The Old Forest

The forest seemed to want to hoard everything that was in it.

—I can notice that you want to tell me something—nothing—I’m impressed that you aren’t afraid to walk through this forest—insisted the youngest, looking for an answer.

—I remind you that I went to war, brother. Corpses and death are no strangers to me.

—Here's a worse fate and you don't have to remind me you left.

Silence.

—I had no choice — said the oldest with a sudden need to know where he was stepping.

—Others came back.

—You're not the one to demand responsibility, Rafael. If anyone has given our parents a hard time, it's been you.

—Maybe I haven’t been a good son.

—You haven't been a good person— he snapped —sometimes I would have preferred you to be dead.

The younger's eyes didn't express the anger the older expected to find, his own anger. Before being able to amend his words, a movement of the foliage put both brothers on alert. A human figure emerged in front of them, supported by a skeleton visible in some places; the remaining flesh had lost its identity and was fused with plants that acted as tendons or other functions that the body had lost.

The youngest raised his voice and the forest heard:

—Hello, can you understand me?

The creature raised its head in response. Under the empty eye sockets and from a drooping jaw, an exuberant yellowish flower was born; from it came out five stamens that vibrated with a breath of air. He seemed to catch Rafael's voice, but the being didn't respond, he didn't seem to want more from the brothers, just to perceive his presence.

When they left the guardian behind, Miguel broke the silence:

—Did you expect an answer from that?

—That close to the edge of the forest, they usually answer. Some still remember, others haven’t forgotten who they were.

—Have you gone much further?

—Not much, the more you enter the forest source, the bark of the trees darkens to black and there are more and more corpses. Some, dressed in clothes from centuries ago.

Miguel's eyes focused on his own memories. Memories of a local archive, the smell of indigo almonds; confusing questions; the reluctance of the employees; that old woman who showed him the documents. These spoke about inscriptions and legends of a sacred forest; but almost contemporary to those inscriptions, he had found a forgotten popular song that narrated the disillusion of the ancient inhabitants of the place. The tune revolved around a chorus and a changing verse, which was often improvised and invented by the locals.

"The old forest has

two rules that you must trust

not to pick up a weapon,

not going there to rust

If it has a god, it left

life it never ever gave,

if you try to burn it

you will end without a grave

The old forest has

two rules that you must trust

not to pick up a weapon,

not going there to rust

The hill in the past had,

two neighboring villages,

now there is only one

and those who roam for ages"

—I never asked how you found the forest—his brother's voice brought him back to the present for the first time.

—It was after the war. People said that no one dared to carry a weapon in the forest, that it was sacred.

—They knew the consequences.

—I'm not sure, maybe it was more of a broadcast warning. I think it scares me to think that they knew, that they knew what would happen to those soldiers who were chasing me—said the older one with a grimace.

Their walk slowed down. The forest seemed to be less ambitious at its edges and some gaps of light crossed the ancient grove.

—How long has it been since we last spoke?

—Three years, we haven't seen each other in three years.

—Miguel, I'm not going home.

—You could at least try.

—I have no choice.

—What are we doing here then?"

—Two brothers, in a beautiful forest. Let's talk about life, about things.

—What have you done this morning?

—I thought about dad. How is the old man?

Rafael still kept in his memory very clear moments of his life and his father was one of them. Everything he did and didn't do, or didn't know how to do. But he no longer held a grudge against him, it no longer made sense.

—As you left it —answered Miguel.

—Have you ever thought of bringing him here? In what would he say?

—He wouldn't put up with this.

A hissing howl cut off the conversation and was lost in the sky. It didn't seem to come from anywhere, like the wind rushing through an old log.

—Was that a wolf?— said Miguel.

—They call it Vaelic. They bring him offerings and treat him like a god. But that being does not resemble any god, not one of ours. But I want to know about you, what have you been doing? — His brother took a deep breath before answering.

—I'm getting married, brother. I'm going to have a child.

—You get married? Form a family?

—Not without your blessing, brother.

—Miguel, I am anything but a saint, my blessing would only bring you detractors. Still, if you want it, I'm willing to give it to you on one condition. We must not see each other again.

A weight fell from the older brother's heart, and as he passed it tore his chest with the feeling of guilt that relief provoked. Thousands of questions crossed Miguel's mind, but he only formulated one.

—Have I been a bad brother Rafael?

—No Miguel, you have done more than any black sheep could have asked for. But it's getting more and more dangerous, they'll ask questions, they'll know who you are. And now you have a family to worry about.

—You are my family, I don't want to leave you behind again.

—I'm long gone, brother. The farewell has come later.

They wrapped themselves in a hug and stayed in it. There, still, long enough to create a memory.

—Perhaps you don't fear the dead. But I have seen how, in their dementia, they dragged their loved ones to the heart of the forest so they won't be alone.

But Miguel was no longer there.

His legs regained vigor and his stride quickened. In a short time he reached the trunk where his brother always found him, where he was killed for a settling of scores. 

And he sat there, thinking.

Until he couldn't do it anymore.