The Soul Woods The Soul Woods

By Mackenzie Johnstone

When the dryad awoke, he didn’t know where he was.

The lower half of his body wouldn’t work. He knew that. The last thing he remembered was clutching his chest and gasping, drowning on land; there had been someone above him, a halo, a face, and so, so cold

A hand rested against his forehead, and he screamed. It was a ragged sound, something he wasn’t sure had come from him.

That was when he remembered screaming required air. He was breathing. Why was he breathing?

“You’re alive!” someone shouted. “Open your eyes!”

The dryad obeyed, and soft, buttery light warmed him from the inside. There was a face above him, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t the face from before. Long tendrils of hair tickled his cheeks, green like ivy but less itchy. It was a girl, black-eyed with tapered ears and a face cloaked by freckles.

“Look at me, ” she ordered. “Do you know your name?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but the words clogged in his throat. His name… he knew his name…

The girl nodded, as if that were expected. “You forget faster than most new souls. That can be a good thing.”

“I do remember,” he croaked, then stopped short. His voice was very different from the girl’s. He pronounced the words differently, not so sharp.

The girl didn’t seem to notice. She rolled a hand as if to say, Go on. “I-I was I was dying,” he realised. “I was dead am dead.”

“Were dead.” Her eyes were steady on his. “How did you die?” Tears filled his eyes. He tried to wipe them away, but the girl shook her head in dismissal of the gesture.

“I…” He took another deep breath, expecting the crushing weight to return at any moment. “I fell.”

“Why?”

“I don’t remember. I remember… drowning. I-I can’t feel my legs.”

“Sounds like you broke yourself in half.” So far, not a single expression had interrupted her severe analysis of him. “You’ll be fine now. ” Grabbing an arm, she studied the black-and-white patches streaked across his skin like swatches of paint. “Downy birch. A hardy tree.

Lucky. Must have been awfully brave, to die as you did.”

He didn’t feel brave. He felt weak, as if part of him was still dead.

“That’ll wear off,” the girl told him.

The dryad blinked. Had he said everything aloud?

“How did ye know what I was thinking?”

Finally, a wry smile touched her lips. “You aren’t the first new dryad I’ve had to awaken.”

“Awaken?”

“Sit up. ”

He obeyed. Out of habit, his legs curled under him. Something inside him loosened, and more tears slid down his cheeks. “My legs. They ”

“I told you, ” the girl repeated. “You were dead. This may look like your old body, but you ’ re a dryad now. This is your new body. Our body.”

The swirling black patches traced along his fingers, too. When he reached up, his ears were tapered like the girl’s. “Haven’t I always been a dryad?”

A touch of sympathy lightened her eyes. She shook her head. “No. No one is born a dryad. Only the dead become dryads.”

“All of the dead?” He glanced around. They were in a forest, bright and green and choked with plants of all kinds. Trees stretched above them; small herbs danced in the breeze. “When we die, we turn into dryads?”

“Not everyone. Just some. Like you. ”

“What do ye mean?”

The scrutinising gaze returned. “You’re, what, fourteen, fifteen? Awfully young to have died a fair, natural death, don’t you think?”

“I guess so. ”

The leaves above them shivered, sounding almost like a laugh, a scatter of words. He guesses so.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” She stood and held out a hand. “I’m called Ivy, to those that need a name. ”

He took her hand, and she pulled him to his feet. “My name is…” A bout of panic squeezed his chest, shame burning his face. Why can’t I remember?

Ivy squeezed his hand. “Don’t try to remember. A name is only a name. Your soul will stay the same. ”

“When ye say, ‘To those that need one ’ ... ”

“I’ve met few dryads that need names. We’re different from other peoples. More connected.”

“I don’t understand,” he said again.

And, again, she told him, “You will.” After a brief hesitation, she continued. “If you’d feel better with a name, I can call you Downy. Just for something to call you by.”

He considered, then nodded. “I like Downy,” he said. “Perky.”

Letting go of his hand, she nodded towards the woods. Dapples of sunlight fell across her face. “I’ll show you around, but don’t forget this spot.”

Downy turned. He’d been laying against a tree, tall and thin with murky leaves and the same swatches of black marking his skin. A downy birch tree.

“My tree,” he whispered.

Once more, Ivy shook her head. “Not your tree. You. ” Gesturing to his body, she said, “This is you, too. But a different part of you. Without that tree, that part of you, this part will cease to exist. Do not let your tree die.”

The cold tone of her voice sent any arguments or questions flying back down his throat. “I won’t.”

“Of course. ”

Suddenly, dozens of forms began peeling out of trees, bushes, even a carrot (safely protected by an outcropping of rocks). Not all looked so human. There was a frog-like creature, short and stout and slimy; a nereid-like individual; even an elf, keeping close to the roots of its bush. A brawn from the North descended from giants, though nowhere near as big appeared from the trunk of a thick oak. All emanated the sort of buzzing calm Downy associated with forests: alive, without all the bustle of the dead and dying peoples of Evangale.

From the carrot came the smallest fae Downy had ever seen, able to sleep in the palm of his hand if she so wished. Delicate wings sprouted from her back, but she didn’t use them. Instead, Ivy picked her up and set her on her shoulder.

“Hi,” she squeaked.

“Aye. Hello.”

Ivy nodded. “Welcome to the Soul Woods,” she told him. “You have another chance at life— don’t waste it.”