The Center of the World, at the Bottom of the Well, an OceanEshana Ranasinghe
4700 words In the dancing shadows and dappled light, Uthric’s mind made faces from the burls and furrowed bark of the old trees. Crouching on his hands and knees, he pressed his ear against the cold stone slab that covered the well. Unease clung to him like fog. The sulfuric smell of the swamp lingered, heavy in the air. He was being watched. Exhaling a deep breath, Uthric closed his eyes and listened. He heard the hush of rolling waves, the rushing breath of darkness. The heartbeat of the world. *** This morning, like many of the ones that came before, had been unremarkable. “I’m heading out Leofgifu. I’ll be back by sunset,” he called to his wife as he left. He slipped his hunting knife into his bag and grabbed his hoe propped against the doorframe. Opening the door, he found a mound of dead animals on his doorstep. They were small animals, rabbits, foxes, black birds, beetles, and squirrels. Some had been half-eaten, leaving only a head or paws. It was not much more than most days. During fawning season, Uhtric would find a dozen dead fawns scattered across his garden each morning. They’d been picked off by wolves or had simply been too weak to survive birth. He stuffed the soft, fragile bodies into his sack and walked to the smoke hut behind the cottage. He skinned the foxes and rabbits whose pelts were intact. They would be sold in the town or used to line his winter coat. Then he hung the flayed carcasses of the rabbits and birds over the fire. The rest, heads, bones, and innards, were tossed into the pit. He fed woodchips and logs to the smoldering embers and relit the fire. What meat they didn’t eat tonight would be dried for winter. All else would be burned to ash. Only he and Leofgifu lived in this forest. Even the Lord of the Land lived in a keep in the mountain, which overlooked his domain from a distance. Uhtric was paid ten gold a month to watch over the forest. His main duties were to cut down dead or rotting trees, thin the branches that grew too dense, clear the foot paths of shrubs and bramble, and most importantly, to ensure that anything that died in the forest was burned or eaten. The money he was paid was too generous for his work. Part of his salary he sent back to his sickly mother, and his younger sister, who was soon to be married. The rest he handed to his wife, who managed the money and their home. Leofgifu was a humble and pious woman. She did not want jewels or expensive furs. A warm house and a larder filled with game and grain were enough to keep her happy. *** Her mother was the town’s seamstress and did not think highly of Leofgifu, who had a hunched back and a pockmarked face. Realizing she could not marry Leofgifu off to a rich merchant or farmer with livestock and land, she married her to Uhtric. Uhtric did not like her at first. He thought her ugly and old, as she was twenty-three when he was seventeen. Yet Uhtric’s family was poor as his father had died when he was ten years old. He was also not handsome, with pallid skin, lanky arms, and potato brown hair. An undesirable match. At the promise of a dowry, they were married in a quiet ceremony by the town priest. Upon seeing Loefgifu in her dowdy tan wedding dress, the priest thanked Uhtric for his sacrifice. Leofgifu’s dowry was meager. Uhtric wanted to use it to buy a new wheel for his cart and a pair of leather boots, but Leofgifu, with her soft voice and determined eyes, said they should use it to buy chickens instead. They bought twelve fat hens on the day Leofgifu moved to his house. Soon, Uhtric and his mother spent all their remaining money to feed the chickens and build a coop. Uhtric cursed her for wasting all their money and cursed himself for listening to her. When met with his ire, she cowered and spent all her time with her chickens. In two months, the hens were laying ten eggs a day. Leofgifu took a basket of eggs to the market every three days, and eventually they earned enough for a wheel for their cart, a pair of boots, and money to spare to fix their roof. Uhtric never questioned her again. One day, when news arrived that the Lord of the Land was searching for a new forester, Leofgifu told Uhtric it was a promising opportunity for him. He was a hunter and woodcutter with no other craft or skill to make money. The salary was handsome, but no one else dared to accept the offer. The forest was known to be dangerous. The villages surrounding it spoke of giant monsters in the swamps and the ancient trees with human faces that watched and whispered. Leofgifu, sensible and strong-headed, reassured him that it would be worth the reward, and the tales were exaggerations. They first arrived in the forest in a carriage that the Lord of the Land drove. He cheerfully presented the ramshackle cottage and walked them through the forest. He chattered about Uhtric’s duties and thanked him for accepting the role. He warned that if an animal stays too long, dead and buried in the earth, they become a shadow-a hungry ghost, more vicious and ravenous than a pack of wolves. His job was simple: take care of the trees and burn any dead animals he found. Yet at first Uhtric struggled, constantly getting lost in the forest where the trees moved each night, vanishing any marks he left and reshaping the dirt paths. . In the dark overgrowth, he became as terrified as a child, startled at every rustling of leaves or hoot of an owl. The stories of the cursed woods always lingered in the back of his mind. Leofgifu spent her days cleaning and fixing the ramshackle little cottage they’d been given. The roof would leak, the eaves drooped, and the hall was always cold. She never complained, even though she was unhappy, so Uhtric did not complain either. Each evening when she welcomed him home with a bright smile, his shoulders felt less heavy. After a month, Uthric decided that the Lord’s stories of shadows were simply a joke, maybe playing on the rumors and fears that permeated the villages. Then Uhtric found a rabbit warren that had been ripped open. Massive claw marks gouged the root-woven earth. Bodies of rabbits and kits lay scattered, bloodied and twisted, their ribs split open like a gaping maw. He followed the carnage, perplexed, until he heard the high-pitched screech of a rabbit. He saw then a hunched black creature with the long ears and legs of a hare. Its dark shape undulated like smoke. The shadow had caught a kit in its long, spindly arms and pinned it to the ground. The small rabbit struggled and screamed, but it could not escape. Uhtric watched, frozen, as the shadow dove into the rabbit’s mouth. The rabbit’s chest and belly swelled like a balloon as the shadow vanished inside. It shook and spasmed, flopping on the ground like a caught fish before falling still and silent. The shadow burst from its chest with a wet ripping sound, splattering gore and tufts of fur around the flayed carcass. Uhtric chased the shadow through the forest, over fallen trees, the swamps, and stone ruins until it vanished into a mound in the earth. He dug up the mound and found the mangled, half-rotted body of a rabbit. There was a crescent of teeth marks where its neck hung broken. A fox, Uhtric mused, must have buried the body to eat later. Wisps of smoke escaped from the small body like a snuffed candle. He burned the remains and the shadow it held. From then on, Uhtric grew meticulous, somewhat obsessive in his search for dead animals, scouring the woods until late into the night. Leofgifu asked him, in her soft voice, not to work himself sick. He agreed, not wanting to make her worry, but the rabbit’s shadow stalked his dream. Each night, it would jump into his mouth and then burst out from his bloated chest. The forest itself must have noticed his trouble, as it was two weeks later when they first saw the dryads. It was a misty morning, cold and damp, when Leofgifu called Uhtric to the window with an urgent whisper. “Come, Uhtric, come see.” He squinted at the mist, unsure of what she was seeing. At first, he thought it was a deer or a fox, but then he saw the silhouette of people in the swirling white veil. The figures stepped closer. They were giants, with broad shoulders and sturdy arms, standing over seven feet tall. One of them beckoned for Uhtric and Leofgifu to come to them. Despite his protest, Leofgifu opened the front door and stepped into the dewy grass. Uhtric followed close behind, wielding his hatchet. When they were closer, Leofgifu gasped. The creatures had moss instead of skin, and corded roots and vines in place of muscle. White ivory of bone gleamed through the gaps in the growth. Uhtric’s heart crashed against his ribs, his pulse thrummed loudly in his ears. He tugged at Leofgifu’s arm, urging her to return inside, but she refused to budge. The giants, living trees, creaked as they bowed. He and Leofgifu lowered their heads in response. Seemingly pleased, one giant walked right up to them and tossed a carcass, a fox which had been dead for some days, at their feet. A gift, perhaps, or a reprimand for Uhtric, who had somehow missed the fox. The giants bowed again, turned, and walked back into the misty maze of trees. The fox carcass smelled terrible, and Uhtric and Leofgifu silently agreed to burn it immediately without trying to salvage the fur. The encounter left Uhtric shaken, but Leofgifu was thrilled by their new neighbors. From then on, every few days, they would wake to find bodies of animals scattered in front of their cottage. Gifts, Leofgifu said, and Uhtric nodded in wordless agreement. He told himself they had no evil intentions and were helping him with his work, but the dryads’ presence was still disconcerting. Within a year, Uhtric learned that as long as he remained alert and listened to the whispering of the rustling leaves, it led him to where he needed to go even if the path changed each day. As time went on he grew to trust the forest and the forest trusted him in turn. . Leofgifu, by then, had fixed the cottage to her satisfaction and began filling it with rugs, furniture, and trinkets. Over dinner, she spoke with great enthusiasm and a large smile about her plans to buy chickens for eggs and a mule to ride into town. In preparation, they built a coop and a stable. Some days, Leofgifu followed Uhtric into the woods. She foraged for mushrooms and herbs while humming a song. She wrinkled her nose at the swamp, its slimy, stagnant water smelled of rotten eggs. Uhtric laughed at her reactions to the strangeness of the forest that had long since become mundane to him. He brought her to the largest trees and the stone pillars, the last remnants of the city that had stood on the land millennia ago. He pointed out the faces in tree trunks and the spines and rib bones embedded in tree branches. He showed her the rabbit burrows, the berry bushes, and the well. The well, which was covered with a limestone slab, was in a clearing in the middle of the forest. He pushed the slab to show Leofgifu how deep and dark it was inside. She dropped a rock into it and they listened for the sound of splashing water, but no sound came. “Is it empty?” Leofgifu asked. “No, it is simply very deep. If it is quiet and you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of waves.” “There is water inside then?” Leofgifu asked, kneeling at the well and looking into the dark. Her fingers curled over the lip. “If there is sound, it must be a river or a spring.” “No, it is much, much larger, I think.” A massive lake, a sea perhaps. Leofgifu tilted her head and bent down so her ear hovered over the opening. She closed her eyes and listened. After a moment, she giggled. “I hear it! The waves! It is like the earth is breathing.” *** After three years, the woods were no longer terrifying or strange. It was their home, and their life was peaceful. Uhtric no longer cowered at the sight of the dryads, and he’d grown skilled in finding dead animals and killing shadows. With their earnings, Leofgifu purchased a handsome mule and eight chickens. It brought Uhtric such fulfillment to see her smile. Leofgifu would ride the mule into the nearby village once a week to buy flour and vegetables and sell the fox and rabbit pelts they had gathered. Uhtric was now twenty-two, and Leofgifu was twenty-eight, and they began to discuss having children. Leofgifu said the forest, so far from the village, was no place to raise children. He could tell the isolation was not the only reason she was apprehensive about the idea. The forest was still dangerous, and more so for children who might get lost or attacked by an animal. Uhtric suggested that they move back to the village and for him to ride the mule two hours to the forest and back each day. “That would be too difficult for you,” Leofgifu said, shaking her head. “You’d have to leave before dawn and return late at night. And what about in winter? The roads to the forest are narrow and get covered in snow.” “Don’t worry dear. I’ll get used to it quickly. And it would be worth the hardship, wouldn’t it?” Leofgifu nodded, although her brow was still knit with worry. *** It was near the end of summer of their third year in the forest when Uhtric woke to find Leofgifu beside him, cold and unmoving. He shouted and shook her and slapped her, but she did not stir. He pressed his ear to her chest but heard no heartbeat. Then he wept for the first time since he was a child. He held her in his arms and shook and wept the whole day. The next morning, when it was still barely dawn, there was a knocking at his door. Through the kitchen window, he saw the dryads lingering in his garden. They pointed at his door. This morning, much like all the ones that came before, was unremarkable. “I’m heading out Leofgifu. I’ll be back by sunset,” he called to his wife as he left. He slipped his hunting knife into his bag and grabbed his hoe propped against the doorframe. Opening the door, he found a mound of dead animals on his doorstep. They were small animals, rabbits, foxes, black birds, beetles, and squirrels. Some had been half-eaten, leaving only a head or paws. It was not much more than most days. He hung the flayed carcasses of the rabbits and birds over the fire. The rest, heads, bones, and innards, were tossed into the pit. He fed woodchips and logs to the smoldering embers and relit the fire. What meat they didn’t eat tonight would be dried for winter. All else was burned to ash. He sat at the smoke hut until his eyes smarted and the column of smoke died into a wisp. Uhtric returned to the house covered in soot and came to Leofgifu in bed, eyes closed as if sleeping peacefully. He changed her from her nightgown into her finest dress and wrapped her in a quilt. He put a rope, wooden tent stakes, and his hunting knife into his bag and tied his hatchet to his belt. He took his wife in his arms and carried her into the woods. Uhtric tied the rope around the quilt and gently lowered her into the well until the rope ran out. He tied the rope around a wooden stake and hammered it into the ground with the back of his hatchet. When he was certain the rope was secure, he covered the well with the stone slab. Only the trees saw, only the forest heard. Uhtric returned to work the next day, collecting the dead and taming the trees. He fed, watered, and brushed their mule and fed the chickens. He kept himself busy and tired so his mind would not linger on the empty house, now cold and marred with sadness. Four days later, when he returned from work, his home was not empty. Uhtric heard the clattering of plates as Leofgifu set the table for dinner. She served him raw smoked rabbit from the larder, but he did not complain. His heart was light and full of joy to see her once again. Her complexion was soot-dark, and her eyes were hollow, but she had the same face and shape and awkward gait as Leofgifu. Leofgifu was at the house when he left in the morning and was there dutifully when he returned each evening. She was confused about the tasks that she used to do with ease. She could not cook, clean or care for their animals, but she did her best to mimic the actions. The mule grew uneasy and disobedient, and the chickens died one by one. Uhtric told himself it was his poor care. He had to work later into the evening as the dryads no longer brought the recently dead animals to his garden. They must have known; the trees must have told them. The work was now harder, but he had Leofgifu. Each night as they slept side by side, he feared she would attack him like the shadow that sieged the rabbit warren, but each morning he awoke to her peacefully sitting in her chair looking out at the forest. Later that week, when Uhtric went to the village to buy supplies, he found the air tense and sombre. The streets were sparsely populated, and everyone watched one another with caution. Several houses were boarded up, and the blacksmith had left. He asked the grocer and the carpenter what had happened, but they only muttered vague excuses. It was the tanner whom Uthric sold a wolf pelt to that finally explained. “A wraith has been stalking the streets at night,” the tanner said in a low voice. His chemical-stained fingers carefully removed the remaining fat and meat from the pelt. “It killed a cat one night, a goat the next. Rosli, the baker’s fifteen-year-old daughter, went missing two nights ago. Some say she ran away with a boy from the town over, but her mother swears he saw a ghost take Rosli from her bedroom window.” Utric listened to the rhythmic scrape, scrape, scrape of a sharp blade on skin. “Not all of us are superstitious, but wraith or not, something is causing trouble in the village. I’ve lived here all my life, and I fear little at my old age, but even I check behind me when I walk down the street.” Scrape, scrape, scrape. “The village head told everyone to be cautious, not to go outside at night or travel beyond the village alone. We now shutter our windows and lock our doors by sunset.” *** When Uhtric arrived on his mule at his cottage, he found the Lord of the Land standing outside, waiting to be let in. There was a pile of dead animals at his feet, branches in bloom, ripe fruit: offerings from the forest. “Uhtric! You’re back,” called the Lord of the Land, his voice rough from smoking. He wore a fine fur coat and wielded a walking stick with a large iron pommel. Uhtric saw but did not acknowledge him. He settled his mule in the stable, brushing its fur and adding fresh water into its trough. Then Uhtric went to the coop and cleaned up the hay. The chickens were all dead; only their feathers remained. “Uhtric,” the Lord of the Land said again, this time more sternly. His leather gloves squeaked as his grip on his walking stick tightened. Uhtric turned to him but did not say a word. He opened the door to his cottage and went inside. It was dark and cold. He added logs and stirred the fireplace, reigniting the flame. The room was soon filled with a warm orange glow and a sweet smoky smell, the flickering flame cast dancing shadows on the wall. The Lord followed after him and looked around the hall. “Where is it, Uhtric?” Uhtric did not answer. He crouched, staring into the flickering flames. The heat beat against his skin. Uhtric knew this day would come, it was only so long he could hide Leofgifu. The trees saw, the forest heard, and they spoke to the Lord of the Land. “She will come,” Uhtric said. “She welcomes me home each evening when I return from the forest.” “Where is she now?” The Lord trudged up and down the cottage, no doubt uncomfortable in such a cramped, shabby place. Uhtric shrugged. “It is early. She will return, she always does.” Each evening when he returned, she would greet him with a gentle smile and a kiss on his forehead. Leofgifu would sit at their table across from him, and listened patiently to his stories of the forest. She would hold him each night, though she was as light as a feather, her form melting at his touch. Before, when she was whole, Leofgifu taught him how to debone a squab and forage for edible mushrooms. She would darn his shirts and worn socks. She would sing as she cooked and swept. He missed her rabbit stew, the smell of her hair, the weight of her on the bed beside him, her stubborn silence in arguments, her soft voice, and her rough hands. Uhtric wished he could kiss her one last time. Tears pricked his eyes. If the Lord noticed, he did not say a word. Uhtric heard her before he saw her, soft steps and movement from the pantry. The Lord jumped to his feet. The door swung open. Leofgifu came in, carrying three apples and a leg of venison. She placed it on the table and searched for the knife and the iron pot. Uhtric stood and walked to her. He placed the flour and vegetables he’d bought on the table. Leofgifu looked up at him and smiled. Her eyes were empty. Uhtric turned to the Lord of the Land, who observed them silently. “Must you, Sire? She is all I have.” Even a fragment, even a shadow of her, was better than nothing at all. The Lord hesitated, lowering his arm that held his walking stick like a mace. “I warned you, Uhtric, of the dangers of leaving the dead buried. The darkness of the land will take them and turn them into something wretched.” “I know,” Uhtric said. “But not her. Don’t take her from me. She is unlike the shadows of the beasts in the forest. Leofgifu is kind and peaceful as she always was.” His throat tightened as he spoke. He stood between the Lord and Leofgifu. He heard the dull thudding of her lifting and dropping the knife, mimicking the act of cutting. “It is dangerous. Have you not heard? Do you not know what it is doing? It escapes the forest each night and roams the nearby villages, attacking anyone it can catch.” “Not her, not my Leofgifu.” Uhtric shook his head violently. “Whatever is happening, it is something else’s doing.” “That thing is not your wife. It is nothing. It is a poor copy, a malevolent ghost. You must know, in your heart, that it is not her. It is feeding on your spirit, bit by bit until you are nothing but a husk.” Uhtric glared back at him, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists. “Show me where you buried her,” the Lord said. “I will rid the world of her if you cannot.” Uhtric took an oil lamp and led the Lord of the Land through the darkening forest to the well. Uhtric could see the anger in the Lord’s reddening face, and hear it in his short, loud breaths. “Why?” was all the Lord could muster. “If I buried her in the ground, a fox or deer might dig her up and eat her, a tree might grow its roots into her body and consume her, making her a part of itself.” The Lord barked a bitter laugh. “So you knew! You knew what would happen by putting her in there!” Uhtric watched from a distance as the Lord pulled her body from the well. As darkness crept from the eastern horizon, stars appeared in the sky one by one. Leofgifu was still wrapped in the blanket. Her skin was dry and sallow and peeling away from bone. Her hair hung from her head in clumps. There were hollows in her skull where her eyes should have been. A cold wind rustled the trees around them. “We need to burn the body. Bring some kindling and wood,” ordered the Lord of the Land. When Uhtric did not move, he scoffed and began drawing swirling patterns on the wet earth around her body with his walking stick. As the sigils took shape and connected, the markings glowed red hot. Uhtric’s nostril burned with the acrid scent of burnt hair. The blanket charred at the edges where it touched the sigil. A shriek tore through the night. Leofgifu flew overhead, circling like a vulture. Her jaw was opened so wide it seemed dislocated, and her tongue hung limply in her mouth. She rushed at the Lord, tearing at with needle-like claws each time she passed before flying up again and vanishing into the dark. The Lord of the Land swung at Leofgifu with his walking stick, drawing spell sigils in the air to capture in a cage of magic, but she was too fast. He tried to cast spells that would blast her away but she was too hard to see in the dark. She tore out a clump of his hair, ripped his fur coat and scraped long, bloody gashes across his cheek. The Lord yelled in pain and called Uhtric to help him. But he could not move; he was frozen as he watched his wife, Leofgifu, maul a man like a wild rabid animal. She swooped down like an eagle and clawed at the Lord’s hands, tearing off his glove and throwing the walking stick from his grasp. The Lord of the Land shouted in alarm as she grappled his head. Magic burst from his hands wildly, panicked and unable to focus his spells. She grappled him to the ground, grasped his head and wrenched open his mouth. The Lord struggled and choked as the black vapor of her form flooded into his mouth and nostrils. The wraith shrieked so sharp and loud the forest trembled. The body wrapped in Leofgifu’s embroidered quilt was engulfed in fire. The shadow leapt from the Lord to its body but could not fight against the ravaging flames. It vanished in a wisp of smoke. The Lord of the Land, panting on the ground, watched, eyes wide and searching, from the raging flames to Uhtric, who had thrown the oil lamp at the corpse. The Lord got back to his feet and walked to stand by Uhtric’s side. They watched the pyre until dawn. The Lord searched through the ashes and crushed the bones with iron-heeled boots. “Why did you change your mind?” the Lord asked. He took some seeds from his pocket and threw them into the ash. It would one day grow into a majestic tree and Leofgifu would become part of the forest. Uhtric wiped his face even though there were no tears. “My Leofgifu was kind and gentle. She never raised her voice or hurt a soul.” |
|
Eshana Ranasinghe
Eshana Ranasinghe is a sci-fi and fantasy writer from Sri Lanka. An artist, gamer, and avid reader, she loves to explore themes of identity and connection through speculative fiction. By day, she works at a library, where she runs community events. She has previously been published in Androids and Dragons.
|
|
Baubles From Bones © 2026
|