The Giant

Chapter 61

15 years later...

There are whispers of the witch of the wood. A woman in white, vines curled around her arms and tangled in her hair. Those who escaped the cruel fate of stone and vine huddle round smoldering fires and talk in hushed voices of the woman of the wood. Some claim she's a witch that snatches small children that wander too far from their mothers side. Others claim she's a ghost in search of her lost lover, her haunting crying a sign of impending death. No matter what legend one chooses to believe, no one wanders too deep into the forest.

The forest itself is immense and near impenetrable. Many of those who have braved its depths have never returned and those who have, tell horror stories of the things inside. Great monsters, horrifying spirits and sprites, and all manner of creatures. However, most don't leave the comfort of the small towns that have been rebuilt amongst the roots of great trees. Their inhabitants live simple happy lives, many of them not knowing a time before the trees and vines. They don't realize that the statues in the graveyards aren't tombstones and instead were once human. And those who do know, don't tell them. It's better they not know how life can change in an instant. Let them live freely and careless while they can before the vines can tangle around them and bring them down.

It is in one of these small towns, with ramshackle homes that puff little clouds of pale white smoke, a mix of mud and cobblestone for paths, little children running around waving sticks and twirling vines. Adults toil in small gardens and amongst carefully cultivated fruit trees. A happy place with hope in their hearts. A town called brokebranch. In its northmost corner, a tavern sits. Its large windows are shaded by thick, velvety curtains. The inside is musty but in a pleasant way with sweet wood smoke mixed with spiced rum and the dust of time. A small group is gathered in one of its corners amongst the rest of the patrons crowding the space. A grizzled old man with a salt and pepper beard, brown leather eyepatch, and half bald half braided hair, in woodsmen armor. He sits hunched over in a brooding manner, an overflowing jug of mead clenched in his fist, some of its foam clinging to his beard.

"Ive heard theres been sightings in ashburrow." He says in a slightly hushed voice to his fellows around the table.

"That close?" Another mutters back, sipping from his jug of rum. Hes tall but thin and gangly with long slim arms and legs. His blond hair is tied back with a leather string, his blue eyes peering from under his unruly bangs. "They never come that close."

"Its not just them." The old man frowns, swirling his mead. "The witch o the wood was seen in blackwood."

"When?"

"Last week."

"Lord almighty, that was mere miles from here."

"There are whispers of her here amongst the town folk as well. I spoke to a woman who claims to have seen it."

"When?" The man remains silent, not wanting to speak but knowing it must be said. "When dammit!"

"Last night."

"May the gods help us all." The blond whispers, raising his glass upwards as if the old gods were still alive.

"Indeed." The other man nods solemnly, drinking the last of his mead before signaling for another cup.

Night falls, darkening the surrounding forest even more. Luminous plants glow dull blue and green in the pitch blackness. Some of the growths appear to be monstrous creatures in this light. Where the canopy does not cover, the sky is filled with a million stars, all the ramshackle towns lights too dim to outshine them. Leaves rustle, strange animal calls echo, and housed are locked up tight. Broken Branch is locked just as tight. The only way in and out patrolled by two heavily armed guards. They pace back and forth, the only light being the torchlight from inside the gate house. It barely penetrates the darkness beyond that is the entrance to the wilds.