Woodlord by Felicia Change
Ludovica slipped her fingers around a white button mushroom stem, pushing away moss beds before plucking it. Her weaved basket overflowed with fungi, forming a spongy mound. In an open crevice, she stuffed the last one in. The moss and fern-covered dirt housed no more mushrooms. Not that there was any space left in the basket. Hanging it from her arm, she followed the path back to the commune. Forest stretched ahead in every direction. A labyrinth of mixed browns and greens, one she knew by heart.
She hummed a lullaby her mother often sang to her, about the Woodlord and how he took care of them. All they had to do was take care of the forest, keep to their rituals, and sacrifice occasionally. Ludovica didn’t convey the same faith in the Woodlord, but she respected it.
The sun hung low and basked the wood in golden light rays. By now her mother would be outside preparing a supper of mushroom stew and honey cakes. Waiting on Ludovica for the last of the ingredients.
The fragrance of sage and Portobello mushroom stew beckoned her. Her steps slowed as she sensed the elder’s presence before he came into view like a bad omen. Her muscles tensed. He hovered over something, two men at his side. Her mother sat a few feet away, tear droplets running down her cheeks. Their neighbor, a quiet woman, stood with her hands behind her back, a frown lining her forehead.
Ludovica’s eyes darted from the men to her mother and then to the ground. Her basket slipped from her arm and hit the ground with a thud. A few mushrooms tumbled out and rolled into nearby bushes.
The commune’s clothing was dyed with pieces of the forest, holding a natural tone. It didn’t come close to the colorful blanket on the ground. The yellow was brighter than a chanterelle mushroom with specks of violet, the fabric unnatural and foreign. Wrapped inside lay a baby, its body as lifeless as a fallen leaf. She glanced at her mother.
I had to, she mouthed. Ludovica forced her eyes back to the small body.
Outside the commune, they made a small pyre on a flat rock and burnt the body. They pressed the ashes between tree bark and wrapped them in leaves several times. A marker highlighted his burial site, and no one was allowed to forage anywhere near the area. In case the outsider’s body had polluted the soil.
A drop of sweat rolled down her back. That could have been her fate years ago if her mother had been caught. Her mother was cursed with a stillborn baby. Not wanting to make it into a mourning ceremony, she took the child’s body to the edge of the forest to bury. After her tears dried up, a baby’s crying brought her back to reality. She followed the sound through the trees. On a cloud of moss lay Ludovica, wrapped in a blanket. No sign of any other people, except for a few broken branches. Her mother decided to keep her, believing she was a miracle.
The elder had been wary.
He didn’t feel Ludovica being born or take her first breath. He had no link to her, no connection he could manipulate and control. The only reason she was still alive was because of a mark on her face. A discoloration, shaped like a tree branch. A sign that the Woodlord had blessed her at birth. She was one of his followers, whether it was by blood or not.
By some luck, or faith as her mother would say, she survived everything life threw at her. Even the elder and his resilient judgment. Often, he would chastise her for her manners and ways. Like she was something else, something that didn’t belong.
Even now she felt his eyes assessing her.
“Your mother tried to help an outsider. How does that make you feel?”
Proud. “Appalled.”
He glanced around at the people present. “You all know what we do to those who come in contact with outsiders.”
The neighbor spoke up. “Surely it wasn’t that severe—”
“You forget your place. You think the Woodlord will bless the forest and strengthen our children if we defy him.” He shook his head. “Sacrifice.”
Ludovica clenched her hands. No number of words or begging would help. It was the rules, and the rules weren’t meant to be broken. They were meant to protect.
She knew he’d made up his mind the instant he heard about the incident. He just liked putting on a show.
The whole commune stood, waiting for the burial to begin. One of the elder’s helpers held a clay pot of seeds. Her mother stood ready in a simple frock meant to dissolve with her body. Ludovica was thankful that she was cooperating, even as her death approached.
Last summer, a woman was caught trying to escape and was sentenced as an offering as well. Except something in her snapped and she put up a fight. They had to force her into the damp earth.
Ludovica had heard the elder’s burial speech one too many times. She focused on her mother, wanting to save her. To grab her mother’s hand and run until they were too lost to find their way back. They would both be sacrificed if they got caught. No one escaped the commune alive.
Her mother wiped away the tears on Ludovica’s cheek.
A lump formed in her throat. “I’m sorry, mother.”
“Stay safe child,” she said, squeezing her hand. Then she plunged her hands into the clay pot, retrieving two hands full of seeds, and walked to the hole. It was a ceremony the entire commune was accustomed to. People sinned and their sacrifices keep the soil healthy and the Woodlord content. Her mother would become one with the earth. Wrapped in vines and buried alive while the elder spoke. Her hands filled with seeds and spores so plants and fungi would grow from her corpse.
When the last scoop of dirt fell on her mother’s body, she snapped out of it. Her eyes roamed over the area. A stone lay in the center of the heap of soil, her mother’s name carved into it. Ludovica had done it herself, her tears darkening the stone as she chipped at it. The children decorated the grave with pinecones and flowers, as they always did.
The elder approached, no hint of remorse lining his face. She swallowed, trying to compose herself.
“You’ve always been resistant, defiant even. With your mother gone I hope you decide to keep to our traditions.” He titled his head. “It would be a shame if you had to follow in her footsteps.”
Ludovica was afraid to open her mouth, not sure what would come out. But it wouldn’t be pretty.
“Understand, girl?”
She nodded. Grounding her teeth.
He slapped her across the face. “Answer when I speak to you!”
She itched to touch her cheek but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She felt people’s eyes on her, but no one said anything.
“I understand.”
“Good.” He straightened his back. “Why don’t you go help harvest more mushrooms?”
An order. He waited for her to say her mother just died, to protest and defy him. She swallowed a sob.
“Okay.”
He walked off.
Ludovica watched him. The hatred bloomed into something worse than anger.
She grabbed her basket, heading into the forest in search of a bubbling mushroom patch. Hoping to find a secluded area where she wouldn’t be bothered. No one looked in her direction. And no one asked why she was foraging after they had placed her mother underground moments ago.
No one came to comfort Ludovica. Their tradition was to mourn alone. Be with the earth. Let their tears wet the soil and their cries coax new sprouts. She preferred it that way. No one checked on her, so no one would notice if she wasn’t home.
Tameness had settled over the forest like it was saying thank you for the new offering. Oyster mushrooms sprouted from the tree’s cracked ridges like teeth. She touched them as she went, needing to feel something real. Needing to know it wasn’t all a dream. Several times she thought she felt the fungi shiver under her fingertips.
She kept in the tree line in case someone was out washing vegetables or clothes. The stream lulled the birds. She followed it up to the waterfall, climbing up the side of the rocks. Then further on, following the stream. The incline was subtle, but her calves felt it.
It was forbidden to go past the waterfall. Someone once spotted a large creature and decided it was best to steer clear. Ludovica liked it because no one else would dare break a rule. That’s why they would never know about the pool that sprouted from the stream.
The water was warmer and clearer. She shrugged out of her clothes. Hanging them on the jagged rocks. She dipped under the water, letting everything out. She screamed as the water drowned away her pain.
She pulled on her clothing, and it stuck to her like an extra layer of skin. Darkness had settled over the forest. It was past supper time, but her appetite still hadn’t returned. She crossed over the stream, deciding to take a different route to the commune.
It was also forbidden to be out this late, especially this far from home. Creatures prowled the forest, as well as the Woodlord.
She walked, not paying attention to where she was, only where she was going.
A voice broke through the air. The tone was urgent, but loud enough to make out it was the elder.
She stepped closer, careful to break twigs and crush leaves. The temple came into view.
A domed building made of wood and moss and clay and anything else to solidify the structure. A few random holes let moonlight and fresh air in. Mushrooms covered the base of the structure, spreading out in clusters.
No one went inside, except for the elder. It’s where he communicated with the Woodlord. She’d never felt the urge to go inside. One time she had peeked in, it had been vacant except for an immense amount of foliage. A few candles had littered the damp ground and lighted the foliage-covered part of the roof.
Shadows moved inside now, illuminated by several beeswax candles.
The elder bent low, his face inches from the dirt. “I hope that the new sacrifice has pleased you.”
A rustling of leaves.
“Yes,” a voice hissed.
The Woodlord.
Her arm hair raised and her throat dried. He didn’t sound human. Craning her head, she tried to see to the Woodlord. They shared a few more words that Ludovica didn’t catch. She was frozen in place.
The elder stood. She snapped out of it, stumbling back. He looked in her direction but didn’t see her. He walked out and headed down the trail to the village.
Ludovica wanted to see the Woodlord. She stepped closer, placing her hand against the temple and leaning in. Moss and foliage covered the walls inside, curling out into the forest itself. A meshing of plants and roots formed a throne. On it sat a man. Except the man was made of wood, his limbs of roots, and his fingers of sticks.
An itch spread over her palm. In the dark, she couldn’t make out if a rash was starting, but the skin felt sensitive. She took a step back and her foot caught on a vine. Dirt came up to meet her as she fell in front of the opening.
“I have a visitor,” the Woodlord hissed.
Chest heaving, she kept her eyes on him, afraid that if she blinked, he would be in front of her. With slow movements, she pushed herself off the ground and stood. Every muscle in her body begged her to run. But her curiosity won.
“You are not one of them,” he said, gripping the wooden armrest.
She held up her palm, the spiral branding mark gleaming in the candlelight. Everyone in the commune had the spiral on their palm, given at a young age during an initiation ritual.
“Part of the body, but not of the mind.” It tilted its head, giving a hoarse laugh. “I have waited a long time for you to come here.”
“Me?”
He leaned back into the greenery. “You are going to help free me.”
Ludovica stilled. Whatever the Woodlord was, freeing him didn’t seem like a good idea. Whether he was ancient or holy or both. Tiny leaves sprouted from his fingers, and she found it difficult to look away from them.
“Why would I do that?”
“Have I not looked after you your whole life? Given you, food from my body, sheltered you with my arms, protected you from the unknown?”
She was the unknown. She kept silent. Her eyes moved over his body once again. He was natural and not at the same time. His head was a crown of weaved vines with violet flower buds so vibrant it looked poisonous.
“Why do you want to be free?”
He flexed his stick fingers. “So that I can move my roots where I wish.”
“You want to leave the forest?”
He gave a slight nod.
“Why not ask someone from the village? Or the elder?”
He sat farther back. Leaves hugged the outline of his body. “The villagers cannot think for themselves. Your elder is old, he needs to be replaced.”
“You want me to replace him?”
He smiled and it was something wicked.
Ludovica’s hatred for the elder and everything he stood for plagued her every day. Taking his place would make her just as cruel. She shook her head, ready to turn around.
“I can bring your mother back.”
She stilled. Her eyes found his unnatural emerald ones.
All Ludovica had to do was bring him a special mushroom that grew in tree hollows, one which he couldn’t pluck himself. It was the answer to bringing her mother back, but something had rooted itself in her mind. The conversation between the Woodlord and the elder about a new offering.
She swallowed her thoughts, falling to her knees on her mother’s grave. The soil was soft under her skin. Forcing her fingers into the dirt, she dragged lumps of it away. Digging until she came to cloth. She paused to catch her breath. She didn’t want to dig up her mother’s body, but she had to. Removing the cloth, she fell back. Her mother’s pale skin was dried to the bone. Like all remains of life had been sucked from her even after death. Ludovica placed her face in her dirt-covered hands, her body heaving as she cried.
She didn’t know if the Woodlord could bring her mother back. But even if he did, she wouldn’t be the same mother. Her mother was gone at peace wherever she was, and bringing her back would be cruel. With care, she pushed the dirt back into the hole, covering her mother’s body.
Ludovica couldn’t ask anyone in the community for help. Their designed thoughts wouldn’t be able to understand. But she wasn’t on her own. She had dreamed of breaking a lot of rules but going to the witch was never one of them.
The witch’s hut was part of an enormous, hollowed rock, the front area made of scavenged natural materials. Moss bloomed on the wooden door and a chimney sprouted from the crooked roof. It blended into the woods and was easy to miss if one didn’t know to look for it.
They grew up with stories of the wicked witch. How she ate children and spew foul language at nature. Ludovica would have believed those stories as well if it hadn’t been for her mother. The witch was only an old woman craving peace to go about her life.
She knocked, her knuckles soft against the moss. No chirping birds or scurrying animals reached the area, it was unnaturally quiet.
The door opened. An elderly woman stared back at her with eyes the shade of a clear sky. Wrinkles lined her face, so delicate she might have thought her years younger if it wasn’t for her milky hair.
“The Woodlord wants to be freed.”
The witch said nothing, only opened the door wider. Inside plants crawled from clay pots, drying herbs hung on the walls, and warm embers glowed in the middle of the room on a flat round stone.
Ludovica glanced around, almost forgetting why she was there. Strange objects littered the room. Things Ludovica had no words to even articulate.
“Objects from the world beyond,” the witch said. She motioned for her to sit and handed her a clay cup of nettle and mint tea. “Tell me.”
She recounted everything from her mother’s death to speaking with the Woodlord. The witch listened.
“He wants a special mushroom,” Ludovica concluded.
“I know. That’s why I’ve destroyed them all.”
Ludovica’s heart knotted. She was unsure if it was relief or regret.
“If there was a way to stop him, would you?”
The witch nodded. “It would be nice to not have to look over my shoulder when I walk the woods or forage for food.” The witch stared into the fire. “Maybe a bit of revenge.”
Ludovica met her eyes, questioning.
“The elder.” She sighed. “He is my brother.”
“The elder?”
Ludovica examined the witch’s face. The resemblance became clearer. The blue eyes, a strong jaw, and a dimple on one cheek.
“He was just a man who made a deal with a devil.” She sighed. “We were young when our parents brought us to the mountains. I’m not sure if they left us here on purpose or if something happened to them. It’s too long ago to remember. We managed to survive somehow, foraging mushrooms and berries, and drinking from the stream. We didn’t try to leave because we had everything we needed right here. One day we stumbled upon a strange patch of mushrooms. My brother ate one. I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen.” She paused for a moment. “He said something had asked him to feed it blood. He cut his palm and spilled his blood over the mushrooms. They grew into the Woodlord and they made a deal. As long as he fed the Woodlord, it would make sure he had everything he needed. And it did. Before long people showed up. There were several of us. I fell in love with one of them. He wanted to leave, and I wanted to go with him. My brother didn’t like that. So, he fed him to the Woodlord, and they decided that everyone who arrived at the commune had to be branded. I refused. I was shunned and cursed to live my end days alone.”
“But there are several generations in the village.”
“My brother and I are a lot older than we look. He asked the Woodlord to bless us with very long lives. Against my will. I’ve tried to pass on, but it’s been no use.” Ludovica saw thin lines on the witches’ arms. Another around her throat. “Then I realized I could help in some way.”
“You helped my mother.”
She nodded. “I told her not to give you the mushroom powder. Replace it. I also gave her a potion to clear her head. She managed to let the both of you fit in so naturally.”
Ludovica’s mother always told her they had to fit in and follow the rules. But as soon as they were behind closed doors, it was freedom. She could ask all the questions she wanted, and her mother did her best to answer.
“Why didn’t you ever leave the forest?”
“There is no place for me in the world out there.” She half-smiled. “I was hoping someone like you would come along.”
“Someone brave enough to put an end to this.”
Ludovica left the witch's house with anger, but also hope. She made her way to the temple, not caring who saw her or the footsteps which sounded close behind her. As the temple came into view, someone grabbed her arm. She turned and yanked it back. The elder’s nostrils flared as he held his clenched fists to his sides.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Going to the Woodlord.”
“No, you won’t go near him.” He sidestepped her, placing himself between her and the temple.
A smile tugged at her lips. “Then how am I going to deliver what he asked me to find?”
He glanced at the parcel in her hand.
“What do you have there?”
He grabbed it, but she held it out of reach. His face turned red, maybe from anger, but probably embarrassment. No one had ever defied him, except his sister, and look where that got her.
“I spoke with the Woodlord, and you are his puppet!”
“You dare address the Woodlord!” His eyes were as big as two full moons. “Wicked woman, you have lost your way!”
She shook her head. “I’ve always been lost.”
Realization set in.
“That child wasn’t the first one my mother tried to save. Except she succeeded the first time.”
His face paled. “No.”
“I’ve been living in your community my whole life.”
“You have cursed us all.”
“Don’t worry, soon we’ll all be free.”
He reached for her again. Lifting the knife, she hit him with the butt against the head. He recoiled, touching his fingers where blood was dripping. She hit again. He stumbled back and sank to the ground.
The villagers gasped.
She stepped over him and made her way to the Woodlord’s temple.
Ludovica stepped into the temple. The Woodlord grinned, or so she thought. It was hard to tell with all the fractals on his face. He straightened as far as his roots allowed him, an eager glint in his green eyes.
“Did you find it?”
She nodded.
“Come, show me.”
His branched hand reached out, she handed him the parcel. With stick fingers, he opened it, and the cloth fell away. He tilted his head and it cracked.
“Girl, you said you would free me.” He crushed the honey cake in his hand.
“I lied.”
She lifted her knife and stabbed the Woodlord. The blade pierced smoothly through all the roots and wood and into his heart. His arms slackened. Bloody sap leaked from the wound, the dark green almost black.
The witch’s voice echoed through her thoughts. When you slay the beast, don’t spill its blood. Pour it into a jug. It shouldn’t touch the ground, or the power will find a new host.
Several offering bowls lay on the ground. She grabbed the closest one, throwing out the molded berries, and held it next to the Woodlord’s body. Before she could catch the first drop, it turned into a mushroom. More started to sprout from the blood and then the wound itself. Different sizes but all the darkest of greens. Blooming like flowers.
She twisted the knife. The Woodlord grunted and spit out sap.
His body stiffened, becoming as lifeless as tree bark.
The silky tops of the mushrooms glinted in the candlelight. She dropped the bowl and reached out, plucking one of the mushrooms. It broke off as easily as a leaf.
Ludovica brought it to her nose. The woodsy scent carried a sweet undertone. Fresh earth and copper, and something else. Something ancient and powerful.
The texture was as smooth as river pebbles. Biting into it the forest exploded in her mouth. Nettles and pine, which soon turned to berries and nuts.
She swallowed the last of the mushroom, then picked another. Black sap dripped down the sides of her mouth. She kept on eating until the Woodlord’s corpse had no mushrooms left.
She stumbled back. Sap covered her hands. The Woodlord’s body shrunk, the roots growing into the already thriving foliage and becoming one. Coal-black truffles and white button mushrooms sprouted from the earth.
“What have you done?” The elder stood at the entrance, his chest heaving. “That belonged to me!”
Ludovica shook her head. The sap moved inside of her. Mixing with her blood, running through her veins, hugging her organs. She breathed deeply, and it was so clean and fresh that a smile broke out over her face. The first in a very long time.
Her fingers tingled; her body felt anew.
The elder lunged at her.
With some unknown instinct, she lifted her hand. A vine crawled over the floor, wrapping around the elder’s ankle like a snake. He stumbled, almost losing his balance.
“It’s over,” she said.
His jaw was set. The glint in his eyes was wild, he wasn’t going to give up.
A shadow fell over the entrance as the witch sauntered in.
“I must say, it’s quite satisfying to see you crawling on the dirt.”
The elder moved back as if she was about to curse him. She let out a laugh.
“Sister,” he said, barely a whisper.
“I’m not your sister, just as you are no longer a leader.”
She glanced at Ludovica.
“There was no blood. Only this.” She retrieved a tiny mushroom from her pocket and held it out to the witch. “You should have it.”
The witch picked it up with her forefingers. Inspecting it under great scrutiny. She placed it on her tongue, savoring the taste. Then chewed.
Her hair darkened, her face tightening. She lost years in a minute. Her youth was restored and this time she would be free to age.
“No!” The elder yelled. He was young, his face almost handsome.
Her curse broken.
“I think it’s time you joined your Woodlord,” the witch said.
Ludovica flicked her wrist and the vines crawled towards him, snaking around his body like a rope. He was the reason for so many unnecessary deaths and punishments just because he had been afraid and decided to listen to a devil disguised as a god.
He gagged, his eyes losing focus. After several seconds his body became limp.
Ludovica felt his life drain into the soil. Blood stilling in her veins. Whatever power had been in the elder and Woodlord was now in her. Except she was free to move.
Not bound down and being controlled.
Ludovica stepped out of the temple, followed by the witch. The whole commune gathered around, confusion lacing their faces. Their brainwashed minds stripped from the haze. Unsure what to do and how to act.
“I have freed you from the elder and the Woodlord. You can leave here, or you can stay. It is your choice.”
They glanced around, looking at each other for guidance.
“What if we didn’t want to be freed?” someone asked.
“You might not have wanted to be freed, but you needed to be freed,” she said, her eyes roaming over everyone. “You’ve been surviving all your lives. But now you have freedom. Now, you get to live.”