The Haven, Book One, The Forest and Book Two, The Journey

By Toby Dobson

The setting is a parallel world, similar to our own yet with a few further advancements in technology. In this world there is a huge forest prison. Roughly sixty years earlier, the government had decided that the prison system was overcrowded and too expensive, so it adopted a ruthless policy to establish the forest prison. People with ten years or more on their sentence were sent into the forest prison to never return to the outside world.
Outside the forest, legends were told of the bandits within and young children were told to stay away from the trees. Within the trees, bandits ran rampant, yet something completely unexpected also happened; organised societies developed. In particular, several days journey into the forest grew the great town of Penyon.
Throughout the tale, different characters living quite different lives all become linked through the forest.
Penyon was founded by the powerful mind of Nazule. Deep within the trees, many of the forests inhabitants communicate with their minds. This naturally advanced form of communication is contrasted against the technology used on the outside, in particular with the commonly used small tablet called the centraliser.
Another powerful character, Coffee, is an old friend of Nazule, having worked together in the School of the Mind before Nazule was taken into the forest as the first forest prisoner, sixty years earlier. On the outside, Coffee also grows very powerful, although she is always under threat from factions of the government and the military, in particular from the leader of the offensive against her and Nazule, Colonel Hakennase.
Colonel Hakennase sees Nazule and Coffee as a threat to his power and the stability of his world. The ruthless Colonel builds up an army, using powerful, destructive technology to enter the forest and take charge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Toby Dobson
• Release date: Aug 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311201560

Toby Dobson

I currently live in Sydney and grew up in Adelaide, South Australia.I have written all of my life, yet the 'Forest' is my first published work, with the second book of the series just recently finished.Working full-time and being a single parent makes it hard to find time to write so I am pleased with how this work has progressed.I studied languages with 3 majors to a final year (Spanish, French and German) as well as a second year of Portuguese. If you read 'The Haven' you will see some playful use of those languages with some of the names. For example, the name for the forest town, Penyon, is derived from the Spanish 'peñón', which means an outcrop of rock or crag but also is used in reference to island forts that are usually sit upon a mass of rock. Similarly, the name for Colonel Hakennase is derived from the German word for hooknose.

Book preview

Book One: The Forest

And

Book Two: The Journey

Smashwords Edition No.2

© Copyright 2016 TCDobson

Licence Notes: This ebook is licenced for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Synopsis:

The setting is a parallel world, similar to our own yet with a few further advancements in technology. In this world there is a huge forest prison. Roughly sixty years earlier, the government had decided that the prison system was overcrowded and too expensive, so it adopted a ruthless policy to establish the forest prison. People with ten years or more on their sentence were sent into the forest prison to never return to the outside world.

Outside the forest, legends were told of the bandits within and young children were told to stay away from the trees. Within the trees, bandits ran rampant, yet something completely unexpected also happened; organised societies developed. In particular, several days journey into the forest grew the great town of Penyon.

Throughout the tale, different characters living quite different lives all become linked through the forest.

Penyon was founded by the powerful mind of Nazule. Deep within the trees, many of the forests inhabitants communicate with their minds. This naturally advanced form of communication is contrasted against the technology used on the outside, in particular with the commonly used small tablet called the centraliser.

Another powerful character, Coffee, is an old friend of Nazule, having worked together in the School of the Mind before Nazule was taken into the forest as the first forest prisoner, sixty years earlier. On the outside, Coffee also grows very powerful, although she is always under threat from factions of the government and the military, in particular from the leader of the offensive against her and Nazule, Colonel Hakennase.

Colonel Hakennase sees Nazule and Coffee as a threat to his power and the stability of his world. The ruthless Colonel builds up an army, using powerful, destructive technology to enter the forest and take charge.

Note:

All characters in this book are fictional and do not represent any real people.

Acknowledgements:

Cover by Annabel Smith

BOOK ONE: The Forest

Chapter One

He looked about the room – a typical Roman party. Near naked women danced suggestively in front of ogling men as they lay on couches and cushions on the floor. Topless, muscular men served drinks and food. Wine, smoke and conversation flowed. Brian got up from the settee and waded through the debauchery and out of the room to wander through the vast spaces of the Roman villa. Tall, rounded pillars lined the corridor.

Further down the corridor he came to a courtyard. The sun glistened on the rich greenery. He entered. Two girls in their early teens, sitting on a swinging bench, looked up coyly from their gossip as he passed.

Deeper into the garden Brian heard the grunts of men and the clash of metal on metal. Two soldiers struggling for dominance in a physical training encounter. They stopped as he approached.

Come train with us General! pleaded one.

Ave said the other, we must prepare for the battle.

What battle? Brian asked.

You have not heard? The barbarians will strike in the new day.

Nay, I shall not train. He had been through the training module several times and had mastered it. After all, he had written the program.

Then will you lead us into battle?

A General’s place is by his men.

Brian’s words seemed to give great spirit to the men. They continued with their training as he walked on to the other side of the courtyard. He skipped scenes to the battle. A centurion entered his tent and tried to rouse his general. It was barely dawn.

General! General! Please, sir.

What is it?

They are upon us.

What, now?!

Yes General.

He grabbed the centurion by the shirt. Yesterday, before night fall, they were sighted more than fifty miles from here.

It seems they did not make camp.

Sound the alarm! Brian called. Have every able soldier ready. This day we go to war!

Yes General! The centurion sped from the tent, inspired by his General’s words. A slave boy helped Brian dress for battle. As he attached his sword, the sun rose and shone into the tent. Horns blew for war. Today, much blood will be spilled, he said in quiet determination to himself.

He stepped out regally to meet his destiny. Horses brayed as the clamour and clatter of spears and swords being readied ricocheted across the valley. Just over the hill, into the distance, the enemy approached. First hundreds, then thousands came into view.

The centurion soon returned, accompanied by a politician. He moved with a practised dignity, yet his face reflected the seriousness and urgency of the matter at hand. Merilius, General," announced the centurion.

We must retreat, General, I beg you. We are far outnumbered. We will all die!

Stop your whimpering, Merilius, Brian answered with authority. We will be victorious yet.

Then there was a ringing. Brian’s heartbeat raced. Oh blast! It was his centraliser. Someone was calling.

Damn! he cursed again as he watched the swarming barbarians approach and his army prepare against them.

He removed his VR helmet. The mundane and too familiar scenes of his lounge room irritated him further. The centraliser was still ringing on the coffee table and he went over and picked it up. It was his mother.

A centraliser was a handheld portable computer. It was so called because it was central to the functions used by an average person. It was commonly used as a video telephone, yet had numerous other functions. It could operate all computer-operated facilities in the home, from the heating and lights, to the home entertainment system. It was also often used as a liaison tool between workstations, such as home and office or school.

Hi mum.

Hi dear, how are you?

Good. What’s up?

Oh, I was just wondering how you were. How’s work?

Yeah, busy. I was just in the middle of…

I had Beryl around today. We had lunch out on the porch.

That’s nice. Brian replied with a sigh of hopelessness. How is Beryl?

Very well. Except that you know she just had her operation.

Operation?

Yes, you know, on her hip. I’m sure I told you.

Oh yes, of course.

She is recovering quite well but I don’t know how she copes. Very hard to get around, you know, especially with what she has been through with Howard.

Yes, that’s terrible. You know I really… he was cut off again.

Lucy has just had her second, a boy. Beryl is so pleased. It makes it all worthwhile. You know it’s about time you settled down. I still have no grandchildren. It would be wonderful to have a little baby to care for.

Muuum!

Well, you are nearly thirty now. You’re not getting any younger. You know what happened to your Aunt Emelda. Brian was 28, and his Aunt Emelda was the infamous old spinster of the family.

Mum, please.

Well, I’m just concerned. How is Sharron?

Fine, thank you. Actually we were thinking of coming to see you on the weekend.

Oh, lovely! Your father and I are really looking forward to meeting her.

Look, mum, I’ll call you back before the weekend. I’m in the middle of some work at the moment.

Ok dear.

Bye mum.

Bye love. Speak soon.

Brian hung up. Sometime the goodbyes could go on for quite some time.

His work was done. He had rechecked and explored all the contingencies. Now it was time to head off to the publisher’s office. His personal manager would be waiting for him. All of his research had come to reality. Well, virtual reality at least. He was confident that they would like it. The graphics people had closely followed his briefs about the period and the programmers had everything running glitch-free. It was perhaps their finest work yet, and a relief after three agonising months.

I’ll see you later, Leila, he said.

Don’t be too long. You know I miss you when you’re gone. Leila the Lynx was a three dimensional projection. She was long, slinky and sexy. She had the body of a catwalk model with a few added features to give the suggestion of a lynx.

When I get paid for this job, I’m going to buy that new projector I promised you.

His desk and computer were cramped in the corner of his bedroom and Brian had her projection only in this room of his small apartment. A new projector would make it possible for Leila to operate in the lounge room as well.

Programs such as Leila were a common holographic interface. They not only gave lonely people a friendly (or sexy) face to keep them company, they could be used to operate all computer programs. They had many different forms, from Leo the Lion to Batty Betty, yet Leila was Brian’s favourite. Their outfits and even attitude could be changed as desired.

You know I love it when we’re together, Leila replied.

Bye Leila. Brian left.

When he reached the station he wished that he hadn’t lingered. It was now peak time and millions around the city streamed into the underground to find their way home. He squeezed onto a train. His satisfaction of a job well done eased the frustration of being thrust against the wall of the train by the heaving mass of commuters. He was thankful that the ride was not too long.

On the short walk from the station to the office his centraliser rang. It was his personal manager.

I’m nearly there. Brian anticipated the question.

What’s taken you? They’re in there waiting. Meet me out the front.

Oakley Farrell was waiting anxiously when Brian arrived at the building. He was a strange creature with scraggly hair, bushy eyebrows and thick glasses. He was holding a coffee, which he finished with one swig, throwing the take-away cup into a nearby bin.

He grabbed Brian by the arm. Come on, I’ll brief you on the way up. They headed across the foyer to the elevators. The two of them had met at university, in the tavern. Brian was doing his undergraduate in classical history and Oakley majoring in quantum physics. Despite their different academic backgrounds, they hit it off well, became drinking buddies and had been friends ever since. Oakley now worked for the publisher as a personal manager, acting as a liaison between researcher-writers like Brian and the upper management. It was he who got Brian work with the company.

So, why all the fuss? Brian asked in his usual laid-back manner.

Oakley, in contrast, seemed to almost burst with exuberance when he spoke. This is big, Bri, big, big, big! Amongst the suits coming and going from the other offices, the two of them looked a little out of place. Oakley dressed as a teacher, or university professor with cord pants and a tweed jacket. Brian, taller and with finer features, dressed casually as usual in jeans and a T-shirt featuring a bikini-clad girl lying on a beach, with the words ‘Costa Rica’ written across it.

King Jefferson, Lillie McPherson and some of their top cronies, that’s what!

Bill, or ‘King’ Jefferson as they called him, was the CEO of Pharaoh Publishing, and Lillie McPherson was the largest stakeholder in the company.

What are they doing here?

How should I know? I just work here. But what it does mean is, either they really like your work, or if it ain’t good you’re out of here. And I came out to meet you to make sure you’re up to scratch. He looked Brian over and shook his head. Look at you. He grabbed Brian’s T-shirt and shook it. At least you could have dressed!

But this is what I always wear.

Not when you’re going to see the King!

They had reached the door of the boardroom and did their best to straighten themselves up and catch their breath before entering.

In the boardroom the discussion was becoming heated.

I don’t know about this Bill, we could be putting a young man’s life in danger. And what are the repercussions for us? Everything we have here could be threatened. I don’t want the company that my grandfather worked his arse off to build to go down because of some fool decision. Have you really thought this through? Lillie McPherson was known to be strongly opinionated.

We stand to gain a lot from this, Lillie. Let’s see how it pans out…just give it some time.

There was a knock on the door.

Brian, it’s good to see you, the King greeted them as they entered. Bill Jefferson was the kind of man that seems too smooth to be trusted. His expensive suit was complemented by his immaculately styled, grey-streaked hair.

Hello Mr. Jefferson. They shook hands.

I don’t believe you have met Ms McPherson.

Hello Brian, I have been looking forward to meeting you.

Pleased to meet you. Then she nodded towards Oakley. Mr Farrell.

Please sit down. Brian and Oakley sat at the large boardroom table. Lillie McPherson sat at the head and King Jefferson remained standing.

Three others sat at the table. One was the usual face of the company they had dealt with regularly, Mark Stevens. The other two were introduced as Omar Massure, the Operations Manager, and Ms Bright, Mr Jefferson’s personal assistant.

All the pleasures of Rome, Oakley announced.

I beg your pardon? Lillie looked perplexed, as did the others.

That’s what I call it. Or ‘A Roman Odyssey’ has a kind of ring to it.

Thirty seven rooms, with free field movement and one hundred and fifteen possible characters… Brian was cut off.

Mark, insisted the CEO.

Thank you, Brian, said Mark Stevens. I…we appreciate all of your work. If you could please hand the Roman work to me, I will get to it shortly and give you my feedback.

‘…hand it to me and I will get back to you with some feedback,’ thought Brian. Three months of painstaking attention to detail, arguing with the designers, all that research! This was no way to thank him for all his hard work. He had come prepared to present his work in front them…well at least to Mark.

We are not here to review your previous work, Mr. Mitchell. There is a more pressing matter at hand, said Mr. Massure.

More pressing matter? Oakley was indignant. He’s put a lot of work into that.

Yes, and it is appreciated, but for the time being…

Gentlemen, King Jefferson cut him short. Gentlemen, we are at the verge of something special, perhaps the biggest project ever undertaken by Pharaoh Publishing.

Brian and Oakley looked expectant. Jefferson continued. Tell me what you know of the forest.

The forest? asked Oakley.

Do you mean THE forest? Brian asked.

Omar.

Massure continued to explain as ordered. Statistics have shown that the forest is the most enquired about subject in current affairs.

What do people want to see when they watch the news? The forest, Jefferson interjected with enthusiasm.

Hang on. Just wait a minute. Are you saying that you want Brian here to take on the forest as his new project? Oakley was worried.

I haven’t even been paid for the last one, Brian complained.

You will be paid within forty eight hours, assuming the project is complete. In addition you will receive an advance payment and double your usual fee, Stevens explained.

What’s the catch? Oakley asked. Brian was already smiling.

Consider it danger money. Lillie’s tone was snide.

Jefferson seemed annoyed at her comment. No, no. Think of it more as our appreciation of your great work.

Oh, come on Bill. Let’s be honest here. She was possibly the only person who could get away with speaking to him in such a manner. He shrunk away to stare out of the window, visibly frustrated.

What’s the problem? It’s just the forest. Fenced off, big prison, you go in with ten years or more on your sentence. Everybody knows this stuff. Brian wondered why they were so alarmed. He had seen shows on TV and articles on the news every other day about the forest.

Media spin, Lillie explained. There are certain things about the forest, Mr Mitchell and Mr Farrell, that certain authorities would not like you to look at. Every report that goes to air on the subject follows strict government guidelines. They are very serious about enforcing these guidelines.

What do you mean, ‘very serious’? Brian no longer smiled.

Yeah, I’ve heard something about that. Didn’t they throw some reporter in for looking too deeply? asked Oakley.

Look, gentlemen, Jefferson was back, you will just have to be careful to follow the guidelines.

We can provide you with a copy. Massure slid them a memory stick. We have also added a list of groups we would like you to include.

Good luck with your new assignment, Brian. Mark Stevens stood up to shake his hand. The meeting was over.

Mr Mitchell, Lillie McPherson added just as he was on his way out the door. He turned to look at her. Be careful.

Chapter Two

Richard Rochald had wandered further than he was supposed to, again. He was far down in one of the back paddocks. Before him and to his right was the luscious expanse of pastureland owned by his father. In the distance, a herd of cattle grazed peacefully. To his left was a high security fence, and behind it the forest.

His parents had instructed him not to wander so far. ‘Stay within earshot of the house’ they had told him. They were particularly concerned that he stayed away from the forest. ‘Bad people live in there,’ they told him. There were many common tales that parents used to warn their children against the forest. Some more founded on fact than others. One of the most popular was the tale of the bandits, who would do all sorts of things to little children if they caught them.

For a child of eleven years it was common for parents to show concern when they wandered. But something inside of him drove him on. Richard approached his journeys methodically. Each time he would go a little further. He measured the time precisely when he travelled and would calculate quite accurately how long the subsequent journey would take.

His Asperger’s syndrome had its limitations, yet he performed relatively well in a regular school and was outstanding in mathematics. It was social skills that he lacked. He didn’t seem to make friends and the other students considered him a bit weird. His awkward stutter didn’t help. At times, children made fun of him, which didn’t help his confidence. Most of the others accepted him, it was just a few of the boys who made life particularly difficult.

Richard was very reluctant to communicate and it was only his sister, Mariana, who seemed to get anything out of him. Some said they had some kind of innate understanding.

Today he would make it to the fence. Cleverly, he had allowed time in his calculations to sit and observe. His father had taught him that. ‘Sit quietly, Richard. Just watch and listen to the trees and the birds.’ Now in all his journeys he allowed some time to sit quietly to watch and listen.

The fence was close and he found a place amongst some nearby bushes to sit for a while. The fence was seriously hard line, thick and strong with razor wire at the top. It was also equipped with a state of the art security system. Cameras with motion sensors picked up any movement along the fence line, which was constantly patrolled by the Rangers. There were a couple of stories going around about people who had made it out of the forest alive, but the rumours were not confirmed.

Behind the fence the dense forest lurked. Although the trees were kept roughly fifty metres from the fence, their presence was still powerful. Richard watched quietly, trying hard to perceive any movement amongst the trees. Privately, he longed to see Rangers. They generally maintained a low profile and held a certain mystique. As for those that dwelt within, the ‘woodies’, as they were called, he did not understand them but neither did he fear them. He was curious, but woodies were much like all people to Richard – to be avoided.

There was a noise behind him. He swung around to see his father on his horse, Bronte. Richard sat quietly. He knew that he was not supposed to be so far from the house, let alone near to the forest.

Richard looked at the time on his centraliser. He had used up all of his listening and watching time but now he had to sit longer and watch as his father went by. He immediately became anxious.

Gregor Rochald seemed to be lingering. Had he noticed his son lurking in the bushes? No, there was something else on his mind. He seemed to be looking into the trees, as if he were waiting for something.

Then something did happen. A man came out of the trees, strolled casually across the vast no-man’s land and approached the fence.

About half an hour earlier, Gregor was leaving the Rochald manor to take his horse for a ride, yet there was some other pressing business on his mind.

Emily, he called to his wife.

I’m talking. Her voice came from the study where she was talking with a friend on her centraliser.

Gregor moved a little closer to avoid shouting. When he reached the study he signalled to her that he was going out for a ride.

Make sure you’re home for tea, Emily called out.

No problem.

And if you see Richard, give him a hurry along.

Gregor smiled and nodded, then left.

Now at the fence, Gregor seemed nervous as the man approached. He rode up to meet him.

Mr. Rochald, always a pleasure. The man behind the fence had a thick, bushy beard and he spoke confidently.

Do you have it? Gregor was very anxious. He had used his connections to buy them some time at the fence without interruption, but he knew that if he was caught, he was in serious trouble.

Ah, straight to business. Very well, Mr. Rochald, hand over the money.

First let me see them.

The man behind the fence smiled mischievously, and he opened a small leather pouch, revealing its contents. As he saw them Gregor’s eyes lit up.

Just as you ordered, said the man.

Yes, great. With that Gregor took a couple of paces of his horse back from the fence and launched a small parcel over the high fence, clearing it with ease and landing not far from the feet of the bearded man.

He examined the contents then gave his nod of approval.

The card activates the account which is in the name you specified. The passwords are as you asked. I don’t know what you do with it any way, in there.

Well, that would be our business, wouldn’t it Mr. Rochald.

Then the favour was reciprocated and the small leather pouch was sent hurtling over the fence, eagerly caught by Gregor Rochald. He quickly looked inside, nodded to the man behind the fence and rode away at some pace.

Richard didn’t know what to think. He hadn’t seen a Ranger. The bearded man didn’t look like one. Yet he had seen something even more perplexing. His father was talking to a man behind the fence; a woodie. For all of his life he had been told not to approach the fence, let alone speak with the woodies.

There were many things that did not add up in Richard’s mind. Why was his father speaking to the woodie? What was in the parcel that they threw to him, and why did the Rangers not come? Everyone knew that the Rangers would come if you went too close to the fence.

There was a call on his centraliser. He ignored it; it was his mother. He never answered calls on his walks. Shocked and confused he turned to head back home, hoping to make it before dinner.

Before Richard had left the cover of the bushes he was struck down. He blacked out and fell to the ground. Another episode had hit him. There was silence. The light rushed about him and then the old man appeared.

Hello Richard, he said, welcome to the Haven.

Chapter Three

Harod Winton had lived in the forest for twelve years. His former life on the outside was becoming a faint blur. Sometimes the images were vivid and he’d swell with emotion as he remembered. But that life was gone now.

Today he headed towards the river, where he had set his rabbit traps. It had only taken him a couple of months to perfect the trap, which now rarely failed. Rabbits were very important to Harod and his survival in the forest. They provided him with a good source of food and skins for clothing and blankets. They were one of the few remaining creatures in the forest that had not been hunted out, for which he was quite thankful. Deer and wild boar had become increasingly rare and the river was heavily fished. Wild cats had become relatively plentiful, yet they were quite difficult to catch, although he had been lucky enough to snare a couple. Wolves were scarce but there was still a strong pack or two that could surprise an unsuspecting traveller. The wolves had been mostly cleared out of this area, near to the fence, and dwelt further into the forest in the mountains.

Within the five kilometres of the fence, where Harod lived, there was not much threat from anything. Occasionally bandits were seen but Rangers patrolled the area vigilantly. The rest of the forest they left to its own devices. The replantations stretched exactly five kilometres from the fence, and this seemed like an appropriate space for the Rangers to patrol to ensure that no one penetrated the boundary.

The younger trees, planted only fifteen years ago, had grown tall, yet they held an innocence about them. The old forest, on the other hand, was a different world. As you went further into the forest, the trees became older and wiser, and the air became thicker. Bandits and wild creatures reigned supreme.

Beside the river, where Harod had laid his traps, was not far from the old forest, yet he was not particularly concerned as he had made this journey several times before. He moved carefully through the trees, making sure that the bushes covered him as often as possible. He had learnt to be cautious, especially as he usually travelled alone.

As Harod approached the river, he heard loud voices and laughter. A young couple embraced naked in the water. As he watched, a smile crossed his face, only briefly. He rarely smiled. There was not much joy in his life.

It seemed that a large family of about ten had camped by the banks. He surveyed them from behind the cover of the undergrowth. His first assessment of people on the inside was how long he thought they would last. Bandits came through here, but there were three strong looking men and an older man with them. Perhaps they would survive, he thought. There was little they had that the bandits would want but there were some that killed for the sake of killing. There were certainly some wicked types within the forest.

Seeing the young couple reminded him of his former life. He remembered his wife. He remembered how they were together, how they touched…Harod brought himself quickly back to the present. He shouldn’t allow such sentiment. Dwelling on such things would get him killed. He headed on to the traps.

Harod was one of the very few who voluntarily entered the forest. Not many made the choice because it was a choice for life. Once you entered you could never return. He had worked as a corporate lawyer and had been caught stealing from some of his customers. A little from here and little from there; three million dollars in all. A pittance, he thought, considering the amount the large corporations cajoled from the general public on a daily basis. He justified what he did, yet he was deeply ashamed for his family. So he fled.

His term of imprisonment would have been about five years with good behaviour, and only those with ten or more years on their sentence were sent to the forest, but he could not face his proud mother, his loving wife, and worst of all, his father. His father was a very successful lawyer and owner of the firm for which Harod had worked. He could not face the shame that he would have seen in his father’s eyes.

Harod stopped and carefully surveyed the area, searching for any sign of movement, or anything that seemed out of place. He had come to the site of the first trap and had to be very careful before going in and displaying his catch, if he was lucky enough to have caught anything.

All looked clear and he moved in. With pleasure he removed a dead rabbit from the trap and stuffed it into the sack that he had made from the skins of other catches. He reset the trap then headed on to check the other four traps. Only one was empty. Four out of five was not bad. Harod headed home content with his bounty.

When he was closer to home and feeling more at ease, he started quietly humming and old tune to himself. He missed music. Sometimes he had wanted to sing out loudly, yet he didn’t want to attract attention to himself.

Harod eventually came within sight of his home. It wasn’t much, not like the fine penthouse in which he used to live, but the contentment now on reaching home was somehow even greater. It had taken him about twelve months of hard work to build. It was an ideal home for the circumstances. A stranger to the area would pass it by without noticing it.

The early days had been a very difficult time for Harod, having been new to the forest. He had spent the first few weeks of terrified, sleepless nights under the cover of bushes. When it rained he was drenched. Eventually it occurred to him to dig a home. Anything above ground would catch the attention of bandits. So he worked long and hard, only occasionally stopping to hunt and feed himself.

The end product was quite liveable by forest standards. He had since met a few people from the area who were suitably impressed, though he generally kept to himself, as most people seemed to, not wanting to be noticed. He was not the first to build an underground dwelling, yet many of his ideas were surprisingly innovative. The replantations were not heavily populated. Most of the criminal types within did not get on well with the Rangers. Harod’s relationship with Rangers was sometimes difficult, yet tolerable and occasionally friendly.

Inside his abode there was one main room of about four by five metres and two metres high. The earth ceiling was reinforced by timber beams and a thick post at each corner, with one very sturdy post in the centre of the room. The room abounded with shelves, upon which he kept numerous clay pots and several ornaments of interest or sentimental value. Many of the pots he had crudely fashioned himself, and others, often the better-looking ones, were traded with locals for rabbits, skins, or anything else of value. Once he was lucky enough to trade one of his better pots for a knife.

In this room sat a table, two chairs, his bed and a basin for washing, all crafted from forest materials. Most importantly there was a hearth. This was his grandest achievement. The chimney ran up through about two metres of earth and led to roughly another three metres of a hollowed log, lined with mud. He only ever lit the fire in the dark of night when the smoke was difficult to detect.

Concealed by undergrowth, watertight branches tied with vines and sealed with mud covered a small entrance, just wide enough to fit through. The entrance led straight down a ladder, into a small entrance room. This room was empty, except for the vitally important water tank, which had taken him several months to build. The shovels and picks he had made from forest materials regularly broke, which cost him time in repairing them or making new ones. The tank went down about four metres and was equally as wide, although the opening in the room was only a metre square. He had built a drain on the surface to channel the water into the tank, which had never dried, even in summer. However, when it was particularly low, he sometimes carried drinking water from the river.

From the entrance room, another narrow tunnel led to the main room. The entrance tunnel was made small to help defend against any possible intruders. So far he had not needed to defend his home, for which Harod was thankful. He was not a fighter and his only weapons were his knife and a rusty old iron fire poker, which he had dug up in the process of building his home.

Before the replantations, the land had been part of large properties and homesteads. Harod’s poker was a remnant of these. The government had forced the landowners to take small payments for their properties in order for the extensions to the forest prison to be made. Naturally the people were not happy, yet they had no choice. They had to accept or be forcefully removed. Harod had often walked land that was, only fifteen years prior, owned by the Rochalds. They were lucky not to have their house consumed in the replantations as several had been. Most of these now lay in ruins, yet few of them had been partially restored to be used as bases for Rangers.

As Harod approached his home he thought of the rabbit stew he would make. He almost drooled at the thought. He had managed to grow vegetables in small patches about the area. A large patch would no doubt be raided. He grew potatoes, carrots and turnips. Anything that grew above ground was easy to spot amongst the other growth and invariably went missing. It had taken him years to get to this point with the gardening. He had taken carrot seeds and potatoes into the forest with him, and the turnips he had traded for. To go with the stew he would make a nice pot of mint tea. Mint grew wild in the forest.

Chapter Four

Brian and Sharron sat on the train to Dalenthorp as it sped from the city and into the countryside. They were going to stay the night with Brian’s parents. Yet, there was something else prominent in Brian’s thoughts. Ever since he had started researching it, the forest was increasingly intriguing.

I am looking forward to meeting your parents, said Sharron.

They are looking forward to meeting you too. Mum always asks about you.

How sweet.

Good chance to have a look at the forest too, while I’m there.

I don’t think you should go there, said Sharron.

I’m not actually going in there, just near to it. There is an extremely large fence around it, you know.

Even so, I don’t think it’s safe. You know what they say about it, bandits and all.

They can’t get out, Sharron. Come with me and see for yourself.

What about the Rangers?

They can’t arrest me just for looking at it.

Don’t be so sure. They don’t like it when people get too close. Anyway, why do you want to go there all of a sudden?

I told you, it’s for work.

Gradually the grey of the city faded in the distance and the view from the window became a lively green. Small clumps of trees emerged amongst the paddocks. Brian stared out at them as if they were part of the forest itself. Sharron looked agitated.

Before long the train pulled into the Dalenthorp station. They followed the crowd from the platform and hired a carriage to take them the remainder of the journey. In areas classified as ‘rural’, such as this, no powered vehicles were allowed. Some farm machinery was allowed to maintain production levels but cars and motorbikes were strictly forbidden. Horse drawn carriages had become very popular, as were bicycles. Walking too was a major form of travel.

Brian told the driver where they were headed and settled into the comfortable cabin for the twenty-minute journey. Sharron immediately turned the screen on and began surfing channels. She flicked quickly through, stopping occasionally to look at something that took her interest, which was usually something to do with celebrities.

Brian was staring out the window, yet he was becoming increasingly annoyed at the flicking. Can we listen to some music? he asked.

Um, OK. Sharron was obviously reluctant.

Great, said Brian enthusiastically. He selected his centraliser on the cab screen and chose the music.

What’s this?

Happy feelings upon entering the countryside, he answered. Beethoven’s sixth.

Oh. Sharron missed the screen already.

Brian relaxed back into the carriage seat and enjoyed the music, occasionally shutting his eyes, sometimes gazing out the window.

Soon they came to a place where they could see the forest. Across the paddocks, a little in the distance it loomed. A thriving, vibrant, living mass. A huge house came into sight, standing as if a last bastion to humankind before the wilderness beyond it.

My God, said Brian, it’s huge! When I’ve been away for a while it always surprises me how big it is. His eyes overlooked the mansion and remained fixed on the forest.

Yes, it’s beautiful. Sharron was more impressed by the grand homestead. Who owns that house? she