The Untold Forest Elisa Menz (classic literature books .txt) 📖

the bark once more. She closed her eyes, filled with gratitude. It was a wonderful experience. Under her touch, the new branches trembled before sprouting hundreds of golden flowers. Both Warlocks gasped, taken aback.

“Is that even possible?” Finn ran to his master.

“No... I mean, I guess, but...” Ystävä was dumbfounded. “The Tree has never sprouted flowers before.”

They were delicate and fragrant. Unique. Maeve marveled at their beauty, and she turned to Ystävä. “What does this mean?”

“The only thing I can tell you, little one is that you are beyond special.” Was she? Maybe Ystävä was exaggerating. Maeve thought she knew herself. A strong-headed and hardworking girl, but nothing truly remarkable. People liked her, and she was proud of the life she had led. A simple life.

What could be so extraordinary about her?

She couldn't believe it.

But then she raised her eyes, looking a bit farther, and the thought of being someone special felt less outlandish. Because Hakken was standing on a root, and the marveled look in his eyes made her feel like the most wonderful person in the world.

CHAPTER XXV

LOVE AND WAR

Flyg

She was frazzled. Her legs throbbed after an entire day of hunting and preparing meals for the warriors, and the muscles in her arms ached by the effort of carrying so much food deep into the mountain.

The young boys in the village—those too weak to fight—and a handful of elders worked in the forges, crafting knives and swords to be used in battle; all of them on the brink of passing out of exhaustion.

But their chieftain commanded them to work day and night to prepare for the upcoming war.

She couldn't believe they were at war once again—her memories of the last one blurred. So many years had passed, and she was but a child when she lost her parents in the first war.

Flyg never understood why they were supposed to fight, and all the death and despair the carnage brought felt futile. They had gained nothing. Their people were slaughtered, shunned by their kind in the aftermath.

Eleven years later, the younglings who survived healed the wounds from the past. They build a community once more. They were on their own, no other half-breed tribe had dealings with them, and they couldn’t blame them. After all, their parents had started a war out of nowhere.

She at least didn’t recall any meaningful reason.

Chief Dröm was a young man at the time, and when the last chief—his father—died in battle, he led his people to the best of his ability, fleeing to the mountains and thus ending the bloodshed.

He was the kindest man she knew. She grew up admiring him, how hardworking he was, how selfless and caring. Dröm protected and cherished every orphan in the village when he himself had lost his father.

The years shaped him into a wonderful leader, and he gained his people’s loyalty and trust. Somehow, through those years, Flyg’s admiration had turned into love.

“Flyg! Stop daydreaming and take these to the warriors. We have enough work as it is!” The scrawny woman handed her a basket full of roasted chunks of meat, shoving her towards the passage in the cave. She wanted to be upset about her rudeness, but as she regarded her stagger back to the bonfires, Flyg realized the woman was just tired.

Her once the peaceful community was breaking apart.

When chief Dröm had announced they were going to take their revenge on the river and valley tribes, no one could believe their ears.

Some dissent pushed back against their leader’s decision, but one by one, each warrior that climbed down the cave to the training halls, stopped protesting.  They became numb, angry, violent; strangers to their own families.

Flyg realized—like so many others—something was not right. But speaking with Dröm had become impossible. He was always training and stopped all contact with anyone but his warriors.

She witnessed him doing unthinkable things, killing huge, ferocious creatures with his bare hands, healing fast from awful wounds.

And the red dust.

The dust terrified her; it terrified everyone. But Dröm had stated it was a gift from the gods and a sign of their forthcoming victory.

“That is no gift,” she whispered to the darkness while walking down the narrow corridor. The awful stench attacked her nostrils as soon as she came close enough to the training halls, and the never-ending ruckus echoed through the caves.

The men were fighting. What stupid and unnecessary training. They were already strong, but it was like they needed to break and hurt. Most young men were fitting, but a few others had not resisted the punishing training. When the first man died, Dröm didn’t bat an eye.

The warriors approached her and took the meat while she walked among them in silence. They were always famished these days, and she was worrying about hunting too much. Game in the mountains was never abundant, but it was harder to catch enough prey for everyone these days. Everyone else ate roots and scraps of meat.

She hid the last couple of pieces, hoping to find Dröm and at least have the chance to go near him. Her friend Leende blocked her path before she could go any farther.

“Meat,” he grunted, making Flyg scowl.

“Go away. I’ve run out.” Leende was an attractive man, and Flyg liked him because he was an easy-going guy. He had a birthmark on his chin, shaped like a water drop, so he always said he must have been a water djinn in a past life. Flyg never failed to reply; he resembled a swamp toad more.

But her friend was no longer the same after starting training with Dröm. His eyes showed no recognition, and his smile was gone. “You have meat,” he sniffed the air over her basket. “Hand it now.” He was aggressive too.

Flyg sighed. “This is for Dröm. You don’t want to take the food from our chief, do you?”

Something shifted in his eyes, and he reluctantly backed away.

“Do you know where I can find him?” Some warriors still answered simple questions, so she tried her luck.