The forest stretched on forever.

Great pillars reached up to hold back the sky, but sunlight still pierced the distant canopy. It graced a few scattered beds of flowering growth, but between those loomed the dim gray hall of the old wood. Among the gnarled roots of giants clambered a man in a dark cloak, who scanned the dusky wood for a moment as he rose to the crest. The faraway groans of the wind whispered above, but on the forest floor the ancient trees stood in silence, and the man rested a gloved hand on the dagger at his belt. The soft buzzing in the branches above reached a crescendo as a very large fly swooped down to land at his feet. With a flourish, it bowed formally, wrinkling the tuxedo it wore, and rose to face sharply sideways. The man released his weapon, lifting his hands out to the side, and the fly twitched its head toward the light burns covering his bare arms. After a moment it sniffed derisively, and spoke with a nasally voice.

"Blood ever adorns the beasts of the forest."

The fly skittered a nod and left, snatched up into the canopy with a burst of brown leaves. Soon the buzz of its wings faded into the silence of the old wood, and only its warning hung in the air. The cloaked man lingered in the stillness for a while, eventually following deeper into the gray hall, an ant among pillars of the ancient world. Voices drifted on the murk ahead, and sometimes cheers echoed in the vales; a celebration awaited.



Beyond the gloom the great trees glowed with the amber warmth of cook-fires, their roots home to bustle and excitement. Among the bug people walked a human woman, a giant in their midst. They leaned over fine wooden railings on little balconies above, pausing on their ornate staircases to ogle the tall traveler as she passed. The attention was overwhelming, and Mauri shrank into herself as she smiled and waved. Well equipped and experienced, she fancied herself ready for anything, but none of the many tools she carried could help her here. As she passed a small wagon she noticed the pale leather sacks were wriggling, and instead focused on carefully avoiding the well-dressed bug people who skittered about underfoot like children.

Small slabs of the ancient trees, carved whole from their trunks, lay sized and measured for use. Small houses of wood glowed with firelight at the root of the trees further in, as fine as the aged balconies on the knotholes above. Mauri turned down yet another tiny mug filled with dark blue slop, the drink boasted the musky smell of a barn, and barely dodged a crowd of knee-high beetle people swelling down the road. They surrounded two stag beetles the size of small ponies, whose fierce battle raged on down the steeply sloped street. Whether one of them won, or they simply all crashed at the bottom, the beetle people cheered, and turned off onto another avenue that wound down between the massive roots.

The shrill clatter of tiny drums grew louder as Mauri walked further in, and little conga lines of bug people began wriggling along the streets. Whenever one line met another, they would circle each-other for a moment, exchange a few members, then wind off in opposite directions. The clamor only grew as she continued, and when she spotted a little house warm with light down in a dark and quiet dell, she couldn't help herself. She walked behind the great tree, and carefully descended the slope. Ruins and remote places had been her home all these years for this very reason. The giant trunk buffered the cacophony, and she found a beetle man seated in a small chair in front of his house. A human-sized dagger rose blade-up from the ground in front of him, and his thin black arms held a piece of wood between them, slowly carving it into something. Mauri sat on the clear dirt nearby, breathing for a moment away from the bustle.

"Hello dear. What is your name?" the bug man asked, his voice creaky and weak. Mauri introduced herself, and he continued. "Here for the festival?" he asked, and she nodded slowly. "I've always loved seeing new things," she said, and the old bug gazed up into the far-off canopy.

"The New is a sight to behold, as is old Balzabar." It twitched its head back down to face her, mandibles skittering in excitement. "This feast is for him, you know." She nodded again after a moment, and in the chorus of voices she could hear them chanting his name.

"You aren't joining in the festival?" Mauri asked, and he waved a spindly arm dismissively. "No, I don't get around like I used to. The grand-kids are helping with the celebration, though." He eyed the block of wood he held, carefully chipping away another piece.

"You have any kids, dear?" he continued, after a moment. She reached a slender hand into her jacket pocket as she regarded him, fondling a braided cord of worn leather, the colorful beads on the end worn away to white. "Yes, a daughter." She said softly, brushing her short brown hair to one side. "I saved up so she could go to school, but all she wants to do is follow me."

The old bug clicked and sputtered in a kind of chuckle, and continued carving. Cheers rang down into the dell, and the musky tang of that blue brew hung in the air. The beetle man looked up at Mauri again, and asked "So, are you here for the festival, dear?"

She hesitated before nodding, and said "Yes, I should go join them." The old bug agreed, and she brushed off her stout brown traveling pants as she stood. "Make sure to pay your respects to Balzabar, dear." he added, and she said she would.

As she walked back up to the festival, her eyes fell to the dark metal bracelet she wore on her left arm. It was a gift from her mother before her first dive into old ruins. The twisting flowers inscribed on it had been with her through all the ancient places she had explored. Old age was not kind to the mind, and she was glad she had missed the worst of it. Walking back out into the clicking and twitching throng of bug people, she continued deeper into the old wood.


~~~~~~~


The cook-fires burned low, smoldering oases in the dark. Figures flickered yet around those flames, but most surrounded dinner tables, filling the homes and knotholes that still glowed with warmth and chatter. The pale light of fireflies floated in the dells, tied on strings to line the avenues where bug people still wandered and caroused. A human walked among them, his black hair loose under the dark cloak he wore, but the rabble parted with turned heads and hushed mandibles. His dour features glowed in the sudden flame of a festive centipede puppet winding down the street. With a torch-bearing assistant, the puppet lit the street once more, and the train of bug-people carried the colorful centipede up over the next root.

A tent loomed around the next tree, cloaks and shirts sized for human folk all stitched together. It barely contained the horde of horn-beetles that were constantly falling over, and getting their heads stuck on the flap. They clacked and jerked in time with the tiny band within. The cloaked man stalked past in the pale green light of the fireflies, great trees like massive walls stretching up into the void. Along the avenue lined by glowing little homes, a bug woman in a bright apron tottered around an open-walled kitchen. Tiny glass jars of plants and bugs lined its walls, her home sealed off by a sewn pair of human pants hanging in the doorway. She bent to pull a disgusting pie from the oven, turning to beckon the man over with her tiny oven mitts.

"Would you like a slice, darlin'?" The pie she held up was solid black, and parts of it still wiggled. After a silent stare from the dark-haired man, she set the thing down on the flattened buckler that she used for a table, and began prattling on.

"You'll be wantin' to see Gorgana, if you haven't already." she said, holding one little oven mitt up to her chitinous head as she looked around her kitchen. The music from the nearby tent died down briefly, and the name floated on the night from chants all around the festival.

"She'll be joinin' the New soon; that's why we're celebratin'." The bug woman bent over to check her oven before moving on; the oven was cold. "She's always a sight to behold; doesn't move much, though." Turning around, her many arms twitched in excitement as she spotted the pie on the table. "I think they used to call her Balzabar." the woman said, walking up to the table. She looked up at the cloaked man as he knelt down to her.

"I told you last time to let me out of here, old hag."

The knife slid in-between two plates, blue blood spraying out as it pierced her exoskeleton. The man covered his face with the other hand, relaxing only when her carapace clattered to the wooden floor. The pale green blade slid out clean, and he sheathed it again as he stood to stare into the canopy far above.

"I tire of these games, fly!"

The trees returned only silence, and the bugs who stopped to stare continued when they saw the blood. It turned black quickly, and after many minutes of scraping, the dark-haired man gave up on removing it. The festival carried on, even the horn-beetles braying unconcerned, and he stalked deeper into the forest, the cheers and music fading into the smothering murk.



The cry of a lone owl was swallowed in the gray hall, and the moaning of a storm echoed down from the endless above. Faint chants and cheers still whispered in the dark, but the fireflies lined empty avenues, and the trees rose stark and barren. Through the gnarled vales walked a human woman, wreathed in the warmth of a lantern's light. Mauri peered between the great pillars, and searched over the massive roots, finding there a man in a dark cloak; a human man. With a flood of relief, she climbed the steep path to join him at the crest.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, the dark-haired man turning to face her; his arm was covered in something black. "Where have you been, and where are the others? We were supposed to escape together." she said, studying his dour scowl. The man was turned to one side, no doubt with his far hand on his weapon.

"What others? We are the only ones here, and I agreed to nothing."

Her brow drawn down, Mauri put a hand to her head as she searched the dells, her fear confirmed. With shaky footing, the explorer started and stopped a dozen pleas, each time silenced by the glare of the cloaked man. Perhaps that blue ale they had pushed on her had made her ill after all. None of her tools or experience could do much for a broken past. She did her best to push down the fear, touching her mother's bracelet to calm herself.

"I'm starting to think my husband was right to leave." she said softly, reaching into her jacket pockets and pulling out everything she had. She picked out the junk from among the coins, old arrowheads and trap-strings, some dirt, and a braided cord; the once-colorful beads on the end of the cord were worn white. She dumped it all, holding all her money out towards him. "I'll pay. Please help me get out of here!"

The cloaked man glowered at her hands for a long moment, a distant owl crying out into the expanse, before looking Mauri in the eye and shaking his head. Her shoulders slumped, coins clamped in one hand as she raised the other to her face. The frustration swelled like the tide, but she kept her composure. A chorus of cheers rose in the distance, fading into the faraway groaning of the ancient canopy.

"I will find a way out of this place myself." the man said. "I suggest you do the same."

Then he simply turned and walked off, leaving Mauri clinging to her puddle of light amid the vaunted columns of the old wood. She struggled to make sense of what she remembered. Touching the dark metal bracelet again, she wondered if that was what it had been like for her mother; wrestling with the past, being strangled by it. The cheers rose again on the still air, and Mauri stood for a long while pinching her brow, willing the her life to make sense again. Around her the gray hall stretched timeless, bathed in the pale green light of the fireflies, fresh in the growing musk of the New.


~~~~~~~


Those great pillars grew pallid and thin further in, the constant clatter of falling branches struggled to drown out the dull and rhythmic thwacking that echoed in the dark. Between the ancient trunks snaked a pale blue web, crawling down to blossom large patches of moss. They glowed softly in their basins, swallowing the meager light of the fireflies. Winding down the twilight road, a jingling procession of floats and freezes came upon the cloaked man. The bug people pulled scenes of mountains, and puppets of squirrels and birds, writhing rivers, and a single boot. That one hung suspended above its rolling base by a cloud of moths, and on it was painted a cat's eye. Beyond the procession a human woman wandered, clutching at her short hair. Underneath the tinny drums and little flutes, the rhythmic thwacking in the distance stopped.

Stiff shoulders and a clenched fist belied the man's composure, and his curses were not soft when the flock of moths gently enveloped his face. The bug people tried to help, but the man backed away swatting at his head. The dead who littered the dry dirt were gathered by their strings, and the man continued past the solemn stares. The parade clanged their way into the soft blue night, and just beyond the next pale trunk, a splash of red colored the forest. Atop a stone slab, a great axe was propped in wooden framing, with pulleys above to lift it again. The blade was not sharp, and the stone was slick with crimson. Behind the gory dais glowed a patch of blue moss, misshapen lumps scattered on the luminescent hillside. The air was filled with the musky stench of a beast's den.

It was there the fly returned, sharp in his tuxedo, to perch above the massive axe. The cloaked man drew his pale green dagger, but the dapper fly simply sniffed. "Truly the fool, to think we would bargain in sincerity with you baser animals." Its nasally voice filled the vale, and it glanced toward the human woman being escorted by somber beetle men.

"You simply hastened the others toward the inevitable. The past must wilt to make way for the New." The woman mumbled incoherently, clasping at the dark metal bracelet on her left arm. Her eyes passed over the pair, but she saw nothing of the world. "Only once they are empty are they fit to grace the Throne, and gather more time."

The scowl deepened on the face of the cloaked man, and he shifted the dagger to his other hand. While the fly skittered and preened, he clasped his spool of steel wire to the handle of the blade. Up against the cliff-side of upturned roots left by a single fallen tree, the pale blue moss glowed a mountain.

It was there the bug people led the woman, slowly stripping her of all but her metal bracelet. She sank into the moss like quicksand, azure tines clinging to her writhing form. With her legs submerged, her back arched as the moss enveloped her head, leaving only her mouth free. Her terrified mumbling and groaning echoed between the pale and withered trees.

"Despite your resilience, without the past, without time, you will never learn."

The fly followed his words with a shrill, skittering whine. The black blood coating the cloaked man's forearm exploded into a blue mist that flooded into his nose and mouth. He gagged and dropped to his knees, the mist congealing on his tongue and crawling down his throat. A violent cough wracked his hunched form, and the fly looked down with contempt.

"Your very nature entraps you, Beast."

Finally, the man coughed up a blue and red lump, which wriggled off to join the moss. The world swirled, and he held one hand to his head as he struggled to stand. The fly was gone, it had said... something important. Another burn marked his arm, and voices filled the night, chanting a single name; Mauri. Picking back up his dagger, the man looked around at the giant trees, lit from below by the azure glow.

The forest stretched on forever.