Journey to the Forgotten Island

Chapter 17 - The Jungle

'Don't trust this place. Somethin' wrong with it,' said a soldier.

'Quiet,' said Esteban Busci, the prospector, 'I'm thinking.'

Toma watched from his horse as Esteban walked around the long, wet grass, touching the ground with his fingers and digging little holes to inspect the clumpy brown earth in his hands.

'Very interesting,' said Esteban, taking one of his leather pouches from his belt and putting the earth inside. 'We may continue into the forest.'

Now they all looked at the forest. Their same scouting group from their Vetustan visit, with Miro Espo replaced by Esteban Busci and the dead soldiers replaces with livings ones, was still in the plains, several feet from the first tree of the great forest. To their right, the slow eastern river meandered out to sea. But the forest seemed to call for their attention.

'Somethin' wrong in there,' said the same soldier. 'I tell you. Look at the plains – full of wolves and deer and little rodents. The forest is silent – not a sound. It should be full of birds. I don't trust it.'

'You're afraid of birds, are you?' laughed Fero, kicking his horse with his heels and riding up to the first tree.

Toma knew that Fero's presence was always a danger to the expedition but try as he might, Toma had been unable to stop Miro insisting that Fero be his eyes and ears in the scouting group.

'N-no,' said the soldier. 'I'm afraid of what the birds are afraid of.'

Toma understood what the soldier meant but Fero burst into coarse laughter and several other cavalrymen laughed with him.

'And what's that?' laughed Fero. 'Trees? I say we just cut them all down. This old thing might at least be useful for ship-building.'

Toma lost his patience. 'Go on, Fero. Swing your sword at the tree and we can all watch how long it takes you to cut it down. These oak trees are some of the sturdiest and strongest trees on the island – far stronger than most of our own trees.'

Fero approached the tree and seemed to consider hacking at it with his sword but Toma saw him realise it was futile and instead he grunted and swung his sword at a thin, low-hanging branch. The twigs went flying with a loud crack. He grunted with satisfaction and said no more.

'I do not see a problem,' Esteban said. 'It's just a forest. All we need to do is march through until we get to the other side.'

'The problem,' Stefano said, 'Is that the forest is so dense we will either have to ride in single file or separately through different paths. This leaves us vulnerable to attacks. There's no visibility – we cannot see approaching enemies or where they could be hiding. Any soldier who has been to Solapailtea knows that simply marching into a dense, dark forest is the final, doomed attempt of the hopeless soldier.'

Several other experienced soldiers grunted in agreement while the fresher ones looked at each other with worry.

Toma looked again into the forest. The trees were packed so tightly that the soldiers would indeed struggle to manoeuvre their horses through. The forest was nothing like the Solapailtean jungle. The trees were gnarled and knotted. The oak trees were thick and low and tall pines and beech trees soared above in the high canopy. There was even less light in the forest than in the jungle. All the trees were coated in thick green moss, the wood was wet and slippery. A cold chill emanated from the forest as if it was reaching out into the light of the plains. The tangle of trees, moss, vines, ferns and muddy roots were frozen as if in perpetual war with one another. The strong fecund smell of dead leaves and earth reached out with the cold slivering air from the darkness.