Into the Deep Wood

Let me see you.

The walls guarded the city like sentinels. The crown of thick white limestone circled its residents like a mother’s embrace, once.

Now, they circled them as a noose.

Chaos. Panic.

People cried out, holding their precious belongings and dragging their children through the streets. Screams rose above the rushing currents of people.

All being herded toward the southern walls.

Somewhere, a thunderous boom rose above the city as a blacksmith’s forge overheated.

Then, another. All across the city, the sound of ruin raged under the stormy clouds. Smoke began rising from the roofs of homes, flames flickering their tongues from the windows as the contents of ovens spilled out onto rugs, stacks of kindling, and wooden floors.

“Get them back!” Marat’s voice was loud, but it, too, got lost among the winds whipping through the streets and the frantic outcries of the people. The captains listened, for the most part. They saw the death of their men atop the walls, at their own hands and at the mercy of Misfortune ripping through their ranks.

They too, were scared.

“We have to get them out of the city!” Marat called to Yaro. “Make every man drop his weapon, nothing sharp - nothing heavy on them!”

“Thi-s i-s s-ome pig-shit!” The large man yelled back.

“If the gates hold we will have some time, we have to get them past the walls!”

Both were breathing heavily, stopped now in front of the crowds of people just ahead - the white walls of Nashtuun closing them in.

“Where’s Val??” Marat looked all around them.

“S-he did not follow.” He breathed out.

For a moment, for Marat everything had slowed. He had a vision of her face, rushing to him, saying something.

She had not come.

She was at the gate.

“Fuck.” Marat turned, the outpour of black smoke to the north rising to the sky. “I have to go back!”

“You s-on of a bitch, it-s the Legho!” Yaro grabbed him by the shoulder, rattling the metal armor. “You can’t go nearer than we are!”

“Go! Find the captains, make sure everyone has left their homes, make sure the keeps are empty!” Marat yelled the words back as he shed the heavy plate and was already running.

The monster stood still, as did Val. She heard all around her the city fall to ruin. How loud it had been to hear the complete obliteration of a city without a single enemy soldier inside its walls…

The gates held, but even from there, Val could hear the strain as the iron holding the doors together rusted rapidly as if a thousand years had flown by them in a heartbeat’s time.

“Let me see you…” She whispered, her heart nearly stopping as she closed her eyes.

This had not been the Hag, it had not been a creature, it had not been just any Nothing-touched.

This was Misfortune.

This was the embodiment of all that could catastrophize.

She reached out, knowing that she might be reaching toward her death.

The Legho’s head raised, its sewn-shut eyes looking right at her.

The metal of the gates screeched.

Val tried to pull back, twisting her arm away in terror as an invisible force dragged it toward the ground, toward the edge of the parapet.

She already felt what had been on the other side.

She tasted the blood at the back of her throat and in her mouth before she felt it drip from her nose, forcing her to gasp for air. Her lungs felt heavy.

The shriek of the twisting bolts, bars, and locks cut through the air as they snapped and popped.

She felt something wrap around her waist and pull her back. Marat had lifted her off the ground and carried her down as the stone of the steps crumbled and collapsed beneath him.

She felt the invisible force let go.

Everything was but a rush, walls, doors, streets. At some point, he lowered her feet to the ground and held her arm as she dragged her feet along in a run. She was barely keeping up.

“What is wrong with you?” He called out behind him. She did not answer, her eyes as lost and wild as an animal’s.

His fear for her life was stronger than for his own. He had to get her away. Somewhere she would be safe–

He hoped.

They ran, and somewhere far behind them, the wood of the gate splintered and flew apart.

Yaro met them,

“What i-s wrong with her?” He asked, seeing the look on the girl’s face. Marat did not answer the question. “There i-s no way out. No gate-s. The Crim-son River i-s on the other s-ide, but it doe-s not run through here.”

“Who knows the city?” Marat demanded, first of Yaro, then turning to the men and women cowering against houses and behind abandoned merchant stalls.

No one answered. Only shielded eyes looking back at him.

A single soldier, his weapon and helmet discarded, whipped his head around and when he saw no one else speak he stepped forward.

“I’m from Nashtuun, Lord.”

“What is in this part of the city?” Marat demanded. “What craftsmen? Warehouses? Trade?”

The man looked startled, he stuttered but still answered back.

“Wine c-cellars…”

Marat threw his hands down, frustrated.

“What else??”

“All sorts of storage! The river is nearby, and it keeps the cellars cool…” He was panicked, more so by the general’s proximity than the questions.

“Hardly the time to s-ample red-s and olive oil…” Yaro came up behind, Val trailing him, this time on her own.

“Olive oil?” Marat looked back to the soldier. “Show me to the closest one to the walls.”

The soldier nodded, and, taking a look around he hurried to a street to the left. They went a block until arriving at a house with painted grape leaves on the walls. He motioned toward it. It stood against the southern wall, built so tightly against it that it had served as one of its own four.

“Yaro, break down the door. You–” Marat glanced around to the soldier, “Get men and bring a lamp, a torch, anything that burns!”

“Marat…” Her voice was quiet, yet he heard her still. Her face was pale, bits of blood crusted at her nostrils –it seemed the rest had been wiped away. He did not have time. She was alive; she was there, any more would have to wait.

Anushka came down on the wooden door with such devastation that it forced it off the hinges on the first hit. Batyr’s men ran behind Marat, urged on by seeing their general move ahead. He went inside, quickly feeling across the flooring for the metal ring atop the cellar door.

The darkness of the cool, dry space was broken by a procession of men with two lamps among them. Yaro had remained behind with Val.

To his relief, tucked among the casks of wine were several barrels of olive oil. He looked around at the walls, holding the lamp high.

The river had not been far, and they would have had to waterproof the cellar's walls from the moisture.

“Break them.” He instructed the men, motioning to the barrels. “Pour them on the walls, the stairs. Do not get any on you; take the lamps away.”

They did as they were told, and more voices sounded above. As the last barrel cracked, olive oil spilling across the steps, the last of the men disappeared on the levels above it.

“Get everyone away from the wall.” Marat instructed them. He looked to Yaro. “I’ll light the oil, the walls are covered in pitch and tar. When I do, there will be an explosion. The wall above should fall, and I need you to have people ready to run.”

“God-s…” The large man groaned but turned and, with a heavy step, disappeared out the door.

Marat stood, a lantern in his hands. Misfortune was here, and should the lantern fail…

“Marat…” He turned; he had forgotten she was there.

Apparently, so had everyone else. She stood in the shadows of a windowless wall.

“It won’t come after us. Get them out. It won’t go past the city.” Her voice was small, and strained, as if she was in pain.

“Wait outside.” He told her gently, and she complied. As she disappeared into the stormy outdoors, he held the hatch to the cellar for a moment, then dropped the lantern inside.

A heavy boom unfolded so close to the people that they had lowered themselves to the ground, crying out and shielding their children with their bodies. Smoke went up, and the ground shook as a part of the southern wall cracked and came cascading down, caving in atop the flames.

Yaro shouted something, it got lost in the voices of the men and women around him. Soldiers came running past - they met the two figures struggling toward them through the cloud of dust. It had settled on their shoulders and in their hair.

Streams of people rushed down the Crimson River. Some by foot, some had seized boats at the fishing docks. It was not everyone, more than half the city was lost. But, as the last of them had crossed the bridge to the other side, a thin, tall figure appeared in the rubble of the broken wall. It stood, its ghastly frame outlined only by the bellowing smoke.

Nashtuun had fallen.