In the darkest forest was a tiny village, which eked out its existence on roots they dug from the earth, the tiny creatures and birds they could find to hunt, and the strange fish they caught in rivers which had never seen daylight. The forest was thick and heavy all around the village, and they saw sunlight only when their men and women would climb high into the trees to knock down leaves and poke holes in the canopy. But the trees grew so rapidly, that every week they would have to climb up and make holes again, all so that they might see the sun for just a few precious hours every day.

The dark things also lived in the forest, as they had for as many years as anyone in the village could remember, and perhaps for twice as many years as long as before that time. They would often carry off the men and women of the village, and the villagers could do nothing about this, save build their fires brighter, and venture with more caution to the rivers that never saw sunlight. The dark things lived even deeper in the forest than the village (which was so deep that no other men knew of its existence) and so no one knew the fates of those who vanished, taken by the dark things.

It happened one of the fisherman of the village (who was also a leatherworker, and a farmer) ventured to a place where he thought he would be safe with his torch and his lantern. When he did not return, his wife was filled with sorrow and rage, for she was already pregnant with his first child. The men of the village searched for him, but all they found was a torch gone cold, a fishing net, and a broken lantern. His wife mourned him for a week. Then she took his torch and his broken lantern and she set out along the river.

It was well-known amongst the villagers that the only other living soul in the darkest forest was the witch who lived at the source of the river. It was said she could never die, and even the dark things feared her powers. And so the leatherworker’s wife, having sworn to revenge herself, was determined to seek the river’s heart and speak with the witch.

Perhaps it was luck, or perhaps her torch and lantern were sufficient, but as the woman traveled along the winding river’s edge she did not encounter any of the dark things, and no other creatures that might threaten even a child lived so deep in the woods. Presently she came to the river’s end, where it trickled from a small stone hill. Set in the side of the hill was a door, and guarding the door was a giant eagle. “Salutations, eagle,” said the woman. “I seek the witch who is said to live at the source of the river that has never seen the sun.”

“The sorceress speaks to no one,” replied the eagle, “unless she so chooses. Be on your way, or I shall pluck out your eyes with my claws.”

“I beg you, eagle, take me to the sorceress. I only wish to strike a bargain with her, and to avenge the death of my husband, taken by those dark things, which have made an orphan of my son.”

The eagle shrugged his enormous wings. “Very well. My mistress has no love of the dark things and readily listens to bargains. But know you will pay dearly for whatever aid she may bring. Here now, climb upon my back.”

The woman thanked the eagle profusely, and did as he instructed. The eagle opened the door in the small hill and, with a beating of his wings, took flight into the enormous cavern upon which the door opened. The only light came from mold which glowed like Night’s eye the moon and fireflies which danced all about the ceiling, and the woman could see below an enormous lake of the same black water of the river. The eagle soared above the lake, flapping his great wings, for so long as it takes to think twice on a vow and swear it again three times, until at last they came to an island in the middle of the lake and landed on its shores.

“I may take you no further, good lady. I wish you fortune, little as that may do for you, and must now return to my duties.” The eagle took to the air again, driving the lake into wavelets, before vanishing into the darkness of the cavern.

The woman found a narrow stone path and followed it for as long as it takes to think four times on a vow and swear it again five times over, until she saw a small cottage with a the welcoming glow of a crackling hearth fire coming from its windows. She followed the path to the front door, struck the solid, dark wood three times, and moments later met the witch face to face.

The witch was a beautiful woman, and if she was immortal, she did not show signs of her age. Her dark eyes, perhaps, might’ve seemed ageless, but perhaps that was only rumor’s fine craftsmanship. The woman who had come for the witch did not care of rumors, so long as one was true. Thus she bowed and said, “Sorceress, it is said the dark things fear you. They have taken my husband and orphaned my unborn child. I have sworn to revenge myself nine times, and I will give anything over to you if you will aid me in this.”

The witch looked kindly on the woman, and took her into the cottage. She gave the woman warm bread and cheese, and fed her brandy with honey until she was well-rested and calm again. When the woman was no longer hungry from the long past hours, nor tired from journey, and when she was no longer trembling with fear, then the witch asked her again to speak of her purpose.

“The dark things have taken my husband from me, good sorceress. I do not know if he lives or what has become of him, but my child will be an orphan, and I am alone. I have vowed nine times to revenge myself upon them, and I vow it again now. I have little to give, but anything of mine is yours if you will help me.”

“That is ten times you have vowed, now,” said the witch. “And ten times over you have promised anything to me for my aid. You shall have it, but rest assured it will cost you dearly.” So speaking, she rose from her rocking chair and went to the crackling fire. She took a burning branch from the flames, careless how they licked her fingers and wreathed her hand. As she held the burning branch, the flames turned to healthy bark and green leaves, until it was no longer charred and black, but a living thing. When she returned to her chair, she handed this living branch to the woman.

“After your child is born, but before his first year has passed, build a great fire. When the flames burn brightest, throw this branch into them. Let the smoke cover him in soot and ash, and burn the ash away with the flames. From these flames your champion will be forged, and he will ever after carry the fire of man that the dark things fear inside himself. If you have a mind for it, when the fire has burned to ashes, find this branch again. Plant it where sunlight finds my river and so long as it grows he will not die of any mortal wounds.”

The woman took the branch and thanked the witch profusely, carefully stowing it in her satchel.

“That is my gift,” said the witch. “Now here is my price. All those who bargain with me will serve me. Go, and return to your village. Raise your son, let him drive away the dark things. But when all this is done, you will return to me, for it is yourself that you exchange for your revenge.”

“Very well,” said the woman. “When I have seen the dark things driven away, I will return to you.”

The witch led the woman through the woods growing on her island, a circuitous route the woman could not remember later, until they reached a small door, and when she went through the door, she found herself next to the eagle. The woman said not a word to the eagle, nor the eagle to the woman, but she went directly back to the village. Months slipped past, as they will, and the woman had her child, a boy. She built the bonfire as the witch had described and, when it burned brightest, threw on the branch. Smoke billowed and she let her son become coated with the dark ash. When his body was black, she held him into the flames, and they licked him all over, but the infant made no sounds of pain.

The ritual done, she bound her left hand in clean linen, for the fire which had washed over her infant had also burned the hand with which she held him. Still she waited, and when nothing but ashes remained she found the branch, still green. She took her son and the branch far up the river until she found a sun-dappled bank. “Here, my son,” she said. “Here is your life. May you grow strong as a tree and tall as the sunlight.” She planted the branch by the river and named her son Nadir.

Years passed, as they will, for time can find even villages in the darkest forest. Nadir grew from a boy into a man, and his hair was a red as bright as the fire which had burned his mother’s hand. She told him stories of the dark things, and told him of his father. She taught him how to find the dark things, and not to fear the darkest places. When he was old enough, his mother gave him his father’s lantern and torch, and told him that he was ready to venture into the deepest woods and avenge his father.

Nadir went deeper into the forest than anyone had gone before. He left the banks of the river and went to places so dark that his torch burned out and his lamp ceased to light the way. But the fires of men burned in Nadir, and there was no darkness so great it could cloud his eyes. In this way, he saw the first of the dark things which slunk from the trees, bent on harm. It breathed like a running river and it moved like a jungle cat, though it seemed to have the shape of a house which had long fallen into disrepair. When the dark thing laid its hands and claws upon Nadir, it smoked. And when he grabbed it by limbs that seemed only distantly attached to any one shape, fires flared where his flesh touched the darkness. Nadir bore the dark thing to the ground, and drove the dead torch into it, and it became ash, then sand, and was soaked into the earth.

Thus it was with each one in turn, until all the dark things were gone or had fled, and when he was finished, Nadir collected their skulls. He buried each skull at the foot of a sapling and left a sprig of rosemary in the spot where he covered over the earth. When this task was done, he returned to the village, where they held a great celebration. Nadir went to tell his mother what he had accomplished, yet he could not find her anywhere. He did not know where she had gone, but because no darkness could cloud his eyes, he was able to see her footsteps.

Nadir followed the river to its source, and there he met the giant eagle at the doorway. The eagle said, “I was told you would come, and I am to bring you to my mistress. Please climb upon my back.” Nadir did so, and once again the eagle flew across the enormous lake, leaving Nadir on the small island. Here he was met by a lioness, who said nothing, but turned and walked down the stone path, leading Nadir to the witch’s cottage. She greeted him at the door, and fed him warm bread, cheese, and sweet brandy until he was at ease. Only then did she ask the purpose of his visit.

“My mother has come this way,” said Nadir. “It is a joyous occasion and I wish for her to celebrate it with me, but I cannot find her.”

“She has come this way, it is true,” said the witch. “Alas, she cannot return with you to the village. She made a bargain with me many years ago, and thus you have your strength, and you drove the dark things away, and now she has returned to me as she must. I do not wish unhappiness upon you, so you may come here to see her whenever you wish, but I can no more release her from my bargain than you may give up a meal you have already eaten.”

Nadir could do nothing, even with his strength. The witch took him to see his mother, and she was very happy to see him again, though sad she could not return to her village with him. And when she left, the lioness returned to guide him through the woods to the door, whereupon he found himself beside the eagle again.

Nadir returned to his village, which prospered, and he lived as long as the tree, and if it is still growing, then he may still be alive today somewhere in the darkest forest.