The warm air on this early summer night brought back unbidden memories running carefree through forests chasing happily after my father. From all these years in the future, I couldn’t remember his face, just his broad shoulders and gentle, loving warmth.
But those carefree days were far behind me.
And I was far from those now-disappeared forests.
I was crouched beside the short Lucia; her pale creamy-grey skin on her bare slender arms and face glowing in the darkness which surrounded us. Her black form fitting, sleeveless outfit did its job of hiding her slender malnourished form in the darkness.
The smell of many drunks relieving themselves in a convenient spot was overpowering. It took me all that I had not to let the discomfort show on my face. But Lucia seemed at ease with the stench. In fact, she was leaning on the half-rotten wooden frame of what could be generously called a small hovel. I was sure that the rotten frame would break if I put any of my weight upon it.
The moon was hidden behind the large semi-dilapidated warehouse, looming over any of the other buildings around here. We were hiding in the darkness, looking at a world of shadows and darkness. I struggled to make out any details, but Lucia seemed at ease not only in the shadows but seeing through them.
Of all the buildings around here, the warehouse was by far the best maintained.
Even in the darkness it was easy to see the pale patches of the newish timber patches against the aged and weathered patches against the even darker original wood, painted in a deep colour. Even the paint was not immune to poor maintainance with flaking paint over the entire warehouse.
Lucia’s small, light grey hand touched my giant biceps. It was ridiculously small and glowed against my pale pink skin. It seemed like she wanted to pull me deeper into the shadows and away from the warehouse. That a such wee lass could even think of being able to move a muscular giant such as myself was humourous, but this was her mission. These were her streets; I was just there as supposed dumb muscle to help in the off chance she needed help.
And finally, it seemed like she did.
A few steps later, we were crouching once again, this time behind the flimsy hovel.
‘I tell Gomes I lost coin,’ Lucia said, fighting back tears. This was the second time I’d seen her so emotional. The first time was when she had woken me up when I was holding Sara, hours ago, tears running down her face.
Before tonight, before what Sara told me about the importance of the coin, before Sara reawoken me to the depths of love, I would’ve not been open to Lucia and that coin which Gomes kept giving her. But now I knew and I wanted to do something to save her, be her hero, if only in this small thing.
Earlier this evening, yesterday, whenever it was, Sara told me the coin they passed between the two of them was a Saint Evaine token, a token of love and devotion and to them was worth more than the ridiculously high value of the coin. And today was Saint Evaine’s feast day. Not that you could tell this far from the main streets through Three Bridge.
‘Why?’ I asked her.
‘That the South Wharf Gang hangout.’
‘And?’
‘They nasty troublesome bastards.’
I grasped her delicate shoulder in one of my meaty hands and gave it a squeeze. ‘You got me.’
She looked up at me and wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘You face them for me?’
‘Before tonight, before Sara, no. Now.’ I nodded.
Lucia gave me a small, sad smile. ‘You treat her right. She had it rough.’
I nodded. Sara might’ve had a tough life, but I doubted she had it rougher than mine or Lucia’s lives. I knew this was not a competition, or something to be proud of, but something to support and do our best to heal the wounds left. That was what my first mentor, Orla, had taught me.
‘Stay,’ she said to me, ‘I go see if another entrance.’
Though her pale glowing creamy grey skin and pale blue hair seemed to shine in the darkness, she faded out of view. I waited in the darkness until I saw her motion for me to follow her. Lucia led me through random narrow pathways, and even once through a house which was all but a ruin, even though a family huddled sleeping in a corner. In the pale light of the moon, I saw the white of the wife’s eyes follow me warily as I made my way quietly through the ruin of the house.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Just as I departed, I saw the husband squeeze the wife’s hand as the tension fled from her face. So he was awake too. I knew how it was to half-sleep, afraid of someone interfering with sleep, and had spent most of my life sleeping like that. A habit which allowed me to wake fully aware when Lucia snuck into my room this night.
Finally, we came out upon the banks of the Winster River. The wide open stretch of nothingness lit by the pale moon once again reminded me of the rivers back home and how the wind travelled down the valleys, bringing with it the tortured hope of potential freedom. But unlike the rivers on the island—the Isle of the Woods—I had once called home, this river was surrounded by buildings, not trees or the grass or the fallen trunks of once mighty trees, or the scrawny bushes which grew where once the mighty trees had grown.
These buildings seemed as dead and forlorn as the fallen trunks of those once mighty trees.
Somehow, despite all the random directions in which she had led me, Lucia had led us to the side of the South Wharf gang headquarters. From here, even I could see that there was no one visible within the shadows of this alley. Unlike the front, or was it the back, of the building, there were no signs of this wall being patched up recently.
Lucia put a hand on my chest, probably meaning for me to wait. She snuck across the narrow alley to what I guessed was a door. A deep shadow hidden in the darkness. One I hadn’t seen admidst the depths of the alley's shadows.
She put her ear against the door. Then with a desperation, unlike her normal careful movement, she did something and the door swung open with a faint creak. I got ready to charge in, but no one came out. Lucia just stood there, looking into the void she’d just opened.
Without waiting for her to tell me, I rushed across the alley.
As I got closer, I recognised the smell.
It was that of closely packed human cattle: the fear, sweat, desperation, and faeces and urine. There was also the sound of muffled sobbing from the few who had yet to fully give up. And the shuffle of people as they tried to make themselves comfortable packed against others.
I didn’t need to see what Lucia could see to know what was happening in there. It was a scene I had seen far more times than I cared to remember. The first time I saw it, I was forced to flee. Back then there was a young girl, younger than my six years of age, using her eyes to beg for me to flee, to escape.
To be free.
To my shame, I fled.
The eyes of that girl begging me to escape were mirrored in Lucia’s eyes when she turned around to look at me. Her pale face was paler than ever before. Instead of begging for me to escape, they were begging for me to do something.
Back then, I was weak.
Now?
Now, I was powerful.
This had become something much more important than that of the token of love.
Anger welled up within me.
I could feel a primal part of me reaching out to take control of me.
‘Lucia,’ I said. No one knew many of my deepest secrets. But if I was to do this, Lucia would find out one of them. Worse, there was no chance that I could hold back now. That primal part of me was grappling with my iron self-control. My self-control was losing. ‘Lucia. What you are about to see must be remain a secret.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see.’ I said cryptically, with the final remnants of my willpower as it shattered under the attack of the primal power.
My mind grew slightly foggy and Lucia appeared to become smaller. Even though I knew I had grown.
My pale pink skin thickened into a dark grey rough bark.
‘Treeman.’ She whispered.
I knew I had not made a mistake in exposing my secret to her. Her eyes were wide open with hero worship.
Yes, I was Treeman.
The foe of the heroes who kept coming into Three Bridge to make trouble for the inhabitants just because maybe some citizens of the city might’ve committed some crime, minor or otherwise. But the damage the Guild Heroes committed within Three Bridge were never acknowledged beyond drunken boasts.
And the punishment, if such could be called, was never balanced. It was not an eye for an eye. At times it was an indiscriminate wide scale slaughter for a splinter.
‘Rescue them.’ I said in my now rough voice. ‘I shall dispose of those—’
Words failed me.
I smashed through the open doorway and charged through the small room, partly blocked off by iron bars, and through the closed door on the other side. Maybe somewhere within the neighbouring city of Lundein there would be a door which could stop Treeman, but within Three Bridge I knew there wasn’t.
As I smashed into the bright cavernous room beyond, everything went still.
All eyes were on me. Using my powers over wood, powers I only had within Treeman, I blocked all the exits for those within the warehouse. Stretching my powers over such a distance and for such a wide range took it out of me.
I collapsed to a knee, my whole body heaving.
Even though I was tired, the transformation was complete. It would not end because of such a trifling matter.
‘Oh, look who locked himself in with us,’ a haughty voice shouted down from the first floor office. ‘We’re in for a big payday, boys. Kill him.’
From my life sense, I could tell that there was no one within these walls that could even come close to hurting me. I forced myself up onto my tired legs and looked around.
Though I smiled, I wasn’t sure if my woody face could show emotion. This would be a simple slaughter.
For this, I wouldn’t need to fight to control Treeman. I could feel the primal rage deep inside against those who would treat their fellow humans so. So I let Treeman go.