold of the woods and into their decrepit unholy lands. They live in towers one hundred paces high, bathe their infants in chemicals, and shave their bodies bare. They like pleasantries and pleasures and bask in all desires. They have no bounds and take all claims: Earth, the land, the sea " to them it is all the same. Their breath is yellow with sickness, perfumed in toxic smells. They dislike the unknown, and detest change, and try to control all that cannot be controlled. They are the fouled and the fools, putrid with disease. Yes, I’ve seen all of this in my dreams. The Golden Heart, it speaks to me and tells me of their ways. I hate, I hate, I hate their kind and the all terrible things that they bring!

The birch directs me along the way as I follow the man’s stony path. And not far ahead I see a shadow, his gun at ready for the blast. I land atop the iron barrel, and he jumps back in great alarm. And here I stand between him one of many animals calling this wood home, a small child in his devilish eyes. My face hardens, reminded of Milady Bear’s misery.

“You cannot do that,” I say to him. “This is a sacred place. You blasted sleeping Bear King and frightened all his kin.”

“Who are you?” he asks, curious of my form. “What are you? A child cannot fly!”

I glide nearer the stranger’s face. His alarmed expression does not ease, and he straightens up, and I look upon him. My voice, though soft, is stern, and I order: “You must apologize for your sin. You have intruded holy lands.”

He laughs deeply, smug behind his coal-black beard, nudging me aside. He readies the barrel for the blast, and I interfere once more.

“Move, creature!” he demands of me. But I am stubborn and determined to save Bear King. “Move! Get out of my way.”

 “You hunt and kill just for delight?”

The man, he argues: “I hunt and kill for my family: my wife and my son. Now, move! You are in my way. How many times must I tell you?”

“But Bear King …” I mutter. I must save the king. He will return if only I can make this horrible man apologize. These are my woods, and I have control of this place. “How did you come into my realm?” I ask the terrible man.

“I owe no answers to you,” says the man. “Now, let me be, so I may hunt. That blasted bear swiped my arm.”

“Answer my inquiry,” I demand of him.

He exhales, agitated by my being here, wanting me to leave. But I will not until I can save Bear King. “I’ve grown up at the edge of these woods,” says the man. “We are told not to come here because they say it is a holy place. For generations no one has come into these woods, but understand that there is a famine in my town, and now I must feed my wife and child. So here I am hunting for meat.”

“There are other ways to eat,” I say to the man. “You could have a garden. You could eat berries.”

“Berries?” The man threw his head back in a laugh. “Berries will not feed us well enough. Now, back down before I shoot you too. I must feed my wife and son. I will not let my family starve.”

“I am the child of the wood. I will not move until you are gone. The Heart, it speaks to me, and says it you that you must leave. You’ve disrupted the balance of this place, for death and sadness are not found here. This is the sanctum of the holy kings. If the kings and queens die, all animals of their kind will follow.”

He readies the gun at my gut, waiting that I move.

I feel the barrel, cold on my skin. My face is stoic like the frozen lake.

“The Heart curses you for stepping into these woods. Your blood has tainted our holy land.”

And as the Heart consumes my body, a golden glow blinds the woods. I am the spirit. I am the Heart. I am the Keeper, the protector, their savior. And I will protect the kings and queens and sons. I will protect this sacred place.  My arms grow wide and extend around the man, and I am without pity for him. He has murdered Bear King. In this place there is no fear, no sadness, and no grief. For Bear Queen and Son to shed a single tear " sheer blasphemy!

“I am the protector, the Golden Heart!” I shout unto the man.

But he is frightened by my transformation -- and, Blast!

 

I am the spirit of the wood, protector of the birch, the moon, and the brook.  

 

Suffer he will at my wrath, for the child was just a vessel. Now true form, I am the Heart, and I call upon the kings and queens and all kindred spirits.

With mighty thuds the birch have felled, and willows erupt in their places; the breeze once gentle transforms to mighty gales; the moon disappears, for clouds have gathered -- erupt, my tempest! We rise upon him with great force from all places and in all ways. I command the woods and the trees; I am the Heart, Keeper of all things! His nasty stain dare taints my woods. Repent! I cry. Repent, lest face the wrath of my might! My thunder wails, and he cowers. Yes! Cower, for I am greater; I am his demise.

With this promise I’ve made to Bear Queen, he will suffer and know no such thing as mercy. His feet are long and flat and wide, but too small to save him from my might. The snow has melted and mud ensnares his boots; the willows grapple his clothes, tearing them away; and watch him flee pathetically, naked as the innocent that has been slain. I have seen their sin, and their nasty ugly things. I have looked upon their wretched world and have seen their greed. Past the threshold of this wood they breed, and their unholy lands grow and grow until there is nothing but steel and concrete. But towers, they will collapse, and infants will cry, and bodies will burn, burn, burn, and bathe in toxic desires. Death upon their breath, there will be suffering, and all will perish from disease and know nothing but torment and anguish and pain. All things once controlled will collapse and rebel, because the creature called man are the fouled and the fools of this world.

The wretch, the arrogant man who knows only blindness, shall drown at my will. My tempest grows and Bear Queen wails. These woods having once borne no sadness, now bathe in the soiled blood of your taint. Hear my voice, hear my lament.

My tempest grows and grows, and waves thrash against his bloodied nakedness, bared for the world to see. Repent and plea for life, for he is the Man King with Man Queen and Man Son, and all he wanted was to provide. I asked kindly that he leave. And he answered kindly knowing this place was sacred, yet still he did not listen to my words, did not apologize, and did not leave. Cry and grovel into the sea. The willows have him now, twisted in tendril-arms. Drown, Man King, drown. And as I promised freedom comes, for with death Bear King will have life and the birch and moon and snow and brook will return, and I will light the bon, and we will finally have our blessed feast.