Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

The thought was both thrilling and frightening.

They came to the clearing.

It was not the one in which the giantess lay buried; it was some hundred paces away, further into the forest and so well hidden that Joanna, who had visited the area, had had no idea it was there. It was not large — perhaps twenty or thirty paces across — and the trees that surrounded it in an almost perfect circle were all mature and majestic oaks. Between them the undergrowth had been cleared, so that their thick trunks had the appearance of regularly spaced pillars.

It was a place that set an atavistic chill in the heart; it was a place, Joanna knew in her very soul, of strong magic.

The fires had already been lit. Their slow-swirling smoke was spiralling up into the trees and there was a soft, continuous rustling sound emanating from the leaves as, with the life-moisture now drying out of them, they brushed together.

In the middle of the clearing, close to the huge trunk of a long-fallen oak that Joanna guessed would serve as both the platform for the performers and the throne-like perch of the greatest of the elders, was a glorious display of autumn produce. There were apples, pears, berries and nuts in wicker baskets; shallow trays of flat, unleavened bread; small platters of seeds and pulses; bundles of dried herbs. By way of decoration, the vivid colours shining in the soft light like splashes of sunshine, there were wreaths and garlands made out of small branches of oak, beech and sweet chestnut, the leaves turning to russet. There was also a great sheaf of corn.

As the Great Ones of the tribe walked in solemn procession to take up their places, Joanna and Meggie slipped into the circle of people who stood around the oak trunk with its backdrop of living flame. The signal was given and the long chant began; soft and slow at first, it seemed no more than an intensification of the natural sounds of the forest. But gradually the pitch rose and the tempo increased and, from somewhere out of sight, the rhythm was picked up on a drum. Steadily, irrepressibly, the hymn of quiet and respectful praise escalated until it was a shout of joy, an outcry of deep-felt gratitude and profound appreciation from the hearts and the throats of all the people. We greet you, praise you, honour you and thank you , chanted the tribe, you who have given up your lives that we may live . The long lists went on and on — plants, fruits, vegetables, trees that produced foodstuffs, firewood and building material; small creatures, large creatures, goats, sheep and cattle — and each named benefactor was given its due thanks.

The ecstatic song came at last to its climax and conclusion, the last few words being uttered in a triumphant shout that set echoes ringing through the clearing and out into the night. As they died and silence fell, it seemed that the darkness crept in to fill the vacuum. The fires had burned low and, for a short time, nobody moved.

It was the instant of perfect stillness.

Then a voice cried out, the fires were quickly stoked and as the flames rose high once more, the tribe seemed to let out the collective breath it had been holding. All at once excited talk and laughter filled the air; the unseen drummer changed his tempo into a dance rhythm, somebody began to play a lively tune on a pipe and the people, greeting one another as if they hadn’t met for weeks, joined hands in a swirling, whirling chain and began to dance.

And then, after the dancing, came the feasting.

Some time later, they sent for Joanna. They took Meggie by the hand and told her to wish her mother goodnight then, allowing time for no more than a swift kiss and hug, they led her away, part of the quiet procession of people slowly leaving the clearing and heading back towards their dwellings on the other side of the forest.

Soon they had all gone and only five people remained in the clearing: the Domina; two cloaked and hooded figures who, from their size, appeared to be male; a nervous-looking, grey-haired woman of about sixty and Joanna.

Her first thought as she looked at the four silent figures was that there must have been a mistake. There stood the Domina with two of the other Great Ones; a trio whom she knew to be held in deep reverence by the people, for they were profoundly wise and one of them at least was a bard, one of the special few who memorised the long history, legends and genealogies of the people and recited them from memory.

What on earth, Joanna wondered, am I doing here?

She was just about to approach one of the group to point out that surely she ought to have been dismissed when it occurred to her that this was no mistake: hadn’t someone just sought out her and her daughter specifically to take Meggie home?

She was meant to be there, then.

She waited.

After some time, when the last faint sounds of the people’s progress through the forest had long faded, the Domina stepped forward into the centre of the clearing and spoke.

‘We have come here to honour the spirits of nature at this time because of the violation that has happened here,’ she began, her voice sonorous and low, pitched just loud enough for her audience to hear and no louder. ‘We have celebrated all together and our prayers and our goodwill have made up a little for what was done. But this’ — she glanced round the group with piercing eyes — ‘has been just the beginning. There is another task that must be done and for this we now must march south. Come!’ She smiled brilliantly. ‘Let our hearts be joyful, let our legs bear us swiftly and let us take strength from one another. Come!’

Swirling her cloak around her and picking up a stout staff, she turned and strode out of the clearing. Without a word the two elders fell into step behind her, the woman following them.

Joanna took up her place at the rear of the group and, trying to still the wild speculation racing through her mind, made herself concentrate on the simple, hypnotic process of this strange and unexpected night march.

On they walked. The forest was far behind them now — Joanna, glancing over her shoulder, could make it out as nothing more than a dark outline against the starry sky to the north. The moon had risen in the east, illuminating the scene with silvery light. They had descended into the strip of low land that ran roughly west to east between the forest ridges and the South Downs and now, even as her eyes stared at the folds of the hills ahead, she sensed that they were beginning to climb.

Soundless as ghosts, they passed sleeping villages and hamlets and so little did any of their essence spill out on to their surroundings that even the guard dogs did not hear them. Such was the way of the forest people when they wished to keep their doings a secret; Joanna, intent on moving as silently as her older and more experienced companions, experienced a sudden sense of belonging and a fierce flood of pride.

They were marching now up a track that ran between high hedges of bramble, bryony, ivy, ash and elder. Here and there briar roses sent out long, straggling suckers; in the dim light the dense black sloes looked like dark eyes. Joanna fought the sense that someone might creep up on her from behind and, to distract herself from her fear, she made herself go back to the question of just why she had been brought. The Domina and the other two elders naturally had to be here; the man who was the bard had been included undoubtedly so that he could see, remember and record what came to pass. The other man was possibly also a bard, or in training to be one, and as for the grey-haired woman. . Joanna visualised the woman’s face and suddenly she knew both what the woman’s special skill was and also why she had been commanded to come.

The woman laid out the dead.

Oh, but then who has died ? The question seemed to shriek aloud inside Joanna’s head. Close on its heels came another, one which had endlessly repeated itself for the past three hours or more: Why am I here?