It had been days since I last ate. This wasn’t the first time, but it’s much easier to keep going when you know there’s a goal ahead. Being a sell-sword is rewarding, people treat you kindly when they know what acts you’re capable of. The king thought he was above all that. He sent me off to do something he couldn’t count on his knights for, guess he figured that cutting my throat would be cheaper than paying up. I’ve managed to survive for a while, living off the last of my coins, but recently, I’ve had to take to stealing. This isn’t a life I’m proud of, but you make do when you’re being hunted for treason.

 A barmaid told me that the locals are scared of this forest, people going missing and all that. You stop being scared of the stories that farmers tell when you’ve seen what happens on a battlefield. Not much chance to dream up superstitions, when your nights greet you with the fearful eyes of dying men. If you don’t have a head full of hay, a place like this is perfect to hide in.

I was resting underneath a thick oak; my energy was in short supply. The forest was a quiet place and the animals seemed to keep far from me. In three days, I hadn’t seen a single one. I guess they’re not used to people. I’ve always been much the same, connections have to be fleeting when you’re always moving. Speaking of which, it was probably time to start walking again. Couldn’t let hunger chain me to a lonely end in this forest.

It took hours of wandering through the woods before I saw something that broke up the monotony. In the distance lay a charcoal-coloured boulder. It captured the light that filtered through the trees and it had a sheen that reflected a multitude of dark greens and blues. I stared as I approached, wondering what manner of person would transport it here. It reminded me of the kind of trinket a traveller would sell off the back of their cart. It was barely a bowshot away from me when it began to shake. Cracks darted from its top to its bottom, like streams on a mountain. A rumbling grunt bounded through the forest and fragments of rock tumbled to the ground. The fallen remnants revealed a jet-black bull with horns that held the same sheen as the boulder. The bull turned to look at me. Though it looked like the work of a sculptor, its muscles moved with great fluidity. In its eyes, there was pride and secrecy. My blood felt as tight as a bowstring. The beast blew air out of its nose and charged off through the trees.

A primal urge took over me and my body surged forward in pursuit; I reached the pile of crumbled rock before I realised what I was doing. Any hunter knows that a wild dash is poor technique, but I had never seen such a creature. The space in my mind was empty, all of it dedicated to the exertion of my sprinting. I didn’t know why, but I followed the thumping of the bull’s heavy feet. The whole experience was a trance, the sound of my feet beat in time with the bull’s. Eventually, the sound grew so quiet until I could hear only my own steps. I could not in truth tell you for how long I ran, only that my body could not match the beast. I collapsed upon the forest floor. The scent of humus drew itself into my chest.

I woke to see the moon peering through a breakage in the trees. Its soft glow felt like a smug taunt, it was as if a man was judging me from all the way in the stars. I became aware of the state my body was in. My legs were as stiff as a forger’s iron. The ache felt like a distant memory, but my hunger was overwhelming. I cast my eyes around the scope of the trees and saw no sign of the bull. Instead, I saw a clearing with three slabs of stone. They looked like the kind that a giant would skim across the ocean, flat and tall.

Slowly, I clambered to my feet and made my way across to the stones. They were arranged in a triangle. In the centre of them, lay an altar. It had no sense of extravagance, but the craftsmanship could have been proof of divinity in itself. It was an entity stained with time; the carvings were worn and the moss grew thick, but the age seemed more akin to wrinkles than flaws. Even the air in the clearing held a reverence, similar to the kind you find in a library or a church. Between the edges of the slabs, tall, thin mushrooms knit their way across the ground. They seemed ethereal in the moonlit dusk.

I looked closer at the slabs, each of them had intricate symbols carved in the dark stone.  The first depicted a man crawling out from the inside of a rock. The second showed the same man crossing a stream and picking fruit from a solitary tree. The final slab showed the man cutting the head off of a bull. Around each of the depictions, a myriad of symbols I did not recognise had been carved. There was only one that made sense to me; a mushroom, it looked the same as the mushrooms that were scattered along the ground.

I plucked one from the ground and felt its slimy surface on my hand. It had a pointed cap and a light brown colour, nothing about it seemed particularly significant. I split the pointed cap and looked at the inside. For a moment, it looked just like any mushroom, but soon a blue liquid began to bleed. The liquid looked like woad dye but with stars sparkling in its deep colour. A compulsion rose in me once again, it told me to consume the mushrooms. I grabbed a handful and swallowed down the oily caps. The taste was foul and nearly brought me to vomiting. I sat with my back to the altar and closed my eyes.

I could feel the blue elixir spreading through my veins. The grove seemed to pulse with the singing of a slumbering mind. The deep hum penetrated my chest and spread from my centre, it felt like a mountain singing.  I opened my eyes and looked around at the stone tablets once more, wisps of light traced curves through the air. Carvings bled into one another and showed me symbols that danced and merged like the flicker of fire. The veil of stillness had been torn and now the scenery writhed with anticipation, it pulsed in tandem with the waves of the hum, warping and shifting around the static altar.  The symbols continued from each of the slabs in synchronous motion, before finally meeting at the surface of the altar. It rippled as a pond would. When the ripples stopped, and the surface was clear and flat again, it was no longer stone, but a reflection of my own face. My reflection breathed smoke up into the air and my lungs. All went numb and I plummeted.

I was standing in the clearing again. The slabs and the altar were gone, and no longer was the light of the moon giving me sight. The trees reached towards me, grasping like beggars. The wind passed secrets from one leaf to another. A thousand whispers rustled with anxiety, forming a voice without a body. The words were incomprehensible, all I could make out was the fear that only my gut had an ear for. Nothing solidified in the twilight fog, only vague shifting patterns. The sound continued without rising or falling, just a constant motion enduring through the darkness.

I stared into the arboreal abyss; one area seemed inconceivably dense with blackness. I ventured towards it, lead along by imperceptible strings. On the battlefield, there was no time to consider fear, but here, it felt like snow melting down my back. I continued through the chill. As I walked, the blackness crept up from the cold ground and hugged my skin like a coat of oil.  The energy sapped from my body and I crumpled to my knees. The wind began to swirl. The anxious voices became a lamentation. Leaves separated from their branches and became a part of the cacophony. Finally, a crescent of light appeared in the shadow, it was as if it was unhooding itself from a piece of cloth. The crescent smiled like a man in the throes of delirium.

“Do you know why you are here? What this place is?” The voice emanated from inside my mind.

“Am I dead?” I rasped.

“Always the same questions from creatures like you. Such a pitiful perspective.”

“Who are you?”

“Are you even trying?”

The mocking in the voice brought me out of the confusion slightly, it felt almost human.

“The last thing I remember is seeing my reflection on the altar.”

“It is rare for us to get any visitors, let alone ones who came without intent. It is no matter; you are here because you are meant to be, there is something deeply troubled in your soul that you must deal with. Let us begin.”

The ground split into a dark ravine. As I fell, I heard the sound of a swarm of galloping horses. Below me, were two armies charging at one another. I recognised the banners. This was the first battle I had ever fought in.  When I hit the ground, the impact made my bones feel on the edge of shattering. Still, I was able to get up and see the chaos unfolding. One figure stood out from the rest, myself.

Bloodlust overcame me, I felt it as I felt it on that day. My memories weaved seamlessly into one, the only context was triumph.

Then it was gone.

The war had ceased around me, but my figure still stood. I saw him rambling through different periods of my life, the look of berserk was permanently seared to his face. I saw a wasted life. A life dedicated to stoking an insatiable flame.

The body flickered out into nothing.

Guilt enveloped me. The wind returned to torture me with the requiems of the men that I had slain.  The feeling was that of being impaled on a sharp icicle, unable to move. I became lost in the unceasing fractions of life that wheeled past me. The scent of rust filled the air.

I was wrapped in the shadows with the crescent once more. The pale glow felt smug now.

“Sleep”

And I did.