He was pierced through the heart by my long held foe He fell to the floor in a twilight haze From and elf was the arrow, the enchanted bow Did make him descend to a horrid craze Wrent was the night by my anguished cries The moon shivered to see my condition But tears, pain and tormented sighs Could not save him from his affliction
I left him then, to forge a medicine Some nettle, some plantain and sweet feverfew Some wine and he’ll come back to me Though while I went a gaze looked in And pulled him neath the eldest yew Now my love is nowhere to see.
Artur walked home as briskly as he could. He was cold, far colder than he should have been for this time of year. It was only Autumn, still a way off from the first snow. Yet the breeze that engulfed him was chillier than normal. He thought longingly of the warm tavern ahead and put a bit more speed in his stride.
The forest had brought no comfort tonight. Where the moonlit trees usually filled him with a sense of peace, he found the woods dark and silent this evening. A flock of birds had flown overhead, just before this unnatural chill had descended. Artur would be glad to reach town, it seemed as though the path was longer than he remembered.
He had almost reached the end of the forest, when he noticed a dark shape in the tree ahead. His first impression was of a bird, though it was far larger than any of the birds he had seen in the area. He approached it slowly, wary but curious. As he drew near the branch the bird raised its head and he looked into holes where there should have been eyes.
Artur did not move or speak for a moment, he was held transfixed at the darkness in those sockets. He felt the bird saw him clearly despite his lack of eyes. The bird was almost his height up close, and as Artur gained the ability to pull away from that stare he saw the huge wings were dotted with rotted holes. It was then that the smell arrived.
Artur was attempting to master his reaction to the carrion fragrance and was shocked to find the bird addressing him directly.
“Well then! If it were not bad enough we’ve grown so few, the man – beasts have lost respect entirely! Do you not know who I am? Do you not see me for the power I am? Ignorance!”
Artur did not know what to make of this tirade, though he knew he had offended the creature in some way. He also knew this was no ordinary bird. “Who are you? How can you be talking?” he asked.
“Truly! Man – beasts think talking is special. Just because you speak does not mean you know anything! Man – beasts have forgotten much; their speech now is filled with nonsense. One time ago, man – beasts knew Nachtkrapp was lord of the woods. One time ago, man – beasts were fearful of the Nachtkrapp. And so they should be! When I fly, my wings spread disease across the land! I claim lives with every flight! And still no respect! Arrogant man – beast!”
Artur was just as confused as before, though now he was becoming offended. “Why would I respect a creature enamored with death? What do the humans gain from this? Is the respect mutual? I have never heard of a Nachtkrapp before this evening. Why would I blindly respect you?”
“Respect you will!” replied the Nachtkrapp, “Nachtkrapps are not enamored by death. We know it is unavoidable. We are creatures of death, we are made with it. We know its feel, its smell, its taste. I will not be spoken down to by a man – beast! What did the ‘humans’ gain? We did not eat them! We once feasted on man – beasts, you were greater in number then too. We pulled their intestines out and ripped open torsos for the tender organs. But the best flavor in the world is the eyes! How I long for the taste! You showed respect in those days. But we agreed, no feasting on the man – beasts, so long as they sent us tribute every moon, and never looked up when they walked in the woods!
Then another time ago, the man – beasts stopped sending the tribute! The strongest of us went to the villages to investigate, and do you know what we found? The villagers made friends with other forest kind! They made allies of the woodland spirits behind our backs! They knew how to keep creatures like us out of the village! They wronged us and then they barricade us out! So be it! No man – beast may be left alive now, we are at war!”
Artur grew alarmed for a moment at the words of this giant bird. But then said “How is it no one knows about this? If you truly are at war, why am I only hearing of this now?”
“Ignorant man – beast! This war started before you were born! We were mighty then! Mighty in strength and mighty in number. We flew over towns, covering entire districts in plagues. We scoured villages and hamlets, leaving rotted feathers behind to infect the livestock of the man – beasts. Our glories were many!”
The Nachtkrapp seemed almost to sigh then, “It was then that the man – beasts discovered the traps. We know not which forest folk taught the magic to them, we have many enemies. But they made traps large enough and quick enough to catch us. These traps were the capture and death of us one by one. Our numbers are small enough we stay to the forest now. The man – beasts may no longer give tribute, but they also no longer remember why they must stay out of our woods. Follow!” the Nachtkrapp screamed the last word, and began to fly down the path in the direction Artur had just come from.
Artur, with a growing wariness, followed the Nachtkrapp back into the woods. As they arrived at a glade, he saw a figure lying on the ground. His step slowed as they approached it. The Nachtkrapp noticed and settling on a nearby branch turned to speak.
“The man – beasts once knew many things, far more than the ignorant ones today! They knew the Nachtkrapp was lord of the woods! They knew to look the eyes of the Nachtkrapp was death! We are harvesters of souls! Gazing into our eyes is all the tribute we need!”
Artur approached the body, though he had a suspicion of what he would find. He looked down onto the slumped figure that was him. “I saw you earlier this evening,” he said, “I thought you a group of birds from your size. And I thought you had the darkest eyes I had ever seen.” Artur bent down to close his body’s eyes. By the time he’d stood up, the Nachtkrapp had left.
Artur wandered, not knowing what would happen, or should happen now that he knew he was dead. He walked into the forest with the half-formed idea of finding the forest folk the giant raven had spoken of. Perhaps they would know what happens to souls harvested by the Nachtkrapp.
There are certain nights on which travel through the countryside is absolutely beautiful. The moon is radiant in its majesty, the hum of the nocturnal environment suggests hidden secrets and the cool breeze bring sweet scents and memories. This was not one of those evenings for Jacob.
Jacob was still sitting pondering how he arrived in this situation when full night fell. He gazed at the glow of the moon on the trees around him, cursed at the unending drone of the animals and insects, and shuddered when the wind rose.
Sitting across the fire from him was Luca. When Jacob looked at Luca, he felt a bitterness he was not accustomed to feeling. Luca had been evicted from the last town they wandered through and had provided no explanation as to why. While Jacob had been looking forward to comfort and rest, he was too loyal to let Luca leave alone. Unwelcome in the closest village, penniless and hungry, the two men had taken shelter in a dense copse, hoping to be shielded from the worst of the wind.
Luca had at first been apologetic for having the pair removed from a hot meal and warm bed, and Jacob had felt pity for him. While Jacob was generally liked wherever he went, Luca’s personage itself made people uneasy. He had done a number of questionable things in these past years. Most folk are willing to look past questionable characteristics in exchange for information or gain. It was said that some of Luca’s past activities were of a sort that even the more liberal among us are unwilling to look past. Luca had never shared the stories of his past activities with Jacob. As accepting as Jacob was, he might not have felt as much pity or loyalty towards his companion were he to learn these details. Jacob did know that Luca’s arrogance and disregard for the lives of most made him difficult to have affection for. As night wore on, his irregular muttering and constant complaints made him difficult to be around at all.
Jacob’s patience with Luca ran out just after the moon retired for the night. Jacob had been sleeping and awoke to find the fire had gone out while Luca rested instead of sitting the watch as was his turn. He sat for some time, gazing at the sleeping man beside him, and decided to take a short walk. He reasoned if no idea presented itself to him, at the very least he may yet relax enough to sleep.
The glowing trees swayed gently, gentler than they should have for the level of wind that was now howling through the forest. Jacob felt slightly unnerved. Evenings like this reminded him of the tales his oma would tell in the evenings before bed, or when wandering forest paths. Jacob himself was not a superstitious man, but through his now long dead oma he knew of some things that roam the woods by day, and more that roam the woods by night. He knew when he saw a mark on a stump that it served as a hideout for the moss maidens. He knew that nixies frequented the small rivers and ponds that dotted the forest. And he knew that the woman standing in front of him now was the Buschgroßmutter.
Where she had come from Jacob was not sure. There was no doubt however, that the forest crone was now looking directly at him, and Jacob became transfixed by her gaze.
The Buschgroßmutter was a figure that inspired fear and joy in equal measures, though Jacob had not thought of her tales for many years. He recalled his oma telling of a forest spirit, stronger than most, and far more ambivalent. Most forest creatures were either kind and generous, or malicious.
The Buschgroßmutter was both. She was known to reward those who helped her, though the lore was vague as to what the reward might be. His oma would not answer him when Jacob asked what happened if the human said no, simply stating that it is only fools and those finished with life that would refuse the Buschgroßmutter.
Walking towards him, leaning heavily on her large and ornate staff, the Buschgroßmutter pointed to a nearby log, and beckoned Jacob sit with her. Jacob hesitated, as her initial appearance did not inspire closeness. The Buschgroßmutter’s figure was stooped and crooked, and moss seemed to grow from her skin in certain places, particularly over her feet. Her dress and apron were dirty, and the basket she wore on her back wafted a scent Jacob did not care to identify. He remembered his oma’s words regarding respect for the forest folk, however, and sat down where she had pointed.
Her hair was the colour of new fallen snow and seemed to have no end. Her hair fell in every direction, and near the scalp of her head the tangled snarl of her mane became a matted crown.
Jacob watched as she removed a comb from her apron pocket and drop it in his lap. He picked it up, noting the pure white comb was made from bone, with markings he could not identify save one small mark towards the middle of the comb in the shape of a leaf.
The Buschgroßmutter startled Jacob then by speaking in a voice that did not appear to match her age,
“I am old, and I am weary. I travel these woods day and night, hoping to meet someone who will help me. My head is in agony, and I am too frail to comb out the knots that have taken over. If you would be so kind as to assist me by combing my hair, I will give you a bag containing leaves of a tree that grows in no woods known to men.”
Jacob did not believe for a moment this seemingly harmless old lady truly frail. He had no doubt if it was her intention, she could claim him for the forest forever. But he remembered his oma’s words, and in respect for the forest, he agreed.
When he was closer to the nest of hair, he realized the task was larger than he realized. What he had taken for mere knots were pads where the hair had felted together, and what he assumed was the wind moving strands of the cloud like coif turned out to be masses of roving lice. The unidentified smell coming from her basket was horrendous, and had Jacob not been the solid kind his stomach would have been on the ground.
Jacob was, however, a solid man, and even if his stomach was shaky, his word was stone. He had given his agreement, and he would keep it, though as he combed through the mats and watched the lice falling onto the ground and up his sleeve, he silently wished he had not seen her at all.
It took many hours, and during that time Jacob’s thoughts drifted to what Luca might think if he awoke to an empty camp. He dare not stop his labors though, he was not sure how easily the Buschgroßmutter was offended, or what punishments waited for the offender.
He picked large seasoned lice from the crown of her head, removed twigs from the center of knots and combed and combed until the milky white locks shone in the light of the approaching sunrise. By that time the icy cold chill of her skin had frozen his fingers to the bone.
The Buschgroßmutter had not said a word the entire duration of the combing, nor did she have much to say now. Being a man of few words himself, Jacob did not expect praise, or even thanks, and contented himself with the knowledge that he had experienced and survived an encounter with the forest folk.
As the Buschgroßmutter prepared to leave, she withdrew a small yellow sack from her basket and threw it on the ground in front of Jacob. Walking into the distance, the Buschgroßmutter turned to look back at Jacob once, and in that moment, she did not appear the nerve-racking crone she had prior. Jacob looked in awe upon the face of the Buschgroßmutter as she is to those of her kind. He saw the moss on her feet grow vibrant, the wrinkles of her face soften into laugh lines and he saw her eyes take on a green which reminded him of the lush hills surrounding his boyhood home.
Jacob picked up the bag and hurried back to the campsite, to find Luca in an irritated mood. Despite falling asleep on his watch, he was annoyed Jacob had not been there when he awoke, and his mood was all the fouler from lack of food, this of which Jacob could at least sympathize with.
As Luca paced the campsite, loudly voicing his many displeasures, Jacob opened the bag. He had no idea what to expect of leaves from trees unknown to men, but he was awestruck to find leaves made from gold in the bag. There was more gold in that bag than Jacob had seen in almost a year.
His awe gave way to a small yelp of excitement, drawing the attention of his companion.
While Jacob did not currently look on Luca with favor, he none the less shared his leaf treasures readily. Luca joined Jacob in happy disbelief for many moments. The contents of the bag could feed and house the two men all winter. In laughter and bewilderment, the ill feelings of the previous night were forgotten, and the incredible tale of how Jacob came to possess the bag was told.
Jacob sat in silent contentment after he had finished his story. He was thinking of the opportunities in town the gold would provide. A good sturdy house, a stocked larder and the promise of income made him think his trouble had finally gone.
Luca listened to Jacob’s retelling eagerly. As is custom for those who believe themselves truly clever, he paid no mind to the warnings and courtesies Jacob related. His mind was fixed upon gold, and he determined to have his own. He did not share these thoughts with Jacob, but instead began forming an idea of what that gold could provide for one man travelling alone.
While Jacob now possessed riches beyond his dreams, it was not likely to provide food at that moment in time. The two men scoured the woods, and shared a pitiful meal of roots and mushrooms, with Luca boasting of how much he would eat once they arrived in town. In high spirits the two set out.in the direction of a village Luca was not yet barred from. As the two men walked in the warm and increasing daylight, Luca took in his surroundings and noticed when they entered the part of the forest Jacob had said he found the Buschgroßmutter.
Jacob had lost himself in thought. He had always prided himself on his lack of superstition. His oma’s stories had amused him, and for her benefit he had always observed the law of the forest. After her passing he had continued to follow that law, out of habit and out of respect for the woman who raised him. He had not truly believed in spirits and was now contemplating how many more of his oma’s tales might prove true, when he felt a sharp thud to the back of his head, followed by blackness.
This was not the first time Luca had incapacitated a companion. One strike with a rock was enough to render the figure of Jacob unconscious. He too did not truly believe in the law of the forest, and while he had listened to Jacob’s tale with excitement concealing his sneer, he believed completely in the gold in Jacob’s pack. He did not care if it came from some harlot lost in the woods, or whether Jacob had come across the bag by chance and invented the tale from his fancy. Luca fished the golden leaves out of Jacob’s pack and carried on.
Another couple of hours traveling saw Luca halting abruptly when a woman who was not there the moment before appeared. She stood just shorter than Luca, and the chill stare in her eyes made him shudder. The moss on her feet was moldy, and the matted knots in her hair had returned. His suspicion that this was the woman Jacob had encountered grew with each step she took, each time she moved her staff rotted with age and neglect and each passing whiff of her basket the breeze brought. Luca could not place the smell, though it was familiar to him. It reminded him of some of the less than wholesome undertakings of his past, and he silently determined that whatever she had in there, he did not need to relieve her of.
When she moved to sit on a nearby rock, pulling a bone comb from her pack, Luca was convinced she was the Buschgroßmutter of Jacob’s story.
“I am old, and I am weary. I travel these woods…”
As the Buschgroßmutter began to speak, Luca snatched the comb from the crone, and begun carelessly pulling through the knots. The Buschgroßmutter growled at the rough treatment, but Luca pressed on, now fixated on two bags of gold.
It did not take long before Luca decided this task was impossible. The hair resisted combing, and though greasy it was hopelessly matted in many spots near her scalp. He could not find the ends of the hair to start from. Standing over her basket, the odor assaulted his senses. No longer conjuring memories, the pungent fragrance made him feel faint. Luca’s determination began to give way when he combed through the shell of a long dead beetle, releasing its odor of decay. His hands were covered in the icy mud and body oils he had combed from her hair, and his mind reeled as lice the size of maggots scurried in and around the knots. He was unlucky enough to brush his fingers against their smooth slimy bodies more than once and summoned all of his will not to vomit. He was almost grateful for the cold oily mud on his hands. He did not think he could control himself if the lice touched his bare skin.
When Luca saw a louse the size of his little finger crawl out of a knot he had had no luck in untangling, he could take no more.
He flung the comb into the crone’s lap. He did not need her bag of leaves, not with Jacob’s bag snugly in his pocket and so refused to continue combing. He would not, he said, be made to handle such filth. When she opened her mouth to protest, Luca began shouting.
“I will not play servant to you! “he cried, “My companion may be willing to grovel to forest urchins, but I will not touch that disgusting head of hair again.”
Towards the end of his rant his speech became halting and eventually gave way altogether. As he spoke, it seemed the Buschgroßmutter grew younger. Her hair retained its snow-white coloring but softened and became a cascade of locks around her shoulders, reaching down to her knees. She took on a glow as the age and wrinkles disappeared from her skin, leaving a pale, almost grey skinned maiden shining and glorious standing before him.
Luca’s breath caught in his throat. He had never witnessed such beauty before. He began to walk towards the Buschgroßmutter, as she slowly moved closer to him. When the Buschgroßmutter was no more than a foot from his face Luca looked into her eyes. The soft green hue of new plant grown looked back at him, and in those eyes he saw the start of all that is new and beginning. As he stared her eyes changed to the vivid green of the leaves of the trees in his childhood orchard, flush with life. Goosebumps arose on his skin as her eyes changed to the dark colour of evergreen, reminding him of yuletide, and the annual procession of the Krampus.
As he stood awestruck, the Buschgroßmutter threw something onto the path behind him, and faded from sight. It took Luca some time before he was able to move, then at once he ran to find the item the Buschgroßmutter had thrown.
He found a black bag in the middle of the path. He picked it up with a small jump for joy and tipped the contents of the bag into his hand, a singular gold coin with a greenish tinge to it.
Luca’s disappointment was palpable. He had not gained the riches that Jacob had, but he reasoned it might have been partial payment for the partial combing. He examined the coin closely, checking the markings for something he could identify. The coin was old, and most of the markings had faded long ago. The only marks he could be sure of was what looked like a faded but large branched tree.
He was so intent on the symbols that he did not immediately notice the green coloring of the coin beginning to transfer to his skin. Not until two fingers on one had, 3 on the other and a portion of one palm were covered in this green hue did Luca notice.
Panic set in. Luca was certain now that the old witch had cursed him. Unsure how to break such a curse, Luca resolved to find Jacob, reasoning he could make up a convincing story regarding Jacob’s lapse of consciousness.
As the green tinge continued to spread up his hands, then arms, then chest, his search for Jacob grew frantic. He was sure he had passed the place he left his companion multiple times, but Jacob was not to be found.
Luca grew wild with fear. As he searched, he noticed with horror that the hair on his arm had taken on a moss like consistency and was thickening. He could feel a pulse inside himself, offbeat to his racing heart.
Luca had no idea how long he had wandered for when the green spread to his lungs. Despite the changes, he had not until that point truly believed the curse was fatal. Luca stopped walking as the roots growing in his feet grew straight through the bones, pinning him in place. Dew welled in his lungs, making his breathing difficult. His heartbeat slowed as the pulse inside of him increased, and a ripping pain up both sides of his body from toes to crown made him cry out in agony.
As the vines wrapped around his ribs and leaves sprouted from his eyes, he saw the Buschgroßmutter for the last time, now in her full power as the forest witch, the heart of the woods, the mother of the moss maidens, His last vision was of the true glory that is the Crone. Luca was no more.
Jacob had come around a few hours after suffering the attack. Bereft of his gold and companion, he had started towards the village with a light pack, moderate headache and heavy heart.
Just before reaching the edge of the forest, Jacob came across the almost consumed body of Luca. He recognized the man’s coat. The face was beyond recognition. Vines and branches grew from his eyes, mouth and navel. Moss covered most of his skin.
Jacob made the sign of rest as his oma had taught him over the body. Despite his feelings towards Luca, he simply wouldn’t leave his companion to wander as a restless soul.
A short distance away a small yellow bag could be seen. Upon opening it Jacob found it to be his gift from the Buschgroßmutter. The discovery brought him a bitter happiness, and after a moment standing before the new moss-covered tree that once wore Luca’s face, he left the forest.
Jacob spent the winter in the nearby village. The gold would have sufficed for two, and for Jacob alone it provided a modest home, with a smithy attached, allowing him to practice his trade and live in comfort. All throughout the year he would tell the tale of the Buschgroßmutter, and how the quickest way to her wrath was pride.
C.M. Wellsmore 