Deep In A Lightless Forest

Shravana’s little sister goes missing in spring. He is powerless to prevent it. At the time, he is in the forest on a days-long hunting trip, far away from home. A prince has decided to prove his courage and mettle by challenging  the demons that haunt the deep forest, and Shravana is one of many who have been hired by the king to subtly redirect the prince from any true danger. It is exhausting work, but it pays well.  He hastens home as soon as he has been paid, unaware that he is already too late. He lets himself in as quietly as he can, and gropes his way to his bed without lighting a lamp, futile gestures of consideration. It is only when he collapses into his bed that he realizes he cannot hear the sound of his sister breathing. He stretches out a hand to her mattress, adjoining his, and finds it cold and uncreased. Panic sweeps away his exhaustion. “Uma?” he calls out, and the night swallows the sound. He fumbles for a lamp, for tinder to light it with. Its flame flickers feebly, but nevertheless it illuminates the space. The house is not large – only one room for its two inhabitants. Half is the sleeping area and the other half the kitchen and miscellaneous storage,  and Uma is not in any corner. Shravana stares up at a doll on a shelf, and he does not weep. # There are many terrible things in the forest – demons that have the appetite of ten tigers, and can weave intricate illusions to trap their prey. Shravana knows these dangers better than most – a burden of his occupation – but he knows that the demons do not often emerge from the forest; indeed, they seldom come to the outer edges of the forest. Nevertheless, he has had a charm of protection laid in a ring around his house, and he knows he has taught his sister caution. He must believe that she would not have strayed too deep into the forest; that he has been good enough, in their parents’ absence. There are many mundane dangers for a child outside the forest. Perhaps she has only fallen down somewhere, and sprained her ankle. Perhaps she wandered off, and cannot find her way back home. She is, after all, only ten years old. For the rest of that long night, Shravana skirts the edge of the forest, roaming up and down the riverbank, calling for his sister. She is not here, though he does not yet believe that. As dawn approaches, so do the first humans he has seen since – since. Washermen and water carriers. They are sympathetic, but cannot say that they have seen his sister. “You should get married,” says a washerman, “then your wife could look after the girl when you are away.” “No, no,” says a more sympathetic fisherman, “she should be married, then she would have a husband to protect her.” As the girl in question is not there to be protected, Shravana thanks his friends and leaves. # Shravana has been praying all night. His prayers have evolved rapidly in scope, from the moment he arrived home and found the cold and empty bed. Let Uma be home, and if she is not at home, let her be on the riverbank, and if she is not on the riverbank, let her be in the city, and if she is not in the city – If she is in the forest, let her not be too deep within it. # A playmate of Uma’s admits, when questioned, to having seen her go into a cave, two days ago. He leads Shravana to a location just on the edge of the forest, but he must have lost his way, for there is no cave. Fallen branches and young trees are scattered all around, and the mud is churned up; there must have been a bad storm. “It was here,” the boy insists, looking ready to cry from frustration and worry. “A great big cave of red stone. Uma went in.” “Did she go alone?” “I meant to go with her,” the boy admits sheepishly, “But I heard drums, for the festival, and my mother promised to buy me a new toy cart this year.” Shravana makes a silent prayer that he will buy a toy cart made of gold for his sister if only she is found. He cannot even afford to hire a search party to go into the forest – it is not a rational prayer.  Prayers seldom are. # Because Shravana is a fool who understands nothing, he appeals to the king. The king holds public audiences in the morning, and he knows what it is to fear for a child in the forest. Shravana has served the king loyally for a decade, and his father and grandfather before him and, most importantly, Shravana is a fool. # Shravana returns home alone, nursing fresh bruises. There is a strange man crouched outside his house, peering at the useless protective ring that Shravana had paid some charlatan an exorbitant amount of money for. This stranger has features as impeccably symmetrical as the  statue of a god, though his clothes are unfamiliar to Shravana, as is the kind of sword that he  bears. Dark eyes note Shravana’s approach, and the stranger rises to his feet with fluid grace. “Are you the man whose sister was taken into the forest?” the man asks, without preamble, in an accent that Shravana does not recognise. This blunt assessment of the situation undoes Shravana. His knees give way and he buries his face in his hands. He has failed, many times over: his sister, their deceased father, his mother, her mother. What will he say? Will he meet his sister again, in another life? “If you have not found a body,” the stranger says, halting, as though the words are unfamiliar in his mouth, “then there is still hope.” # The stranger’s name is Palash, and his nephew has gone missing, too. They come from somewhere far downriver. “You would not have heard of it,” Palash says, sounding faintly embarrassed. Palash has been tracking his nephew for a fortnight – not through signs of the child himself, but by following the trail of missing children, for there have been many more along the road here. It is always the same story: children go out to play, a safe distance from the deep forest, and then one or more fail to return. Many families have searched, are still searching, but none have come so far as Palash. Shravana takes him to the clearing without a cave. A strong wind blows, but does not ruffle Palash’s clothes. Shravana leaves him to his inspection, and walks around on his own, in the hopes that he might find some sign here, picking his way between trunks. There is not so much as a scrap of cloth or a drop of blood to be found. When he looks back, Palash is looking at a nearby tree trunk, and he is smiling absently. Unease shivers down Shravana’s spine. “As you can see, there is no cave,” Shravana says, to fill the silence. “Oh, but there was,” Palash says. He then says a word in a language that Shravana does not know, as though he has forgotten that Shravana is there. “Did the cave walk away?” Shravana asks, more than a little peeved. “Something like that,” Palash says. He nods at the felled trees around them. “Most have fallen in one direction. That is where your sister was taken.” “It was not a cave, then,” Shravana forces himself to say. The new reality of his situation – of his sister’s situation – settles over him as the words leave his mouth. “It was probably a mouth,” Palash says, still distant. He turns in a circle, surveying the damage about them. “A big mouth. Did you know they could get so big? Or could this be a trick after all?” Shravana does not ask what Palash means by “they.” He is a hunter; and the demons of the deep forest are adept at illusion. If he just thinks of himself as a hunter, perhaps he can keep his head, and not think about his sister walking into a mouth. He fingers his bow. “Can the demons here do that?” Palash asks, his gaze sharpening as he looks at Shravana again. “Can they sustain illusions where they are not? Can they fool other senses besides the eyes?” He adds, with chagrin, “They cannot do that where I am from.” It is easier to explain these things, things that Shravana has recently explained to a particularly dim prince. Easier to explain than to be angry at himself for not having thought of this possibility before. “They can do both here,” Shravana says, “but not at the same time. A demon needs focus to cast an illusion, and the eyes are the easiest to fool. Lean over and touch a tree – see, you can feel it. Peel off a strip of bark, if you like, and put it in your mouth; you will be able to taste it; or throw it into the river; you will hear it splash. Either the creature is here, or this is real.” Shravana walks to a tree to demonstrate. This, he has never done before; one never touches a suspected illusion if one wishes to live. But if a demon is here in disguise, then Shravana might find answers about his sister. He is furious with himself for not having considered the possibility before. “Careful,” Palash calls out. With a burst of speed, he draws level with Shravana and pulls him away from what is distinctively the den of a snake. In the next instant, his hands leave Shravana’s body, as though burnt. No snake emerges from the den, all but hidden beneath a fallen tree trunk. Palash leans sideways and gives the wood a careful pat, looking into Shravana’s eyes the entire time, as though to make a point. “There is no body,” Palash says, almost cheerful, “and no bones. So…” “…there is still hope,” Shravana finishes. The words taste like ash in his mouth. Perhaps he will repeat it so often that he will come to believe it, as Palash clearly has. Perhaps he will find his sister first. # They follow the trail until late afternoon. The “path” cleared by the wreckage is wide enough for two chariots to pass abreast, the absence of a canopy providing sufficient sunlight. On either side, the usual forest stands tall and dark. It is eerily quiet, as though every living thing has fled, or is hiding from a larger predator. When the colour of the sky begins to change, Shravana calls for a halt. “Should we not go as far as we can, before it is fully dark?” Palash asks. “Dusk and dawn are more dangerous,” Shravana says. “Demons find it difficult to control themselves when day and night collide.” “Then they cannot control themselves sufficiently to hurt us,” Palash argues. The man’s nephew has been missing for a fortnight. Shravana thinks of his sister and answers in as even a tone as he can manage. “The time to stop a flooding river is before it floods, not while it is bursting its banks.” Palash bares his even white teeth at Shravana like a thwarted cat. “We should make camp and find something to eat,” Shravana says. Palash has stormed into the forest before Shravana has even finished speaking. He walks off the path, and into the trees, so Shravana does not stop him. Instead, Shravana builds a campfire and wonders what poisonous mushrooms this foreigner will pick in his ignorance. But when Palash returns, it is with a large dead stork, under the light of the first stars of the evening. “Where did you find this?” Shravana asks, as he dresses the bird. He has not heard bird calls – or any sign of life – all afternoon, not even while he waited impatiently for his companion’s return. “It was only hiding,” Palash says, “not truly gone.” Despite the comforting warmth of the fire, Palash sits with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. Other than this obvious sign of distress, Palash does not at all look as though he has been trekking through a forest all day, for his clothes are still clean and perfectly in order. Shravana stares for longer than he should; it is almost hypnotic. He tears his gaze away and looks at the bird now roasting over the fire. “Tell me something about demons where you are from,” he says. “You have said that they are different from the ones here.” “I should be asking you,” Palash says. “You know a great deal about illusions.” “There is not much more to tell. Demons are masters at fooling the human eye – people rely too much on sight, and believe what they should not. Other senses are more difficult to fool, but not impossible. The cave is likely to be one such: it looked like a cave and must have also felt like stone, instead of….” He falters. He cannot bring himself to say it out loud. “I am sorry,” Palash says. “No, it is better to know,” Shravana lies. More honestly: “If it breathes, it can also bleed. If we cannot…my sister and your nephew – if they – then we can protect other children, at least.” Palash smiles. “I am glad I have you with me.” # They agree to set a watch, Palash taking the first, but Shravana wakes to the red light of dawn. He blinks blearily up at the sky, and turns his head to where Palash should be. Crimson skin and curling black antlers greet him, a thing that is not human moving with speed, separated from Shravana only by the remnants of the campfire. Shravana is a hunter; although he has just woken up, his reflexes are good, and he throws his hunting knife even before he rises to his feet. The thing – demon – howls and flees into the trees, disappearing into the shadows. Palash is nowhere to be seen, and remains out of reach even as Shravana shouts himself hoarse. There is no blood in the clearing – a small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless. If you have not found a body, then there is still hope. And Shravana has always been a fool. # The trail continues on. It winds into the deep forest, at times at a gentle angle to the line of the river, instead of in a straight line away from human settlements. The return journey will be shorter than this – if Shravana returns at all. At last, he comes upon a hollow. The ground falls away beneath his feet into a slope, as though a giant’s bowl. There, at the base, is another hole, impossible to see into from here. It is dusk, which is a dangerous time, no matter what Palash has said. Shravana retreats some distance and makes for himself a rope out of creepers. A sound like a landslide resounds through the forest. Hitherto silent birds flee from their hiding spots. Down in the hollow, a tremendous snake – wide enough to swallow four horses side by side – slithers into view, and winds itself in circles within the depression. Shravana does not dare to breathe as the beast settles down. It fills the hollow entirely when it is done, making the space look cramped. As though it has not seen  Shravana, it lowers its massive head and closes its red eyes, and Shravana thanks every god he knows. When the sky is pitch black, Shravana blinks, and in place of the snake is a gentle mound. Shravana takes a deep breath and moves. Unable to trust his sight, he relies on his other senses. The snake demon is warm, as snakes are not; he touches its sides as gently as he can, and gropes towards the tip of its tail. An ordinary snake, when it curls up like this, leaves minute gaps between its coils. This beast is so large that Shravana can walk between its coils without touching the sides, if he is very careful. On and on he walks, winding around and around, until he reaches the pit at the centre and looks down. A dozen tearful children look up at him and stifle cries. Around them are eggs larger than they are, glowing with a faint red light. For several precious moments, Shravana forgets to breathe. Then he crouches at the edge and whispers, as loudly as he dares, “Uma?” A small figure steps out of the shadows and looks up at him. It is dark and the child is filthy; Shravana does not dare to hope. “Stay away,” one of the other children whispers. “Demon friend!” The first child sticks out her tongue – and it is his sister, it is Uma, who he loves more than anything. With shaking hands, Shravana lowers the rope into the pit. “We must be very, very quiet,” he whispers. “One at a time, and do not quarrel.” Uma does not go first, brave girl that she is. Shravana finds himself resenting her selflessness, but the rule against quarrelling applies to him, too. The snake demon still sleeps, but there will be no outrunning it if it wakes. One by one, the children clamber up. They teeter at the edge of the pit, torn between falling back in and standing too close to the coils of the snake. Shravana, because he is a grown man with more practice, makes space for them by balancing more precariously himself, one foot fully inside the pit and braced against the wall. As the children come up, Uma turns to the shadows and beckons. There must be another child hiding there. “Uma!” Shravana hisses. With many backward glances, Uma at last stumbles towards the rope and climbs up. “My friend,” she begins. “I will go and get him,” Shravana whispers back, shooing her away from the edge of the pit. The pit is not, truly, all that deep, if one is a grown man and not a child. Shravana manages a controlled fall into it without hurting himself. The last child in the pit steps into the light cast by a glowing egg. The light does not flicker but the child does. One moment, he is an odd-looking human boy; in the next, he has four little horns and as many arms, with all four of his hands pressed over his mouth. Shravana blinks and the child looks perfectly ordinary again. Demons are masters of illusion; everyone knows that. But this… child does not seem to be a master. He is not good enough to fool the other children, clearly, given the invective they had hurled at Uma. Even with four arms and horns, he is smaller than Uma, and crying, and his clothes are torn and soiled. He is here, in the den of another demon, and he is a child himself. “Brother?” he hears Uma whisper from above. She sounds worried. She worries far too much for a child of her age. Shravana breathes deeply and reaches out his arms. The little demon looks over Shravana’s shoulder and stumbles forward. Shravana gathers him close, gingerly, doing his best to avoid the horns. He looks up at Uma. A slow, grinding noise begins from somewhere he cannot see. Shravana rushes to the edge of the pit, to climb up. Above, the sky is blotted out by the head of the snake. The children all scream and scatter, but the snake looks only at Shravana, who has emptied its larder. A tongue as long as a tree flickers out to taste the air, and then the thing opens its enormous maw. As it descends, Shravana cannot tear his eyes away. It really is as big as a cave. He understands how Uma could have walked right in. One demon descends, and another screams hysterically in Shravana’s ear – And a third demon leaps over the edge of the pit and into the mouth of the snake. They plant a bare foot against the lower jaw, and their arms against the upper, and force the maw open. The snake rears up, its mouth neither full nor empty. Moonlight fills the pit again and Shravana climbs up the pit. He scrambles up, the little demon’s talons gouging into his back. The hollow is a thrashing of coils; most of the children are nowhere to be seen, or are lying flat. He sees Uma first, and throws the demon child down next to her, so that he can cover them both with his own body. Somewhere above them, the snake snaps its jaws shut. There is no body, Shravana thinks, a little hysterically, he lives, he lives, he lives – There is a wet sound of a blade cutting through meat. Shravana looks up. Almost directly above him, the snake thrashes, its head high in the air, but its silhouette is all wrong, no longer symmetrical. Something is cutting its way out of the beast’s throat. Moonlight catches on a sword, and then a hand emerges. The snake stops thrashing, as abruptly as it had begun. It begins to fall, away from Shravana. With what seems like panic, the person in its throat jumps out, nearly above Shravana. It is a long way to the ground. Shravana presses his mouth to Uma’s hair and then throws himself across the gap. He catches the demon-killer and softens their fall into a roll. They land heavily on the ground. Shravana blinks up at the sky, bright spots dancing before his eyes. A cacophony envelops him; children crying or talking or talking while crying, all at once. “Uma?” he calls. “Here!” she replies, close enough to touch. He gropes for her with one hand. His ankle hurts, but he is holding Uma’s hand again. “Children,” he shouts, as best he can. “Shout a number as you go!” “One,” Uma shouts. “Two,” shouts someone with an accent that is no longer unfamiliar to Shravana. The weight on Shravana’s chest shifts. It is Palash who pushes himself up, as delicate and perfect as ever, his clothes gleaming white in the moonlight, not a fold out of place. He is remarkably clean, for all that he carved his way out of a demon’s throat – out of another demon’s throat. “Good illusion,” Shravana says, a little stupidly. It turns into a wheeze at the end, as Palash’s knee digs into Shravana’s stomach. “Thank you,” says Palash. Shravana does not know if he is referring to Shravana’s belated rescue or to the compliment. (In truth, it is both.) Palash rights himself as the children’s counting peters off. Shravana is still too dazed to stand. “I think that is all of us,” Uma says, confidently. She is more sure of herself at the age of ten than Shravana is at thirty, though he has been trying, these past couple of years. “Children,” Shravana calls out, “it is time to go home.” Some of the weeping children quieten at that; others seem not to hear him. A handful of children cheer raggedly. Shravana rises, but one ankle gives away at once. Palash mutters something in a language that Shravana does not know and offers Shravana his back. Shravana cannot bring himself to move. He is thinking of a red dawn, and a knife thrown without thought. Palash’s back bears no injury, but nor does it bear any sign that he has just cut his way out of the throat of a snake, so the evidence of Shravana’s eyes is not to be trusted. Demons are masters at fooling the human eye. Shravana cannot walk on this ankle out of the forest, and Palash is offering to help. Shravana could not find his sister, and Palash offered to help. Shravana climbs onto a back that is broader than it looks. Sharp-clawed fingers curl around his thighs, holding him in place. Palash shakes out his perfectly normal two hands and holds them out to the children. The demon child – now much more reliably human-seeming – takes one and Uma the other. Uma does not act as though she is holding air, but the hands that hold Shravana have not moved. Shravana closes his eyes and thinks of illusions. # Shravana wakes to the sound of measured adult voices. “– thank you,” says the king, “for helping our loyal servant fulfil our command to rescue the children.” “Anyone would have done the same,” Palash replies, which is patently false. “You are most welcome to stay the night,” the king says. “No,” Shravana mumbles sleepily against his friend’s throat. Palash stiffens against him. Two hands dig their fingers invisibly into Shravana’s thighs, and a third pulls a small body closer.  Shravana levers himself free of Palash’s grip with surprising ease, and bows to the king. The effort unbalances him, as tired as he is; it is one of Palash’s hands that steadies him, though, when he looks, Palash has two hands at his sides, and Palash is not looking at him. “Thank you,” Shravana says to the king, “but I do not deserve your generous offer. I beg your leave to return home.” The king is visibly unhappy, but Shravana will worry about this in the morning. # He keeps himself awake long enough to enter his house and put Uma down in her own bed. Outside, the air is pierced by a blood-curdling shriek, many-layered, with undertones that dig hooks into some animal part of Shravana’s brain. It is not a sound that can be made from a human throat. It is also, without a doubt, the sound of a tired child throwing a tantrum. Shravana forces himself to walk outside. Palash is bouncing his nephew, both still looking human, though Palash’s back is turned as though to leave. Neither has stepped inside the protective ring around the house. “Where are you going?” Shravana asks, stupid with exhaustion. “You should rest,” Palash says tightly. “So should you,” Shravana says. “Come in, we can take watches, if you like.” “You do not mean that,” Palash says, gentle. “You do not know what I am.” “I know a tired child when I hear one,” Shravana shoots back. Palash does not move. Shravana looks down at the protective ring, and then scuffs it with his toe, breaking the line. Palash turns around at the sound. His human guise falls away as he does so, until he stands before Shravana in his true form – or another form, at least. Four tusks, four horns, and four arms; two legs. His eyes glow in the dark. There is a stiffness to one shoulder that speaks of injury, and bloody gashes in three of his palms and up one calf. “I do not know you,” Shravana agrees, “but I think I should like to know you better.” He turns around and returns to his sister. His new friend follows.