Theus

Theus awoke to the aching hunger.

He had been fed rations from the remaining soldiers, but the hunger stayed with him.

With little negotiation, he got a wooden crutch and made for the wood.

It was looming over him ever since he woke. The lurching in his stomach had been drawing him to the forest. It took him an hour to hobble over to the wood. He took several falls as he learned to navigate with his new mode of transport. He was becoming an expert on how to get up from the ground after falling. His tunic was now stained in mud and grass.

There at the edge of the wood, he looked up. The scorched trees loomed over him. Once lush and vibrant were now black and thin. Crashing sounds dotted the forest periodically as trees fell. The smell was intense with coal.

Theus knew that Isabrell could forge a kingdom’s worth of swords with all the charcoal. He wanted to get back to her and Elia despite what had happened. He yearned for family of any kind, regardless of what they did to him.

He knew it was here somewhere. The landscape was hard to remember now it had been burned. He could almost see the other side of the forest with no leaves present.

His hunger drew him closer into the forest. It was the only driving force he had now.

He hobbled down the ashen paths. His missing leg had gotten more and more frustrating to Theus. He just wanted to run down the paths of the woods. But he was stuck going slow and steady.

His hobbles created sounds of struggle. He huffed with every swing of the crutch. What was he doing? He had no idea where he was. He doubted he could even make it back to the camp with how fatigued he was. It was black all around him. Trees fell every few minutes, creating an ominous danger about the wood.

Then he saw it.

Just in front of him lay a felled tree. It had slumped down a slope in the terrain. It seemed charred and singed. But compared to the rest of the forest it almost seemed untouched. Only the edge of its roots and branches were taken by the flame.

His hunger, no, yearning had become so intense now, he threw up leaning on his crutch.

The fallen willow tree rested before him. Untouched by flame. He stared at it. The last remnants of the Willowmother. The last remnants of Willowood. It lay dead on the ground. The same tree that caused his accident.

To Theus that tree was the last thing he cared about. The Willowmother was all he had left. Now its forest was gone, and so was the mother.

The yearning in his stomach became too hard to bare. He dropped his crutch and with a few hops pressed his body on the angled trunk of the felled willow tree.

It held him with warmth. He was encased by its aura. His yearning was gone in an instant. He began to weep. His cries echoed the entirety of the desolate woods.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The tree embraced him back. It held him closer. To the mother, Theus was her last true follower. Her last true believer. Not even the Baroness believed in her power anymore.

They held there for what seemed like an eternity. Then suddenly the trunk of the willow began to crack and flake under Theus’s hug. Chunks flew about and the tree crumbled away. Theus was thrust to the ground with no more tree to hold his weight.

He looked at where the tree once was. Only bark and a few branches remained. He witnessed her death. His crying became more intense. On his hands and good knee, he scrounged for any remnants of the mother.

There it was. Laying in a pile of debris. A log the size of a person’s torso lay. It was twisted in a snake pattern. The bark resembled musculature. Faint patches of moss dotted its surfaces. It almost writhed on its own, giving off a slow movement that twisted itself inside out.

Theus touched the moving bark. It seemed alive, like it had a heartbeat. The log’s movement pulsed under his touch.

He felt something from it. He knew it was connected to him. He could feel his now gone yearning inside the log.

His crying stopped. He picked the log up. It was heavy, but it tried its best to move its weight around to ease in carrying.

Theus took off his sweaty tunic and encased the log inside, tying it around his shoulder in a makeshift sling.

He grabbed for his crutch and slowly lifted himself from the forest ground. He was now covered in ash, staining even his teeth and the corners of his eyes.

With most of his weight on the crutch, he looked up at the dead trees. He passed his eyes around the woods.

Theus: “Thank you,” he said to the woods.

Night fell. Theus barely managed to get back to the camp in time. The new “living log” was heavy and unwieldy, not to mention his trouble with using the crutch. The campfires were the only thing he had to guide him back to the camp.

The survivors heard him yell for help and carried him on the last leg of his march. They were surprised to see the boy at all. Most congratulated him for his trek to the woods and back.

Soldier: “Was there anythin at all?” asked most people looking at the writhing sling on his back. He replied by shaking his head and asked for Josiah.

Josiah: “I’m ere boy”. Josiah said waving.

He walked up to Theus. A nearby campfire lit the two in the dark.

Theus: “S-sir. Yur arms?” Theus frowned and stared at Josiah.

Josiah: “Hahaha. Nuthin to worry about boy. Just a new happenins”. He waved his arms to signal nothing was wrong.

They were normal at a glance. Except his bones were protruding at certain angles such as his elbows and shoulders. His forearm and the top of his hands were covered in two large pointed spades. It was a ghastly sight.

Theus: “Ow did that happen sir?”.

Josiah looked at him sternly. A look that could pierce skin.

Josiah: “I found purpose lad. Looks like you did as well,” he said pointing to the writhing log sticking out from his tunic resting on the ground.

Theus: “It’s the remnants of the Willowmother. It speaks to me”. Theus pointed at Josiah’s arms. “Do they speak to you as well?”.

Josiah: “No lad. They be a gift from a god”.

Survivors: “Touched,” murmured the crowd of survivors around the campfire. “Tombfather be with us. I saw em on the hill”. They all gossiped about the fledgling god and its new champion.

Theus and Josiah went to a private tent. There they shared tea and hard tack.

Theus: “Isabrell and Elia?”.

Josiah: “Id ave waited to bury her. I didn’t know you were coming back. She be put to rest. The girl we didn’t find. She could be one of em we couldn’t identify though. We don’t know”.

Theus: “Oh”, Theus said. Conversation with Josiah was a lot harder now he had bone and metal arms. He found it hard to make eye contact.

A minute of silence passed.

Theus: “Ow long ave you been ere sir?”.

Josiah: “All day I spose”.

Theus: “Willowood sir”.

Josiah: “Ah. I reckon it’ve been fifteen years now”.

Theus: “You knew my parents then?” he said making eye contact for the first time.

Josiah: “I knew yur father Ben. He be a good man. Always in the wood. He made decent coin off them pelts”. Theus perked up. His demeanor had been slumped all night.

Theus: “You know where they be now sir?”.

Josiah: “He were part of em Moonfolk I reckon. They found their way out of the village for heresy”.

Theus: “I don’t remember any of that”.

Josiah: “You were young. They went in search of new religion”.

Silence overcame the tent again.

Theus: “What bout me?”.