The Forest God

By Jamie Lackey

The Forest God, incarnated into the body of hare, ready to die and live again.

The Apprentice Witch, outcast and unwanted, unsure of her path.

The Young Lord, frivolous and rootless, inconsiderate of his duties.

Their three souls should be bound to a cycle of death and sacrifice, responsibility and rebirth. But the bonds lie broken and shrouded in mystery. The wood remains in precarious balance for now, but the village withers.

Only together, can they set things right.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Air and Nothingness Press
• Release date: Jun 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463342695

Jamie Lackey

Jamie Lackey lives in Pittsburgh with her husband and their cat. She has had over 160 short stories published in places like Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Apex Magazine, and Escape Pod. Her debut novel, Left-Hand Gods, is available from Hadley Rille Books, and she’s created three successful crowdfunding campaigns to self-publish a novella and two flash fiction collections. She also has a novella and two short story collections available from Air and Nothingness Press. In addition to writing, she spends her time reading, playing tabletop RPGs, baking, and hiking. You can find her online at www.jamielackey.com.

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The Forest God

Jamie Lackey

The Forest God

©2020 Jamie Lackey

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Air and Nothingness Press

2224 delaware avenue | pittsburgh, pennsylvania 15218

www.aanpress.com | [e-mail]

FIRST E-BOOK EDITION - 2020

aan20.02

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-0-9991953-8-3

To Betsy, whose serenely beautiful art evokes the exact feeling

that I was reaching for in this story. 

I hope I succeeded half as well as she does. 

The Forest God opened its eyes and found itself in a warm burrow, surrounded by squirming bodies. It seemed that it would be a hare in this incarnation. Being a hare was always pleasant enough, while it lasted.

It never lasted very long.

***

Margery hated market day above all other things. It meant leaving the safety of her mistress’s cottage and the privacy of the woods. Children stared and whispered, never quiet enough that she couldn’t hear them. It’s the apprentice Witch, isn’t she ugly? or She’s so scary! or Do you think something happened to make her face like that?

Margery, much to her mother’s dismay, had been born as ugly as she was now. It was why the village selected her when the Witch returned and demanded an apprentice. Which the children would know, if they paid any attention or kept any memories inside their mean little heads. 

Older people stared and whispered, too, but at least they were considerate enough to keep their voices low enough that Margery couldn’t hear them.

She traded burn cream for bread, a wellness draught for butter and cheese, a hair tonic for some freshly gathered eggs. She was a keen negotiator, aided by her indifference to the villager’s personal plights. She cared little if the baker’s boy had singed off his hair or the farmer’s daughter was feeling poorly or if the farmer himself was vain about his receding hairline. She didn’t care that the fields were slowly failing or that the chickens stopped laying younger and younger or that the milk sometimes went sour for no reason.

They cared just as little for her--they’d proven it when they chose her to go to the Witch.

All that would be bad enough, but once her trading was done, her sister would expect her to come for lunch.

***

Young Lord Hugh, just Hugh, please, to his friends, of which he had many, was bored. The spring had been rainy, which kept him from strolling around the estate or hunting or riding, and left him with very few options for enjoyable employment.

His father suggested that he look over the household sums, and Hugh was bored enough that he was actually doing it.

Everything was in order. The village brought in less and less every year, but it was enough. They had a competent staff and no desire to live beyond their means. His parents were painfully frugal.

He did notice regular payments to the Witch for something that was noted as GWP. Whatever could that stand for? The P was almost certainly a potion. Did one of his parents take some kind of potion every week? Was one of them suffering from some secret illness?

He could certainly just ask them. His father might even be gratified by his curiosity--it would certainly be the first time he’d shown active interest in anything in the household books--but what was the fun in that? He’d never spoken to the Witch. And it looked like the rain was finally letting up.

He’d go for a walk and talk to the Witch. Maybe her apprentice would be there, and he could see for himself if she was quite as ugly as everyone claimed.

***

The Forest God grew quickly into a fine hare, brown of fur, long of ear, strong of leg. It was always an exemplary example of whatever breed it embodied.

No matter what its form, it always had a weakness for strawberries, and the local Witch grew a patch every spring for its enjoyment. It ambled along, enjoying the sunshine, nibbling on any of the tender spring shoots that looked particularly appetizing. It kept one ear out for potential predators--Forest God or no, it was a prey animal now.

The strawberry patch was overgrown and wild, and surrounded by magic that kept all other animals out. The Forest God hopped through the barrier. The strawberries were wet from the recent rain, and shone a bright, burnished red in the sunshine.

The Forest God tucked in happily.

***

You’ve traded all your goods again, I see, Mercy said. You always seem to make just what people need.

My mistress is very attuned to the village. The Witch assured Margery that she’d feel that connection herself, someday. Margery would rather not, but refrained from saying so.

Come on, then. We’re having a venison and mushroom pie. My Simon had quite some luck foraging this week, the clever thing.

Simon was Mercy’s son, Margery’s nephew. He was sometimes among the whispering children. Margery was not overfond of him.

The pie was delicious, and Margery applied herself to it with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, given her surroundings.

Margery’s husband went fishing on market days. Sometimes he returned for lunch. Today, Margery was in luck, and he wasn’t present to make remarks about her appetite, her outfit, or her reticence to engage him in conversation.

After the pie, and after Simon ran off again to play with his friends, Mercy brought out a dish of spring berries and cream, sweetened with honey. It is your birthday today, she said. I know you always forget, but I wanted to do something nice for you.

The dessert was sweet and lovely. Margery took a bite, then passed the spoon to her sister, who looked thinner every time she saw her. 

It is for you, Mercy protested. You don’t have to share it.

I want to.

So stubborn, Mercy said, but took the spoon.

They sat together, sharing a bit of sweetness,