Chapter VI - Into the Woods

Chapter VI 

Into the Woods

by Faith McCann 

Shermona left the Home for the Homeless and walked down the street, crossed the park green and walked down past the town of Castlewick's Center Office building. She noticed a disheveled man standing on the sidewalk standing looking up at the town office building. 

She left the walk and crossed over the unkempt taller grasses bordering the forest. She knew the man had noticed her. He was holding a new canvas bag in his hand, indicative of his new employment. One of the hardest, most difficult jobs anyone could do, she knew, was to become a Rag and Bottle Man. 

She followed a path that winded through the woods, barely visible but to the sharpest eyes that knew it was there. A path frequented by deer, rabbits, and other small animals. She walked casually and relaxed, knowing she had plenty of time to return to her cottage deep in the woods before dusk fell. 

She could feel her soon to be visitor following stealthily behind her. She knew he sought answers to deep questions and he meant her no harm. She was never worried about harm from humans as she was more than adept at protecting herself. 

She sent her awareness out amongst the foliage and received back images and messages from the underbrush. Her follower was 20 paces behind her and there were a few encampments several yards off into the depths of the forest. 

She stood next to a large soft Hemlock tree 

and felt as if she melted into the bark of it's wooden trunk. By simply imagining herself a part of the tree and meaning no harm the spirit of the tree accepted her and the two became partners of a sort for a short while. 

She knew that she was virtually invisible to any human eyes. She stood quietly and watched as small furry creatures scampered by intent on their business looking for food and chasing each other in the natural joy of being alive in the moment. 

She saw Dominic Diffyc come along the path. He followed the barest semblance of the trail which she had trod only a few minutes earlier. He was looking in all directions, having lost sight of her. He stopped in a moment of indecision and looked surprised when he realized the branches on either side of him had crept out and had created a barrier between him and the path in front of him. How! He hadn't seen any obstruction just moments before? Where had the old woman gone? 

He reached down and grasped a dead branch and started to thwack at the branches and thorns as they stopped his progress and as he was engrossed in his task he failed to see the older woman slip through the patches of mottled darks and browns found in the woods as silent as a shadow, until she was away from where he was.  

He finally freed himself of the tangled mess and looked ahead and saw the smoke of a chimney and the side of a small cottage in a tiny glade deep in the woods, right at the end of the path he followed. Being new to this world of magic he failed to see the significance of this occurrence. 

He felt his feet slow as he came closer to the small cottage. Images of ancient fairy tales of witches living in cottages in the woods, shacks made of candy, evil old women who ate children, cast spells and all sorts of terrors flooded back to him from his childhood. What awful tales to regale small children with, he thought as an errant side thought. He stopped and glanced behind him, a bit regretful that he had not thought to leave a trail of breadcrumbs, then shook his head ruefully. He would have eaten any extra bread he came across at this point. He always seemed hungry. How was it the poor and destitute lived this way? How was it that no one in his station in life ever gave any thought to the poor except for the fancy fundraisers around Christmas time, when there were well stocked parties, dinners with platters of hot haunches of beef, savory turkeys, pyramids of roasted vegetables, racks of fresh baked breads .  .  .  No! he must stop! All he thought about these last couple of days was food! What was wrong with him? 'You're hungry!' The evil voice in his head taunted him. 

"Shut up!" He growled aloud. Then feeling foolish, looked around. Thankfully no one was around to hear him. He crept up to the cottage. He looked in a window. He could see the flames of a small fire crackling happily in a simple fireplace. A table set for two but no food visible.  A horn woven out of vines in the center of the table, filled with nuts, fruit, and greens from the forest no doubt. The fire had a large black cauldron hung over it and it was bubbling away. A small grey cat with a white thin stripe down it's nose and white socks was sleeping on a soft armchair near the warm fire. It opened one eye and looked right at him! 

Dominic, silently gasped and quickly pulled away from the window before assuring himself it was only a cat. Or was it? Was anything normal or typical in this new world he found himself in? He had a feeling he already knew the answer to that question. 

Where was she? 'Knock on the door!' his inner voice urged him. 'What have you to be afraid of?' He raised his hand preparing to knock and before he could touch knuckles to wood, he heard the old woman's voice call out. "Enter"  

He slowly opened the wooden door, surprised at how it silently swung open with not the slightest creak for such an old structure. 

He stood inside and then remembering his manners, took his hat off and closed the door behind him. He looked around but couldn't see the old woman, what was her name? The cat was awake and sitting in front of the popping fire in the fireplace, watching him intently, as if the cat itself were the Master of the house. 

It was a tidy, yet simply furnished small cottage. More cozy and complete than the outside led one to believe. The fireplace cast a warm, orange light and illuminated the room. A table with .  .  .  wait! Hadn't it only had two simple place settings just a moment ago when he looked in the windows? Now a full feast was set upon the table. With barely room for a mouse. A platter with meat pasties piled high, steaming as they seeped savory gravy. bowls of roasted potatoes, root vegetables, sweet roasted onions, entire meat pies and dessert pies of cherry, apple and peach! Baskets of bread and cups of freshly churned butter and a pitcher of fresh milk! Milk? Did she own a cow? Surely this was a hallucination from too long without proper food. The porridge from this morning had been barely enough to tide one over from starvation. 

Dominic couldn't help himself, he looked around again and didn't see his hostess so he went to the table and pulled out a chair and sat down. He had never been as rude a guest before but his body, his hunger, his desperation and frustration overtook any sense of etiquette and he grabbed a bread roll and started to eat. 

He felt eyes upon him and he quickly flushed with shame. He placed the half eaten roll down and slowly looked up. He saw her looking at him, not as he expected with derision but with kindness and grace. "Don't ever feel shame for being hungry. Shouldn't I feel shame for having all of this food and only myself to eat it? I was hoping for a visitor this evening. For you see, Dominic I need your help." 

"What was your name again, I am sorry to have forgotten it?" 

"Shermona" she looked at him quizzically, intently as if she was waiting to see if he remembered something important. 

"Shermona. That is a unique name, but not unpleasant, regal somehow."

"Ah, how nice of you to say so. It means holy mountain, in an ancient language of a people far from here."

"Are they your people, these people far from here?" he asked as he picked up the discarded roll and spread butter on it. 

"All people are my people. I learned a very long time ago, to stop calling myself one from this tribe or that tribe. To identify with one culture keeps me separate from all others. To feel separate because of skin color, or eye color or hair color or gender. To do so only keeps myself separate from those I wish to know and wish to learn of. It keeps me from my quest of becoming whole." 

"I wear many amulets, holy relics and talismans on my cords each from different beliefs and religions. To accept others and not see them as separate but as one of the whole. I find it allows one to become whole again. Please help yourself, eat as much as you'd like." 

He looked at her with a furrow to his brow, pondering how a solid, seemingly healthy, able bodied person didn't feel whole? But then again, he wasn't feeling totally together himself. He continued to eat. 

She continued "You are not here to learn about me, but to learn about you. Which maybe a totally different path, which you shall walk. We shall see where it is you are supposed to go." 

"Wait!" He put down the meat pasty he had taken a savory bite out of, gravy juices dripping down his chin. 

"What do you mean? Don't you know? Where it is I am supposed to go?" 

"Where do you want to go?" Shermona asked as she took some vegetables and placed them on her plate. 

"I dearly wish to go back home." Dominic said. 

"And where is your home?" She asked him.

"It is a big house, bigger than all of the others that surround the green in Castlewick. It is made of the finest brick and is three stories high. It has my servants, my possessions, everything I have acquired over the years. But . . . " he paused remembering the last time he was at the green. he remembered the flower garden that occupied the place his house should have been. 

Shermona looked up from her meal as his voice trailed off. 

"But?" She inquired as he fell silent, a perplexed look on his face. 

"I was there yesterday, late afternoon. It was gone. The entire house. Nothing left but a field of flowers. As if it had never been there. No formal gardens, no servants, no fencing, nothing!" he sighed. "I don't know how to explain it, just .  .  . gone." 

"Dominic, listen to me carefully. This is not a trick, nor am I trying to be facetious. What you have described to me is a house. A building. I want you to tell me about your home. For many people, a home is not simply a building. It can consist of many facets, like a diamond. It may indeed be the memories that one has acquired having lived in many houses over a lifetime. Along with memories of many people, some happy, some sad, all worth remembering. Some family, some friends, some special people you choose to allow in your life because they bring something you otherwise would be lacking. In all, a home is found within your heart and it goes with you, wherever you find yourself."

He slowly placed his fork down and silently looked at her, feeling an unfamiliar lump in his throat and tears gather in his eyes. 

"Maybe, I don't know . . . as it is different for everyone, but maybe, the field was empty and filled only with flowers because there was no home there for you to return to, when you went searching. Perhaps that is your quest? To find your home so you can go back and find your house." 

"How?" he whispered, so silently it seemed as if the very wind whispered the word, as it whistled down the chimney. He cleared his throat. 

"How do I do that?" he said louder. 

"How indeed. That, is a very good question. Let us finish our meal and you may help me with some chores around here to pay for your room and board, and we will see if you can find the answer to your question. That is if you are agreeable? Or do you wish to return to the Home for the Homeless and start your new occupation as a Rag and Bottle Man?" 

"No! I. . . un, I mean, I would be pleased to help you, in anyway I may do so. I am grateful for your help also." 

"Good, after you have finished, you may go outside and bring in enough cut wood for the fireplace for the night. please." 

"Yes, ma'am" Dominic finished his delicious meal, and wondered if he could steal away some extra for later. He looked up from his contemplation of the pies and saw her smiling at him and knew she knew his thoughts and just like that, he knew he would not starve. He felt the fight leave him and it was replaced with a desire to learn, truly learn what this wise woman had to teach him. He rose and picking up his plate and utensils went to the wash basin on a sturdy stand in the corner with them. 

Then he put his coat back on, secured his hat firmly and went outside and started to lug armfuls of wood into the cottage and stack them neatly next to the fireplace. 

He finished, and as he was making his way into the cottage for the last time right before nightfall, he took a moment to stop and survey the surrounding forest which crept closer to the little cottage in the glade in the middle of the deepest part of the forest. As dense as the trees were he could look directly up and see the moon starting to appear and stars winking to life in the deep cobalt sky turning to indigo. 

He started to turn to go towards the door and he thought he heard a twig snap in the darkest part of the forest to his back. He froze and swung around, but could see nothing! He held his breath for an interminable amount of time, his eyes scanning the darkness around the cottage and yet could see nothing. He felt as if eyes, hundreds were watching him! Was it simply the feeling of the tiniest bugs watching the human out of boredom? Or was it something more dangerous, something more? 

Not liking the wave of fear and helplessness that flooded over his being he quickly entered the cottage and closed the door behind him, and carefully slid the bolt lock home with no mention to his hostess. He didn't want to scare the old woman. Then he almost laughed aloud! Scare her? Something told him, if anything should be scared, it was whatever lurked in the woods outside of her cottage. 

Dominic put some pieces of wood onto the fire, and at her indication sat across from her in one of the comfortable chairs which flanked the fireplace. They quietly enjoyed the fire for a while without speaking. He then felt he had to ask "How long do you think my training will take?" 

She had taken a seat in a matching chair across from him, but closer to the fireplace. She was crushing up a fragrant mixture of seeds, roots, dried herbs and other unknown items in a small mortar and pestle held in her lap. She seemed to ignore him, then took a small handful of the spices and threw them into the fire. They flared up bright red, whistles, pops and crackles flashed out of the fireplace! The fire died back down and burned a deep purple, she bent down and peered deeply into the purple flames as they hugged the hearth stones. Then she looked up at him with a smile and said "As long as it takes, you may stay here until then. Now, gather up that bundle of clean bedding and bed down on that pallet in the corner. It will be warm enough so close to the fire. 

- - - - 

The next morning Dominic awoke and found the small cottage empty except for the cat slumbering in a sunny patch of golden light coming through one of the window openings. He saw a plate made on the table. A chunk of fresh bread, pieces of a white fleshed, sweet fruit which tasted like a combination between a pear and an apple. But juicier. He wondered how she was able to find such fresh fruit so late in the winter, when the trees were still dormant. He could hear sweet singing outside the cottage. He brought his bread with him and left the cottage. 

Shermona was outside, near a large outdoor bonfire. She had a great iron tripod built around it with an even larger cauldron boiling on the fire. Dominic could swear he smelled soap, but it was somehow a cleaner, fresher smell than the harsh smells of some of the peasant soaps he had purchased for his servants. It smelled as fine as the imported soaps he used himself, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Lavender, rose, lemon all tingled his nose as they floated around him. 

"Good Morning!" She didn't turn but knew he stood behind her watching. 

Feeling like he was somehow eavesdropping, he responded "Good morning" He sat down on a nearby stump. A handy seat he judged. 

He looked into the woods. Suddenly he was unable to think of anything but what was in the woods? More so, was there anything there for him? 

"What's out there?" he asked

She finished stirring the frothing mass and taking out the long heavy stick, placed it aside. 

"Many things. Do you feel drawn to go into the woods deeper? They will call to those who have need of their gifts."

"Gifts?" he looked at her. Why was everything she said like a riddle? 

"Maybe. Maybe I'll simply take a walk. Clear my head. Before I start on any chores you need done." 

She smiled just barely. With a nod, she indicated a path he hadn't noticed before. "Wait. Just a moment." She looked carefully at him, then turned and went back into the cottage. He continued to gaze at the woods. She came out a few minutes later. his new canvas bag now unfolded and stuffed and drawn tight at the top. She hefted it with considerable effort and he knew it weighed a lot. What could she have put into it? 

"I .  .  .  don't understand? I'll only be gone a short time. A mere walk in the woods. I'll be back before noon. What is this?" 

" I know. Just in case. It's always best to be prepared when going into the forest. You will find everything you need, as you search for the answers you seek. And Dominic . . . it is very important, you will come across two different types of fruit bearing trees. Even this time of year. The fruit you ate to break your fast this morning, is the fruit you should eat for sustenance. The other, it looks luscious, red, plump, delicious but be warned. Stay away from that tree, from that fruit. It is best that you not eat of that tree." 

"Is it poisonous?" He looked alarmed. 

"Not to the body, but it can do . . . strange things, perhaps unwanted things . . .  to the mind. I hope to see you again. Be well, Dominic".

 Shermona reached up and as gently as a butterfly alighting on his skin, she grazed his cheek with her hand. She dropped her hand, took a step back, folded her hands and watched him, silently. 

Dominic felt as if he had no other choice. He hefted his now full pack onto his back. He went to the start of the path, looked back at her, quietly watching him. He gave a slight smile, wondering what it was she knew, that she wasn't telling him. He decided then and there he was going to find out. No matter how long it took. He set off into the woods, soon the older woman and her cottage faded amongst the foliage and he faded from view.  

    

 To be continued .  .  .   

From the Author:  I hope you are enjoying the story of the Rag and Bottle Shop. I am enjoying sharing the adventures of Catsandra and her familiars and the community of Castlewick with you. Please feel free to share this blog link to other fans of magical, fantasy fiction. 

I write my stories using the inspiration of the incomparable Charles Dickens who wrote and published his work during the 1800's in Great Britain in installments. Mr. Dickens was a strong social critic of industrialization and capitalism, as well as bringing to the public attention the need for social reform. Thank You for reading my work, Faith M. McCann