“No way!”
“Never.”
“Are you crazy?!”
“Do you know anyone who has gone into the forest?” Garren asked, trying a different tactic.
All three boys grew very quiet until the toothless one finally spoke up. “My older brother went in last year. His friends dared him to, but he never came back out again.” He looked down at his feet, kicking a speck of dirt with a pointed shoe.
“I’m sorry,” Garren offered, not knowing what else to say to the boy.
“How did you make it through, anyway? Everyone knows not to go into the forest. Only my Pa goes in to get wood, but he always stays half out into the field and only cuts the trees on the edge. All the townsfolk do,” said the freckle-faced boy.
Garren thought about this for a long moment. “Do people cut down the trees often?” he finally asked, sifting through the mound of thoughts that had sprung to his mind at the boy’s comment.
“Every day, I guess. Why do you ask?”
“I just wonder, if trees are cut down from the forest every day, why isn’t the field surrounding your town bigger? With all the cutting over the years, I would think that the wood would begin to thin slightly, and your town could grow larger, spread out more.”
The orange-haired boy laughed. “The trees always grow back.”
“What?” Garren’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“Once they come down, they go right back up as if they had never been cut at all.”
“That–that’s impossible,” Garren breathed.
“Only one person ever goes in and comes out again,” the toothless boy whispered, looking back up at Garren with those large, innocent blue eyes.
“Stop it, Sven.” the orange-haired boy said, punching the other boy in the arm. “He only thinks he’s seen her, mister. No one goes into the forest, ever. Not unless they got a death wish.”
Sven’s eyes remained on Garren, though, and Garren found himself asking, “Who?”
“Don’t say it, Sven. You’ll get in trouble spreading lies about Miss Oriana.” The orange-haired boy clamped both hands over his mouth as soon as the name was out of his mouth.
“Is this true?” Garren asked sternly, raising a brow as he glared down at them, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve seen Oriana go into the forest? How many times?” She had mentioned making it through the forest and back again once, but he needed to know if that one time was what the boy had seen or if she often went into the wood.
The boy’s eyes darted between his two friends before the freckle-faced one said, “We have to go now! Nice meeting you, mister. Sorry about getting you wet.” And with that, the three boys took off through the crowd.
Garren groaned, turning from the fountain to look out over the endless sea of heads bobbing, like apples in a barrel. He scanned his way across for any glimpse of Oriana, but found nothing. It would be impossible to find her in this swarm, so instead, headed down one of the side streets in search of a less crowded area of the town, better familiarizing himself with this strange small borough locked in the center of a mysterious forest.
As he wandered, he found that the town had been built into a circle, with streets fanning out from the center to the outer edge and three circular roads intersecting them.
He understood the children’s fear of the forest. The mystery of the unknown scared people, but there was a thrill to it as well–something that excited him more than it made him quake in fear. That very feeling of exhilaration had him walking toward the forest now. It was a sense of wonder and discovery. He wanted to know the forest, wanted to know the town, know their secrets and unlock all of their mysteries.
As he continued his trek, a thought sprung to his mind. He hadn’t been able to find any text or passage about this town and the surrounding forest, but now he was here. He had made it through the wood and was in the very town that had somehow been erased from every history book in Svakland. What better way to learn about the Phantom Wood than through Sardorf’s own texts and history books? There would be plenty of time to explore the forest, but first he needed to understand it, learn all he could about it.
It was then that he approached a young couple passing by. “Pardon, but I was wondering if you could help me. I’d like to know more about your town’s history. Might there be a library nearby?”
12
Oriana
3rd day of the Eleventh Month, 1774
Oriana left Garren to gawk in the village square while she headed to secure the supplies Haldis had sent her for. She studied him from afar, watching as he wove his way through the horde of townsfolk. He stood at least a head taller than everyone in the square, sticking out like a donkey in a herd of sheep. A giggle escaped her at the thought. He would most definitely not appreciate her likening him to a donkey.
She continued shopping, glancing over at him every so often to keep him in her sights. Her head whipped toward him when she heard a deep full-bellied laugh. Arching an eyebrow in curiosity, she observed him as he threw back his head and bellowed another loud laugh toward the sky. Pushing up onto her toes, she craned her neck to see what could have brought forth such a genuine and boisterous laugh, but no matter how much she danced on her toes, there were too many people making the task useless. She would have to go find out for herself.
