Hollow clicking of a woodpecker marked the beginning of the morning. The forest almost came alive, trees greeting the animals with the wave of a branch and a moan of the trunk. Animals emerged from their homes and hovels, flying, gliding and crawling to their neighbors. Each saw to their daily tasks and hobbies, some snacked on the seeds and flowers, others sunbathed on the shelves of shroomish growth while feasting on the lichen. Most stayed inside their hollowed homes, sleeping on the pinkish-red coloured wood, safe from the predators that roam the floor more than 200 feet down.
At the base of a tree on a homely hill, a round bright blue wooden door was securely shut, fitting snug into the frame. The corroded copper knob twisted and the hinge screamed, a 3-foot-tall boy pushing it open. He didn’t flinch at the croak of the hinge, focused on taking in the music of the forest and sounds of his village. More creaks of doors echoed off the trunks of the trees as people dragged their sons and daughters to the fresh water barrel, dunking their heads inside and scrubbing their hair and face to begin the day.
Getting in line, the boy had to stand upon his toes to see over the head of the man in front of him, seeing the line quickly shorten. When it came to his turn, the shine of the sun’s rays that rarely made it through the canopy, illuminated his face. Reflected in the water was the face of a man, bearded but not aged or rough like his father’s. The makeshift mirror broke when the head was pushed inside, a practiced shake of the head and the refreshing moment was already over when he pulled his dripping wet face out of the barrel. His large and shoeless feet were quickly damp with the fall of water. After a quick rub of his hands inside, he was already stepping to the side, allowing the next person to have their turn.
Turning towards his home, he glanced at the line of people. He knew the names and faces of each, a result of being born and raised in the village for 25 years now. Garret, also known as Garret the Tall, stood at the back, the massive man kindly letting everybody skip his 4-foot frame in line as he towered a foot above the average villager. William, also known as William the Crazy, stood between two annoyed looking women; his long braided facial hair whipped around each time he twisted his head at what he claimed were invisible spirits. Each townsman shook their auburn or brown hair covered heads in greeting when he made his way past them. Their emblems, necklaces, or bracelets would shake as they move, proud of displaying their target of worship in as many ways as they could.
In front of his home, a nervous girl no shorter than 2 feet tapped her bare foot in an exaggerated impatience. Just turning 26 last winter, she had always been full of energy, running around the town and making friends with the wildlife. Her linen pants were already dirty at the bottom hem, and the flying squirrel that stood on her shoulders snacking on a seed told him she had already been awake and adventuring through the forest before the village awoke. Everyone in the village had a sort of title, like the tall, or the crazy, but she had many. Ellie the Energetic, the Childish, the Sweetheart, the Friendly, and most commonly, the Loud.
He opened the door, and both of them entered in a comfortable silence. Ellie sat her back against the treated thick bark, seated on the top of his bedding, the old framing creaked as she rested her whole weight on it. Reaching into pouch tied to her waist, she offered a small berry to her squirrel, it took the gift with a squeak and walked out of the tree before the door closed. Very little light was let through the small square smoke vents, but enough leaked into the circular house to not stub a toe on the furniture.
“Are you going to work again today?” Ellie asked, a sweet and expectant look on her face.
An answer came in nothing more than a nod, as the chest of drawers opposite her is rummaged through by the man, almost like he had forgotten what lay in each drawer. Ellie shook her head in a practiced manner, little to no disappointment with the answer she expected.
With a smirk on her face, Ellie reminded him, “The bottom right.”
With a pause and tilt of his head, he slid the middle left drawer shut and opened the bottom right one, taking out a thin linen shirt and thick cotton tunic. Taking off his sleeping tunic, the light of the morning sun shone on his developed upper body. Covering his skin with his working shirt and tunic, Ellie snapped out of her daze. Turning toward her, he hummed his thanks and walked to his door, turning the knob.
“Donovan,” Ellie spoke up, humor and entertainment riddled her voice as the man stopped, the door a crack open. “your axe? You might want it.”
His face turned a shade of red, akin to his hair. He suppressed an embarrassed smile, walking across his home to his axe, lifting it off the old wall mount. Resting its long red handle on his shoulder, he gripped it by the throat and returned to the door, stopping to look at Ellie, curious if she would remember anything else. She only smiled in response, standing from the edge of the bed and fixing her hair. Taking her actions as approval, Donovan fully opened the door, letting Ellie pass through. After a second to look inside his home, the family crest and wall mount illuminated by the daylight sun, multiple centuries of history magically engraved within, he shut the door.
The entire village was awake. Children and their mothers played outside, socializing with their family friends. Each person had a job, producing or supplying something to trade for coin and food when the merchants arrived at the end of each season. Walking through the crowd with Ellie, she soon stopped at her home, the door painted bright pink with plenty of decoration, wooden statues and pieces of art lay outside her door, the ground covered in chippings and shavings. She waved at Donovan as he continued to the edge of the village without her, walking deeper into the forest where homes had yet to be carved into the trees. A flying squirrel followed over his head, jumping from branch to branch dozens of feet into the air, bothering each and every hollow of birds that he passed by.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
The forest soon turned into a clearing, stumps of trees that were each so wide a small party could be hosted on them, dotted a constantly expanded foresting area. Huge stacks of cut red lumber tied together with rope stood neatly next to a dirt road leading away from the village. Saws and axes cut away at a felled tree, kilometers of rope still nailed to the bark from when the entire village dragged it to the clearing for processing. People stood atop it, removing branches and twigs as thick as they were wide. The foreman stood atop a raised tower, one of the few structures that was constructed out of the processed wood. He yelled orders across the field, giving daily tasks and deeds to be done for each person, those currently working seemed unnaturally motivated by the sound of adamance in his voice. Donovan stood at the edge of the towers base, looking up at the foreman with a wave.
His boss caught his presence by the sight of his axe, the rough face of the veteran forester lightened at the sight of his favourite worker, “Hoh there Donovan, you can work on your tree again today, it looks very close to being finished.” His confident voice inspired Donovan, who visibly looked more awake.
Donovan turned, moving around the circumference of the tower to the other side, but his foreman halted him, “Hold on Don’, there is a new kid, has the exact same life objective as you, so I assigned him to you to teach and get him started.”
Donovan turned on the spot, surprise filled his face. Nobody else in the entire village had the same life objective as him, he had even considered it a task that no god would ever be willing to give their followers, as they risk being renounced. Donovan would have done the same thing, but with the encouragement of his father and the promise of a strong routine, he stayed faithful.
His foreman couldn’t help but recognise the surprise, “Yeah, I had the same reaction when he told me about it. When he shows up, I will send him to you, don’t forget.” Turning away from Donovan, he kept his eyes on the rest of the workers.
Donovan only started walking after processing what he was told, trying to stem the anxiety in his heart about guiding a boy with the task that will consume the next one and a half decades of his free time. He soon walked out of the field, heading deeper into the forest until the sounds of the workers could no longer be heard. A large tree, one that pierces far above the canopy of the other trees stood firm against the wind. At its base, a large portion of its trunk was gone, like somebody had taken a horizontal slice of cake out of it. Without a word, Donovan had walked to it, holding his heavy axe in both of his hands. The sound of the edge hitting against the dense wood echoed through the forest in a soft rhythm as his eyes became unfocused. Lost in the music he was making with the animals; he didn’t stop for a break even when the sun was visible through the canopy.
“Excuse me, sir?” a young boy spoke behind him, trying to talk over the loud sound of the tree shaking, only to grab the attention of nobody. No younger than 10 years, he was 2 feet tall and peach fuzz had just started to cover his weak chin. He stood behind Donovan at a safe distance, trying to avoid getting too close to the back swing, lest he lose his head.
The axe continued to expand the hole in the tree, getting larger every dozen swings. If it were not a tree with the diameter of a large house, the speed at which he was cutting would have been staggering. Ignorant of the boy behind him, Donovan had forgotten about what the foreman told him, entirely focused on his tree.
A loud crack sounded throughout the forest, reaching the ears of the workers in the lumber yard. Donovan halted his swinging at the sound of it, his ears rung but a smile consumed his face. Another loud crack and a moan of wood sounded out as Donovan moved to the other side of the tree, chopping into the bark. He continued hacking at the tree as it cracked and groaned some more. Workers started filling the surrounding area, the foreman stood in front of the group with a smile on his face. Everybody had a look of satisfaction, seeing someone finish their life objective and become an adult was not a rare sight, but Donovan’s task was immense and took far longer than most.
The tree croaked for a final time as the trunk moved with the assistance of a push from Donovan. The exposed wood splintered and it fell away from the group, hitting the ground with a great thud and clap like thunder. It was an amazing sight, seeing someone accomplish a task assigned to them by a god themselves. The group of workers exploded in applause, the expected celebratory expression when a boy turns into a man, and Donovan stood before them, bowing to them with tears of joy forming in his eyes. The foreman picked him up by the waist, hoisting his large body up and almost on his shoulders. For the rest of the day they could celebrate, forgetting about work until the new man had eaten enough food to fill his stomach and enough drink to get him through a restless night.
Axe in hand, carrying Donovan on his shoulders, the foreman led the group back to the village, a boy stood forgotten behind them. A confused look filled his face, and his voice expressed even more of it, “Um, hello? How am I supposed to start?” When the group was no longer to be seen, the boy sighed, resigning himself to his forgotten fate.
----------------------------------------
A form of formlessness sat upon a throne of basalt. Its limbless body was covered in limbs, touching nothing but feeling every inch of everything. Its eyeless body has countless eyes, staring at nothing but seeing everything. Its mouthless body had every mouth, tongue, and tooth, not saying anything but speaking every secret thing. Such a terrifying thing it was.
The throne it sat, floated, and stood upon was seething with empty veins, except for one singular glowing line leading up its back. The vein left the throne, leading into the formless form, its glowing contents feeding into it and providing it sustenance. Such veins were its believers, the common mortal peoples that feed it with their faith, all but one was lost to it. Such was a young forester half-man that worshiped it faithfully, forever silenced with a cursed voice box and only to make sounds of rhythm. The other believers were lost, each one had their own vein that once made it the most powerful of all things. It made a soundless noise, awoken by the completion of the task it gave to his believer. It opens its eyes despite having none, shook its limbs despite have none, and mouthed its thanks despite having none to do it with. Such a terrifying thing it was.
A blessing, one to give its only believer, had to be made. Its formless form glowed, the surroundings did not illuminate and instead only got darker, the power and glow that had built up inside of it for 25 years disappeared to a speck of itself. Now, it could only wait, for its believer to do what is best with the blessing it bestowed and to regain its power from the faith generated with his deeds. In time it knew, that it will return to power, to become the one and only god once again. Such a terrifying thing it was.