Heart of the Forest

~KUWAHAWI ISLAND CHAIN, ZFRP MAIN UNIVERSE~ 

The Aetherian Forest was forbidden ground, according to the aboriginl lore. It had been since the ancient days, when a terrible war had been fought between the Forest and the rest of the land. The war had made the Forest sick, and the Heart of the Forest had grown mad with the sickness and become hateful. It had tried to push the Forest to where it did not belong, and smother the entire land in green. But the Ocean and the Sky had protested, and thus a pact had been reached, pushing the Forest back to where it belonged.

Now it stood on the one lone island, a blot of vibrant green against white sand and sparkling blue ocean. It looked like something out of a painting of primeval times, or perhaps a scene from a fairy tale, and tales were told of giant flowers, berries and fruits the size of a man's head and animals of spectacular health and energy. But the aboriginals of the islands never went near it, for they said to step on it was to invoke the wrath of the Heart of the Forest. The Heart never forgot the damage that had been done before the war, they said. And it had never forgiven, either.

The man either did not know or did not care. He just wanted to shoot something.

He was one of those rich men who let their wealth, and the respect it brought them, get to their heads. As far as he was concerned, problems other people had didn't apply to him, and when they did all he had to do was throw money at them until they went away. It was how he had gotten away with being a classic big game hunter in a modern world of namby-pamby, hands-wringing conservationists. Who cared about a few dead rhinos here and there, anyway? That was what animals were there for, wasn't it? What good were they for, if not for shooting? Some people were so melodramatic.

Getting onto the island was easy enough. Tour guides became surprisingly willing to comply when you slipped a thick wad of dollar bills into their hands. Finding anything to shoot, however, was a lot trickier. The forest was so thick and dark that it was difficult to make out anything - even the noise of the birds seemed deadened and muffled, as if someone had thrown a blanket over it all. Once or twice he thought he heard something rustle in the darkness, or catch a glimpse of movement, but with so little sunlight filtering through the canopy it was hard to tell if something had been there, or if it was just the plants moving in the faint breeze.

The man was losing patience rapidly. He'd come here looking to hunt a particularly rare specimen - the endangered Kuwahawi water deer. The finest antlers of any in the islands, the books had said. And the more endangered the animal, the more proud of himself he'd feel once he saw the head stuffed and mounted up on his study wall. But now his trigger finger was beginning to itch - he'd be happy to shoot anything, just so he didn't have to put up with the dead silence.

So the diminutive tree bear had picked a poor moment to run in front of him.

The gunshot was like an explosion in the forest. Everything in the vicinity, startled by the sound, went absolutely still and quiet. But none more so than the bear, who somersaulted backwards with a cry of anguish, crashed to the floor and lay unmoving. Two bloody spots on it's chest told where the bullets had penetreated all the way to the heart, and most likely all the way to the spine. They weren't right sort of bullets for deer, being made for much bigger animals, but the man had wanted to be sure that whatever he hit wouldn't be getting up again.

The man lowered his gun and snorted. What a waste. A tree bear was hardly worth the effort when he had spent almost a full hour looking for something bigger. Then again, it would do for a start - he still had time, and plenty of bullets to spare. Perhaps, once he got the body into the light, it might prove to be a new species unique to this island. He could get it named after himself, and then get the skin made into gloves or something. His ex-wife had been asking about a new fur hat.

He moved to collect the body, and then found his foot was stuck.

He looked down, and saw that thorny briars had entangled his boot, crushing closely around it.

"What the-?" he cried, and drew his machete. But he never swung it - a tree branch suddenly came down and smacked it from his hand, drawing scratches in the process. He pulled his pistol, intending to shoot the vines off, but had to drop it with a cry as vines suddenly sprouted from the wooden handle, lashing at him with hooked tips. The briars were creeping up his legs now, pricking and spearing him, and all around him the forest seemed to be swaying and shaking, as if in the throes of some terrible agony such as can only be found in a nightmare.

The man was beginning to wonder if he should demand his money back when he heard a growl. And then he made the mistake of looking up.

Glowing green eyes, filled with unspeakable rage, glared back at him.

"You have hurt the forest," snarled the thing.

"And now the forest shall hurt you."

If it's any consolation, the man only felt a twinge of pain before the jaws crushed his skull. It wasn't much consolation to him, but it was worth mentioning.

-------

The native guide's boredom at waiting was relieved when the crushed, severed head of Harold Rathbone Esq. was tossed into his canoe. The half-squashed face looked up at him with eyes bulging and mouth hanging open in a silent scream of terror. Blood trickled from the cracked skull and down the temples, giving the appearance of gruesome warpaint. Some of his teeth were missing, and more blood pooled from the hollows in the gums where they had popped out and ran out of his mouth.

On the shore, the trees rustled ominously.

The guide deciced not to stick around to get the rest of the body thrown at him. He paddled away faster than you could say "no refunds".

-------

Harold's death was published as a footnote in the papers. He hadn't been as influential as he'd liked to believe, his only mark on history being all those dead rhinos. A lot of people said good riddance to bad rubbish, and that it was about time this sort of thing was stopped. Others said that it might have been murder, since it seemed odd that the guide would come back with the head and not the rest of the body. Others wondered if some animal had got him, and concluded that it served him right, if that was the case.

But the locals, when questioned, only shook their heads and said the same thing. He'd hurt the forest, and made it angry.

And the Heart of the Forest had taken vengeance.

Introducing

JOHN HURT

as

SYLVANOS

The Heart of the Forest