Into the Deep Wood

Ever since the Witch was taken, Ivan had been restless.

The first night, he hardly slept. The second, he did not sleep at all.

He kept going over every single word he had said in his desperation for them to understand. He had been so careful. He had recited everything during the long days it took them to travel there—what to say –what not to.

He knew the superstitions. He knew the fairy tales he had grown up with to scare kids.

Of the Deep Wood Hag that would steal children in the night, of the unfortunate but brave princes that would come across her hut in the woods just to have their name stolen by the crafty devil. They would get forced into the servitude of evil when they came back, causing mischief and wrongdoings.

Whenever a neighbor would be rumored to be a drunk or beating his wife, his mother would say ‘The Deep Wood Hag had taken his name as he had stayed out too late in the night. Now look at him!’ and as a child, this had been a horrifying notion. They did not even live anywhere near the woods.

That and the All-Father’s church had long been known to stand between the people and the Nothing. His light was what kept the Wounds confined. His grace had been what had destroyed the Southern Wound - leaving it barren and dormant.

And so, he had known that the King would not take it well.

No one would.

It would be absurd that the Northern King could bind the Three Sisters. That he could bend the Nothing to his will.

And… to bring a woman here that could potentially have something to do with it…

Ivan lay down on the bed. He needed sleep. But, the guilt overwhelmed.

He’d handed over the Witch.

He should have hidden her. He should have secretly put her up somewhere in an inn across town. So sure was he that she could have proven to them right then and there what she could do that he had thought that her presence alone would be enough.

Foolish, he gambled with the life of a woman he… a woman he certainly loved.

Again, pacing. The later it got, the more he began to miss her presence. He hadn’t spent the night alone in a long, long time.

He thought of the softness of her skin, her half-closed eyes in the morning when she would wake up, and a smile spread across her face. The thought of it alone twisted his gut.

What if he never saw that smile again?

Ivan had to stop these thoughts.

He did not know what he would do without the Witch. Not anymore. To say that his heart had been tied to her was to call a mouse a boar.

She had it fully, whole. For a long time now.

At first, he felt it had been sorcery. Then, every moment spent with her told the story behind the why. He could never forget how her sad eyes had glistened with tears she did not shed as she ripped the Cloth of Plenty. Of how sure her step was when she stepped through the deep snow to approach the shabby houses. The way the woman on the stoop had looked when she realized what it was that the Witch had given her.

She had been more beautiful when she had done things that mortals did. Even for all the power and sorcery she wielded.

The way her fingers worked to stich his arm, her eyes ahead of every thread and careful not to damage the tissue. She had been so concentrated, so patient. So unaware of the world around her. She had to be protected, as her eyes were only on the good she could do.

She’d trusted in people. The Witch even had a heart big enough to love the horrid creatures of the dark. What she had done, no one else had ever done. And he had known that the All-Father guided her cut hands, regardless of what she said. They were a sacrifice she had made willingly.

She could do anything. And he knew that he would do anything for her.

Whatever she was meant to do in this world, she was his Witch.

And his alone.

“Forgive me.” He said quietly into the night. “Forgive me, Val.”

Iros had walked them to Marat’s room, keeping an eye as a sentry on them both. When the man had gone inside, he stopped Val from following by holding out his arm.

“You two are like gophers burrowing in their hole. I won’t be fooled again.” He said.

As they walked the halls toward the King’s chambers, Iros began explaining.

“Valeria, the King has known of the Legho for a long time. It is the other Sisters that come as a surprise. More than that, your presence here has been the subject of a great deal of debate. No one believes that anyone could wield the Nothing in that way.” He paused, “However, I have done all I can to dissuade him from drastic action. The West will stand behind you if the Ember Sword does so.”

“What is an Ember Sword?” She asked, and the two men exchanged looks.

It seemed familiar to her somehow.

“It is my given name,” Marat said. “Here, it has to be used. I have not been ‘Marat’ in many years. It has to remain so, except behind closed doors.”

She saw the slight smile he shot her as if they now shared a secret between the two. One of many, she would say.

Oh gods! But she remembered.

Ivan had said he met a man in Volkograd named that.

Had Marat… met him by happenstance?

Ivan.

The guilt had torn her apart the moment she'd woken up that first morning. She asked Iros to let her see him, but the High Templar only shook his head.

Not until after she met with Batyr. Until then, she was a prisoner still. General Asim kept a close eye on the pathfinder, even if she could leave.

She owed him everything. Everything from the moment they left the Glade. He was her guide, her friend, her...

Her heart would ache. And a part of her told her that she'd always let him know that her heart was already gone.

But had she? She did not hesitate to share his warmth; she did not hesitate to ask things of him that only a lover would. And because of this, he gazed at her with puppy dog eyes. He marveled at her every movement. He'd push the hair out of her face as he watched her in her sleep. She knew he did. And selfishly, she allowed it. Selfishly, she allowed herself to think that perhaps she was made of the same thing as him - a farm girl only wishing to stroll among the olive trees on the coast. But that had never been true. And it was not fair to him.

He did not hear her when she spoke of things he did not want to know, and she knew that because of that, it would hurt him that much more.

She shook the thoughts off. Now was not the time. It could turn out that they'd all be put to death if she misspoke in court now. And if she was allowed to walk free, the moment she could she would find him.

“Valeria.” Iros began again. “Remember what we spoke of. Say only what you must.”

Val nodded.

They stopped outside the decorated doors. Marat squeezed her hand.

“Nothing will happen to you. I promise.”

Batyr was a large man with a large gut, even if it seemed that underneath his years sitting on the throne had been a considerable amount of brawn. His face was grim, as was his wife’s, who stood at his side.

When they came in, he did not stand.

Val saw that both Marat and Iros bowed only their heads, so she did the same.

“I’m told you are Valeria.” The King said, his voice tired and absent. “I hear many things about one so small and…”

He looked at her with some amount of judgment.

Val realized that in all of that, she had not even brushed her hair.

“Brave.” He ended. “I will skip formalities as I do with these two Generals. Unfortunately, we are at war, and I don’t have time to entertain folktales and superstitions. The scoutmaster has given you quite the recommendation, but had General Iros not supported these claims, I would have stripped that man of title and tossed the both of you out of the city for wasting my time.”

Val remained quiet. She was not quite ready for the hostility despite the warnings she was given.

“I’ve been told less than I have asked for, so you will tell me the rest. I will not be made a fool when the counsels of the White Cities arrive tomorrow. If you prove to be a liar, I will only speak to them of war, and you will be put on the first ship to the West. Typhonos seems to hold a soft spot for you.” He continued. Then, he glanced at his wife. “I am told you have spent considerable time with the wood devil, the Deep Wood Hag.”

“I have.” She nodded.

“Tell me, how is it that you escaped?” The Queen now spoke.

Val wondered at this. Her words seemed to have a purpose that differed from the King’s.

“Two hunters, brothers, rescued me.” She said.

“And what was traded for your mortal soul?” The Queen continued.

“Nothing. They had cut off her head. We had three days to run before she returned to pursue us.”

The Queen considered her carefully but seemed satisfied with the answer.

“What is it you can do to serve the crown?” It was again the King that spoke.

“The Hag had spoken to me in my dreams. Because of that, I learned to feel the other creatures of the Nothing.” Val answered honestly. “I can help.”

“You know it is not the Nothing that we fight.” The King shook his head. “If you could feel the armies of the North, it would have been a different story.”

“I trust,” she knew she sounded uncertain, “that I can help when the Legho comes.”

The King sat silently, his face unreadable. The silence was so long that she began to panic, trying to keep her face as unmoved as his.

“You will get a chance. Prove that you can do anything at all before the council arrives tomorrow. You will be taken to the Dormant Wound. Whatever it is that you do, you will do there. Should you turn out to be a fraud, I will decide your fate.” He looked to Marat, his face cruel.

At that moment Val realized that Batyr had not intended to send her West after all.

Fear ran through her. This wasn’t the worst that could be said, but it may as well have been. What was she do with a Wound? What could she do with a Wound?

“Two hours, and we will ride.” He said, his attention turning away. “Now leave.”

The three returned silently. They had gone back to her room, and when the door closed, Iros looked to her expectedly.

“Can you do this?” He asked.

She could only shake her head.

“I do not even know what to do. Are there creatures there? He had said it was dormant, does it mean that there are not?” She asked.

It was Marat who answered.

“It happened far before our time. It has stood for centuries without a single creature climbing out. No one knows why. The earth around it is scorched with its presence, but the corruption is gone.” He sat, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I truly do not know what can be done,” she said, sitting next to him, “could you capture a Nothing-touched, and perhaps I can show them then?”

“In two hours, here in the city?” He shook his head. “Val, perhaps we should board a ship now. We will go West before Batyr can change his mind.”

Iros looked at him with reprimand.

“I’m sure Dimos will receive you well if you were to do that and go against his orders.” He said grimly.

“We cannot run and let all these people die,” Val said. “I know there is more I can do. I know that I can help.”

“Val…” Marat sighed.

“I will go.” She said with a new resolve in her eyes.

Holding eye contact with Iros for a moment, a certain understanding seemed to form between them.

“Val–” Marat started, but she interrupted.

“Marat, I will go. If I must prove something to be useful here, then I will do so. Please,” she begged him now, grabbing his hand, “trust me.”