Nehrim:The Darkness Between Trees

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The Darkness Between Trees

The Darkness Between Trees

A legend from Faltrindtal

Bit by bit he piled up the heavy logs of wood around the tall stake in the middle. Over and over again he went around and checked the place and alignment of the logs. He had gone around nine times already and the cone measured five steps in diamete. He would go around one last time and then the fire shaft could be added, he decided, looking at it with his trained eye. Slowly he walked around the kiln, looked carefully for places where there was room for another log and then climbed cautiously onto the wooden substruction. Now he piled up the brushwood he had randomly thrown onto the stake in the middle beforehand into a cone shaped heap, adding wood shavings every now and again. It took quite a while until the fire shaft of brushwood and wood shavings had the right place and form. Again and again he moved a bundle or checked the arrangement with his hands. Every grasp was deliberate and the result more than skilled. Years had passed since he, as a child, had been shown the work of a charburner by his father. Back then, every grip had been new and the hard physical work had been torture. He had made his first kiln at the age of twelve winters by himself and a year later he had the first watch over the draught. It was hard work in a hard territory, but it was work that had to be done and that the family had been doing excellently for more than three generations. Life in the wilderness of Faltrindtal was marked by hardships and many who had been drawn out of the cities by the alleged idyll soone knew better. Although Wikk had spent his entire life in the beech and oak forests of Faltrindtal and hadn't got to know anything else, he did know about the hard conditions in the wilderness. Even though travellers or servants of the chancellor kept telling him that there was an easy-going life behind the forests of the valley. No matter how tempting it was, Wikk knew where his place in this world was and the valley thanked his perserverance with the subsistence of his family and a connection that only a few people ever experienced in their life. Of course, the valley was a dangerous place but the dwellers there had learned to cope over the course of the centuries. The uncertainties and everyday difficulties were a part of life in this region of Nehrim and everyone had the choice of either facing up to them or collapsing under them. Wikk clearly belonged to the former.

He had needed more time for the fire shaft than he had expected. The sun was setting already as he climbed down from the cone of logs and gave his work one last scrutinizing look. Not his best piece of work, but more than acceptable for the beginning of the year. Tomorrow he would be able to start building up the air-tight cover of grass, moss and earth. Slowly, Wikk wiped his sweaty face with his hands scarred from burns. His day's work was done and the thoughts of a simple yet rich meal came to mind. In haste he tidied away his tools and covered up the open kiln with old sheepskin covered in fat. The charburners' hut and the kiln area weren't too far from the old cottage where Wikk lived with his family and so he went on his way, tired but happily humming to himself. His path led him through some shrubs and then onto an old overgrown wooden pathway. In this part of Faltrindtal there were many paths like that, serving as transport ways for local woodcutters. Some were still used by forest workers today, but on others you could see nature trying to get back what man's persistent hands had taken from it.

The wooden pathway went a few hundred metres south, then it took a sharp turn towards the east. Wikk could just see the bend in the distance when he suddenly stopped. He didn't know what had torn him from his thoughts and looked around, confused. He had used this path countless times before and never had he noticed anything strange or unusual. Slowly he looked from side to side and turned a full circle. He could feel his muscles tense. Something wasn't right. Wikk listened into the approaching dusk. He could only hear silence. No bird was singing its evening song and no animal was scurrying in the undergrowth, not even the leaves on the trees were dancing in the gentle breeze of Faltrindtal. The hair on the back of Wikk's neck stood up and, seeing the fiery red disc slowly sinking beyong the canopy of the trees, he suddenly knew what came with the approaching darkness.

"The Walker..", Wikk whispered, his eyes widening. There were many legends and old stories in Faltrindtal. The Walker was one of them. Every child in this part of Nehrim knew it and its effect, sitting around the fire in the evening hours, never failed. At first it seemed like one of the usual tales told to frighten the young people for their elders to have a smirk. Just whoever listened closer and was able to look beyond the facade of the faces realised that the fear was real and the unease was within reach just by hearing the story. The day would come for everyone when the Walker crossed the line between the tale and reality, for most people this happened in childhood. Wikk knew it, for he himself had experienced the Walker two times already. The first time he had been a small child, not much older than two winters and still too small to really grasp what had happened. Every thirteenth year, the Walker appeared in Faltrindtal and in his fifteenth summer, Wikk had felt the chill of his arrival with his own body. He took a deep and slow breath. His thoughts were circling around the oncoming terror of that night. Wikk had known that this year was the year of the Walker and although he had reckoned with his arrival, a chill ran down his spine. Silence leads his way. The sound of life is muted and a terrible hush fills the world. He remembered the words of his father. The Walker was hungry, he hadn't eaten in ages. Throwing an assessing look to the canopy he suddenly started running. The cottage wasn't far beyond the curve in the path, towards the east. He had to reach it before the last sun ray fell. The Walker chooses at random, he remembered his father say. There weren't really any rules to escape the grip of the Walker, but over time and throughout the generations a few directives had been proven to be very useful. The Walker never came in the day, his hour was at twilight, at the moment of dusk. Whoever was safe in his own four walls and in company of his family at that time had a good chance of living to see another day. The lonely wanderer, on the other hand, far from his home and without a roof over his head, was sure to walk into his own demise. The Walker never took more than three lives with him into the vortex of time. Nobody could really say what kind of creature this Duskwalker was, as he was called in some corners of the valley, and not even the elders knew the answer to the origin of this evil. Some thought the Walker was the divine consequence for the blasphemous behaviour of the dwellers in the shadow of Tirin Abbey. Others saw him as punishment for a long past disaster that had once begun in Faltrintal. Wikk didn't know and at that moment he didn't want to think about it. The Duskwalker was coming and with him, the inevitable loss of life. He had to do everything he could to see nothing bad happened to his family. Although Wikk had just ran a few steps, he was covered in sweat. The fear more than physical exertion drove the salty liquid from the pores of his body and with every breath it got worse. Wikk picked up speed. The bend in the path was in full view. By now he could barely think straight. Again and again he saw the image of his wife Tulrin in his mind, holding the little Bjala in her arms and he had to admit he had underestimated the arrival of the Duskwalker. Even worse, he had underestimated himself by a lot. The fear of losing his loved ones seemed to drive him insane for a short moment and he only just managed to summon enough will to fight back the threatening panic. Agitated, he kept looking from left to right into the undergrowth, as if the Walker were already waiting in the darkness between the trees. Then he reached the bend in the path and left it behind him with four large steps. The cottage was another two hundred steps beyond and Wikk saw the familiar outline of the old house at once. Running, he said a short prayer to Tyr, praying desperately that Tulrin had felt the arrival of the Duskwalker just as he had. The only safe place now if there ever was one was with his family and in his own four walls. But suddenly Wikk was filled with doubt. Was that really the best he could do? Closing the doors and window shutters behind him and waiting for the Walker to pass, shaking and trembling? The Duskwalker would come and surely not let an old door and mouldy wooden windows stop him. He could get the goats from their stall and tie them up in front of the house. The Walker is hungry, he yearns for life and a goat may be a welcome sacrifice. Desperately, Wikk searched his mind for a way out. The loss of goats wouldn't be so bad in the warm months, but it could mean hunger or even death in the winter. Wikk knew that and for that reason, he dismissed the idea again. Irritated, he noticed his pace suddenly slow down and before he knew what was happening to him, he stopped abruptly. His mind had found another possibility before it had really dawned upon him. A possibility that seemed more and more wrong and unfair the more he thought about its extent. At first, a part of him refused to want to allow this alternative at all, but because of the pending terror and his defenceless family his inner resistance soon faded quickly. In the end he couldn't feel it at all and only a soft glow somewhere deep in his heart was reminiscent of the foolish attempt to preserve a bit of humanity in these dark times. Wikk ran on and his gaze kept sweeping the undergrowth at the edge of the wooden pathway. He did not have to search for long. Just a few steps on he found a narrow passage that the two travellers from Erothin had taken that midday. The passage led to an old forest path that was rarely used and that led winding and bending up to Tirin Abbey. Tulrin and he had met the travellers around midday and after a few polite exchanges it was clear that they were headed for the abbey. However, they had not wanted to start the climb until the next morning and Wikk had told them of a resting place not too far from the passage he was now standing in front of. For a moment his heart felt heavy. A shadow lay upon his face, but with an overbearing gesture he swept aside the last rising qualms and trod through the undergrowth onto the other side of the path. The camp lay a few metres beyond the passage beneath a boulder above which the tower spires of Tirin Abbey could be seen through the treetops. Wikk was no longer running, wanting to avoid any unnecessary noise. Attracting the travellers' attention now would mean some awkward explanation attempts from him. He just wanted to make sure that they were both still camped at that place, then he would sneak back secretly. Carefully he stepped on, paying attention to the forest floor in front of him. One false step into dry leaves or twigs would give him away and that was the last thing Wikk wanted in his hurry. After a few moments he reached the place and gently, holding his breath, he knelt down. Slowly he pushed back a branch that nearly reached the ground whose leaves were blocking his view. His silent gaze searched the area and to his reassurance he saw that the travellers had set camp for the night. A small fire surrounded by large stones was crackling in the pending dusk, over it hung a small steaming cauldron. One of them, who had introduced himself to Wikk as Alswin, sat by the fire and poked the embers with a stick. The other, Ferntal, was kneeling in front of a bundle. Neither of them spoke, but the way they were working made it clear to Wikk that they weren't travelling together for the first time. They were possibly scholars from Erothin on their way to the monks of the abbey to exchange views on the teachings of life with them or to delve into theological discussions. Wikk didn't know and just as he began to think about it he realised he didn't want to know. He would have prefered to forget their names and faces too, but they would forever be testimonial of his misdeed to humanity. He shivered suddenly and it wasn't just because of the arrival of the Duskwalker. Nothing has happened yet, he tried to reassure himself. Perhaps the Duskwalker would spare them and haunt another part of Faltrindtal. The forests were large and the lands were extensive. There was a good chance of the Walker looking elsewhere for his victims. Wikk didn't want to leave it to chance though. It was too dangerous for his family and this was easy prey for the Duskwalker. Carefully he let the branch go he had been holding back and stood up. The sun was now just a sickel on the horizon and quickly he made his way home. He reached the little yard just in time, rushed past the goats' stall and took a last big step through the wooden door of his house. Tulrin stood close to the fireplace, clutching little Bjala firmly to her chest in fear. Their eyes met and Wikk knew right away that his wife had noticed the deathly silence of the Walker. Even little Bjala must have noticed something, for her gaze was numb and cowering. Her head pressed to her mother's shoulder, she was holding tight onto Tulrin.

"The Walker, he's coming..", Tulrin whispered and Wikk nodded silently. He composed himself again and dismissed the pitiful sight of his family. He went around the few windows of the cottage and closed their wooden shutters. Then he threw a heavy beam into its brackets on the door and propped an iron poker under the door handle. Taking a deep breath he turned around and met Tulrin's gaze.

"Wikk, the travellers from this afternoon.. did you.. " Wikk could only shake his head and Tulrin noticed how hard it was for him to look into her eyes. She could feel the echo of the battle that had been fought inside him just a few moments ago and decided not to go into it any further. Wikk was thankful for that. He breathed slowly and deeply. The hid the fact he had made a safety net closeby to their cottage. Tulrin would not understand and even if so, the burden of guilt was more than enough for two shoulders. Slowly Wikk walked over to his wife, kissed Bjala on the forehead and hugged both of them. It was quiet in the cottage. No sound was to be heard from outside and even the little fire in the fireplace, the only stone part of the hose, didn't seem to crackle as loudly as it had before. Wikk relaxed the embrace a little and listened, turning his head in every direction. Tulrin started to say something, but Wikk quickly put a hand to her mouth and signalled for her to keep quiet. Something was coming closer to the hose. Silently he looked at Tulrin. The moment had arrived. Though fully motionless on the outside, within he was trembling out of tension and rising panic. In his mind he prayed incessantly to Tyr, the oldest and most powerful of the Light-Born. They could only wait and hope that the Duskwalker would pass by them. Wikk held his breath. Something was in front of the door. He couldn't see it, couldn't hear it but he knew that the thing people called the Walker or Duskwalker was at the door of the cottage. His heart was in his throat. Slowly he took his hand from Tulrin's mouth. On the ledge above the fireplace hung an old hunting spear and Wikk could barely resist the need to grab it. Tulrin must have had the same thought as he, for she slowly but fearfully shook her head, begging him not to. Such a weapon was useless against the Walker and the mere attempt of opposing this creature was more than foolish. The Duskwalker was not of this world and even the monks of Tirin Abbey did not dare brave him. In the end it was fate alone that would decide who survived the pass of the Walker. Wikk knew it, but it was hard to ignore his instincts in the face of death of his loved ones. This time it was Tulrin who calmed her husband down. Softly she stroked his cheek, pulling his head gently towards her. His eyes found her own. A wonderful brown mirroring the colours of the last autumn and promising an infinite gaze into the depths of the soul of the woman he loved. He suddenly felt secure and slowly the tension faded from his body. The warm touch on his cheek at that look full of kindness and love gave him strength and at that moment he knew that the evil lurking at the cottage door would not be able to break this strength. Wikk could feel the bond surrounding him and his family and even if the Duskwalker were to take their bodies, he would have to do without their souls. Maybe that was the very reason the door did not open. The Walker passed on by and left Wikk, Tulrin and little Bjala alone.

The next morning was as lovely as the last. The sun began its journey in a faultless sky and the birds were singing their songs for a new day. Wikk had departed very early, but he had waited for dawn. The shadows were long as he entered the clearing on the little forest path that led up to Tirin Abbey. Aggrieved and with a heavy heart he saw that Alswin and Ferntal were not there. Everthing looked just has it had the evening before. Even the cauldron was still hanging over the burnt down fire, but there was no trace of the two travellers. Their equipment lay sorted on the untouched beds prepared with brushwood and covers and Wikk decided to leave everything as he had found it. The Duskwalker had found its victims and no one would ever know what happened to them. Silently, Wikk turned and went back to the old wooden pathway. Either because of his honest wish to know what happened, or the desperate attempt of his conscience to put his guilt into perspective, he thought for a long time about what had happened last night. In the end he concluded that the passing of the Walker was a test of sorts. A test that only accepted the pursuit of the really important things in life and his family had passed that test.

Then he went on his way to the his kiln.