The Forest Queen: Isles & Tribulations

Chapter 1

The temperature of the dimly lit Triwen’s Wood was dropping. A chilly breeze disturbed the leaves of close-knit oak trees. Clouds covered the sky, blocking out the faint sunlight that usually helped to illuminate the forest. A squirrel bounded over the grass-covered floor, pausing at the base of an old oak to sniff the air, before scrabbling up the trunk to hide amongst the branches.

In a small clearing in the centre of the forest a small girl sat on a log, poking at a feeble fire with a stick. Thin tendrils of smoke rose from the kindling that she'd gathered, but flames were yet to appear. Whenever she fanned the embers, it seemed to do more harm than good. Orlaith had never been very good at igniting fires. Witches and fire do not mix.

Orlaith Greene was a willowy girl of eleven. Her chestnut hair fell in loose waves down to her chest, although the breeze blowing through Triwen’s Wood had taken to pushing strands of it across her face. Giving up on her fire-lighting attempts, Orlaith let her stick fall to the floor and pulled her mother's heavy woollen cloak around herself as tightly as she could.

The forest was not a foreign place to Orlaith; it was where she had been raised. But that was before she had been left alone, forced to fend for herself. Her home had never seemed so large, nor so intimidating. The smallest of sounds alarmed her and the slightest of movements tempted her to run. And now that her mother wasn't with her to make a strong fire, she was always cold. Orlaith despised being cold almost as much as she despised lighting fires.

Her food would also be cold tonight, yet again. During the daylight hours, Orlaith had gathered as many fruits, berries and nuts as she could, flitting from bush to bush and tree to tree, carrying all that she found in her cloak. Yet while nuts and berries made a tasty snack, there was never truly enough there to call a meal. For the past three nights, Orlaith had gone to sleep with her stomach rumbling.

Chewing on a raspberry, Orlaith thought things over. Should she continue living by herself or should she attempt to find other forest-dwelling folk? Would it be best for her to settle in one part of Triwen’s Wood or would she be safer moving from place to place? How did Mama make such good fires? She never taught me how.

A sudden noise caught her attention. It was distant and might have been nothing more than a violent rustle of leaves, except there was no breeze to rustle them. Then the sound turned into a rumble and the ground began throbbing beneath Orlaith's feet and all too late she recognised the beat of hooves.

She dropped her meagre meal and ran.

Witches were detested throughout the Empire Isle. Hunting of witches was a popular sport for those who knew how to recognise them; if detected, they were burned at the stake. If a woman must be disposed of without questions being asked, whether she was a witch or no, she would be accused of witchcraft and burned. It was a common occurrence and never failed to draw a crowd.  

Rather than following the well-walked pathways, Orlaith darted between the cramped trees. She did not know what direction she was running in, but north or south did not matter as long as she was moving away. Her skirts caught on nettles and spindly branches, which scratched at her legs, but she would not slow down.

By now, Orlaith's breaths were coming in sharp bursts and a vicious stitch had formed amongst her ribs. It was imperative that she found a place to hide; up a tree, in a tree, anywhere would do. At the next clearing, she promised herself. I'll hide when I reach the next clearing.

She was breathing so noisily that she failed to hear that she was being closely followed.

At long last, the trees began to thin a minimal amount, signalling another clearing. Relief flooded through Orlaith and a smile spread across her face. Both her smile and relief vanished, however, when she heard the boom of a dog's bark. She let out an involuntary shriek. It was close, too close!

Birds squawked and took flight; small creatures of the forest fled, as Orlaith ploughed through the foliage. She was so close to the clearing with only another ten metres to go. Yet despite her best efforts, she could hear the heavy panting of her canine pursuer getting closer and closer, no matter how quickly she ran.

With a gasp, Orlaith flung herself forward and burst into the clearing. She took a moment to take in her surroundings, to try and find a suitable hiding place, but it was a moment too long. Facing the way she'd come, she saw the shrubs and bushes shaking, heard the dog crashing through them and barking its echoing barks. She backed away a couple of steps.

A gigantic brindle mastiff made its appearance and lunged towards her.