Into the Deep Wood

They stood outside the double doors, her hands in his.

The look on his face was hard to understand. It was sad, shaken, and - something else.

It looked like disappointment.

“I will be alright.” She reassured him. “I wish only to see.”

He tried to give her a smile but only one corner of his mouth strained to raise.

“That was a lot to hear.” He said with hesitancy. “I didn’t realize… I did not realize the extent of what had happened to you. That you’d… the god-child and all.”

“I will not keep anything from you. When I return, ask, and I will tell you.” She ran her gloved fingers through his hair and down his jawline. He’d looked so sad.

“Valeria…” He said, looking adamantly into her eyes as if trying to find something there to hold onto. “What happens, you know, if you succeed.”

The brink of heartbreak. She saw it in him. He was asking if she was going to leave.

“What I am seeking is no longer the same.” Her voice shook, and she was surprised that it was the truth coming from deep within her. “I will return.”

He put his hand over hers on his cheek, then brought it down and kissed the palm of it.

“Then return.”

With that, they parted.

Ivan was taken to the gates where the carriage stopped, and they’d been opened for him.

He pulled his coat closer and walked on until he reached the boarding house.

For a moment, he stood outside of it, looking up at the crudely cut sign above the door.

His thoughts could not leave the Witch and the woman that had brought them to the palace. She had been extraordinarily beautiful, but having left he could not for the life of him remember her face.

What they spoke of… he recognized that they’d spoken of the day he found the Witch thrashing on the floor. There was so much more to everything that he’d known about her. She was a wonder, but the depths beneath were dark, complicated, and dangerous.

A part of him felt the need to run, to leave - to separate himself from this new and strange world. But this part had gotten quieter with time, even if he was scared.

Perhaps, of more than her.

He found himself walking a familiar route—anything to get his mind off of her. Off of what she was about to do - he had not even known what it was, exactly. She had not even thought him important enough to tell.

He felt the anger warm his chest.

He was not significant enough to tell of that nightmarish day, nor of that woman that had brought them there –it was clear now that she’d not been a woman at all. When they’d arrived, he heard the grotesque voice in his mind.

What are you?

It made his skin crawl; he tasted wet soil on his tongue - the taste of recent death.

Ivan shook his head as if to rid of the thoughts.

Trust me.

“All-Father’s grace,” he muttered the prayer, “protect me against all incursions of the devils that live among us.”

It had been so long since he prayed.

Ivan stopped in front of the cracked, patched door at the back of a tavern. He pulled it open habitually. The door led to the kitchens, where smoke and the dampness of steam filled the room. Through another door was a slightly larger room with no windows and no other entries.

It was filled with men gathered around a table.

The smell of tobacco and strong, clear spirits filled his nostrils. They’d become more inviting than they were before.

“Ivan!” The croupier proprietor exclaimed, not pausing the dealing of cards. Two more men looked, one holding a glass of viscous clear liquid. “Ya know there’s no money left here, get on out!”

Ivan smiled, sitting down on a chair next to a stranger he had never seen there before.

“Perhaps just for fun then, Finn.” He said. “I could use both the company of you fine men and the drink.”

“The missus busy then?” The dealer laughed. “You’ve time to spare? Good, give these bastards a chance to clean ya out for once.”

The cards were dealt out, and each man threw a few coins into the middle. The game was King’s Duels. It was complex enough that two decks of cards went out and simple enough that even an uneducated man could grasp the rules.

“So Ivan,” a man at the other side of the table said. Ivan had known his name to be Ronan. “How much longer ya in Volkograd? I’m ‘bout to sell my wife and kids to pay up, so I gotta know how long to hold out.”

Ivan only shook his head.

“We’ll be leaving in a few days, All-Father willing.” He answered. “Hard to say.”

“Well, don’t stick around too long. Ya a young one, Korschey will snatch you up and stick you right on the front lines.” The man laughed.

“You best shut your mouth.” Finn shook his head. “No names.”

His eyes fixed on the stranger.

“His Majesty, the King.” Ronan quickly corrected himself. “May the gods protect him.”

“You can speak freely.” The stranger said, “I have no love for the crown.”

“That seems like something someone would say if they did have love for the crown.” The man next to Ronan observed.

“Maybe we can keep such speech to a minimum,” Ivan interjected. He looked curiously at the stranger. The poor wretch was grossly disfigured. Half of his face had been horribly deformed with deep scarring from burns. They ran from his right cheek to his ear, consuming the space around his right eye. This thick scarring even extended into his hairline - although otherwise dark and thick, no hair had grown there. Across his left cheek ran a much thinner scar, crossing his cheek and ending at his nose.

“Game.” The stranger said, throwing down his cards. The croupier sighed.

“This guy’s gonna give you a run for your money, kid.” He told Ivan.

“Looking forward to it,” Ivan muttered.

“So the war–” Ronan started again, but the croupier shot him a warning look, “is long…”

“Game.”

Ronan and Finn groaned, throwing down their cards as the stranger reached for the coin in the middle.

“These are getting shorter, and so is my will to live,” Ronan mumbled.

“What do we call you, brother?” Ivan asked the stranger.

“The Ember Sword,” Finn told him.

“At your service.” the man confirmed.

“I suppose I haven’t introduced myself.” Ivan smiled, reaching out his hand. The man shook it, and Ivan saw that his hands had also been badly burned. “Ivan.”

“You know what?” Finn began to deal out the cards again. “Such absurdity. Just the other day they caught one o’ them Nothing bastards crawling around High District. It probably scared the silver-spooners half to death. Slimy feller.”

“Ah yeah,” Ronan chimed in. “Heard about that! Ate someone’s little dog before they caught it and it was set on fire. The only way to kill ‘em, you know.”

“Steel does the job.” The Ember Sword said, rearranging his hand.

“Clearly, you haven’t seen it! Only fire got this one!” Ronan insisted. He threw two cards on the table, watching the other men suspiciously as they each laid down theirs.

“Game,” Ivan announced, setting his cards down for everyone to see.

“Devils take you, Ivan.” Finn shook his head. “Between the two of you over there, I will have to close down."

“Then let me put the money back and buy everyone a drink.” Ivan pointed to each man with question. “Sylvan Spirit? Any objections?”

There were none.

Finn left the room to retrieve it.

“Okay, I know you people aren’t from here,” Ronan said quietly, glancing at the door. “Finn is none too fond of Korschey but he won’t risk it without your swearing so. I’m tired of tip toeing in the one place where I have to speak freely. We are all criminals just by being here anyway.”

“I assure you.” The Ember Sword said.

Ivan just nodded. He knew the question was not for him - he had already established with the men that they had nothing to fear from him.

Ronan sat back slowly, his eyes on the Ember Sword.

“We are all friends here.” The other man said. “I figure having given you all my money it is only fair to introduce myself too. I am Hector.”

“A Western name.” The Ember Sword observed.

Hector nodded.

Ivan noticed that he had not stopped staring at the stranger the entire time.

“I think you know what that means,” Hector said.

For a moment, Ronan’s brow furrowed. But, just then, Finn reappeared with a tray full of clear glasses.

“Cheers, then!”

They continued this for hours. With the exception of two for Hector and three for Ronan, it had been a neck-and-neck count between Ivan and the Ember Sword. Many more drinks flowed until the men lost any memory of their reserved words.

“So she goes in - and her necklace gets tangled! We had to get a barmaid to come and help; all the while, I’m sitting there - sitting there, and she’s on her knees!” Ronan roared with laughter.

“Having a tough time believing you’d get anyone into your Deep Wood, Ronan.” Ivan laughed, too. “What’d you lure her with? Promises of her weight in gold?”

“I paid her fairly,” Ronan said matter of factly.

“I can smell you from here. I don’t think ‘fairly’ is any amount you can afford.” Finn’s eyes were watering.

“Speaking of!” Ronan turned to the Ember Sword. “Why’d you say ‘steel’ about that slinky bastard? You a hunter?”

“No.”

The way he said it made Ivan consider him a moment longer. He could not help but notice that the man had only finished a single glass of Sylvan.

“I bet you are; you look it!” Finn said. The Ember Sword just shook his head.

“Ah!” Hector threw down his cards. “Done with you people. I’m going home.”

At this, Ronan also got up.

“The wife is already going to be mad as a bull. I better go, too.”

“Well, that’s that then.” Finn nodded. “No sense in playing with only two players.”

Ivan stood, and the Ember Sword followed.

The men shook hands with one another and bid each other goodbye. Ivan saw that the Ember sword was the only one to take a right out the door, and he ran after him.

“Brother,” he called, and the other man slowed, turning his head, “Can I ask?”

“Hm.”

“You said you’re from the West?”

“I said nothing of the sort.” The Ember Sword shook his head.

“I am from the South.” Ivan insisted. “Our people fight side by side. Please, I have not heard a word in almost a year. Not but from the mouths of Northerners.”

He saw the man’s shoulders relax slightly.

“I know of the war. What do you need?”

“How far has the North pushed back? Does the King know of the whereabouts of the horde?” Ivan felt a certain desperation rise in him. This had been the very first countryman he had come across.

“A year?” The Ember Sword repeated. “They haven’t pushed back. The seventh city stands in ruin, but its sisters remain the South’s.”

He paused, looking Ivan over. It was hard to tell in the darkness of the night what expression his face held.

“You are a soldier.” He said.

“A pathfinder.” Ivan nodded. It was too late to take words back, for better or worse.’

“Why are you here?” There was a sting to the dark man’s tone.

“I’ve been sent to locate the host.” Ivan did not know why he was telling this man as much as he had. The clear liquor had boldened him. “And, I have.”

The Ember Sword turned his body fully toward the man, no longer looking to walk away.

“You are too late.” He told Ivan. “Tomorrow, the South will negotiate the terms of a treaty.”

His blood froze. Again, he felt the anger warm his chest, but this time it was different, enraged and indignant.

“Korschey will never allow it… you mean to surrender…I know where the horde is!” Ivan insisted. “They’re on the lake. They’re at Chernaval.”

A moment of silence between them.

“Go home.” The Ember Sword said, turning and walking away.

Ivan stood in the snow, watching the man depart.

It was as if all hope had been stripped away from him in just one night.