Chapter 7: Foreboding is the Night
"Come wayward souls,
who wander through the darkness;
there is a light for the lost and the meek.
Sorrow and fear are easily forgotten
when you submit to the soil of the earth."
That dreaded song echoed through the Unknown, swirling around the deep shadows with an eerie air. A well-aged man stood within the darkness, his black trench coat the only means to keep out the blistering nighttime wind from freezing him solid. The Woodsman was once again staring solemnly into his iron-cast lantern, doing his best to ignore the morbid singing.
"Oh beloved daughter," he sighed, his brown eyes reflecting its warm glow. "If only there were a way. If only there were a way . . ."
The man frowned, becoming lost himself in his hopes and dreams. They were but empty wishes, sorrowful memories and a life of regret. The only thing that he could remember doing right was helping his child live on in the fire of continuation that was his work and pain. It might've made him feel better if he could see her — like she was before — just once more, but all he had left of his little girl was the lantern. All he had was light.
"Woodsman . . ." whistled the leaf-bare trees, a whisper of the shaded: quiet, subtle, alone. "Woodsman . . ."
The anguished father glanced up at the barren treetops, more afraid than he was alarmed. This was not new. The weightless hush spoke often, sometimes muttering his name and other times telling him of his duties. But always in a manner that poked at his sanity and played with his beliefs.
"What do you want with me, Beast? Can't you see that this isn't the time? Can't you leave a man to his grief?" the Woodsman cried out, shielding the lantern with his arms although the voice could put it out with but a word.
"Woodsman . . ." it shushed, dead leaves wafting into the air. "The lantern . . . it wanes . . ."
The old man took a cautionary look at the item in his hands. He found that the voice was right, familiar with the dying colors of the flame. It needed oil. Edelwood oil.
Without a word, the Woodsman picked up his axe from where he had left it on the ground, walking deeper in the forest in search of the tree. Edelwood had become harder to find in the Unknown due to the lantern's needs, but they weren't completely extinct. It only took twenty-four hours for a lost soul to change into one, after all. There would be more in time.
He came upon an Edelwood tree after a while of walking, its large figure blocking the moonlight from spilling out onto the forest floor. Its human face was contorted in an expression of terror and black oil seeped from the bark, a promising sign of happiness for one and misery for another.
The Woodsman grimaced, the tree seeming to give him a glare from within its trunk that paralyzed and incapacitated him. This was the first Edelwood he would be forced to cut down since since he'd learnt of their true origins. It was the knowledge that kept him still, kept him from removing the roots of nourishment and adding it to his own daughter's supply. Wouldn't that be wrong? Was it really worth it?
"Woodsman . . ." The voice again beckoned his attention, its tone nothing short of threatening. "The lantern . . . it wanes . . . needs Edelwood . . ."
The wary man took the warning, knowing that if he waited any longer it'd be too late. Moving forward with little hesitance, the Woodsman raised his axe up to the Edelwood's trunk, ready to strike. With one last murmur of apology to the trapped soul, the Woodsman forcefully connected metal to wood, the Edlewood unable to fight back. His blows were precise with all the skill of a practiced lumberjack and the tree came crashing down in a short while. Branches and small red leaves scattered about the dirt, some of his precious oil wasted as well. Even the tree's carved face appeared devastated, all of its luster gone in a second.
"How can I keep doing this?" he lamented, picking a log from the debris to cradle mournfully in his arms. "These lives . . . How could I take these lives?" The Woodsman felt his eyes become watery at the mention.
"Woodsman . . ." whistled the winter breeze again, cold in body and mind. "The lantern . . . it wanes . . . The light . . . will be no more . . ."
The Woodsman let out a trembling sigh, releasing his grip on the branches. There wasn't any choice. He had to have more oil. She had to have more oil. So he labored away, set on his task and dutiful in heart. There was nothing else. Nothing else . . .
o-o-o-o
The moon was already high in the sky by the time the Woodsman had enough pieces for use, the burden heavier than it used to be. Not only did he have to find a way to grind the Edelwood into oil without the use of the mill, he'd have to find a way to do it without letting his daughter's flame flicker out.
When Beatrice's family returned and found him at the old grist mill, the Woodsman allowed them to have their house back without a fight. It wasn't his and he felt the need to do something good for others in payment for all the pain he'd caused the world. Much was taken but not enough was received.
Self-loathing conflicted with love, passion with regret. But even that wasn't enough to drive away the shadows that swarmed his dark landscape. He was truly alone.
"Daughter, I hope you're happy. I hope you are well. I hope you don't feel as I, that you don't forget yourself in this unknown world. Because — if you do — there will be a light. There will be hope." The Woodsman stood in silence for a moment, staring down at the lantern with lonely eyes. He reminded himself that this was the way the river flowed, that there was still a chance at peace in life. It was what allowed him to drain the oil by hand into the lantern's base, his axe cutting away the excess wood in the process. Black, thick liquid oozed from the Edelwood, such a deep color of blankness. Of forlornness. Of nothing.
Of course then was the perfect time for a voice to sing, the perfect time to taunt a man in his sorrow. The wind picked up speed, the swirling mass of malevolence and greed heavy in the air as the ominous melody rang out into the night.
"Chop the wood to light the fire.
Grind them and it'll not be dire.
A simple vial of oil so small,
hardly worth the effort at all.
But 'keep me lit' the lantern sings,
'do so and certainty it brings'.
A life preserved within a shell,
always here to always dwell."
That was darker than my usual variety. But I hope you all enjoyed! Make sure to leave a review! :)
(Oh, and I couldn't exactly tell what the Beast sang in the show for the ending song, so I made up the lyrics past the first line. What do you all think? :3 )
And a somewhat non-related question for all of you amazing people who are reading my stories:
How many of you would be interested in another OtGW fanfic on the Beast's origin? :3 I have some very creative theories and wonder how you'd all like a tragic, angst-filled romance between him and a very interesting character that explains nearly every early plot-hole in the show. I'd also include his relationship with the Woodsman and how the lantern came to be for those of you who are wondering and perhaps a tiny hint of Infinite Eyerolls in the beginning. I'll either start this once I have - hmm . . . say, 25 favorites on my main story and at least 30 follows. So if this new idea is any amount of interesting to you - and I promise it will be once I've started it - then please do your best to get people on FanFiction to read my stories. If I do not get the favorites and followers, I'll simply finish this fanfic before I start a new one. But that may be a very, very long wait. -smirks slyly- Your choice. (Self advertising! xD It's annoying AND tempting!)
