The Mother

Once upon a time, in a place you have probably never heard of, there was a forest. In a part of the forest, there was a bog. Far away from the swamp, also in the forest, was a village. In the village was a little boy.

This little boy had grown up hearing stories all his life. Stories about the bog. Stories about how when it got dark, if you were close enough to it, you could see a faint green glow coming from the direction of the bog. Stories about men who had tried to find out what made the bog glow like that. Stories about how they had never been seen again.

Naturally, having never seen anything more extraordinary than the people in his village, the boy was extremely interested in seeing this glowing green bog. But, as he was very young, and had been raised on stories of the danger of such a venture, he had enough caution to remain near the village.

One day, as he was exploring in the forest (as children will do if there is a forest at hand to explore) he saw a butterfly. It had a unique design that the boy had never seen before, and he began to chase it. He chased it so long that, as a more experienced reader could have predicted, he became lost. He did not know he was lost until he looked up and realized he could not see his village. All the trees looked the same. The sun was setting low in the sky, but being just a little boy, he did not have the slightest idea which way to go to get home.

So he did exactly what any one of us, at his age, would have done in this situation. He sat down and began to cry. He buried his face in his knees and wept loudly. He cried until he could not cry any more, and when he could not cry any more, he looked around.

While he wept, it had grown darker and darker. Now, it was so dark, he could not see his hand in front of his face. To his right, just far enough away to remain invisible for a short time, but just close enough to be seen after a moment, was a faint green glow.

The boy did not know whether it was the terror of being alone that propelled him forward, or the curiosity inspired by his bedtime stories. But something did prod him along. Something encouraged him to see the glow, and maybe, just maybe, be the first to discover its cause.

He walked slowly to avoid falling. (You will remember it was very dark) And all the while, the green glow got closer and closer. As he came nearer, he began to hear a slurping, sucking noise that he could not place. Perhaps all bogs made this noise. He knew that bogs were filled with mud.

He kept his eyes on the glow as he walked. It was his compass through the darkness. Slowly but surely, he realized that the light seemed to be moving. Not much, but it was as if the water itself were moving. This was contrary to the sedentary nature of the water in a bog.

Snap! Crack! Snap!

Slurp! Grick! Grr…

Leaves and twigs under his feet gave way as he walked.

Snap! Grick!

Splash!

The boy was no longer standing on solid turf, but in murky water. He looked down at his feet, wondering why he had not been aware of the water before he had stepped in it. The glow was still several paces away and blocked by several trees. The slurping sound grew silent, and the glow stood still.

Terror gripped the boy, and he tried to turn, but he could not. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he realized he could not pull his foot from the mud. On the contrary, every attempt to free himself through pulling only caused him to sink deeper into the gritty sand under the water. He was trapped.

In fear, he looked towards the place where he had last seen the glow and was slightly relieved to see that it had disappeared. He vaguely wondered where it had gone as he turned his focus back to the more pressing issue of his foot.

There it was. The green glow, shining out of the water surrounding his foot and illuminating the trees around him. And there, under the water, was a face. A muddy, brown face that was so clearly not a reflection of his own that it struck terror deep into the boy’s heart.

The thing was so ugly, so slimy, as it gurgled and croaked its way nearer to the boy. Suddenly, the boy realized that it had gripped his leg and was pulling him towards it. This was too much. With no regard for propriety or survival, the boy fainted dead away.

The next thing the boy saw was a large, comfortable room. Before he was fully awake, he began to hear beautiful sounds. Sounds that were similar to the ones he had heard in the bog, only they seemed to have rhythm and a body. And there seemed to be more than one voice. They seemed to be singing. And although the noises were almost the same as the ones the boy had heard in the bog, they did not fill him with fear, but rather with joy.

He was just opening his eyes when a door across the room opened and a beautiful woman stepped in, carrying a book. When she saw him, she smiled and placed the book on a desk beside the bed where he lay.

“How are you?”

Her voice was gentle and sweet, so different from that of the monster’s last night. The boy could see from the light in the room that it was day now, but a faint green glow lingered yet in the daylight.

“I’m hungry.”

He suddenly realized it and blurted the words before he thought. She laughed a beautiful, singing sort of laugh.

“I would imagine. I have commanded one of my children to prepare you a meal. If we had been only a few moments later, you would have likely died in the swamp!”

So this woman, or maybe one of her children, had found him before the monster had gobbled him up. He thanked the Ruler he had not been forgotten.

The door opened once more, and the room was flooded with an eerie green light. The boy was temporarily blinded, but not before seeing the same face in the doorway that he had seen in the water the night before. He screamed in terror, suddenly recalling all at once that terrible experience.

He was silenced by a command from the woman.

“That is no way to address a child of mine. Brugg, give this boy what you have prepared.”

The monster shuffled to the bed, and the boy realized that he held a sort of bowl in its hands, from which came a delectable aroma. Slowly, the boy sat up and began to look skeptically at the monster, or child, named Brugg.

The monster produced a spoon-like instrument and proceeded to spoon-feed the boy. The boy hesitated, then took a small bite. Then he took another, and another. He was so hungry he no longer cared that a monster seemingly made of mud was feeding him.

As he ate, he observed Brugg. His fish-like face almost looked as if it could be capable of emotion, but there was no hint of a smile anywhere about the creature. Bright green strips of scaly skin down his back produced the glow that haunted the bog, but the rest of his body was a sickly brown color.

The lady saw him watching the creature and spoke.

“If you have a question you may ask me. He cannot speak the Common Tongue.”

The boy hesitated between bites, then said, “Is he… your child?”

The lady’s eyes grew misty, and she seemed to be lost in thought as she answered.

“In a way. I call them my children, but really, it seems more like I am theirs.”

The boy waited for her to continue and was not disappointed.

“Many years ago, I, too, was…”

The lady hesitated, gathered strength, and continued.

“Lost. In the forest. The creatures found me and brought me here. The Great Tree.”

The boy now saw the room from a different perspective. The room did not have corners, but instead had a rounded appearance. They were in a large, hollowed-out tree.

The lady continued.

“They took care of me. They raised me until I was old enough to take care of myself… and them.”

She paused and laughed.

“I am their Queen and Mother. Had they never found me, I should have died in the bog, just as they… just as was hoped.”

The sadness in her eyes was overwhelming to the boy, and he looked towards Brugg to escape it. But he soon found that, although the creature did not understand the words they were saying, he clearly understood the purport of their conversation. The boy looked into the bowl at the few bites of food remaining.

But the lady seemed to have shaken herself from her reverie, for she spoke again.

“I am glad you are well. I will have my children take you home.”

The boy was delighted at the thought of seeing his village again. “Thank you! My village is called-”

“I know where you came from. I have known where your village is for many years.”

The boy was surprised.

“Then why did you live here?”

“Because this is my home. These are my family and friends. I cannot be among the people you love, because I am not loved by them.”

“But you could be, if you came with me.”

The lady smiled sadly.

“I cannot come with you. My children need me here. But, perhaps, when you are safely home, I will visit you sometimes. Maybe your family will allow me to do that.”

The boy simply could not understand why the lady did not want to live in his village, but this proposition pleased him, so he accepted it gladly.

To this day, the boy and the lady are friends. Occasionally the lady will visit the boy at his house, but as the boy grows, he is more and more often allowed to visit hers. No one in the boy’s village ever learned that the boy had been in the bog that night, and he does not wish them to learn. Through the years, he has found that the bog creates a safe haven for the lady and her children. A haven that he would never wish to destroy.

*This story may feel unfinished, but there is more. Allianara Grimsted was forced from her home and into the forest in a story which will prequel this one. This story serves only as an introduction to the relationship of the lady Allianara and the li ttle boy. If you wish to learn more of the history and future of the characters in my story, please hit the subscribe button and/or like my story so that I can continue to produce stories for your entertainment! God bless!

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