That Dark Realm

“She’s here again.”

Grandfather Elder tree murmured. His deep voice reverberating through The Dark Realm letting every tree, every bush and every living thing know with the vibrations of his voice travelling through his thick gnarled roots deep in the ground to each tree and plant in the forest.

With his announcement they all knew their roles; enhance what She already feels, make it deeper, bigger, deader but don’t bring Her harm.

And keep watch for The Voices. They kill whatever touches them so do everything possible to stop them getting to Her.

All the Elder Trees turn to the river with bated breath. They know it won’t be long.

And there She is, as one they gasp deeply as does She - for breath, as She rises from the thick Red River. They see Her struggling to reach the shore and one of the young saplings can’t help but bow low in the breeze - low enough to reach out a thriving strong thin branch, like a whip for Her to grab hold of.

The Red River doesn’t want to let Her go. With Her, the River becomes pulsing with life. The fish that live there in suspended animation begin to flit and swim, grateful for the life The River allows - but only while She is in it.

The waves fight the branch and the sapling, eager to follow instructions and finally put training to use, fights to pull Her from the sucking of the strong syrup’s flow.

Her grip loosens as the waves are so forceful and with a grave cry the sapling realises it’s lost Her, this time. She starts to float downstream as the wind is too strong and the brave little sapling lets the wind flutter its leaves till many are lost. The sapling can only feel failure and that failure adds to the gloom, darkening the skies and bringing forth the stormy grey clouds.

Meanwhile, Elder Trees along the river watch on as The Girl is taken away. Unworried, they know the clearing is coming up and She will find refuge there.

Through the rumbling ground, the warnings come. The Grove of the Dead know to be ready.

The Girl, oh so tired of fighting the current, spots something in the distance. She takes a sudden leap at an old dead trunk half in the river half out of it. For a moment She lies on its silvery grey back, arms around it hugging it as She readies herself to fully emerge from The Red that won’t give Her up. The Red also knows that She isn’t free of it until She has passed the banks of sludge on each side.

The Girl gathers Her strength and pushes Herself up, on knees She gingerly crawls to the bank, half falling onto the soft deep brown sludge. She lies as one dead, trying to catch Her breath in the mud.

The Grove is patient. They have been there for millennia waiting. Sometimes it’s eons before She visits, sometimes hours. But each time, it’s as if She is there for the first time.

They see Her ever so slowly sit up and look around. They know She is searching. Always searching for a safe place.

The grasses sing to Her a sweet rustling song as She reaches their border. Like children angling for attention, as She makes Her way through them, they jump at Her, their tops leaving their marks on Her skirts in the form of seeds. They all want Her attention but She ignores them.

She ignores them because She has heard The Voices. The eerie echoing scary Voices. So do the Elders and as One they rumble and shake the grounds in warning. All the forest knows this warning sign. It’s louder than the thunder above.

It’s The Great Warning!

The thing even The Elders fear. The Voices!

The Voices have no form but a strange purple light accompanies them. Almost blue at times it sounds like an echo so the direction it comes is always unknown.

If it touches you, it kills. All too many Elders have shared with the young ones nightmares of bluey purple fire destroying their ancestors.

The Grove of the Dead is a testament to this raging inferno. The remainder of the Shining Beacon race, long before their time. The Grove are the ones who somehow survived, barely and they are looked on with the utmost reverence on all who dwell in The Dark Realm.

The Shining Beacons were the original source that fed The Dark Realm. Only it wasn’t dark then. The Beacons spread joy with every clink of their tinkling leaves, shining sparks - contagious and touching every leave, every branch, every plant that lived there.

They thrived on good thoughts and words of encouragement. Their fruit grew in words of yellow, peach and pink. Words of Love, Worth, Kindness.

Back then The Realm was golden and bright. Everyone was welcome, everyone was loved. No matter if your branches only grew prickly thorns, or sharp stones, you were welcome.

But then, The Voices came, burning with abandon and this great beautiful forest was destroyed.

Only Grandfather Elder remembers.

Only Grandfather escaped. As a new shoot he lay low to the ground and was shielded by his family gathered around him.

He never forgot their words as they perished. “Don’t ever forget us. Don’t ever forget the light. Protect The Realm. Fight The Voices. Be our Vengeance”

And from that moment his life’s quest had begun. He has stood there faithfully for thousands of years. Protecting The Realm despite the gloom that came before he was old enough to hold it back changing it from Golden to Dark. However, Grandfather fought to hang on and despite the gloom, he ushered in a new era in the forest.

Now, he is revered nearly as much as The Grove of the Dead.

And now their existence is one of torture. The beautiful coloured trunks once glittering like diamonds, now stand, bent and charred. Wounded beyond repair and forever feeling the burn and the only joy they have now is seeing The Girl. Knowing they can still provide refuge, of a sort, to one lonely sad wounded human.

They watch her as she fights the grasses. She has to fight everything in this world it seems. The grasses clamour for Her attention but She still ignores them, swivelling this way and that, looking for The Voices.

“Pathetic! Worthless! Coward! Stupid!” They cry. The words echo around Her and She struggles not to breathe them in. She already knows these things about Herself, She doesn’t need reminding!

She is finally free of the childlike grasses and is still searching for the source of The Voices. She feels a tug towards the Grove. Not understanding it She allows the gale in the skies to push her towards them.

As she nears The Grove She spots one tree, completely black like the others but with a hollow. She squeezes herself into it finding an empty bird nest. Using it for Her pillow to sit on, its softness making Her sigh as She closes Her eyes and leans against the inside of the charred tree.

She feels she can finally rest for a time, hidden from The Voices which are now muffled by the wind and her secret hiding spot.

Meanwhile, the forest allows her this reprieve. Each tree gently humming while her hiding tree, too weak on its own, soaks up each vibration, warming the air inside the hollow, giving The Girl moments of respite.

Her mind is soothed for a time and as Her limbs become stiff she feels the urge to move. Feeling safe again The Girl believes She has the strength to go back home, ready to survive life again.

She peeks out the hollow and sees the purple light way off in the distance now and moving further away. There is a sigh of relief. Gathering her strength She steps out of the warm safety of the black tree silently thanking it for her refuge.

She spots a pathway and sees it as a way to avoid the long grasses and steps onto it. After a time, it takes Her back to The Red River. It doesn’t look so frightening now. Perhaps she can wash off the streaks of dried rusted red that cover her arms and legs and face.

Slipping and sliding on the sludgy bank, she makes her way down to The River’s edge once again. She leans forward to take up some Red, forgetting that it is not water, and overbalances.

The Girl tumbles into the water almost in a duck dive and the bush nearby slips its knotted branch back into itself.

Job done! The Girl is on Her way home and The Dark Realm can settle back into its rhythm until she next appears.

The Elders all rumble their roots sending reports back to Grandfather and he sighs contentedly, eyes closed and branches crossed in meditation until next time.

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To truly understand this story you may need to first read my short story called ‘Tortured Euphoria’ at the link below.

This sequel is The Dark Realm’s Point of view.

https://vocal.media/psyche/tortured-euphoria