Into the Deep Wood

Red.

Everywhere, red.

The earth, the sky, the faces of men.

The walls muted their screams.

Her breathing became sparse as if her lungs could not get enough - as if they were being filled with something else. The delicate tissue lining her throat was seared, excruciating pain the only sound she could hear. She opened her eyes, her hands black with soot. She heard her own cry echoing somewhere behind the wall.

Val.

She heard his voice. And yet, it was barely his, the last of his breath he put into that last word.

Val.

“Gods help me…” She whispered. She had not even been asleep. It haunted her during her waking hours. Seeing all the blood that night, she’d closed her eyes and tried to reach for their pain, their thread, like she had the chorts - and it was silent. Mortal souls held no threads.

Nothing there. They were just chunks of flesh and bone and sinew. There had been nothing to reach for—only blood and snow.

Just blood. And snow.

And just like that, he had returned to her.

The vision of red, again and again.

“Are you asleep?”

Deep whisper in the dark.

Was she, after all?

“No.” She answered quietly.

“I’m sorry that you had to see that.” She heard him move, and he sat on the floor against the bed she was lying on.

“It is not the worst that I have seen.” She said, keeping the volume of her voice low enough not to disturb the night. They were the only ones inside, Yaro guarding the other side of the door now until dawn, the second shift.

“And I am sorry for that as well.”

He sighed, and the rustle of his clothes sounded loud in the silence.

“Are you hurt?” She’d seen the blood on his thigh as they left the courtyard.

“No, nothing to worry about.” He reassured her.

A pause.

“I’m going to the capital.” She said.

“Alright.” His tone was not dismissive; it was not surprised. It was just… accepting.

“Alright?”

“I suppose I am going too, then.”

She turned on her side, toward where she knew he sat in the dark, the side of her head sinking into her pillow. Her face was so near his shoulder, so near that she could smell his skin, his sweat from the fight, and the bathhouse fragrance on his hair.

“Do you not wish to ask me why?”

He shook his head so barely noticeably that had she not felt his body move against the frame, she might not have known he did.

“Where you go, I go.”

It hit her like a strike to the face. She felt the wetness of her eyes, and she must have caught her breath because he turned toward her quickly.

“Valeria?”

She turned her face more into the pillow, and her body shook with the desperate restraint of tears. She felt him shift, and he rested his arm on her back, his hand gently brushing across it.

“Val?”

She could see his rare smile, His amber eyes—the wrinkles around them. The dark hair falling around his face.

Where you go, I go.

“Go away…” She begged into the pillow, speaking to the vision of a man who was no more.

His arm went to withdraw.

“No…” She turned toward him. “Please don’t leave.”

It hovered, uncertain, then rested on her again.

“He must have been someone truly remarkable,” Ivan said, with a certain melancholy to his words. His fingers stroked her back, then slowly worked to caress the back of her neck. She cried for hours, not saying a single word more. His fingertips traced paths that weren’t there until enough time passed that he heard her steady breathing - she was asleep.

Yaro opened the door, allowing the cold winter air to spill in. Bits of snow separated from his boots and almost immediately began melting. Val was curled in the corner of the bed, and Ivan leaned against it.

“Wake up.” The words were rough and mirthless, loud enough to startle both out of their sleep. “The pigshit wasn’t wrong. A storm is coming.”

Ivan grunted as his stiff body made peace with the reality of waking. Val sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing the wild hair out of her face.

Coats and fur-lined hats on, the three stood behind the cabins where an overlook of the mountains showed a heavy, menacing dark cloud enveloping its peaks - blending into the sky as if stretching its long, ghastly arms. The wind was already whipping the trees about.

“Could we just not wait it out here?” Val asked.

“It will bring too much snow. The pass will be impenetrable for months to come.” Ivan said, adjusting the straps of his newly acquired longsword - the same one Hamza had carried at his back.

“We can backtrack.” Yaro offered.

“The barrier still stands.” Ivan shook his head. “We gotta make a decision now. We can beat it to the pass, but we must do so quickly.”

Val looked at Ivan.

“What is on the other side?” She asked.

“The lake.” Ivan said, “Chernaval. Hamza had tried to warn us away from it, which is exactly why we should go. I say we do.”

She looked to Yaro, whose mouth was twisted in reluctance.

“I am not exactly in any shape for this sort of thing.” He said. “My faith in racing a marvel of nature’s wrath is not very strong.”

“Is that a no?” The wind swept up her hair and threw it in her face, smothering her words.

“Up to you, miss. You lead the cart. I am just the donkey that pulls it.”

Again, she looked at the mountains.

It looked far enough away.

“Where is the pass?” She pointed toward them, and Ivan squinted his eyes.

“To the left of the gradual peak, you can see its shadow is darker than the others.”

Val nodded.

“Then, we go.”

Yaro breathed in a deep, frustrated breath before exhaling.

“Then we go.” He repeated.

“Wait!” Val dropped her pack and took off - leaving the two men staring toward her departure.

She ran down the path and to the bathhouse. It stood completely cold. She swung the door open and stepped inside. It was all dark.

“You’re tracking snow.” The Bannik poked his head out of the cold coals. His hair was more disheveled than usual as if he had just woken up.

“We are leaving.” She hurried to get the words out. “Come with us!”

He rewarded her with a snorting laugh.

“That’s something!” He shook his fuzzy head. “Something new.”

“There is no one left here, and you will starve.” She begged. But still, he shook his head.

“The kitchen mother and her girl hide in the longhouse. And in the woods, four men in desperate need of a bath wander cold - they will be here by noon time, and I must make them warm.”

She looked over the little man. She had grown so fond of him.

“Thank you.” She told him. “You saved his life.”

“Hmpf.” He made a sound that was neither approving nor stern. “I saved a man and cost six more their lives. A life for a life, it does not add up.”

He considered it for a moment.

“For what it's worth if you return, you are welcome here as many days as you like.” He told her. She smiled at him.

“I’d like that.” She told him and went out the door. “Goodbye, my friend.”

“Goodbye!” He called, once again digging to bury himself in the coals.

The wind bit at them and beat bitterly against their skin. The path down the mountain had been far more slippery than anticipated, and all treaded carefully - keeping an eye out for hidden crevassed and icy patches. Their cautious steps felt out the ground before taking another, holding on to each other as they descended into the valley.

The valley had been a light lift - they made up the time they lost quickly there.

Yaro's breaths had grown shallow and labored. His prints in the snow were deeper, and each dragged a little more as his legs grew tired.

The sky threatened to break at any moment when they reached the pass. None had spoken, as all had already spent all their strength in their reserve. The trail grew narrow, and Ivan had gone first - then Val and Yaro at the back.

The accumulating drifts made it difficult to see the path itself. Occasionally, one of their feet would slip - threatening a twisted ankle or a fall. The wind was howling so loud that had any of them spoken, it would have taken the words and their breath with it all at once.

The storm descended on them suddenly. It whipped sharp crystals of ice about, making each of the three pull their hats and hoods down lower over their faces. Each step forward had become a battle, each attempt to stop a death sentence waiting.

Ivan turned and yelled something into the wind, but neither Val nor Yaro heard him. There were no hand motions to be had - as all did their best to keep their clothes from blowing away in the squall.

As they kept walking, Val realized that where he had attempted to pause, a corpse lay half-buried in the snow. It looked to be half eaten; perhaps he fell early in the day, and the freeze did not settle until nighttime. Val noted that its exposed bones had been picked clean.

It was Hamza’s messenger.

They found another later up the road; this one was fresh enough to have been there only a day, untouched by animals in its frozen form.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed as the ominous skies had remained gray, and the storm had whitened everything around them in a frenzy.

Val stumbled, and almost immediately, the tall form of a tightly wrapped cloak appeared over her, pulling her up and onto her feet. She’d only seen the blues of his eyes among the frosted eyelashes.

But, it did not last forever. Briefly, it calmed to where not the smallest branch had stirred of the ones protruding from the snowdrifts. All three collapsed, and no one spoke, each working to steady their breath, their eyes closed.

Val was the first to open hers, they were so cloudy where the wind had stripped away their moisture - and now they watered so much that she could only see a blur. At that moment, she could have sworn that a fourth had been with them in the outcropping.

She lurched back and rubbed them –but only saw Ivan and Yaro.

“How much farther?” She breathed out.

“The vegetation is clearing out where the moisture leaves the earth more rapidly.” Ivan said, “Maybe an hour.”

“Hour,” Yaro repeated, but his body did not move. “This whole fucking thing was supposed to take an hour.”

“I never claimed that,” Ivan responded. “We gotta get up.”

“You better eat those words,” Yaro replied.

“Our bodies won’t be able to produce heat as fast as we expend it. We are all soaked in sweat. If we stay here, we die.” Ivan explained, pushing himself up to his feet.

They passed around a water skin, and as she tipped it back, again she saw another figure among them out of the corner of her eye.

Val lowered it, glancing around. Her gut tensed. Yaro was eating dried meats out of his bag as if he had never seen food before in his entire life. He stuffed them in so rapidly that more must have ended up in his beard and the snow. He only waved them away when called for - another cabbage cake had gone down his gullet.

Ivan had been re-wrapping the scarf around his head so that it did not come loose for the remainder of their journey, seemingly unbothered with the red-bearded man.

She closed her eyes, and little bits of dust flowed across her vision. She focused her breathing, steadied, and reached out.

And something had reached right back.

“There’s something here!” She screamed. She felt the thread, and from the other side, an icy hand had gripped hers.

Ivan drew his sword and Yaro his mace, the faces of the men immediately growing serious - in three steps, they were back to back. Val hurried, standing between them.

“Where is it?” Ivan asked, his eyes darting around.

“I don’t know…” She admitted. “I felt it, I saw it - but - it isn't there anymore.”

“You wanna explain what you mean by ‘felt’?” Yaro’s voice held a hint of anger.

“I can’t!” She heard how high her voice was. She knew she had to reach again, but she was terrified; the thing found her as fast as she found it.

“Damned things…” Yaro seemed to be mouthing a list of words, creatures he supposed this could be. “You’re going to need to give me more to go off of!”

Val did not hear him because she felt its hand again, this time - without touching the thread.

She screamed.

Ivan spun to face whatever she had seen. There, separating from the hazy background of the snowy fog, came an emaciated figure. It was walking as if all its joints had frozen - stiffly and irregularly. It stood three heads above even Ivan, although it was thin - and bony - as if it had not eaten once. Its arms and legs were long and sickly skin stretched across the bone. The knees and elbows had protruded out in lieu of muscle. Its hollow chest gave way to bony shoulders. It stumbled forward, and all could see that the flesh of its torso had been torn away - leaving only exposed ribs and shredded skin.

Atop its neck sat what looked like a head - but it was tangled in a mess of overgrown and twisted antlers. Only its horrible mouth extended below them, falling open in anticipation.

“All-Father’s mercy…” Ivan muttered, his eyes wide and wild.

Yaro said nothing, raising the mace with both hands.

Val looked ahead, her hands trembling beneath the leather and fur-lined gloves. This thing carried with it something she had not ever felt, not even with the Hag.

“Give me your name…” She whispered, her voice trembling. An attempt. “Then hear mine, Valeria.”

It clicked its jaw, once, twice. Other than its click, it made no noise, stumbling forward a step at a time.

Click. Click.

Click.

Each of the three felt their stomachs twist and rumble with every step it took. A hunger rose in Val, so ravenous and devoid of satisfaction. It pained her, and she twisted around to find something –anything to eat.

Click.

Click. Click.

She felt feral. A shape next to her took off forward.

Ivan advanced on the thing; his sword gripped in both hands. He was quick and far more focused than he appeared the night before. The first strike hit, and then one more - separating the thing’s arm from its shoulderbone.

The sight of him brought Val back just enough. The thing’s attention was on Ivan, and she closed her eyes again, reaching out.

She felt Yaro lunge forward from beside her, too, leaving her standing all alone.

Gods, but it was cold. The thread itself - it was impossible to grab, slippery and covered in ice, it numbed her hands when she touched it.

She felt her skin warming and burning as she tried, the heat rushing through her.

She felt it turn its blind eyes to her.

“Valeria! Stop!”

It was Ivan’s voice. She opened them and saw that the thing had left both the men behind and was making long strides toward her.

She reached for it momentarily, but it slipped, and she felt a heavy force pull her aside. Yaro had grabbed her by the collar and tossed her into the snowbank, swinging his mace at the thing’s legs. The mace hit where it meant, and bone came crumbling off, but it had not shattered.

Ivan was right behind, his free hand grabbing for the ribcage at its back, hand slipping on where some flesh had remained frozen against them. He drove the longsword through the back of its skull, but the thing jerked and knocked him off - the sword still protruding among the antlers.

“Please…” She knelt in the snow, again looking for the thread.

It was right there.

Her gloved hand reached out and grabbed at it –she had hold.

“I can unbind it!” She shouted, and as she did - a hard, solid force hit her hard against the side of her head, sending her rolling in the snow. She screamed, her eyes opening - the thing had swiped at her with its remaining arm.

Click.

“Val!”

Again, Ivan appeared between her and the beast, and he received the next blow, knocking him off his feet. From behind it, Yaro delivered another hit - this time, the bone had chipped off cleanly –but still had not broken.

Click.

Her hands were not yet healed, but she had removed her glove - and reached for the fourth time. This time, her hand did not slip. But it stuck hard to the thread, the sweat quickly fusing with the ice that formed between it and her palm and tore at her flesh.

She moved it, and it had a bit of give.

She could unbind it. If she only had long enough. It had so many loops and endings; it had been so tangled - unlike the chorts or the Zabava.

Click. Click.

It turned and faced the red-bearded man.

His eyes did not hold the resolve they previously had.

Please…She pulled, and skin separated from her hand where the tether moved. She cried out.

Click.

“We gotta go!” She felt Ivan’s hands on her shoulders as he lifted her up and off the ground –out of the snow.

“No!” She held on, even if her grip was again failing.

The thing bent down, and Yaro drove Anushka through the antlers - splitting them and sending pieces raining about.

Everything stilled. Its body was gone.

The Witch did not seem aware. She did not seem to realize as an invisible force thrashed her about. In the Deep Wood, she had been pulled forth by something unknown to him- the tug of a puppy’s lead on a rope compared to this –this was a raging bull.

The side of her face went bloody as it struck.

He’d been right there already, grabbing on, pulling it away and back when it hit him straight on. Where Yaro’s mace had split the bone, the sharp point had pierced his arm - and came out the other side. It dropped him, and he scrambled to his feet. The Witch simply sat in the snow where she fell.

“We gotta go!” He lifted her out, the blood flowing down his arm and from his sleeve, right on her.

“No!” She screamed, her arms outstretched.

Yaro’s mace collided with its head, and it was gone.

He grabbed his sword where it had dislodged from the creature’s head. Yaro stood in a stance at attention. Tensed.

Ivan looked back to the Witch. Her face was frozen in confusion, eyes still closed, hands still out and seeming to strain against something pulling her forward.

Click.

Yaro bellowed, dropping the mace. He fell on his knees, clutching at his face.

Click.

The Witch jerked forward with such force that her face hit the ground, and she was dragged - he caught her in his arms and forced her hands down to her sides - they bled anew, leaving streaks of red across the snow and the sleeves of her coat.

Click.

Yaro’s face hit the ground, his body twisting and contorting. Ivan took her to the side and dropped her far from the red-bearded man - rushing over to him with his sword drawn.

But, there had been no beast. He knelt, trying to hold the large man still, but his muscles moved as if tossed around by an internal force.

His eyes opened, wild, angry. And he bared his teeth - burying them in the sleeve of Ivan’s coat. Had he been slower, a chunk would have been gone from his arm then and there despite the fabric of the coat.

Yaro clawed for him, pulling himself forward - teeth snapping.

Click. Click.

“Yaro!” Ivan shouted, trying to snap the man out of this trance.

But, no recognition showed in his eyes.

Ivan swung around to pin him to the ground, the red-bearded man’s neck held down with the full of Ivan's weight.

Yaro snapped and bit at the ground, his teeth grinding and breaking against the ice. His mouth filled with blood.

It was only a few moments until the man’s body stopped struggling against him. His head dropped, blood pooling from beneath it.

Click.