Into the Deep Wood

“I’m almo-st c-ertain.”

The black, rounded mountains stood just beyond the vastly spreading sands. The sun was not yet beginning to set but was already colored the tones of red and orange - as if coals lying within flames.

They’d ridden almost non-stop, yet their horses were refreshed and robust. This had puzzled Yaro greatly, although neither of the other men seemed to pay any attention to it.

“They went into barbarian territory.” Yaro shook his head. “The tribe-s live in the volcanic cave-s. I would bet if he’d been through here, it wa-s in the s-ummer - they leave to go s-outh becau-se it get-s too hot. Probably never even s-aw them.”

“Shit.” Marat kicked a nearby rock, and it rolled and bounced until it hit soft sand. “I swear to the gods if he took her just to–”

“Woah, woah. Calm down.” Yaro threw up a hand. “They’re barbarian-s, not animal-s. We go and talk to them.”

“What is it exactly that makes them barbarians?” Iros said, his eyes scanning the bases of the hills.

“‘Hill folk’ didn’t have the s-ame ring to it.”

“They reject a King’s rule and never stop in one place for long. They’re nomads and worship the pagan gods.” Marat said.

“They wor-ship the S-hattered God.” Yaro disagreed. “Common mis-cons-eption. They prefer a s-mall government.”

“How do you know so much about them, Yaro?” Iros asked, turning to the red-bearded man.

“Been here a few time-s.” Yaro shrugged.

“Could they have gotten by and not been seen?” Iros asked.

“I don’t think s-o. Not on hors-eback.”

“What are the chances she is dead?” Marat asked.

“Depend-s on what tribe it i-s.”

“You need to return from where you are headed, my friend.” Iros stared Marat down, his tone growing serious and his voice lowering. “Do not allow it in. I can see your forehead veins popping out. You stew on it, and it will eat you alive.”

Marat did not even look in his direction.

“Do they speak Common?”

“Yeah, mos-tly. They trade with traveling merchant-s.”

“My brother,” Iros tried again, “I know what you are thinking. First, we should look for signs if they continued down and rode through.”

Marat ignored him once more and urged his mount ahead.

Yaro leveled with Iros.

“What-s hi-s problem?”

“His mind is not his own when it comes to her.” Iros’ eyes followed the man riding away. “I worry about what he will do if he does not find her there. I worry more about what he will do if he does.”

“I-s he going to take them all on hims-elf?” Yaro said, but Iros slowly shook his head no.

“We are going to take them on ourselves.”

As they got closer, a brief flash of thunder sounded in the distance. Yaro’s horse snorted uncomfortably.

“I don’t see any clouds…” Iros looked around.

“Storms out here come suddenly. But that is not a storm.” Marat slowed. “It’s a warning horn.”

“We s-ould s-top and wait,” Yaro said, grimacing. “It-s not a friendly one.”

A single person on foot appeared in the distance. No weapon could be readily seen on them.

As the figure got closer, they saw that it was a woman.

Her skin was darker, her eyes almond-shaped, and her slick black hair was pulled back into warrior braids. Although she was mostly covered, they could see as she came closer that her skin was covered in red-tinted tattoos running all the way up to her neck. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years of age.

“Eitt.” She said, stopping roughly thirty feet away.

Iros looked to Marat, who shook his head.

“Forgive us, Sister. Common.”

She paused.

“What do you want, unokai.”

“We are looking for two people that passed through here. Your people’s eyes are everywhere, Sister. Perhaps they were on the travelers as well.” Marat said.

She looked to Yaro.

“Hunter.” She said simply.

He nodded.

“What do you bring.” It seemed that she was not asking questions, as every one of them sounded awfully like a fact.

“Ehhh…” Yaro reached back to feel around his pack, then patted his pockets. “I’ve got Rus-alka-s tear-s and an oneiric dagger.”

“Will do. Follow me.”

She turned and began walking back, with the three horses trailing slowly behind her at a distance.

“You have what?” Iros asked.

“They prize the Nothing-touched trinkets. Their priestesses extract the curses from them, allegedly.” Marat explained. “That oneiric dagger would have been helpful once upon a time. It can only be used in dreams to kill the dreamweaver. Never came across Rusalka’s tears.”

“A drop of Rus-alka-s tear-s can cure illne-ss.” Yaro specified. “Unfortunately, it only work-s on that of the nether region-s. I’m not s-elling it.”

They entered the canyon beyond the hills, with the girl still walking ahead. The lava formations hung menacingly above them but cast shadows that were a welcome relief from the sun. A little way in, Marat began noticing barely perceptible movement above.

They were being watched.

Iros and Yaro were a couple of steps behind. Yaro seemed surprisingly comfortable, while Iros was grim, and his mouth curved downward worriedly.

“You must not speak to women unless you are spoken to first, unokai.” The girl said. “You will not partake in meals unless invited. And, when our business is done, you will leave.”

She looked back, her eyes passing over Marat and instead looking at Yaro.

“Hunter, only you will speak to the Chieftan. The rest have no dealings with us.”

“What about the two people we seek out?” Marat asked. Iros shot him a glance, hearing his tone.

“Only Red Beard will speak to the Chieftan, unokai.” She repeated. Marat could feel the blood warm his cheeks.

“What does that mean?” Iros quietly asked Yaro.

“S-trangers. It i-s not a polite term.”

The walls opened suddenly, revealing a massive lava tube. Along the perimeter large tents were set up made up of animal skins. Makeshift fences containing sheep and goats and various cooking areas wound between them. People who looked like the girl sat around fresh firepits. Only a few glanced at them as they passed.

Marat could not help but notice that along the stone risings large wooden crosses were set at an angle and toward the ceiling. Ropes hung off of them, and the wood was scuffed and stained with something dark. The empty wardwrights loomed over their heads.

It was dark and cool, though at the very ceiling ran a crack in the rock that allowed daylight in, although there was not much left.

At the very center of the cave was a large tent decorated with red paint splashed on it as if splattered blood. The girl motioned them inside, but when Marat tried to go first, she held out her arm to stop him.

“Red Beard.” She said.

He reluctantly stepped aside to let Yaro through.

A man slightly shorter than Marat sat at a roughly put-together table, painting something on a volcanic rock. He turned, his face not reflecting any surprise at first - but as his eyes landed on Yaro, they widened.

“Well s-on-of a bitch…” Yaro said under his breath. “Or I am not a foot in a bar fight…”

“Yaroslav.” The Chieftan said, smiling and revealing his yellowed teeth. “My kin! It has been too long.”

Iros and Marat both stared with their eyebrows lightly raised, and mouths thinned.

“It cannot be!” Yaro stepped forward and the men gripped hands eagerly before Yaro pulled the man into an aggressive hug. “I thought you wiped from the fa-ce of the earth!”

“I thought you swallowed up by the Witch Wood.” The Chieftan said.

“One could s-ay that.”

The Chieftan turned to the other two.

“You are unokai to me no longer, my brothers.” He said. “For anyone that walks with my kin is kindred to me as well.”

“But then…” Yaro’s voice shook suddenly, “Anu-shka?”

“The High Priestess is away. You arrive on a strange day, in the wake of something else. Could I assume that your appearance here is related?”

“Two people, a man and a woman,” Marat spoke up. Yaro nodded.

“Little one. Maybe a fifth of my s-ize. And a girl too.”

A strange look passed across the Chieftan’s face as he looked over the other two standing by the doorway.

“You hunt them then?”

“No. We seek to bring them back.” Marat answered.

At this, the Chieftan shook his head.

“I am afraid that it is impossible.” He said, “Not the girl.”

Again, Iros stiffened, ready to stop Marat were he to lunge. To his surprise, the man was calm.

“Can I see her?”

“She is with the High Priestess. When they return, you are welcome to do so as long as she wishes it too.”

Yaro remained in the tent as Marat and Iros made their way out.

“Shouldn’t be surprised,” Iros said. “If they have that many dealings with Nothing-touched, they would have sensed somethi—“

He saw the man only a moment after Marat.

Ivan stood across the yard, and had not noticed them come out of the tent. Iros grabbed for Marat, but came up empty as the man already took off.

Ivan glanced in the direction of the sudden motion, and the grin on his face quickly faded.

"Pathfinder!" Marat's voice came almost as a growl through his teeth as he took off in measured steps towards him, closing the distance between them quickly and with purpose.

"Shit..." Ivan breathed out and took a step back but no further. He braced for a hit.

Marat stopped just short of an arm's length. He’d been slightly shorter than Ivan, but it felt as if Marat had towered over him at that moment.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" The words might as well have been a swing, "with Valeria?"

“I meant no harm.”

“Pigshit, Ivan. As if I do not know.”

Iros took off after him, seeing the white-knuckled hand swing back for the hunting knife strapped at his belt.

The nomads nearby paused in their daily tasks, casting curious glances at the source of the commotion.

"She asked to go--"

"You think you were the first she asked? You think I said no because I did not feel like it?"

Ivan's back foot scooted a few more inches in retreat, but he held the man's eyes, and his shoulders did not slump.

“I wanted–”

"It is not your business. Nothing is your business with her! Nothing."

"Didn't realize you had someone else in mind to take her." Ivan's words were steadied, defiant.

So much so that the hunter’s knife was drawn in an instant.

Iros grabbed Marat's wrist, twisting and forcing his grip to lessen. Wrapping his arm around, he restrained Marat with his forearm at the man's chest.

"Calm down!" He managed out before he was thrown off, but his efforts had at least paused the man’s movements.

"What did you just say, boy?" Marat's face strained against his blood rushing, and even the burn scars creased at the effort.

"I wanted to ensure she would be safe - she would have gone either way!"

"She would be safe in Barzah!"

Iros pushed Marat back, the man's eyes remaining on the scoutmaster.

"Talk to her! You will see that what I've done was for the best!" Ivan snapped back, braver now, having Iros between him and the rabid dog. "She only wanted to do what is right!"

"Marat!" Iros raised his voice, a desperate attempt to alleviate the intensity of Marat’s resistance.

A slip.

A name he was not meant to speak.

People gathered around.

Men came running forward to help restrain Marat.

"Fuck!" Yaro's voice among them, his hands pulling Marat back. "Not here! You moron, not here!"

He stopped struggling, looking at Iros with such betrayal in his eyes as the grip of the other men loosened. He turned back to Ivan, who was now a considerable distance away.

"So help me gods, pathfinder. Should I find out there is an ounce of lie in what you say..." Marat's voice lowered, but the intensity remained as if it was only moments from spilling blood.

Ivan breathed hard and tried his best not to show the fear that had caught his every muscle at the sight of the man who meant to kill him only a moment ago.

"Leave, Ivan," Marat said just quietly enough for the man to hear, his chest heaving.

Ivan stood still, refusing to give ground.

"You need to back up," Yaro told him, his voice stressing the last part of the words. "Thi-s i-s not the pla-ce. You'll get yours-elf killed..."

“And you call us the barbarians, unokai.”

It was a woman’s voice. Mature, steady, and deep. The nomads stepped back, their faces relaxing at the sight of the tall older woman who had walked forward.

Her clothes were unremarkable, and her head completely shaven, pressed ink tattoos running across her scalp and into her cheekbones. She had striking gray eyes that stood out brightly against her dark skin.

“Anush-ka…” Yaro whispered, his eyes so fixed on the woman that his hands had dropped their grip on Marat.

“Yaroslav.” She smiled, her smile kind. She looked to everyone around and acknowledged them with her gaze before continuing. “You arrive after so many years, and you bring unokai violence into our camp?”

Behind her was Val, who had undoubtedly witnessed the exchange. Her face was terrified, caught between being found out and the deep dread of seeing her pursuer's hurt expression. Her eyes were on Marat. As were the womans.

“Welcome.” She told him, and it felt like the single word spoken held ten different meanings in it.

The Chieftan came up beside her.

“Your contention will be put aside while you are here. Should you not agree, you will neither leave nor stay. That is the law.” She said.

“Had it not been Yaroslav, you would not have even gotten that far.” The Chieftain said. “Thirty years, and he knows the rules still. As you will learn them as well.”

“And who are you, fire-stricken one?” Her eyes ran over the scarring on Marat’s face, but it was not a question meant to be answered.

She looked to all gathered around.

“An hour. All will come to the fire, and no man or woman will remain strange to us. No unokai left among us.” She announced, then, beckoning Val to follow, she walked off. As Val tried to keep up, she kept turning back to see Marat, whose eyes never left her.

“Where are we going?” Iros asked.

They were given water and their horses were taken to be cleaned with the others. The four washed their hands and faces as directed by the woman who had brought the basins.

Tension remained high but not as hot, and Ivan was told to remain with the men. However, both Iros and Yaro had ensured that one, if not both, was always between him and Marat. The two men did not make eye contact or speak to one another.

“They called it a Naming,” Ivan answered Iros. “Said that all would give their name to one another. It is how they establish trust among the tribe.”

“It i-s how they make s-ure no Nothing-touched are among them,” Yaro added. He then seemed to remember something. “Who i-s ‘Marat’?”

Iros cringed, and Marat sighed.

“I am.” He said. “It is a departed name.”

A pause.

“I like it better than ‘the Ember S-word,’” Yaro said and then seemed to contemplate something. “By god-s…”

Iros squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to disappear before Yaro’s next words would put his shameful mistake further on display. He’d failed the Ember Sword.

“I know you.” Yaro suddenly laughed. “By god-s, I sh-ouda known! The two brother-s!”

Marat only replied with a very deep sigh that Yaro did not hear.

“I sh-ould have known! Ha! A hunter, retired my a-ss.” He was so pleased with himself. “Marat! Of Marat and Erlan, god-s re-st hi-s s-oul. No one fight-s like that, no one track-s like that!”

Ivan looked at Marat silently, trying to decipher what Yaro’s words had meant.

“A past life.” Marat held up his hand. “Yaro, please.”

“Alright, alright.” The red-bearded man said, still smiling ear to ear. “S-tory for another time, then. Like three minute-s after the Naming. We will diffcu-ss then.”

“Don’t you have a long-lost love to attend to?” Iros muttered.

“Anush-ka and I will have already s-et a time to meet. Sh-e i-s a bus-y woman.”

Men came to get them, eyeing Marat as they went. No one had forgotten the confrontation. Where they arrived was another large cave opening. The dirt was packed tightly here, and in the middle was a fire.

The older woman sat with her back to the opening itself, outlined by the stars beyond.

Next to her knelt Val, but her hands were bound in front, and a tight cloth was tied over her eyes and ears. At this sight, Marat jerked to move toward her, but Iros and Yaro stopped him immediately.

“Faith.” Yaro whispered. “Sh-e i-s okay.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Marat saw the expression on Ivan’s face. He was looking at the same thing.

“Sit.” The Chieftan called. It seemed the whole tribe was present. The four men were led to the very inner circle, the rest sitting in rows surrounding the fire.

“Tonight, newcomers join us. Unokai come to this place. And so, we must rid this place of the unokai.” The woman stood. “For what is a stranger whose name they do not share with us but an enemy?”

Complete silence fell over the cavemouth. Only the crackling of the fire disturbed the air around them.

“I am Anukk’a, daughter of the Shattered God, and I give my name freely.” She said so loud that it echoed back into the cave.

“I am Taqqa, son of Isk. And I give my name freely.” The Chieftan called.

After him, one by one, every man and woman called out their own name. Of the four, Yaro had gone first.

“Yaros-lav, s-on of Unrik. And I give my name freely.” He said.

Ivan cleared his throat inconspicuously in preparation to speak next.

“I am Ivan, son of Yuri, and I give my name freely.”

“I am Iros, son of Iason. And I give my name freely.”

Marat had been last.

Last, except for Val.

He hesitated, looking at her face. The shadows from the fire stretched and twisted on it, but she did not seem distressed.

“I am the Ember-”

“No.” Anukk’a interrupted him. “The name given to you is not yours to give freely. Give us your own name.”

“I cannot…”

“Then you remain unokai, and you have heard ours already.” She said, reprimanding him as a mother would.

Silence fell among them.

“Marat.” He said, the name sounding strange in his mouth in front of all. So many nights, he’d been alright with it, coming from Val’s lips. Yet, on his own, it had been wrong. “Son of Erdem. And I give my name freely.”

“The last,” Anukk’a announced. She turned, and with great care, she untied Val’s hands. Softly as not to move a single hair, she removed the cloth covering her ears and eyes. The girl did not struggle, nor was there relief on her face.

“We do not give our names to her, and only she to us.” The older woman smiled at her and, quieter, said, “go on.”

“My name is Valeria.” She said, her eyes on the ground. “Daughter of the Nothing. And I give my name freely.”

No gasps went around the crowd. No whispers. It seemed that only the four men had held their breath - each had their cause. Yaro’s eyes widened as if he had just eaten something far too hot. Ivan bit his tongue, and Iros cringed for the second time that day.

Marat only looked ahead; his heart already dropped and hardly beating in his chest.

“And so, we are no longer nameless strangers! No longer unokai!” Anukk’a called out. Now, a hum of people’s whispers rose around them but quickly died down.

“Today, two strangers have crossed our threshold, my brothers and my sisters in the Shattered God.” She stood. “It is a day that we had long hoped would come - and it had come in one rising of the sun.”

She gave her hand to Val and helped her stand, the girl’s legs obviously stiff from kneeling for so long.

“What we have long done, she had surpassed. What we had long hoped to do, she will surpass still.” She continued.

People shouted in approval all around, and just as fast as the words rose, they had gone.

“She walks to the Wound, to heal the pain within it.” Anukk’a looked at Marat, and her eyes remained on him. “She searches for the Deathless One’s own death, and she means to break it. In that, we owe her a debt that our names cannot repay.”

Marat felt an uneasiness that originated from outside the attention on Val. Something about Anukk’a’s grey eyes had forced air into his lungs. They weren’t cruel, but they were seeing something that he could not quite grasp.

“The second stranger, I did not know right off.” She said. “Where I could feel the Witch before you, I did not know this presence by name - until it gave me its name, as it had given it to you too.”

He glanced away and past the priestess at Val. She was looking back at him. The events that led them here were not written in their expressions, only that moment in time. And by the look on her face, he knew what was about to be said.

“Among us stands a fragment of the Shattered God!” She called out, her voice louder and clearer than before. “Marat, Son of Erdem, the last born of the gods!”

This time, the gasps and awe rose through the cave. A hundred eyes on Marat.

And, somewhere to the side, Ivan had dropped his face into his hands.

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me…”