The Heart of the Forest

Conrad stood at the perimeter of the glade, but his thoughts were on the townspeople that he had passed fleeing south in bumper-to-bumper traffic, while he alone headed north on the freeway. He grieved for those who had already died from the bitter winter and for those who were running from the utter ruin that the ever-growing blizzard portended. Since the year of his birth, winters in his town had grown progressively worse - both longer and colder. He’d often wondered if somehow it had been his fault but other children had been born that year.

His chest tightened as he thought of the box in his pocket, but he clung to hope that he would make it back to the hospital in time. Father had vowed, upon Steven’s life, that if he returned the stone inside the box to the fountain at the centre of the forest, their town’s curse would end, and his stepbrother would live. Father had at least been right about one thing; the stone had guided him here. His heart had felt its directives as he traversed the woods.

He could see the fountain in the middle of the frozen pond. He stepped forward and gasped as a cold, tingling sensation started at his toes, bypassing the insulation of his extreme-weather snowsuit. The tingling crawled up his body. It paused at his chest, spread out to his head and fingers, flared strongly with warmth, and then vanished.

He exhaled in relief and refocused on the fountain. He took another step, and when nothing further happened he carefully made his way onto the icy pond.

Approaching the fountain, he saw that though it was iced over, it was free of snow. His breaths puffed out as he stood in front of it. He retrieved his pickaxe from his belt and raised it to strike the ice.

White light flared from the fountain, and he fell backwards. Wisps of purple mist swirled out from the top of the fountain and coalesced in front of him as a tall, thin, humanoid. Conrad scrambled backwards, dropping his axe.

“Why have you come, thief’s child?” The spirit asked in a booming voice. “Speak honestly, else leave!”

Conrad’s limbs shook, but he pulled himself to his knees and bowed his head.

“I have come to return the heart of the forest so that the curse can be lifted,” he replied. The cold made it difficult to breath and speak.

Though the spirit did not have eyes, Conrad felt as if it was looking inside him, “And you come willingly?”

Conrad nodded. “I do.”

The spirit bobbed its head sharply and stood aside. Conrad stood on shaky legs and staggered forward. The ice on the fountain had melted. The figurine at its centre was shaped like a woman; her face lifted to the heavens, her mouth gaping open as if in pain. Her arms were cradling an empty circular space that was about twice the size of the stone in the box, but his father’s instructions had been clear.

Conrad fumbled in his pockets and retrieved the box. He removed the stone, placed it in the gap and stepped back quickly to see what would happen.

“As I thought,” the spirit said roughly. “Where is the thief?”

Conrad slumped, “His son is dying. He sent me in his stead to return your heart so that he may be healed. Please,” Conrad begged, “lift the curse.”

“Lying, thieving, faithless worm! Did he tell you that this rock was my heart?”

Conrad gulped. “Yes.”

“Child, your father hates you.”

Conrad absorbed the blow with a wince. “What has that to do with the curse?”

The spirit considered him in silence. Conrad’s vision blurred with tears. He would lose his brother and his town if he did not fix this.

“Were you sick as a child?” It asked him.

“Yes.” Conrad replied, “I had a weak heart. They didn’t think I would survive infancy. My mother miscarried three times before me and twice after, and then she also died.”

The spirit paced in front of the fountain. “But you recovered, else you would not be standing here before me with a useless rock.”

Conrad exhaled slowly, “Yes, I did. They called me a medical marvel.”

The spirit nodded. “And your brother, I assume, is the brat of another woman. Why does your father love him and not you?”

Conrad’s heart constricted again. “I haven’t lived up to his expectations. I want no part of his legacy. I pursued carpentry and resisted his every attempt to corral me.” He shrugged. “Take your pick.”

“And your brother is like your father?” The spirit floated towards him.

Conrad shook his head, “Not in character. Only, he has a head for business and will happily take over my father’s business since I won’t.”

The spirit stopped pacing and nodded. “I see. Your father has sent you to your death. Likely, he hoped I would simply take back what is mine. But his cruelty makes him ignorant. The heart selfishly taken can only be selflessly restored for the forest to forgive.”

Sagging to the icy ground, Conrad cried out, “You mean my heart, don’t you? He took yours and gave it to me.”

The spirit dipped its head and almost gently replied, “Yes.”

Conrad’s thoughts meandered back to the abandoned town, to the thousands fleeing, to the scores of fresh graves at the cemetery, to Steven; and he hung his head, exhaling sharply.

“Please guard your heart better from now on. Don’t let anyone else suffer as I have.”

The spirit flared brightly. “You will do it then?”

Conrad nodded. “Go ahead. Take it back.”

The spirit’s arms shot forward and into Conrad’s chest. Bitter cold sliced through bone and sinew, and Conrad screamed in pain, collapsing onto his back when the arms retreated. He weakly turned his head and focused on the woman as the forest’s heart was restored. Her head was now bowed, her arms cradling her beating heart. As he sank into darkness, he felt warmth flow through all his limbs and smiled.