12
THE FORBIDDEN GROVE
Islana and I had figured out a way of secretly communicating with one another.
Right at the back of the royal library there was a book called The Religious Practices of Tribal Peoples. On the two hundredth page there was a diagram of a naked man bound to a rock while a robed woman cut out his heart with a knife and held it up to the sky. The system was thus: if Islana wished to meet with me in private, she would fold the corner of that page.
I visited the library often, just about every day, in fact, just to check for that fold. Usually, it wasn’t there. Although the frequency of our meetings varied immensely by year, I was generally lucky if I saw her more than once a month.
When we first agreed on this system, I hadn’t known how to read. That had quickly changed, an incidental bonus. If anyone thought it was strange that the First Blade spent most of his free time in the library, nobody ever questioned it.
We were only ever caught once.
It’d been sometime in the summer, almost a full decade ago. We’d been laying on a blanket at our usual grove, staring up at the night sky and talking about the stars. By that point, our little spot, which we jokingly called The Forbidden Grove, had become a sort of home for us. For me, at least. It was the place where I was at my happiest, where I was most comfortable.
“Do you think the gods watch us make love?” Islana had said. She only ever asked questions like that when she was in an exceptionally good mood.
“I certainly would, if I was them.”
“We do put on a rather good show, don’t we?”
“The best.”
“Do you think we’ll hang from the Screaming Tree for this?”
I looked at her. “I believe that the Tree is only reserved for those who commit evil deeds. I’ve seen a lot of evil in my life. Evil is something I’m familiar with. What we’re doing is the furthest thing from it.”
She smiled, then tried to hide it. “You’re a silly man.”
I’d become used to the way she brushed off such things, but it never stopped hurting. “Well, what do you think?”
“I don’t know, Sigmund. I’m not sure I really believe there’s a giant tree at the center of the world. It’s a little, I don’t know, childish. Don’t you think?”
That surprised me. It wasn’t rare for blasphemy to emerge from her lips —and coming from her, it never bothered me— but the threat of the Screaming Tree had hung over me my entire life, and I’d always assumed that my eventual destiny was to hang from its branches. I’d learned to make peace with that. To hear the entire thing called childish made me suddenly feel like a fool.
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“Don’t look like that,” she cooed. “I didn’t mean to insult you.” She propped herself up on an elbow and kissed me.
“I’m not insulted. I’m just thinking about it.”
“Anyway, why would anyone want to believe in such a thing? It’s not very pleasant.”
“Probably because they want to avoid hanging from it.”
“But whether or not you hang from the Tree depends on your deeds, not on your beliefs. So, if you choose to ignore it, the outcome is the same, and you don’t have to carry that burden around on your shoulders.”
“If people didn’t believe in it,” I said, “they might act differently. The fear of the Tree keeps them honest.”
Islana scoffed. “If the only reason they decide to be good is so they don’t hang, I reckon that’s a reason in itself to be strung up on the branches.”
I said, “All I’m hoping is that, if we’re both destined for the Screaming Tree, we get to hang from the same branch.”
“Very romantic, Sigmund.”
Somewhere behind where we were laying, a branch snapped.
I sat bolt upright, hand darting out and closing around the hilt of my sword, always close by. Neither of us were clothed, though Islana was already frantically pulling on her dress. I rose up into a crouch, eyes scanning the treeline.
Someone was there. I could feel it.
My mouth was dry. We’d been found out. Had someone followed us? Or was it an accident, a hunter stumbling across purely by chance? If it was the latter, then maybe they wouldn’t recognize us, wouldn’t understand the significance of finding us there in The Forbidden Grove. Considering that was the best case scenario, I very much doubted it was true.
“Who’s there?” I called out. An unseasonably chill wind blew through the trees and prickled my flesh. I felt suddenly vulnerable, and naked beyond a lack of clothes.
Another twig snapped. Leaves rustled. I heard breathing.
I charged into the undergrowth.
I caught sight of a small figure, just a boy, as he turned and ran from me. His arms pumped madly as he sprinted through the pushes, his breathing heavy and loud. He was as naked as we had been, and as I pursued, I tried to make sense of that. Who was he? What was he doing there?
“Stop!” I called after him. “I just want to talk!” Not true at all, if I got my hands on him, I had no idea what I’d do, what I might be forced to do. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but if he’d seen our faces, and knew who we were…
I slashed my blade out in front of me, cutting through a branch. I stepped on sharp sticks and stones, cutting my bare feet. If I stretched out my free hand, I could almost touch the boy. I was faster than him, and any moment now I would be close enough to grab him, to pull him down to the ground with me.
Then I tripped on a root.
I had just enough time and sense to throw my sword out to the side as I fell— I’d be damned if that’s how my life ended, naked, in the middle of the woods, impaled on my own blade. My head slammed into the dirt, blood filled my mouth as I bit through my teeth, and a branch stabbed at my arm.
I was down only for a second. Then I sprung back up to my feet and ran.
But the boy was gone. There was no sign of him, and I stopped and held my breath, listening for the sounds of him crashing through the undergrowth, but the night was silent save for the buzzing of cicadas and the croaking of frogs.
I walked back to The Forbidden Grove. Islana was fully dressed and bathed in moonlight. When I told her that the boy had vanished, she joked that maybe he hadn’t been a boy at all, that maybe he’d been a monster watching us in the darkness.
We’d laughed about it then.