The Trail of Soales

Back when the forest began its reign there were no paths. The ocean left behind space once covered by water leaving people isolated; doomed to only travel among towns near them. The forest was always changing, the paths made shifting making them difficult to use. Many attempted to create maps but quickly gave up upon realizing not only the danger but the lack of recognition for their attempts.

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           Alexander Soales decided to change that. He made it his life’s work to map the forest. He started with the forest around his own village. Then town by town he moved. Initially, no one paid him any mind, his failure was certain. Then his first map came out, detailing the south-west coast. He printed his map and left a stack at each town he visited never stopping for more than the time it took him to mark the place on his map.

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           The maps were free, once people caught on everyone started to use them. They learned of trails they did not see before. The more he added, the more maps he had released. New maps, updated maps, detailed descriptions of the most difficult terrain. He moved and soon the entire ocean was mapped all forest, trenches, cliffs, rivers, and towns.

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He did this for years, the more maps he released the easier it was for people to travel, the less people got lost. When he was older, after many years, he prepared to map a new trail as he always did. Despite having traveled through the forest from all sides there was yet no trail that went directly from coast to coast. People thought it simply couldn’t be done. That was the last year the maps were updated by Soales. People waited but no one heard from him, no one saw him on the trail. Some took it upon themselves to keep the trails updated, mainly mercenaries who traveled those roads often and were the first to know of their changes. The cost of the print was pooled collectively keeping the price low so all may be safe in the forest.

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Many years later they found his bag near the East Coast. The bag was covered in moss on the outside but the inside was pristine containing all his original.

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The bag was inspected. Most of the maps found were of older trails. One map in particular showed a trail no one had seen before starting at the west coast and ending where the bag was found. A group of lone men finished the map for Soales. It took a few years but the final path was slowly cleared. From the east to the west a path connected: The Trail of Soales.

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           They make a new name when one comes back. Gone for months he was. ‘The One who Returned’. His mother is overjoyed, makes him a plate of cross buns, snuggles him tight in a thick blanket, coos him all night. His father is weary. He lost a brother to the hole, not so quick is he to believe his son has returned.

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           He leaves salt everywhere he goes. Trails of it on chairs, on the paths, on the wagon, in the chicken coop, in his bed. It sheds off of him. His clothes are full of it. His mother collects all she can, keeps it in a big jar. He grows smaller; a little at a time. One day his mother grabs him tight, there is barely enough to hold him in one arm. She cries, yelling for her husband but when he arrives all he finds is a wet puddle. Her arms caked white, her tears never ending.

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           He washes her off, cleans the floor, takes the jar, and a shovel. He takes it back to the hole, the one who stole his brother, dropping the whole thing in. It makes no sound. He begins to shovel the dirt, scoop by scoop he works. He brings a wheelbarrow to dig more filling it with dirt he dumps into the well. He scoops and scoops and scoops and scoops. When he is done, the well is filled. He is trapped at the bottom of his own hole; his neighbors help him out. Silently they arrive, silently they leave.

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           The children no longer know of the hole, only the stories of those lost in the forest. Sometimes, they hear the sound of shoveling. The sounds of their parents filling the hole to the top again night after night.