Photo, courtesy of Andrew Goins Photography

The Path in the Wood

G.H. Goins

1.

Once, there was a boy. 

The boy and his father lived in a cabin within a thick, pathless wood. The wood spanned for a hundred miles in every direction and was pleasing to the eye. It would not be difficult to become lost in the endless expanse of trees and thickets or the boundless beauty found there. 

Some mornings, the fog would pour through the trees, like a lazy ocean wave, creating something hauntingly beautiful. 

Other mornings, the sky would be cloudless and deep, and the bright, jolly light of the sun would reflect off of nearly every particle of water left from the dew of the night. 

Even in the morning rain, the thick, pathless wood remained unalterably beautiful. 

Sometimes the boy would forget its beauty. 

Sometimes, when the green of the pine needles browned, the boy would not look at the green remaining on the boughs of the tree, but would instead focus on the dead of the browned needles on the forest floor. 

The boy’s father was aware of this. 

So, one day, the father extended his calloused, scarred hand toward his son. The boy did not hesitate in taking his father’s invitation. 

And the father led him into the thick, pathless wood. 

The boy didn’t know why. 

But he trusted his father. 

The trees did not cease they’re great outward expansion for as far as the boy could see. The forest was all he had known. Round, thick pines reached in vain for the unreachable blue of the sky. Tall, slender birches swayed almost lethargically. The two ducked beneath a seemingly endless amount of tangled, piled branches of rhododendron. The boy kept a wary eye out for the fallen, brown leaves of the holly trees around, for fear of his bare feet stepping on one of the sharp leaves. 

Though the wood was thick and pathless, when the boy was with his father, it was as if his father knew of some invisible path and just being in his presence made the wood feel less suffocating. The way was not clear to the boy, but his father knew the wood. His father had seen the edges of the wood; where it ended, where it began. 

He knew the way. 

The boy walked; head down, eyes constantly scanning the forest floor below his filthy feet. He nearly stepped on a pine cone. Though he could feel the tug of his father pulling his hand along, the boy stooped to pick up the pine cone. His father stopped and came down on one knee, at eye level with his son. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” the father asked.

The boy nodded. “Very.”

The father smiled and said, “Leave that behind. Where we are going, you will have no need of that pine cone.”

This confused the boy. “Why, father?”

“Trust me.”

The boy did trust his father. 

Or he thought he did.

It seemed to the boy that his father was avoiding his question. Why, father? Why shouldn’t he keep it? It was beautiful. His father had said so himself. And so, the boy pocketed the spikey seed. 

His father sighed.

“Come, my son,” said the boy’s father, as his calloused, scarred hand extended towards the boy. 

The boy took his father’s hand and they continued their trek through the thick, pathless wood. 

2.

The boy did not know where his father was taking him. Every day that dawned, the boy thought it would be the day that the destination would be revealed. Sometimes, the boy wondered if they were not simply turning great big circles. 

It certainly felt that way. 

Every day, the boy asked his father, “Father? Where are we going?”

The father’s answer was the same every time. Patient and steady, the father would reply, “Time will tell, my son. You just need to trust me.”

One morning, as the smoke from the previous night’s fire rose lazily through the green boughs, the boy and his father made ready to walk. The boy decided to change his question slightly.

“Can you tell me about where we are heading?”

The father chuckled. “Do you mean to trick me into telling you the destination?”

The boy smiled sheepishly. 

“I will tell you all you need to know in time. Trust me.” 

The boy’s face fell. His father touched the face of his child and smiled. He said, “I will tell you a small part about where we are going. The destination is a place you have never been. It will be the most beautiful thing you have ever seen and, perhaps, ever will see. But it is dangerous. More dangerous than you could ever know. 

“But I will be with you. 

    “I will never leave you. 

        “You just have to trust me.”

The boy stood there, mute. Confused. The boy had thought that he wanted his question answered, but now that part of it was answered, all he had was more questions, and he still didn’t have even the answer he originally sought. He just had to trust his father. 

Trust.   

The boy felt blind. Trust could only take him so far; the boy just knew it. His father didn’t know what it was like to be on this side of his hand. His father didn’t know what it was like to follow blindly. How could he? The boy began to believe that his father didn’t know what he was talking about.

The boy looked into the eyes of the father. This time, the father didn’t smile, as the boy assumed he would. His father knelt down on one knee. The boy could see tears swelling in the deep green eyes that pierced his own. It was a cutting stare. But the boy knew he was loved. 

“My son,” said the father, slowly. “If you do not trust me, you will die. Everything I tell you, I tell you for a reason. The same is true for everything I don’t tell you. You have to trust me. Do you understand?”

The boy only nodded. 

“Today,” said the father, rising from his crouch, “we come to the destination. Let us brave this thick wood once more.” 

The father shouldered his leather pack and extended his calloused, scarred hand to his son. The boy took it and they began the last day’s march.

3. 

“The yew tree is as old as time. Though the trunk dies, the branches of this everlasting tree grow into the earth and the tree continues living. This cycle continues for thousands of years. It is nothing short of immortal. It would appear to be the essence of life.

Except…

Every part of the yew tree is poisonous. Lethal. The berries. The bark. The needles. Once ingested, the victim dies.

And so, the yew is a representation of both life and death.” 

As they approached their destination, the father educated his son. Though, the boy sensed that it was less of an education and more of a warning. 

“By now,” the father continued, “I believe you know why I am telling you this.”

The boy nodded.

“Good. Because we have arrived.”

The father led his son around the trunk of a particularly wide oak tree and the boy’s suspicion that his father’s education was also a warning was fulfilled. For in the middle of a vast clearing stood a lone tree. 

A yew tree. 

The boy was surprised by its appearance. The tree was not nearly as tall as he had thought it would be. However, it was much, much wider than he ever imagined. The clearing could hardly be considered a clearing; for the branches of the yew were spread long and far in every direction, making it nearly impossible for anything to grow beneath its massive expanse of shadow. As the branches were thrown outward, some of the limbs grew into the ground, seeming to form their own trunk, independent of the massive trunk at the center of the clearing. Instead of a normal tree that grows up towards the sun, the yew seemed to be growing down towards the earth, creating a natural dome. 

However, there was something that seemed so very unnatural about this yew tree. 

It was made of solid silver. 

The boy was about to rush forward to enter the natural dome of the silver tree, but was stopped by a firm hand clutching his arm. 

“Son,” said the father in a solemn tone that surprised the boy. “Leave the pine cone.” 

The boy’s face paled slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, father.”

The father’s voice was slow, but firm. “Do not lie to me. You have kept this secret in the dark. It is time for all to be laid bare. You cannot enter the domain of the Silver Yew with what has been kept secret in the dark. Leave the pine cone. Do you trust me?”

The boy said nothing. But he obeyed. He reached into his breeches pocket and clutched the pine cone, careful not to hurt himself in the process. “I am sorry, father. Forgive me,” the boy whispered, the pine cone coming out into the light of day. He gave it to his father. His father took it in hand and threw it. 

The father threw it directly at the Silver Yew. 

The boy felt something inside him lurch. He couldn’t stand the thought of his pine cone being lost. He didn’t know why, but its presence comforted him. 

As it was hurled into the branches of the tree, the boy darted after it, desperate. He couldn’t let it go. He ducked beneath the boughs of the yew and intense pain seized him immediately. His feet felt as though they were on fire. The needles of the Silver Yew, spread like a carpet over the floor of the wood, pierced his feet. He cried out, falling to his knees. At once, hundreds of the tiny needles went straight through his breeches and into his skin. The boy could feel the blood beginning to pour from his wounds. 

“My son!” The father cried, sounding desperate. “Leave the pine cone! Leave it!”

The boy sobbed, screaming, “I can’t! I can’t!” He could feel himself losing consciousness. A brief thought swept through his head before he passed out. 

Does the yew have to be ingested for the poison to take effect?

4. 

The boy smelled smoke. He heard the crackling of a fire and the sound of a wooden spoon stirring the contents of a cast-iron pot. He thought briefly of poison. Then he thought about the pine cone and panicked. He let out an audible groan and opened his eyes. 

The sound caught his father’s attention. “Shh,” he whispered. 

The boy was aware that his father was now leaning over him. 

“We don’t have much time. The poison has already entered your system. There are still things I have to tell you.”

The boy was becoming more aware every second. He was drenched in sweat and bleeding in hundreds of places. He knew he was no longer under the branches of the Silver Yew. To the right of his head, he saw a pile of the silver needles that were only fifteen-minutes ago imbedded in his flesh. 

“Listen carefully,” he heard his father say. “I’m going to ask you to do something and it is going to make little sense. But you have to do it. If you do not, you will die.”

“But,” the boy said, his voice barely above a whisper. “How am I here?” 

“Listen, son.”

“Did you go in after me?”

“Listen.”

“How are you still alive?”

The father sighed wearily. “I ate the berry of the Silver Yew. It is the only way one can survive its poison.”

“But you said…”

“‘Every part of the yew is poisonous’. That is true. But this particular yew is different. It provides Life.”

“Life?” 

“Yes. A Life that is eternal.”

Doubt crept into the mind of the boy. 

“I ate of the Silver Yew and I died.”

The doubt spread quickly.

“And now, I live. I will live for eternity.” 

The doubt seeped into every corner of the boy’s mind like boiled pitch, until the boy struggled to believe a single word his father said. 

“Where is the pine cone?” asked the boy. There was an edge in his voice. 

“Destroyed.”

The boy could feel fury bubbling up inside him like a geyser. 

“I destroyed it. After I took you out from beneath the tree, I went back into the domain of the Silver Yew and took a berry and ate. I took your pine cone and died with it still clutched in my hand. I could feel the points of the pine cone piercing my skin. When I awoke, the pine cone was gone and I was alive.” The father turned toward the fire and took a cast-iron pot from its bed of coals. The boy caught a glimpse of his father’s palms. 

The boy could see the marks his pine cone had left in his calloused, scarred hands when his father clutched it in his dying grip. 

Taking a wooden cup from his pack, the man dipped it into the hot liquid and, after filling it up, brought it back out. “Son,” he said, his deep, green eyes piercing his own. 

    Full of love. 

        Full of Life. 

“You don’t have much time. I want you to drink this.”

“What is it?” asked the boy.

“It is a tea, brewed from the root of the Silver Yew.” 

“Father… it will kill me.”

“It will give you Life.”

“I can’t!”

“Not by yourself. 

    “But I am with you. 

        “I will never leave you. 

            “You just have to trust me.”

The father extended the cup to his child. 

The father asked, “Do you trust me?” 

5.

If you enjoyed this story, you might also enjoy "My Tree." You can access it here: https://www.ghgoins.com/2020/04/my-tree.html