Those Deepest Woods
By Daphne Garrido
Bone dry.
Her flask had seen her this far. It would give no more.
Stomached churned. Heart pounded. Mind, it worried. Feet, they carried. Spirit spoke gently. Her whole self striding boldly towards Temple, so sought.
Dénia would know these Woods if not for the spell on her mind. The tricks that witch had played. She’d be lost on this journey, and she’d known it. Within her hands, the map she made, instructions written so hastily as she began to lose herself; that path she’d need to take.
It had been weeks.
This journey hadn’t been kind to Dénia. Her legs were giving. Food was sparse. Water a commodity she’d not know to treat so carefully. Without that knowledge which had been stolen, she was a husk of herself. Not only blind to her home, but of her craft. Her place — her purpose.
Whispers played to Ears, they heard.
Mind, it told a story. While Heart, it begged her forward. Not knowing why exactly, yet, feeling so pulled to where she’d be found again.
The boy had been so kind at heart. The softest touch she’d ever known. That witch had left his memory in Mind, taunting her.
Who was he? Why did he feel so in her heart?
What had she done?
Water. At last, something not forgotten. With the sound of its running came a blooming in her mind, an awareness what it meant. Need was spoken clearly from Chest, and Belly.
Dénia ran — Feet still knowing how to place themselves before each other — a grace unbewitched. Deep and full; River. The sight a boon of Heart, it leapt inside while causing her to do the same. Not knowing why, just throwing herself into the current.
So cleansed, so sweet.
You fool! — Mind screamed
The map. Her plans. They’d drown.
She crawled to River’s edge. Her coat and dress, anchors. Tears, they streamed, hidden by River’s water pouring from her brow.
She’d lay the map on muddy leaves, Gut screaming at the sodden pages. It’s ink, gone.
This was not how it was supposed to be.
She had plans. Why had she jumped so foolishly?
This was her burden. To fall forward so hastily. To learn this way. Weeks had come and gone like this.
Now, she would be without direction, without hope.
Heart beckoned her to rise. Mind moving to flask. With it full she found again the path. A part of her remembered it wouldn’t be that simple. The path would end. There was more beyond.
Night had come. Dénia reached path’s end. Mind was alight with fear. She panicked.
What was it now lost she’d needed to know? How would she find her way?
Quieting Mind. Holding herself inside. Finding Breath. She listened. Wind was with her. Earth as well. Sky, so looming.
It was Heart again that spoke. No words, only direction. Triggering Mind to worry, to beg questions.
How do we know? Why should we trust?
She’d walk despite.
Mind ever spinning, playing its games, so lost without her most cherish parts. Who she was. That boy.
Through the night she’d move this way. Again and again reaching crossroads. Needing to turn back. Called to trust, over and over, those signs of Heart — no matter how often they’d seem to steer her wrong.
Moon was bright tonight. It told a story to Heart as she walked, making her feel at home in the dark, seen in her place so alone. She felt it understood. It knew what it was like to walk so as she was.
Love spoke then, something whispered.
She did not hear.
It was meant to be this night, of all nights, Moon shining the path.
She’d found her at last.
Temple — her overgrown structures rotted. Earth speaking in vines snaking through her cracks. Moon’s light stopping upon her lowest steps.
Dénia would not wait for the light, something in her ready.
Heart kept Mind quiet with its surging light. There was a moment coming she could feel. Out ahead, something loomed worth pursuing. She would not stop now, Heart told this story clearly.
This journey taught her to trust again, how she’d quiet Mind when it fought. It knew not that it was lost. And so she’d let it protest.
Temple’s innards were once glorious, there was no doubt. It was Time which had done her great harm.
A decayed staircase led downward before Dénia, into pitch darkness. Something stirred in Belly.
Gut spoke - Use Hands.
How? — Mind cried helplessly, as she ignored it plainly to raise Hand’s palms.
Belly knew. It was doing the work for her. She’d let it speak for the whole body. Heart lit up. That second sun she did not know did too.
Her hands would shake. The room would glow a powder blue.
Something had been stirred. Not only in this space, in her.
Who was she?
This was to be a test. She knew that much.
Her light fell off ahead, matching her step for step, leading ever downward.
Something dwelled beneath Temple, within her darkness. She had a resident. Nose could smell it, something rank in the air. The lower she went — the fouler the stench.
She didn’t know how long she’d been going, only able to measure Time by those breaks Legs needed to sit, how often Thirst had struck for want of flask.
If Mind was told she’d traveled down a night and day, it would have believed.
Feet found purchase on something flat at last.
Mind so lost in the repetition, this darkness surrounding her watery glow, it’d missed the Earth until Feet reached it.
There was more to go, she feared, but she’d hoped it Time. This had to be the place, so she would step forward again.
Heart screamed something she’d not meant been to understand. Yet felt it was.
An altar emerging before her in the darkness confirmed; she was here. Wherever this happened to be. The stonework was pristine.
What kind of enchantment? What magick? What most bewitching sorcery could hold Time from its wrath?
There were no words for the feelings running through her body as she stepped upon its pattern-worked platform, an etching of geometry not understood from her vantage.
Steps led to a dais, upon which rested a hand-carved bowl.
She’d seen this place before.
Knowing now that something was truly here with her, Heart told Voice to speak.
“Whoever you are. I beseech you to show yourself!” Voice shouted.
A crack. A cry. A call. Something slithered up Spine.
The sickest feeling she’d ever known was upon her. Something within. No beast of body, but of spirit. It called her to do terrible things. She’d feel it begging she end herself.
Mind crumpled, thinking nothing could withstand this weight. Body hastened, holding fast the dais, refusing to let this creeping dark take control. Heart rose. It soared in the face of this challenge, as if waiting to show itself; its raw power.
She must drink. There was no time. Something knew this within her.
A gasp, a plunge, and she was in the bowl. She’d lap every drop. What she drank, she did not know.
Collapsed, there was a moment where the light inside her faded. Something gave up. Hope left her.
Until she felt the creeping darkness begin to seep from within. Pooling out of her fingertips into the stone etchings, a flowing blackness pouring through these sacred grooves.
Heart sang, then screamed.
She screamed.
It all came back. Every last lost moment. Every sight. Every feeling. Every knowing.
She was a witch herself. Temple was a home. These Woods were hers to keep. The witch had stolen it all, blinding her from who she was.
The boy. Oh god. What had Dénia done?
The witch had twisted her so.
They’d seen her happiness. Had such hooks within her. This witch had been her sister. They’d betrayed their every oath.
Seeing Dénia free, and with him. They’d made their mark.
Things done in wake of this nightmare, words said to the boy. That one who’d ever made Heart burn so brightly. How she’d turned him away from her home, under spell of that witch, in his own time of greatest need.
What shame came back to remember this all. What weight was felt upon Heart.
It would not stop screaming.
Mind was trying to quiet its own cries, perplexed by all she’d done in absence of its clarity, trying to see a path to fix this. Nothing could be thought of in this darkness. It was not for Mind to know, anyhow. She’d learned this through her journey in blindness.
Heart would lead the way home.
The trek homeward was of discovery; relearning.
Mind had slowed. Not enough, but some. She’d rediscovered herself along the way. Power coming she hadn’t known hers, even before.
Her time was now to take back home.
The witch had burrowed themself within. Made it theirs. Their lies had taken the town — the people within it — Dénia’s very family.
Lightning crackled at her fingertips. The door shattered as she blew it through with her rage. She’d find the witch.
So changed this place had been, once of peace. This was not the home she’d known. And she would destroy it. No longer a part of the fabric which had bonded her to this sister, betrayed. She would do as her storms pleased.
Sparks flew. Fires raged.
It brought them out, the witch. Their slumber ended. Their own eyes of fire. Nothing would be the same. Earth changed by this rupture. This broken bond. It had been such a sacred thing.
For them to hide behind such lies. To be that coward. This would be their end.
Bolts fired from Dénia’s palms. Her eyes alight azure. The witch had cried as they were struck down. She would care not. Blow after blow upon their corpse was laid. Her lighting storm would never end.
Not now. Not ever.
Months had passed since her darkest night. Since freedom earned so violently.
Dénia had bought her peace, yet lost so much.
There was such space in her life. Such joy in her gait. Such flow of power to use by will. Nothing to hold her back; Magick to make.
The boy with Heart in Hand was lost. She’d live that way.
It was her call to make a home he’d love. Even for herself alone. Knowing that was how she’d want it anyway, praying it would bring the one his signs had pointed towards home.
Seen, was his reflection in all things. Heard, his voice in all sounds. Felt, his presence in all places. Hoped for, his return at all moments.
This would not slow her down. Inspire her it would.
She’d take this magick earned. Heart would lead the way. Steady Mind would hold her true. Feet would carry her forward, step by step.
There would be ups and downs in this life of magick born. Feelings brighter than those she’d known possible now lived within. Challenges past, no longer threatening. Mountains — molehills.
She’d changed her town, though they would never know. Alone she remained. The witch who killed her own.
Dénia would own this as a badge of pride. She’d stare the townspeople in their petty faces without a shred of guilt, without an inkling of fear. They would not stop her from living, from thriving in her newfound power, no matter how it scared them all.
She’d travel often, to and from her Woods, allowing Heart to take her on detours. Having learned the virtue in this, it would not be forgotten.
It was from one of these trips which she now journeyed homeward. Stocked so with vegetables harvested from her favorite grove. Heart beaming the lightness it gleaned from time in her Woods.
There was only that one thing she’d want more. Those feelings she’d found with the boy. They’d brought her home today, like all days.
She’d found a new cottage to live in, burrowed into Earth itself, a cozy hole to lay her head. The warmest hearth that she could muster on her own.
The pot was boiling. Her enchanted harp was playing its tune.
There was this magic feeling in Heart that she lived with now, always. Yet, somehow brighter today. Somehow stronger than ever. Heart was singing the sweetest tune she’d ever heard.
There was a knock at the door.
