The Forest of Peldain

Chapter Twelve

“The Forest of Peldain has existed for as long as anyone can remember, and so have the bountiful trees which provide us with all our needs.”

Prince Askon Octrago filled a beaker with a light yellow liquid poured from a green gourd. He had changed his apparel and wore garments seemingly made of oversized flower petals of various colors, though on closer inspection the material was substantial enough. He slaked his thirst, filled the beaker again and handed it to Vorduthe to drink.

They were in a small room somewhere in the palace. Vorduthe sat in a wooden chair, watched over by two guards. On one side of a table Octrago sat, relaxed and casual. On the other sat Mistirea.

Vorduthe did not know where his men had been taken. But Mistirea, unexpectedly his ally, had extracted a promise from King Kerenei that they would not be harmed—yet.

“You can see why we, at least, never considered the forest an enemy,” Octrago went on. “It was—and is—our defense against invasion from islands we vaguely knew lie across the sea. We have lived safely for generation after generation, inside that impenetrable coastal barrier.

“The forest, however, is ferocious in more ways than one. It has a prodigious capacity for change. It can develop new plants, new weapons, more swiftly than you could believe. And if left to itself it would spread to cover the whole island, extinguishing all other life.”

While Octrago spoke, Mistirea’s expression became more gloomy and he lowered his head. Octrago glanced at him before continuing.

“That has not happened because the forest has always been kept under control. I have told you something of the cult of the lake. You imagined that this concerned ceremonies which had to be performed if a superstitious populace was not to become agitated. Not so. The duties of the cult are real. That lake is no ordinary lake. It is not water. It is a spiritual presence. In its depths, the spirit of the forest truly dwells.

“To control the forest by communing with this spirit is the function of the High Priest. Only a rare individual can do this, and he is selected for training early in life. Yet this is the duty that High Priest Mistirea chose to betray!”

Octrago’s voice became loud and angry. He cast flashing glances at Mistirea. “He ceased to dive into the lake or to exert himself in any way. Instead he withdrew to the mountain fastness with the larger part of his servitors, offering no explanation. Since his departure the forest has turned rogue. It is spreading and eventually will engulf all Peldain. Even the artifact trees are beginning to turn savage and mutate into wild forms—does this tale not prick your conscience, High Priest?”

Mistirea seemed close to weeping. He shook his head, not in answer but with an air of misery.

“Tell your tale, Prince Askon,” he mumbled.

“I shall.” Octrago turned back to Vorduthe, with a sour look. “If only there had been another able to act as High Priest all would have been well. But none of the remaining sensitives were able to appease the spirit in the lake—not even the one Mistirea was supposed to have been training as his successor. Two sensitives drowned trying.

“All appeals to Mistirea to return were ignored. Three times we tried to take the fortress by assault, with considerable loss of life. We began to think our ancient, beautiful land was doomed.

“Finally I decided upon a truly desperate enterprise. Peldain disposes itself thus: the eastern limb is all forest, which also spreads a coastal strip to north and south one hundred leevers deep on average.”

“You told us thirty to forty leevers, and no more than twenty where we were to cross!” Vorduthe interjected indignantly.

“Not my largest lie, nor yet my smallest,” Octrago conceded. “In fact, the distance from the coast to the point where the underground river may be reached is fifty leevers, so it is still a uniquely short crossing which moreover leads to the Valley of the Hill Maiden, and thence to the pass over the Clear Peaks. Impossible things are thought of when a realm is imperiled, and I began to contemplate the impossible: a passage through fifty leevers of forest so as to take the fortress from the rear. I don’t know if you are aware of it, but the forest doesn’t actually extend all the way round Peldain. The west coast is an escarpment that rises almost half as high as the Clear Peaks themselves, and then drops straight down into the sea. Such a cliff could never be scaled or climbed, but we succeeded, by means of an ingenious system of pulleys fastened one after the other into the cliff face, in lowering an expedition of rafts and three hundred men into the sea. The plan was to float round the coast to the entry point, and then attempt to penetrate the forest.”

“Did you have fire engines?” Vorduthe asked him.

“No we had nothing of that sort,” Octrago said somberly. “Just some knowledge of the forest. We would never have made it, of course, that is clear now, and in truth it was clear then.”

“What happened to you?”

“We of Peldain have no knowledge of the ocean. We were unable to guide our rafts when faced with wind and current. We were swept out to sea and the rafts became separated. One by one my companions died. As far as I know I alone have survived.

“The rest you know. I was picked up by an Arelian ship and taken to Arcaiss. Then began my second great enterprise—by deceit and persuasion, to induce King Krassos to mount an expedition that could get men through the forest.”

Octrago smiled crookedly as he said this, and Vorduthe felt he now understood all the irony that throughout had exuded from him.

In spite of the hatred he felt for the man, it was impossible not to be impressed by what he had dared, and accomplished.

“So you see, I owe everything to the brave men of Arelia, even though I was prepared to slaughter every last one of you once my object was achieved,” the prince said lightly. “You can be proud of one thing. We are the only men, to my knowledge, ever to journey through the forest from end to end, and live.”

Mistirea had surged to his feet and now stood wringing his hands, his face a mask of emotional torment. “It is untrue!” he protested. “It is untrue!”

For once Octrago seemed genuinely puzzled. Mistirea continued his outburst, in the same agonized tone. “You have it the wrong way round! It is not because I deserted my post that the forest has turned wild! Could I be so remiss, so uncaring? I had already lost control! That was why I left you!”

Briefly he covered his face. “I knew long ago that I was failing. The spirit no longer listened to me. I sent acolytes to north and east, and south over the Clear Peaks. They told me the forest was spreading. And I could not stop it.

“As for Inteke, who was to be my successor, he ceased to make contact with the spirit altogether. Neither did any of the other sensitives meet with any success. It became plain to me what was happening. Peldain has come to an end. We have lived too long within the aura of the lake, of the forest, of the whole land. It has absorbed our psyches to the extent that we can no longer influence it. Another mind was needed; a new, strong psyche that was independent of the soul of Peldain. In other words, we needed a stranger, brought in from outside.

“I tried to explain this to the king, but he would not listen. Unfortunately, Prince Askon, your father is senile. I then broke all protocols and tried to broach the matter with you. I had to be careful with my words, for to be too open would be to sacrifice my life.”

“Yes, I do remember your telling me some nonsense,” Octrago muttered. “I was not interested, of course—the sensitives are always too emotional and distraught. Besides—” he spoke for the benefit of Vorduthe—“this is Peldain, where nothing ever changes. Now that I have been in other lands where events move swiftly, it is more comprehensible to me.” He raised his eyes questioningly to Vorduthe. “He…?”

“No one would help me,” Mistirea said. “No one would listen. I and my acolytes unaided could not find our way across the sea; it needed the resources of a king. Therefore I withdrew, ensconcing myself in the ancient mountain castle. I did this to force a crisis. I was trying to force the king to act and do as I had advised.

“Now it seems my words were still not heeded—and yet matters have turned out as I planned! Despite yourself you were borne across the sea, Prince Askon. Unawares you have brought us the very man we need, if I am any judge.”

Mistirea raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Perhaps there are other gods, mightier than the spirit of the lake. Perhaps they have guided you, so as to save Peldain.”

“I can’t say I ever had the feeling that gods were dictating my actions,” Octrago commented. “On the contrary, throughout my adventures I have been afflicted with a feeling of desperate loneliness. The fate of Peldain rested on my shoulders alone, or so I thought.”

He stood and paced the room, then turned to Vorduthe. “Well, it seems you are going to do some swimming, my lord.”

“Am I?” Vorduthe replied stonily. “However noble your motives might seem in your own eyes, I see you in a different light. You have used us for your own ends. You have lied to us, betrayed us, sworn false oaths, sent an army to its death—and not an hour ago I heard you plead that I and my men be murdered. Why should I help you?”

He had no idea what reality might lie behind the extraordinary beliefs Octrago and Mistirea had just propounded, but he was determined to wring what advantage he could from the situation. Mistirea spoke hurriedly.

“Have a care, Prince Askon. Our future may hang on this man’s good will. When he communes with the spirit, no one will be by his side.”

“So we have to make a loyal Peldainian of him?” Octrago said, as if voicing an impossible thought.

“If the soul of Peldain obeys him, he can do good or wreak even worse evil than now threatens.”

“What is it you want, my lord Vorduthe?” Octrago asked softly.

“A ship to return my men to the Hundred Islands. Until it is built, they must walk free and unmolested.”

“Your men may return, perhaps, but as for you….”

“All lies in the balance,” Mistirea interrupted. “Little as you may like it, Prince Askon, communication with the outside world could prove essential to our future survival.”

It was clear that Octrago liked the idea not at all. “Well,” he said, looking thoughtfully at Vorduthe, “the future is long and much may happen in it. Let him prove himself first.”