By L.L. Ford
May I tell you a story?
Here was paradise. An unforgettable land. Until all who refused to forget passed on from this world. Today, my people blame the witch of the marsh. She made paradise fall away and turn to ruin. She arrived in the drylands, bringing the marsh and consuming the land in floods, famine, and death. My people left behind these harsh lands—left behind paradise—and found something new: a dry, arid grassland that we now call home. Still, we come back to paradise and visit the lands of our ancestors.
The pilgrimage is one of the most important parts of our lives. When we come of age, we travel the well-worn trails where the grass refuses to grow out of fear of our footfalls and attack the witch, the beastly creature that rests in the ruins of our ancestral home. When the time comes, each and every one of us must go and steal one of the witch’s many arms. Then, we burn her arms upon a pyre of embers. With it, we burn our hair and cleanse our souls of the witch’s curse. She who took everything from us. Even if none of us who are alive today understand the loss, we know that paradise is gone because of her. And now, it’s my turn.
I’ll meet her and speak the ancient words, and I swear for as long as I live, I will pass my people’s curse to her. To her, the end will come ever closer. To my people, eternal life will remain. With those words spoken into reality, I, Oshtem, traveled forth in search of the marshlands that were once paradise. I traveled a grand distance from the east, wandering plains, forests, and beaches, until I finally found the Witch’s Marsh.
I stood at the threshold of the forest, the ground already spongy beneath my feet. I checked the heavy metal spear hooked next to my supply satchel on my shoulder and prepared to move forward. I looked at the canopy and marveled at the way the trees bent there. They craned with ease, knowing they didn’t need to search for the sun when there was no one above the marsh to steal it. I envied them in a way. Back in the grasslands, competition was fierce. Other survivors struggled to get by on a land that wasn’t built for all of us. We dream of a day when the marshes recede and we can return to paradise, but that feels so far away. So terrifyingly far. Just as we forget what the marsh truly is, I fear those who have yet to come will forget the importance of return. The elders say that’s the most important part of making the pilgrimage, more important than passing our curse to the witch.
I took a final step and felt the wind pass through me. It was cold. Unreal. I thought the witch must have known I was there, and she was warning me. Come no further or bend to my will. But the witch didn’t know me. I, Oshtem, who made even the wolves bow to my will. Oshtem, who frightened the bears and made coyotes cower. No witch would ever control me. Ever.
So, I took another step. Then another. Then another. Before long, I was journeying westward across the marsh, heavy boots of rubber protecting me from the worst of the sopping wet mud that my feet steadily sank into as I treaded the trail. There was a natural wind— not the witch’s wind— crossing over the horizon. It reminded me of the spray of the sea, but the sea was so far that I couldn’t imagine what could have possibly caused it. As I walked the ancient, wet trail, I noticed there was a less traveled path heading northward. I paused, investigated the trail, and decided to follow it first.
This path was perilous. I slid across slick rocks, stumbled over roots to plants unseen, and found my share of ticks upon my legs towards the end of my detour. There was a thick line of reeds and pussy willows blocking my view. Even at my height, I couldn’t see beyond them. With a sweep of my arm, I broke through the wall of vegetation and stepped forward.
Before me was a grand body of water. I stepped ever closer, wondering how large it was. It was by no means a pond, but I doubted it was as large as the sea. I walked across sharp, slippery rocks draped in gowns of moss until they transitioned into fine sand. I settled down on my knees before the water. It was rich with seaweed and the stench of standing freshwater. I considered topping off my waterskin but recalled how dangerous it could be to drink from unknown waters. I shook the thought away, whispered a prayer to the water, and returned to the trail most traveled.
I thought back on that water and wondered if the witch had emerged from there years ago. Perhaps the water was always there, or maybe the witch of the marsh brought it upon us as part of the curse. Or maybe the water was the life-giver that made this place paradise before, but now it was corrupted by the witch’s curse. I wondered if I’d ever know. Maybe it was one of the things that would never matter except to me. Still, I needed to push on. I’d made it this far in my journey, and I couldn’t be distracted by mysteries that wouldn’t help me in my pilgrimage.
As I traveled deeper into the marsh, I noticed gnarled trees beginning to dot the landscape. They were unlike anything I’d seen before. They were leafless, twisting monstrosities that stretched high into the air. As I came closer, I noticed that they were familiar in a strange way. I chose to step off the trail and investigate once more. I placed my hand on the bark and knew in a moment I recognized it. These trees were no different from the ones in the forest surrounding the grasslands. They were old—dead—but they were familiar. I wondered if they had twisted and contorted to escape the marshes. But their roots were too deep, and there was no escape for them.
I imagined that they died from being saturated in the infinite waters of the witch’s curse. I broke a piece of bark away and rubbed my hand on the smooth wood beneath. I was certain this tree had died young. Still, it was thin and tall in a way that reminded me of a plant that would grow in a hot drought. I let the bark drop to the sodden earth and moved on with my journey.
I wasn’t sure how deep into the marshes I needed to go to find the witch, but I was sure if I continued to follow the path, I’d make it to my destination. Further along, I found that the trail did a small pivot. From my view, I could see that it curled back around to continue in a straight line. I wondered if this was an eccentricity from those who came before. Who, and how long ago, blazed this trail that everyone before me followed?
But I could see so clearly to the other side, so why not continue forth and blaze a new, simpler trail instead? I chose to brave the high grasses that poked forth from the marshes. I made my first mistake when I took a step forward and felt my boot sink in, though only slightly. The liquid mud around my feet let out a gaseous sigh as my foot suctioned in and refused to be saved. Bubbles hissed and groaned as I tried to force my foot free, but it denied me freedom still. As I fought against the seeping threat, I lost my balance and my body gave in to defeat.
I fell forward, collapsing into a pit of endless marshland. I felt myself beginning to sink. I gasped, I hollered, and I cried. I cried harder than I could ever remember crying in my life, my salty tears mixing with the freshwater of the marsh. I felt my whole universe unravel as I realized all the things I’d never get to do. I felt my body growing trapped, but my head was still above ground. Somewhere behind me, my satchel had landed safely on the trail. At least the next pilgrim would have my supplies and know clearly where my journey ended. My spear still clung to me, but it would be lost forever if I moved even slightly wrong.
But the marsh wouldn’t take me. The witch refused to devour me. She planned to let me die slowly, suffering in the marsh, trapped in the thick muck that wouldn’t have me. She defeated me so easily. So quickly. I watched the sun fall into oblivion as I whimpered and cried. As the light died, vultures circled overhead. Of course, such vile beasts would flourish here. There was no point calling for help, but I did anyway between wails of defeat and terror.
The darkness left me hollow and alone, and I couldn’t do anything but cry. Until somewhere in the darkness, I saw a light. The light of a lamp, or a torch, or something. The light shifted and bent against the yellow grass.
“You’re lucky you cry loud. Good lungs on you,” a gruff voice said to me.
“Hello? Please-please, help me!”
“I’ll help you alright. Teach you how to help yourself too.”
There was the sound of brass clanging into the soft, spongy earth, creaking and groaning as the light dimmed. Grass and reeds blocked the light of safety from my view. I felt a panic welling up inside me again.
“Please, don’t leave me here,” I whispered. My throat protested my cries. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d cried until I was struggling to speak.
“I’m not leaving. Settle yourself.”
I felt a hand touch me. Rough, but gentle. Strong, but kind. She felt down my shoulder, along my bicep, and down into the mud where she gripped my lost hand. She wiggled her fingers until they intertwined with mine.
“Okay, are you ready?”
She must’ve taken my horrified whimpers as a yes.
She began to gently swirl our hands together in the murk. As she did, she carefully raised our hands higher until they were free from the marsh.
“Alright now, you felt that, didn’t you? We’re pulling ourselves out of it, see? Do that with the rest and you’ll be free in no time. Got it?”
I nodded and started to cautiously pull myself out of the slurry. I followed her guidance until I was close to coming free. Within a few minutes, I was standing upright in the marshland. From the darkness, she took both of my hands and pulled as I carefully swayed myself free.
“Big tough one like you— doesn’t mean much out here. We’re not hunting bears and fighting beasts. You need to know how to fight the marshes. No one teach you that?”
“No, they didn’t,” I said as I scrambled back onto the path, grabbed my satchel, and secured it on my person again. I was quietly thanking anyone who would listen above for my savior, but to her face I remained as stoic as possible.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked as she leaned down and picked up her lamp off the ground. When she did, her face became clear to me. She wasn’t much older than me, but her features were gaunt and thin. She had a sharp jawline and eyes like a raven. Her hair may have been a solid black in childhood, but it now had small marks of gray that came on sooner than most. She wore simple clothes that looked to be made of cotton and a beaded bracelet made of a beautiful blue stone that I didn’t recognize. When she saw me staring, she gave a look of suspicion. Still, she went against what may have been her better judgment.
“You look awful. Come, I’ll get you warmed up and send you on your way when day breaks.”
“Thank you, but I need to stay on the path.”
“And you will,” she replied as she walked away. “Now, unless you want to sleep where you stand, I suggest you come with me. ‘Squitos are going to eat you alive out here now that you’re free of the mud.”
As if on cue, I heard the tormenting buzz in my ears. I gave a panicked swipe away at them and continued forward, staying within the lamp’s light as I swatted at the air in a fearful panic.
“What’s your name, stranger?” she asked me.
“Oshtem,” I responded through panicked swats. “And yours?”
“Pawn. Strangers no more then, eh? We can talk more when we make it home. Just didn’t want to be walking with a stranger.”
She said the last part with a laugh that almost made me laugh too. It was infectious in a way I couldn’t put into words.
“How far is your home?” I asked.
“Not far. Not far at all. See there on the horizon?”
She gestured through the darkness to a single light source I couldn’t comprehend at that distance.
“Now, let’s get a move on. I’m sure you’re exhausted, but we’ve got a final push, and you’ll be just fine to rest. Then you can get on with whatever you’re doing out here.”
As we came closer, I could tell the light came from a fireplace inside a home. The home itself looked like a simple cabin with rudimentary windows, not too dissimilar to our homes in the grasslands. The biggest difference was the stilts it rested on. Even in the darkness, I could see the house standing upon thick stumps that allowed it to rise over the marshes. She turned back, locking eyes with me just long enough to know what I was looking at.
“You learn to live smart out here or you don’t live at all. Houses gotta rise if the water rises too.”
“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“Long enough to know when someone’s out of their depth.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet. Her light guided me up the steps, showing me the way to a warm hearth nestled into the home’s interior. The porch creaked as I passed from the flexing steps to the sturdy floorboards. The porch’s ceiling was covered in dead, hanging critters and dried flowers. There were fur-covered skins of creatures I didn’t recognize draped over the railings. I stared in awe at it all.
“You survive in the marshes alone?” I asked.
“These days, yes. Wasn’t always that way, but things change.”
I nodded. She wasn’t looking, but I think she understood my silence. She opened the door and walked inside. I followed behind. She pulled out a heavy blanket made of black fur and ancient fabric and draped it over my shoulders. The smell of must and decay covered my muddy skin.
“It’ll be worse for you if you clean off. When you make it further west along the lake, the water’s cleaner. For tonight, just stay warm. Got it?”
“Okay.”
She pulled out a pillow and sat atop it. She gestured with a tired hand to a chair near the hearth.
“Take the chair. Rest your legs.”
“Thank you,” I said through a hoarse voice as I sat down. As I settled into the chair, I opened my satchel and rooted around until I found some old bread and deer jerky.
She sat silent, looking at the glowing hearth. We stayed that way for hours before she stretched out, leaning back until she was lying flat on the ground. Then, she sat up again.
“It’s late. You should rest before sunrise.”
“I will. Thank you, but may I ask—”
“Why I’m here?” she cut me off.
I nodded.
“You’re not the first one from the grasslands to come across my home. You’re the first one whose skin I had to save though. I’ve been here for most of my life. Left with my partner when we were young, dumb, and foolishly full of wonder. I survived, but— that’s old history now. And now it’s just me.”
“You live in a paradise lost. You know that, don’t you?”
“Paradise wasn’t lost. Look around. It’s beautiful here. Fish are plentiful, critters come and go, and I have my pick of the land. What’s paradise if not thriving ‘stead of surviving?”
“But what about the curse? Sickness growing from the water. Death and decay—the witch?”
“Ah, the witch.” She smiled and shook her head. Her smile was solemn. “The many-armed monstrous woman who came to curse and devour the land. She came for paradise too, you know. Her own cut of paradise.”
“What do you—no. No, that doesn’t make sense.”
“Everyone left because of the witch, right? She brought the marshes, and the curse, and everything, right?”
“Yes.”
Without a doubt in my mind, yes.
“Then I guess that’s all there is to say,” she replied. She sounded bitter. Tired. I didn’t think of it then, but I wonder now if she had had this talk before. She hadn’t said so, but it sounded like something she was tired of rehashing.
“Do you know what paradise was?” she asked.
“No. It’s been… forgotten.”
“I about think that no one knows what your paradise of old was. Whatever your ancestors remember as paradise? It’s gone. It’s long, long gone. But the marshes? The lake? The reeds, the drowning trees, the buzzing bugs, and curious critters? That’s paradise now. Think about that, won’t you? Maybe a curse did take away your land. Or maybe sometimes things change— my fault, your fault, a witch’s fault, doesn’t matter whose fault. When they do, it’s our job to make our own paradise. I know I did.”
I didn’t answer for a long time. I imagine I looked angry with Pawn, but looking back now, I know that I was confused. I was thinking, but I couldn’t make sense of it. These were the cursed lands, and yet she was here, and she was happy, and I was coming to her home— the land that was supposed to be my people’s— not knowing what I was doing, not knowing what was happening, and I was telling her what the land was. But I knew the marshes were cursed. I always knew it. And now…
“Are the marshes safe?” I asked her.
“As long as you don’t mind it being a little cold, wet, and windy. Safe as can be. If you stay on the trail.”
She said the last part pointedly. When I looked away from the hearth, we locked eyes. She gave me a knowing wink, teasing me for my fall from grace and into the sinking lands.
I nodded slowly.
“Am I close to the witch?”
“Less than a day’s walk if that’s what you fear. You’ll make it before the sun sets again, Oshtem. Oshtem was your name, wasn’t it?”
“It is. And you’re Pawn.”
“I am. Oshtem, this land doesn’t know you, if you know what I mean. I don’t want you to get lost on your way to the witch. She is a terror after all. Do you need directions?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Then I suppose this is where we’ll part ways, won’t we?”
“As soon as this?” I asked. I thought she was kicking me out of her home. I readied myself to get up and move on.
“Just as soon.”
She gathered herself up and stood up off her pillow. I realized then that she was going to bed and leaving me in front of the hearth’s cooking embers for the night.
“I need to rest now, and I won’t be doing it out here. And if you come into my room—”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
She stepped away from the hearth, kicking her pillow away from the dim light. On the dark side of the room, she slunk away and disappeared into a doorway I couldn’t see.
“Remember,” she said from the darkness, “I showed you a kindness today, didn’t I? Human decency. It’s the thing of magic, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is, Pawn.”
“Pass it on, Oshtem. Goodnight.”
The door creaked shut, and I was alone. I brought my legs up to my chest and tightened the blanket around me. I leaned my head against the back of the chair and dozed in front of the hearth.
I dreamed of a grand battle between me and the witch. She was a beast hiding in the darkness, an unknown terror no one had ever revealed to me in all my life. Her many arms swayed in the darkness, threatening to knock me from a cliff, sending me down, down, down into the dark depths of her marshes. But she could not take my soul, nor my people’s. Together, we would take her apart limb by limb, pilgrimage by pilgrimage.
In the morning, I gathered my belongings and left as soon as the sun was high enough that I could see where I was going. I didn’t see Pawn again that day, but I knew she was resting safely behind the door that I dared not approach.
In the light of day, I saw the path of the pilgrimage led along Pawn’s home, curved around it, and continued westward. From atop her elevated porch, I could look beyond the marshes and see the lake to the north. It was beautiful. The early morning sunlight danced on the green-tinged water, and the breeze shifted the plant life southward. To the east, I could see the forest I’d come from the day before. I couldn’t help but miss the smell of the forest. It was much more welcoming than the stench of the marsh. Still, this was a significant moment. I could see everything, and in that moment— with the skies clear, and full of a wondrous, endless blue, and the fading of the moon and stars into oblivion— I understood what Pawn meant when she said there was still paradise here.
But that didn’t change my journey. I had a reason to be here, and I couldn’t change what happened next because of a beautiful morning sky. I tightened my satchel, adjusted my spear, and prepared for the day’s travel ahead.
I knew I had to stop at the lake when the path curled northward to get the layers upon layers of mud off of me, but I wasn’t sure how long that would take. For now, I could feel the insects of the marsh clinging to me through a thick layer of mud, their hunger and desire for my flesh overpowering their will to survive. I swatted, batted, and crushed some beneath my open hand, struggling not to lose my mind as I forced myself to walk forward.
I hoped that when I wiped away the mud of the night before, the bugs would cease. Or maybe the encroaching afternoon would be enough to dissuade them. Mosquitoes and gnats were one thing, but a few hours into my trek, I heard the looming, low buzz of a monstrous creature hovering across the marsh. Even from several meters away, I felt my body grow alert. I swung around, unsure of what I’d see. A smudge of black was flowing towards me, fighting against the southward wind, fighting the land itself to come closer to me. The speck of sickness was only slightly smaller than my thumb, but it moved with a hungering ferocity.
It pursued me, cutting through the air, preparing to devour me. I knew that I was in its sights and there was no escape. Still, I’d try. When it was close enough, I swatted the beastly thing away, slapping it off into the distance. Still, it reappeared, darting for me again. In my panic to fight it off, I stepped off the trail and felt my foot threaten to disappear into the marsh. I fought back against it and pulled myself onto the trail. In the process, I lost my balance and landed on the ground with a thud.
I lay there, trying to catch my breath, almost forgetting the fly for a moment as the night’s terrors of drowning in the marsh returned to me. Then, it struck. It was heavier than I’d expected. Its saw-like mouth ripped through mud and dirt, then through skin and flesh beneath. I let out a howl of pain as I squirmed on the ground, my hand smacking down on the incision site, crushing the beastly thing beneath my fingers. Unlike the smaller bugs that feasted on me, I felt this one crack and snap beneath my hands. It felt like murder, not just swatting away a pest. I was nauseous for a moment, then I realized it wasn’t just the fly’s blood splayed out on my hand, but mine too. My anger towards the dead beast overwhelmed my disgust. Beautiful or not, this was still a cursed place.
I flicked the corpse away, feeling the legs shift and give against the force of my frustration. I looked down at my bleeding arm and let out a groan. It wasn’t too much, but it was enough to horrify me. It had taken an entire chunk from my arm, taking a part of me with it into the divine elsewhere. Still, I felt a little embarrassed that such a creature would get the best of me. If such a simple creature could get the best of me, what about the witch? Or was this the witch’s first assault? If it was, it was time to strike back. I just needed to find her.
I continued my walk along the trail, my arm burning where I was bitten by the beast. Within no time at all, the sun was at its apex. The heat was beating down, threatening to cook anything that stood still too long. I was happy that the ground here was soft; each step forced water from where it hid in the depths of the marshes, cooling my body ever so slightly through my boots. I imagined that on the horrid, black ground of the grasslands, I’d risk burning myself on a day as hot as this, but here in the marshes, the land was cool. Maybe that’s why the insects and critters liked it so much.
***
Funny, I never used the word ‘critter’ before I met Pawn. Something as simple as meeting someone for a single evening changed the way I described the world. It makes me wonder…
***
The path led far enough north—or perhaps the lake dipped far enough south—that the trail and the waterline met. I removed my boots, my leather covers, and the clothing beneath, then went down to my waist in the water. I left my spear and satchel at the shoreline too, eyeing them carefully. I was certain no one would sneak up on me—I’d only met Pawn since I entered the witch’s land, after all.
Even on such a hot day, the water was cold. Though I could smell the stench of the lake, it wasn’t as strong here. I didn’t mind wiping my body down carefully, cooling myself, and removing the thick layer of mud and grime that clung to my skin. I bathed in the lake for a while, reveling in the glory of all that was or ever would be, then decided it was time to move on.
I put my clothes on, still muddy but dry, secured my satchel, gripped my spear, and prepared to continue. I knew it wouldn’t be much further now. The sun was beginning to dip downward, and my body was growing weary. I knew that this same place would be where I came to lick my wounds after a hard-fought victory with the witch. I just needed to get there and survive the battle of a lifetime.
As I walked on, I noticed changes in the environment. There were more dead trees here. The ground was less sopping wet with marsh and coated in a thick moss that covered the harder, stronger earth beneath it. Here, the ground didn’t spring back up. I noticed the hollowed-out remains of looming structures scattered among the trees. They were grander than the trees, some taller, some longer, but all symmetrical in a way I hadn’t seen beyond the grasslands. This land was surrounded by marsh. The ground threatened to be consumed by the curse but held off somehow. I found that confusing. I thought that as I neared the witch, things would get worse. Instead, this… it wasn’t worse. It was different, but not worse.
The sun blazed on the horizon, threatening to blind me as it streamed down the westward sky. I traveled on, using my hand to block out the sun’s onslaught. I couldn’t see as well, but I could tell things were shifting. Fortunately there was a lot of cover, and as the sun finally blinded me, I took cover in the shade of an old, abandoned structure.
I looked down and noticed that the mossy ground was full of cracks. From those cracks, water was travelling eastward, between my feet and back towards the marshland. I reached down and stuck a finger in the water. It wasn’t cold or hot, it was merely there. I looked around for more cracks. There were nearly a dozen passing beneath this single structure alone. I wondered how many more crossed through this land. Was this the source of the curse? At its end, would I find the witch?
I stepped out from behind the building and continued onward, the sun blinding my path forward. I followed the little streams, hoping at their end, I’d find the witch. I continued onward, begging the sun to finally set. I remember in those moments I would’ve rather walked in the dark than continue walking into the light. Instead, with an aching arm, an exhausted body, and my head barely afloat, I stumbled and tripped.
I hit the ground hard, my shoulder digging into the earth. I let out a groan as I struggled to stand again. As I did, I heard the buzzing of a mosquito in my ear once more. I swatted it away, frustrated. Of course, at this hour, they’d be back. Still, as I shooed the insect away, I noticed something grander. Fireflies danced on the sky, floating above the mossy earth, calling to each other, making plans unknown to me as they defied the earth itself. I stared in awe, ignoring the screaming pain in both my shoulder and ankle. I’m not certain of how long I lay there, but I didn’t mind marveling at the fireflies as they floated across the air, glowing effortlessly as they soothed me to silence. It took me far too long to notice what I’d tripped over.
It was you.
I stared at the root with confusion at first. I remember feeling betrayed. But this was the land of the witch, wasn’t it? Even the roots here must be hostile. From there, I followed the root’s trail. It followed the same path as the countless little veins of water. I got up off the ground and started following the root to its source. I don’t know why, but I left my spear behind without much thought. Maybe it was a siren’s song drawing me to my death. Or maybe it was infinite wonders calling me forward.
In the center of the ancient land, I found it. A massive tree. It was both familiar and entirely alien to me. I placed my hand upon its bark and stared up the trunk, trying to understand what I had found. I walked cautiously around the tree until I was standing west of it, the sun painting the gray old chunk of wood in dazzling orange light. With the gentlest hand I could manage, I removed a piece of bark from the tree. It came away easily, as though it never should’ve been there at all. Beneath the bark wasn’t soft wood. Instead, it was like the roiling vasculature of a living thing. As if this tree was made up of many multiples of vines, coming together to become the rough approximation of a tree. But something more distracted me—pulled me away from such thoughts: It was missing its branches. All but one.
The branch was perfectly within my reach. I didn’t need to go up on my toes or even climb. I only needed to raise my arm and wrap my hands around it. I thought about it but stopped short. Things weren’t making sense. I needed to understand.
I stepped away and looked around the tree. The first thing to catch my eye was the skirt of flowers draped around the base of the tree. Something about it made my heart flutter like it never had before. I hadn’t seen a flower since I entered the marsh, but here they were planted all around the tree. They weren’t just here, they were thriving. Seeing them so alive and full of color made me smile. I couldn’t even control the grin as it spread across my face. I kept looking around the tree. Not far from it, I saw a traditional altar of my people. The altar was old but well maintained. It was a large stone draped in old candlewax, beads, necklaces, weapons laid down, and text etched deep into it. When I got closer, I saw the message inscribed upon it:
You’ve completed your pilgrimage. Bring an arm of the witch home, and with it, memories of the old world. May the elders smile upon you.
Beneath the message was a collection of names carved into the stone. I knelt before the stone, and with a knife sitting on the altar, I etched my own name into it. Me. Oshtem. I spent a few moments before the altar, still trying to make sense of everything. Then, I walked away, grabbed my spear, and laid it before the altar. I walked back to the tree, and with a gentle hand, tore the final branch from it.
I can’t be certain, but I swear I heard a deep sigh somewhere in the marshes.
“I wonder,” I began, staring up at the tree. My throat was dry from dehydration, and my muscles screamed from exhaustion. Still, I stared, awe overwhelming my soul. The questions finally poured forth from my dry lips, “were you ever really a witch? Is this land truly cursed? Is the magic of old so strong that it turned you into this?”
I didn’t expect a reply. I don’t think I wanted one.
“I -” I placed a hand upon the tree, “We aren’t breaking the curse when we take the branch. We’re bringing home back with us, aren’t we? And they’ve all known. They’ve always known.”
I sat down, leaning against the tree. My body finally gave in to exhaustion, and I knew it was time to rest. Still, my mind wasn’t ready yet.
“May I tell you a story?” I asked. In the distance, crickets chirped, frogs croaked, and waves of the lake lapped against the earth. Somewhere far away, I heard a bird chirp its final goodnight call. I smiled, feeling satisfied. Feeling complete. I closed my eyes and placed my hand upon the bark behind me.
“Please, stop me if you’ve heard a story like mine before. Here was paradise…”
L.L. Ford (he/him) is a neuroscientist and writer of the weird. With the help of his cat, Koh, L.L. taps into the surreal and strange as he grapples with merging the human experience with the wonderful worlds of Sci-Fi, horror, fantasy, and poetry. Find his work mostly at LLFord.Substack.com.