Songs of the Forest

Snow crunched under their heavy gait as they trudged through the dense forest. The winds were still, but they could hear the faint humming of the trees around them, except for Booth, who broke away the branches that barred his path. He did not believe in the silly fairy tales that the village folk muttered to them. Instead, he simply scoffed and continued to drink the flagon of ale they had served him. Before long, they reached an outcrop where one of the trees had fallen, not yet dead with the brush that still protruded from the branches.

“A better place than any to set up camp,” Anders had said.

“I agree,” said his brother, Norell.

They set their packs down and hefted their double-sided axes off of their backs, snuggling into the tree’s branches to fight off the cold. Booth scoffed at them and used his own axe to start cleaving away at the fallen tree. Anders and Norell looked at him, startled by his quick decision. They sat up from within the soft needles and stared.

“What troubles you so that you have to disturb the dead?” Anders asked.

“I am not going to become the next meal of Fenrir’s spawn,” he huffed between swings. “Now, will you two lend a hand? The chill is making my arms weak.”

Norell looked to Anders who only shook his head at the other brother. They receded back into the comfort of their nests. Booth looked back at them, gave a low growl, then started chopping away at the fallen tree again. His brothers simply listened on as the humming around them grew softer and softer with every swing. Before long, Booth had gathered a sizeable pyre that he lit using the flint he carried with him. It sparked against the steel of his axe, and the drier twigs took on a flame that spread to the pile. The cold receded around them as the fire, almost big enough for a funeral ceremony, enveloped the three in its vast warmth.

“Come and join me, Brothers!” Booth exclaimed with a hearty a laugh. He had chopped a larger trunk of the tree away to use as a bench for the three of them and sat, contentedly, with a chunk of dried mutton in hand.

Again, Norell had looked to the eldest of the three and he sighed. The two eventually joined Booth on the makeshift bench but did not eat. Anders looked disturbed and Norell could not help but bow his head and pray to the gods to spare the middle brother for his brash actions. Booth saw this and scoffed at them, taking another chunk of meat into his mouth. With the fire in front of them, and the remaining brush of the fallen tree behind them, he sat comfortably. Almost in such a way that rivaled the leaning hut the bar wench had called an inn.

“Have you no shame, Brother?” Anders asked. “To disturb the sacred nature of this forest and the souls who inhabit it. Were you not comfortable and able to rest in this one’s branches that instead you burn it?”

“It is a tree, Brother. It feels not the bite of my axe nor the taste of the kindling of which I started the fire…”

“You are shameful, Brother!” Norell looked up from his prayer. “The souls of the lost rest within the pines of this forest, and to destroy the forest is to destroy them! Did you not heed the warning of the matron who served us food and drink?”

“I heeded the warning of the bitter cold, and that was all that mattered! We will not find the lost daughter if we are claimed by the ice. Strip the tree of its bark for the fire and the pine for its health and we live!” Silence filled the gap between them, and left Booth satisfied.

“You took that which was not ready to give, Brother.” Anders spoke calmly as to not disturb the forest any more than had been done, then stood from their log and receded back into the warmth of the fallen pine.

“What of you, Brother?” Booth turned to look at Norell. “Any words from the ignorant I should heed?”

“None from me,” Norell said, defeated. “This behavior is unbefitting of you. You should give back to the forest before it takes from you.” With that, he joined Anders back in the safety of the pine.

Booth watched as the bodies of both of them disappeared into the shrubbery. Fools he thought to himself. They will see their error and will come crawling back out to join me in my warmth. He continued to sit there stoking the flames and adding branches to keep them strong. Before long, his eyelids began to grow heavy with sleep. He longed for it, but sleep would not come easy when he needed to keep his fire hot.

It was when he started to run out of branches that the humming had begun again, low, and soft. Booth listened, assuming it was the wind, but nothing of the kind disturbed his fire. As the flames dimmed further, the hums turned into a soft melody that reminded him of a childhood lullaby. His eyelids drooped slightly, then shot open. He needed to stay awake to stoke the fire and collect more wood when he ran out. They started to take their last breath as the song reached its climax, rising in pitch and volume, filling his ears to the point where he could no longer hear the crackling of the dying flames.

Booth screamed as his head began to feel like it was being cleaved in two with his own axe. Norell and Anders rushed to him and saw this as their middle brother, the muscle of the three, howled at a vast nothingness. They only heard his crying pain, and not the rising, screeching song that plagued his ears. After trying to calm him and find out what was going on, he stopped. Suddenly and abruptly, there was no noise within the forest. No screaming, no humming, no crackling fire. Just silence.

Anders looked at his younger brother who resolved to staring into the crisped branches with eyes that were dark and lifeless. A sticky warmth began to envelope the hand Anders had laid on the still shoulder and saw the blood trickling from Booth’s ears. He dipped his head in solace for his brother’s soul, praying the spirits of the forest and the gods that ruled them would allow for Booth’s smooth transition into the afterlife.

Booth’s body grew warm and then hot to the point Anders had to pull away for fear of burning his hand. Norell did the same, and the two of them watched Booth’s erupt into a bright white fire, bigger and hotter than the one he had stoked from the fallen tree. Silently, it blazed and turned to ash, leaving behind zero remnants of the boy, turned man, turned warrior, except for the slight char on the log where he had sat. The flaming corpse took its final breath and all was still. From the stillness of the forest came a soft hum, a song, sad and solemn, from the trees around them. The forest once again coming to life on the windless mountain.