I was born in the manor ruled by Baron D’Ankh. If you listen to my father, I was also born a murderer, as my mother died bringing me into this world. When a beloved woman dies in childbirth there are two types of grieving fathers. Firstly, there are those that hang on to their newborn child and cherish it as a last reminder of the woman they loved; then you have those that forever blame their own child, as if they had any say in the matter. Needless to say, my father was in the latter camp.

Baron D’Ankh was a harsh lord, he, and his two sons, took what he wanted and had nothing but contempt for his tenants. His rents were high and security low. If he thought he could levy a higher tax, he would. If, to do this, he thought he needed to throw a tenant out and bring in a new one, then it would be done without hesitation, nor concern for the evicted families. In that sense, I suppose my father was lucky in that he was already at the bottom of the pile. He was one of the many shepherds the manor had. We lived in a hut on the edge of the Baron’s lands, adjoining Dark Wood. The sheep that he was overseer of, belonged, naturally, to the Baron and as long as the flock increased year on year, he was pretty much left alone.

My first vague memories are from when I was five or six. I was always hungry and lonely. Father was always up early, that is, if he’d come home the previous evening, which, particularly during the lambing season, was rare. I was left to fend for myself even then. Looking back, it was a near miracle that I survived at all, let alone in one piece.

That brings me to my first vivid memory, the Pretty Lady. As I’ve mentioned, I lived right next to Dark Wood and one day, around that time, I entered the wood. There were no real paths, but I was quite tiny, so had no difficulty in squeezing through the outer barrier. I was in awe of the place, gone was the monotonous grazed grass with its equally boring scents. Instead, I was surrounded by a sensual overload; earthy aromas I could almost taste, shards of light reaching the ground in an every changing dance and best of all, the sounds. Living alone in the country, I thought I knew the sounds of life, but this was now a full orchestra playing the most sophisticated music possible, with the musicians comprising of insects, small and large mammals, even the trees themselves. I distinctly recall just sitting on the forest floor, listening to an auditory sensation whilst running my hands through the myriad textures that abounded. Only an abundance of bright colours were missing, but this was easily compensated for by the, almost, infinite hues of darkness. For the first time in my short life, I felt happy.

‘Well, hello little one.’ I heard the sweetest voice say. I didn’t realise until much later that ‘heard’ and ‘say’ weren’t truly accurate. I knew that I heard the voice in my head, and not via my ears, but had no idea that that was in any way unusual.

‘Hi,’ I thought back, totally unconcerned at this strangeness.

‘What are you doing here?’ A pretty lady asked as she stepped out in front of me.

I thought for a moment of how best to answer. ‘Being happy, Pretty Lady.’ I stated simply.

She then sat down, crossed legged, in front of me. ‘Where are your parents?’ She wanted to know.

‘Father is tending his sheep. I don’t have a mother, I murdered her.’ I told her, repeating what my father had drummed into me.

‘I’m sorry,’ I went on to apologise when I saw the frown that hid her prettiness.

‘Why do you think that?’ She managed to ask.

I explained my birth and subsequent life. I didn’t doubt my guilt, I’d been told often enough by my father, and adults were always right, weren’t they.

‘What is your name?’ She asked.

It sounds a simple question, yet I had no idea of the answer. No-one, other than my father, had ever addressed me and I tried to think of any of the things he’d called me could be called a name. I concluded that there was only one. ‘Boy.’

Another voice spoke, this time with the deep tones of a male, but nobody else appeared. ‘Why do you say that you are happy here?’

I explained as best I could, ending with just how relaxing I found it.

‘That is good to hear. You are welcome to come here whenever you wish, but please do not bring anyone else without asking for permission first.

‘I don’t know anyone else except my father, and he would never leave his sheep.’

‘Are you hungry?’ The Pretty Lady asked.

I smiled, ‘I’m always hungry. I don’t know what I can eat and what I can’t, so I have to wait until my father arrives and cooks something, but that is often a long wait.’

Suddenly, there was a tree stump between us, and it was topped with nuts and various fruits.

‘Everything here is edible and nourishing. Take note, especially of the fruits’ colouring, and remember it for the future. It should keep your hunger at bay, but please, never eat too much at one time. What you see in front of you is easily enough for two meals.’ The male voice told me.

I started to tuck in to the provisions provided, but still asked questions between mouthfuls. ‘What are your names?” Was my first one.

‘I am the Spirit of the Forest,’ the male voice stated. ‘I have no physical form, but you will be able to talk to me anywhere in the Forest.’

‘You will not be able to say my name, but please, give me a human name and I will gladly answer to that.’

‘Pretty Lady!’ I stated.

I heard laughter from both of my new friends. ‘What a lovely name, but there are many pretty ladies in the Forest, all of which may want you to give them a name.’

‘Yes, am I not a pretty lady?’ Asked a second feminine voice, at the same time as a second Pretty Lady appeared.

I looked at her, then back to the first. ‘Yes, I see you are both Pretty Ladies.’

After a moment of confusion, in which I looked around for inspiration, my eyes landed on a patch of ground that was the recipient of one of the warm sunbeams. In this tiny bit of the forest floor a few small flowers offered a rare glimpse of colour. ‘What is the name of that beautiful little red flower?’ I asked nobody in particular.

‘Your name would be a Fressia.’

‘And the lovely blue one?’

‘That is a Bluebell.’

I looked again at the two Pretty Ladies. I pointed at the one who I’d first met. ‘Because of your hair, you must be Fressia and therefore you,’ I said looking at the other Pretty Lady, ‘can be Bluebell.’

Both Pretty Ladies smiled happily. ‘Now we must give you a proper name, young sapling,’ The Spirit told me, ‘and I think Oak would be a good name to have.’

So it was from that day on, to all I met, except when with my father, I was Oak Woodson.

Over the next few years, hardly a day passed that I didn’t spend at least some time in the Forest. A couple of times a week one or more of the Pretty Ladies, or Wood Nymphs, as I now knew them to be, turned up. Initially it seemed as if it was just to talk, but after a while I realised they were actually teaching me wood craft. Soon young men would occasionally join us. These were Dryads, the male equivalent of the Nymphs. I was shown all the hidden secret worlds of a living forest. The dead log that became home to a multitude of life; the gigantic fungi that had its tendrils spread below ground, only showing its existence by the sprouting mushrooms which peppered the forest floor. I learned about all the animals that dwelt in Dark Wood, from the largest deer to the smallest rodent, how to spot the telltale signs of those best avoided, like bears and wolves. I’d even been taken to see a large flying creature called a dragon. I’d only seen it from a clearing as it soared far above. I was yet to learn how lucky I was to sight such a beast.

I was taught that not all trees were the same, and even when the were the same species, they varied tremendously. The thousand year oak, that took so many paced just to walk around it, was the same tree as the sapling sprouting its first acorns.

Tracking and leaving no trail were other tricks that were added to my repertoire. These lessons were absorbed as quickly and easily, as only interested youngsters seem to be able of.

There were a few strange anomalies in forest life. The first one I noticed, was that no matter how long I seemed to spend with my forest friends, whenever I left, I was never late, so when my father did come home, I was usually there or nearby. Another, was that I was now rarely hungry. I did put on a little weight, but mainly that matched my growing height. The strangest of all was that I could now read my father’s mind, not word for word, but more his emotions, his ups and downs. I was rarely surprised at anything he said or did. Because of my lack of human interaction, I began to think of myself as a Dryad, though my ageing clearly showed that I wasn’t.

Like the stories of many people’s lives, mine changed with puberty, not that I actually had a name for it at the time. I now know, that is when a wizard’s magic tends to make itself known. Wizards are not the all encompassing magicians of myth, but usually limited to one major skill, and if they’re lucky, a lesser secondary talent. I discovered my major in a moment of idleness. For some reason I now seemed to need far more sleep than before. One morning, loath to get up from my blanket, I reached out for the horn of water, I always placed close at hand before going to my cot. This time, it was just out of reach but when I stretched to get it, it came to me, rather than the other way around. At first, I paid this phenomenon no special heed, as I took a drink. It was only when I tried to put it back on its special stand that I realised just what at happened.

There followed weeks of experimentation and a similar amount of time discussing it with my forest friends. The Spirit told me that he had known all along that I had a touch of magic about me and it was only a matter of time before it made itself known. The Pretty Ladies, who now seemed a lot more on my conscious mind, kept suggesting different tests to find my talent’s limits. It was decided that I could move heavy objects very slowly, or small, light ones very rapidly. Distance was very much dependant on weight. I could make these objects move in any direction, but learned very early on, that if I was bringing things to me, then do not try to do it too fast, the resultant collision tended to be painful. The Spirit told me that there was a name for this talent, tele something or other, but at the time I couldn’t pronounce it properly and have never had need to do so since. The only time that I was able to do anything useful with it, at that stage, was when I came across a hogget that had fallen into a ditch and was struggling to get out. I was able to lift it out easily and move it a few yards before lowing back onto the ground. I had to smile as it ran off without a second thought.

It must have been a year later that I returned, early one spring afternoon, from the Forest, only to see three horses fastened at the side of our hut. The previous winter had been extra harsh, even The Spirit had commented on it. Snow had fallen solidly for nearly a month and strong winds had caused massive drifts. My father had been out in the worst, trying to provide food and shelter for as many of his flock as he could. It was that bad that even Dog had to stay behind. This was the second dog that I could remember, but he was definitely not a pet, hence the name. Dog was a working animal and was treated as such.

As I approached my home, I could hear angry voices coming from the front. As my father preferred me not to be seen when the rare visitor arrived, I sneaked a look around the corner. Two men were holding my father by his arms and the Baron was screaming at him. I didn’t need any special powers to know that he was extremely pissed off. As I listened, it became evident that the Baron was blaming my father for the loss of so many of his sheep over the winter.

“He was out in all weather, every day, trying to protect his flock.” I shouted as I walked towards them. This was my father, after all. The first thing I noticed was the body of Dog, lying near his master, clearly killed trying to defend him.

Baron D’Ankh, turned to look at me. “Well, he didn’t do a very good job, did he?” He laughed. “Now he will pay the price.” I thought he punched my father in the stomach, but when I saw the blood, I realised that he’d stabbed him.

I was fuming. He’d done everything in his power to look after his flock, far more than anyone else would have done, and this was his reward. I saw a stone near my feet, about half the size of my fist. Using all my power, I sent it at the Baron. It hit him in the chest area, cutting clean through his chain mail, leaving his blood to join my father’s.

His two men were mesmerised for a few moments, wondering just what had happened to the Baron. It was clear that I was too far away to have done anything, but equally clear that something had left a gaping hole in his chest. Briefly, I considered sending similar stones at the two, but, instead, decided to retreat to the Forest. I just made it before they had chance to catch me.

“Well, that’s him sorted. No-one survives Dead Wood!” One of them said.

“Dark Wood! You mean.”

“Same difference.” Laughed the first. “What the hell happened to the Baron?”

“No idea, but it wasn’t pretty.” The second commented. “Do you reckon it was the boy?”

“No, he was never close enough to do anything. I don’t fancy telling John and Philip that their father is dead.”

“Me neither, though I’m sure John will be more than happy to be the new Baron.”

“True, but the bastard’s sure to blame us, and I really don’t want to be on his wrong side. What say we make for pastures new.”

“Now that’s the best idea you’ve had in a long time. Shall we take his horse?”

“No, best leave it here, it’s too distinctive. Anyway, if it’s left here it’ll take them longer to come after us.”

The voices had been becoming less clear as they slowly walked back to their horses. Once I’d watched them ride off, I ran to my father to see if he was still alive. He wasn’t. There was a shovel leaning against the hut, the one Father had used to dig his charges out from the snow. I used it, along with some of my power, to create a large enough hole to bury him. It wasn’t quick, but it was something that I felt I had to do. With the two guards heading away from the Manor House, I felt that I had enough time to do the right thing. Unsurprisingly, I had no inclination to bury the baron.

Once finished, I went into the hut and grabbed everything of any value, which was hardly anything. I knew that I could never return here now, partly for emotional reasons as well as security ones too.

As soon as I was back in the Forest clearing, I was surrounded by my Pretty Ladies and a couple of their male counterparts. You didn’t need words to communicate there, it was just as well, as I didn’t know what to say anyway. Like all real friends, they were just there. It was clear they knew what had happened and words, whether actually spoken or just thought, weren’t what I needed at that moment. I didn’t even react when Fressia pulled me to her breast for comfort.

I didn’t realise it at the time, but it was to be quite a few years before I saw another human. I became part of the Forest. My strange power was occasionally called upon to move fallen trees and large branches, but it was my ability to ‘shoot’ stones that found most use. One of the biggest problems in the Forest was the abundance of deer. Whilst wolves kept the population on its toes, they did nothing to reduce their numbers. Dryads had for a long time seen selected culling as part of the role in keeping Dark Wood in balance. With nothing better than a sharp stick, this was no easy task and over the decades the deer population was expanding far too quickly. This could be best seen in clearings and at the Forest edge. In the past, in both places, baby saplings would take root and grow into the trees that make up the Forest. Now, deer grazed the areas, eating those shoots before they ever had chance to really take root.

There was one massive downside to my life in Dark Wood; Pretty Ladies! I was, by then, a young hormonal man, surrounded by the most beautiful and desirable women imaginable, but they were all unavailable to me. The Spirit had explained why; that they usually mated for life and out of love, not lust. The big problem was my life could be measured in decades, at best, whilst they lived for centuries. I fully understood and accepted this, but, if you’ll pardon the pun, it was still hard. Other than that, my forest life was idyllic. However, I was well aware that for other people, trespassing into Dark Wood, was usually fatal. By chance, I did come across a possible solution to my horniness. Although Wood Nymphs were off limits, I found that the smaller Water Nymphs were not. They were about as lusty and promiscuous as you could get. The one I met was certainly desirable and had not Fressia appeared on the scene, I would have undoubtedly succumbed to my own lust.

After driving the latest object of my desire back into the water, she explained. ‘Yes the little nymphs love sex, but they love it best under water. They lure men, humans usually, though Dryads are not immune, into mating and gradually move it into the water. I’m not sure exactly what happens down there, but the males never reappear. In fact, many of the humans that enter the Forest, meet their end in a Water Nymph’s embrace.’

I think I was about eighteen when loneliness hit me hard. I have no idea why then and not some previous time. Plus, I’m not sure that loneliness is the correct word as I still saw a lot of the Nymphs and Dryads. I guess I was missing human interaction, not that I’d ever had much of that in the past.

‘It is time that you returned to your own world, sapling.’ The Spirit told me, as it knew my mind almost as quickly as I did myself.

‘What will I do there? I know nobody, I haven’t even spoke out loud for years.’

‘You will have your skills to aid you.’

‘I have an idea.’ Came the soft feminine voice, I recognised as Bluebell’s. ‘Near your big concentrations of humans, I sense that hunger is never far away. Couldn’t you continue to hunt our deer and then provide your people with the meat?’

‘That is an excellent suggestion.’ The Spirit conceded. ‘If you also provided wood for their buildings, you would prevent much of the encroachment.’

The Spirit, although purely of The Forest, had watched for millennia, as humans spread across the land. He knew what made them tick. ‘I have some of the shining gold that they call coins, that you can have to start your life with.’

Obviously, I knew of such a thing as money, and roughly how it worked, though all in theory.

Over the next season, I had many regular visitors. Pretty Ladies and Dryads alike, came to wish me luck and share any of their own experiences that might have proved useful. Finally, it was time to leave. The Spirit had deemed it best for me to appear near the largest population, which turned out to be the capital, Kingtown.

For the past few weeks, I’d been actually talking, using my voice and not just my mind. At first, I found it difficult, as if I was trying to talk for the first time. I also went to sleep with a sore throat most nights, but, I persevered and felt a lot more confident as I walked out of the Forest to the bright sunshine and boring landscape of the area. I was dressed in clothing made from whatever could be found in a forest, specifically fur and deerskin leather. I also carried a pouch full of gold coins as well as the type of small stones I used to bring down deer. I kept a few in my hand, just in case.

It took most of the morning to walk to the gates, but as I was more apprehensive than excited, I was in no hurry. About a half mile or so from the walls, a large caravan had caught up with me, which gives you an idea of just how slow I was moving. It was, to me anyway, a strange parade; men with long beards and even longer gowns, leading a horse like animal, though this creature had a different snout and much longer ears. No one bothered to speak to me, but I still thought it a reasonable idea to tag along. It worked well as I was able to enter the city without having to answer any complicated questions at the gate.

I’d never seen so many people in one place, in fact, I’d never seen this many if I totalled everyone I’d ever seen, half a dozen times. The smell was horrendous. I knew there and then, that whatever my future, I wouldn’t be living here.

All that was even before I came across an overcrowded market. This was something I was more familiar with, but on a much, much smaller scale. The only one I’d ever visited was with my father and at most had a dozen stands, whilst here they went on as far as I could see. I needed help, so, using my ‘emotional filter’ I looked for that strange sort of trader, a honest one. Every product I could ever dream of was on sale, along with a vast number of things beyond my imagination. The overall sense that seemed to sweat from the very pores of the traders, was avarice. Most were clearly wealthy judging by the quantities of their goods and their quality clothes. The wealth seemed at its height in the centre and diminished as you moved outwards. I saw many shoppers held by an arm as the trader demanded that they buy from him, the best of whatever in the market. Those people seemed to accept this as part of the game. There were also a few, clearly rich, men, and they were always men, that strolled around as if they owned the place. These were always unmolested, no doubt due to the heavily muscled and armed guards that accompanied them.

I found her at the far edge, well away from all the professional stalls, sitting cross legged on the floor, with just a few root vegetables in front of her, not all of which did I recognise.

“Which of these can I eat without cooking?” I asked.

The woman, dressed in a colour faded blue dress, just smiled and pointed to the carrots. The smile knocked years off her and I guessed she was somewhere around thirty.

“How much?”

“One copper a bunch.” She replied optimistically, looking just a little guilty. I knew instantly that the price was well over the odds, but I could also tell that she wasn’t deliberately trying to con me, she was just desparate.

“Okay, I’ll be back. Where can I find a keeper of money?”

She looked at me for a few moments as she worked out what I meant. “Oh, you mean the King’s Bank.”

“If you say so.”

“Yes, it’s over there behind that statue of King Lancer. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to some of these beautiful carrots.’

“You already have, but first I need to change some coin.”

I then headed over to the King’s Bank and after almost an hour of waiting, I was seen by a young, well dressed, man with all the good manners of Baron D’Ankh, that is, none whatsoever.

“I wish to speak to someone regarding my money.” I told him quietly, almost cringing as I sensed his disdain for me.

“Go away, we don’t deal with peasants and their coppers here.”

Just then an older man came to talk to him. I couldn’t hear what was said but the younger man soon scuttled away.

“I apologise for Mister Scriver. He is new here and feels insulted if he has to deal with anyone he feels are his inferiors. Unfortunately, that seems to be just about everyone. Now, how can I help?”

I explained that I was new to the city and its way of life, but I did have some gold coins. He asked what I intended to do with them. When I told him how many I had he was extremely surprised and even more so when I mentioned the potential business I proposed.

He wanted me to go with him to see someone he call the Chamberlain. I asked first if I could at least change one of my coins into something smaller. He rapidly agreed and called the younger, arrogant man, to go and do just that, much to that man’s chagrin.

As I was led out, I told the older man, who I now knew was called Henry Casey, that I wanted to see the woman vegetable seller.

“Why, you won’t need anything like that. You can get an excellent meal at any of a number of inns.”

“Maybe, but I told her that I would return and I like to keep my word.” In the Forest, any verbal agreement was sacrosanct. ‘If you don’t mean it, don’t say it’ could have been a mantra.

He nodded, looking impressed.

I returned to the woman, picked up the cleanest carrot and tossed her a small silver coin.

“I’m sorry, sir.” She whimpered, “I have not got enough change for this.”

I smiled. “I didn’t expect you would, so please keep the change, you need it more than me.”

The woman was stunned into silence, but she was poor, not stupid, so she nodded as I walked away.

“You could buy a better time in one of the inns.” My companion told me, and when he saw my bewilderment, continued, “you plan to bed her later, I assume?”

It took a moment to realise what he meant. “No, she is a good woman and needed a helping hand. I don’t expect to ever see her again.”

As we left the market and headed into the multitude of streets, I sensed a strong animosity coming from behind us. I tapped Henry on the arm and turned around to face the danger. Two youngish men approached, each carrying a cudgel. Their clothes had seen better days and their bodies hadn’t seen water for some time. I was sure that even without my extra sense that I’d have been able to smell them if they’d got any closer.

“What do you want gentlemen?” I asked.

“Gentlemen! Hear that Sam, we’re gentlemen.” The shorter of the two laughed.

“Your mate didn’t think that when he had us kicked out of our house.” Sam added.

“So you see lad, we reckon he deserves his comeuppance. Now, you’ve done us no harm, so if you want to step aside, we’ll leave you alone.”

“You defaulted on a loan. We gave you plenty of chances to pay, but you didn’t. All your profit went on ale and women.” Henry responded. I also noted, impressively, that he made no attempt to run.

In the meantime, I was looking around for an object of sufficient size and weight to put them out of action, but not to do any permanent damage. I saw what I needed, a water filled bucket, sitting on a doorstep. Controlling the speed, I sent it into the two men. As they were about level with it, the bucket hit Sam first, with enough momentum to knock him hard into his friend. They both fell hard on the floor, wet and winded. Henry walked to them, now wielding a short sword. He placed it against Sam’s neck.

“I think it would be advisable if you left the city before the Guard come looking for you.”

He then turned to me and said. “Come, let us continue on. You can explain their little mishap as we walk.”

At first, I was reluctant to admit that I caused the bucket to hit Sam. Henry wasn’t having any of it, he’d seen what he had seen and kept at me until I finally admitted it.

“Don’t worry young Oak.” I will keep your secret, though I have no choice but to tell The Chamberlain, who may decide to tell King Lancer.”

Wow! I thought. I’d heard of the King, naturally, now it seems he just might hear of me. I couldn’t decide whether that was humbling or frightening. I asked Henry just what a chamberlain was. When he explained that he was the King’s main man in everything non-military, and even there, he was in charge of their budget, it did little to ease my concerns.

Henry then wanted to know how I knew that the two men were following us. Once again, I was reticent to explain my senses, but this time it was easier as I passed it off to my living in the Forest for years. Thankfully, he accepted this.

It appeared that Henry was quite important in his own right, as we were shown into see the Chamberlain almost immediately.

“Good day, Henry. To what do I owe this honour and who is this young man accompanying you?”

The Chamberlain was an older man, his hair was almost totally grey and his neatly trimmed beard actually white. He wasn’t fat, but could never be described as slender. His attire seemed to have been chosen for comfort rather than fashion.

“This is Oak Woodson, Charles. He has come to me with an interesting proposition, one that proved far more fascinating on the short walk to see you.” I could tell that Henry had deliberately piqued the interest of the Chamberlain.

“That is an intriguing name. How did it come about?”

“It was given to me by The Spirit.” I told him.

“The Spirit? Which one would that be?”

“I only know of one. That is The Spirit of the Forest.”

I smiled inwardly, as I saw his eyebrows rise slightly. This man did not like to give away any of his emotions.

“The forest in question being Dark Wood?”

I nodded.

“A place not known for its friendliness, I hear.”

“You hear wrong then, sir. It can be the most friendly and peaceful place around, provided that you enter properly.”

“So I’ve actually heard.”

At this statement Henry gave his friend a querying look.

“Yes. Earl Dark Wood says exactly the same. Do you know him?” The latter question clearly aimed at me.