Into the Deep Wood

They took off the second the light of the fire broke the dark - smoke rising to the sky. They ran hard. Both knew that the Hag would sense it. But they were not sure if the girl had burned the right thing.

As they neared the forest edge, they saw her. Running for her life, a cloud of dust and sharp gray claws gained on her. Out of a whirlwind came a long-faced creature, teeth too long to have fit into its snapping jaw. The claws had caught her, and she cried out in pain but did not stop. Again, they swiped, and she went down. They grasped at her but missed, only catching her shirt as she scrambled desperately to her feet again.

Both brothers knew they could not help her until she reached the boundary. They split off, Marat going right and Erlan to the left.

“Do not look back!” Erlan yelled, giving the girl a direction to run toward.

Her shirt ripped, leaving the monster with its remains as she dove across the boundary, grabbing for roots to soften her fall. The cloud constricted - gaining a single shape of the Hag, whose foot had already been raised to cross the threshold. The second it connected with the ground, Marat’s blow struck her at the neck - separating cartilage and snapping veins, only the spine pausing the force of the blade for a second until it also burst apart.

The head propelled ahead and landed at the girl’s feet.

All breathed hard, standing and sitting in their respective place. The Hag’s body had fallen forward, steaming. Her head lay on its side, the mouth stuck open, her teeth still sharp and menacing having not completed her transformation. Blood poured heavily and then slowly. It soaked the dirt around it.

In complete shock, Val did not move. The scream still echoed in her head, the sense of danger remaining full force inside her body. The first to stir was Erlan. Having been nearest to her, he looked at the bloody, dirty, malnourished, and naked girl. He stepped toward her, causing her to flinch back. He did not offer her a hand, but instead, he removed his outer shirt. Bending down, he set it against her, covering her body. He then stepped back, looking at his brother. Marat stood with his eyes on the body, then the head.

“We can’t linger here.” He said finally. “We do not know what happens next.”

Erlan nodded, his eyes also on the head.

“Should we take it?”

“No.” Marat had been fast to answer. “Not all things in the Dark Wood remain as such when slain. We bury it and the body.”

Together, they dragged the body fully across the borderline. It was uncertain if her domain was still dangerous, and they were not about to take that risk.

Val did not move. She only watched them.

She clutched the shirt one of the men had given her to her chest. One of the brothers braced himself and slung the body of the Hag over his shoulder, the blood quickly soaking his back. He made a face of immediate regret but did not drop it. The other grabbed the head by its hair. The force had pulled the wrinkly skin back and Val saw that where the wrinkles hid the old crone’s eyes - there were none.

The men started back into the trees.

“Come on. You aren’t dead, and we are not going to carry you.” Marat said to her, the crone's arms dangling loosely as he walked forward.

For a moment, Val considered running from them as well. But she got up, still clutching the shirt to herself, and slowly staggered after them, suddenly painfully aware of her wounds and blood running down her back and legs.

The brothers paid her no attention as both kneeled in the dirt. They ensured that it was far from the treeline. They had no shovels, and so they dug with their hands. It had taken a long time, the entirety of which Val sat to the side watching them. Erlan looked up at one time and chuckled to himself. She looked like a wet owlet. Her eyes were wild and wide open, hair sticking to her head and shoulders where it’d fallen out of her braid. She was bony, and his shirt was still clasped tight in her hands - although doing very little to cover her.

“She’ll freeze to death at this rate.” He said to Marat.

“This is more important.” The older brother replied. “She’ll find her death anyway should we not bury the body.”

Hearing them talk, Val became aware of her nudity and hurried to slip the shirt over her head. It did not do much to warm her up, and she found herself shivering hard. Erlan’s eyes lingered on her again. Against his brother’s sharp looks, Erlan had stood and dug through the contents of his pack. He brought the winter coat he had been carrying since the beginning of their journey to her. He said nothing, dropping it in her lap.

The body was buried in a shallow grave, the two spreading dry sage, cedar, and sweetgrass across the burial site. Marat strapped the head to his pack by its gray hair, as they would need to bury it as far from the body as they could.

“Do you have a name?” Erlan asked, realizing just after he said it that perhaps this was not the right question for the rattled girl.

She flinched and remained quiet, standing a distance away. He sighed.

“Clearly, we are not Hags. But you can keep it now that you have it back. We’ll call you…” He looked to Marat but decided differently. “Owlet.”

“I’m Marat.” the older brother said. “This is Erlan. Don’t go giving them to Hags.”

“You think yourself clever,” Erlan told him as they began walking out of hearing range of the girl. “She’s been through a lot.”

“I don’t much care as long as she makes it alive,” Marat muttered. For a split second, he had felt pity for the girl, but they’d been sleeping in shifts only occasionally, unable to start fires for fear of scaring the chorts away that were so crucial to their success. He was tired, and their supplies were low since they had not been able to hunt. So many of the precious things they’d traded to the Hag were so close nearby yet completely unreachable.

They had no way of knowing if the crone had told the truth or if, in her trickery, she’d lied. But… there truly was no reason she would keep the girl otherwise. The Hag was known to devour the living if she could lure them to the Glade. This happened over centuries, and many accounts have been written about it. The bones of the people she had eaten were crushed and burned and piled on the hill leading to the hut. Over time, they calcified along with any tissue remaining and the heaps of them could almost be mistaken for large rocks lining the path.

Marat looked back at the girl dragging herself a distance behind them. If she fell further back she may get lost. He stopped.

“Walk faster, girl. The further we get from the Glade before we stop, the safer it will be. We have not outrun the horrors you’d experienced there.” He called to her.

She sped up a bit. Still shaken and unsure of what had gone on, she limped after them, her eyes on the ground. Hours later when they’d finally stopped, the men dug again—placing the head inside the hole and covering it with dirt, leaves, and soggy tree bark.

“May you have no peace in your rest,” Marat said, dripping the yarrow oil on top of the grave. “You putrid bitch.”

They walked until Val had collapsed from exhaustion. Only then did the men realize that she’d had nothing to eat and lost a lot of blood. They grew used to the competence of the other to care for their own safety and well-being, and what she needed did not come naturally - as she would not speak or ask anything of them.

“Set up camp,” Erlan called, “Come on, Owlet. Let’s get you something to eat.”

The men slept in shifts, taking turns occupying the small - low to ground tent. They set the other up for her.

After a time, they called after her. She crawled out, looking worse than the night before. Or maybe it was that they saw her in full light - or as much as the Dark Wood allowed during the day.

Marat, visibly annoyed, went to wrap bandages around her wounds where blood had dried all down her body. She scrambled away from him, her face reflecting only fear.

He sat in a crouch, looking at her in aggravation, then stood, tossing the bandage to Erlan.

“She likes you better.”

Erlan silently took them toward her, and when she was about to run from him too, he stopped.

“It’s okay, Owlet. You need to let me do this; if they get infected, you won’t make it out of the forest.” He said, trying to keep his voice soft.

She cautiously sat down where she stood, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“I don’t want to do this, trust me. Remove your shirt,” Erlan said, walking up to her slowly. She paused but then seemed to obey. She pulled her shirt up and slipped it over her head, holding it in front and only exposing her back. Erlan let out a tired breath. “All the way, Owlet. How am I to wrap the bandages? I do not care about your child-like body.” He walked around her to her back, and she dropped the shirt hesitantly.

“Raise your arms.”

Again, she obeyed. He got her wounds wrapped and herbal paste spread across them for faster healing. Whether she liked it or not, she felt great relief.

They again walked all day, and Val had kept much closer to them now - only a couple of steps behind. She carried nothing while they were loaded up with gear and weapons.

“We should have come across a sign already. The forest shifted too much since we came.” Marat said, looking up at the trees. “We travel opposite the compass’s direction. Away from the hut. The forest is dark, but it is finite,” he turned to Val, “You’d better pray to your gods we come out the same way we came, or the journey will be much, much longer.”

When again they stopped, the younger man had left camp to hunt. This time, they’d started a fire, and Val had been relieved to sit close to it. She ate what she was given and drank from the same flask. They were two days and a night away from the Hag’s clearing. She did not know how far they would go, but she’d grown to loathe the forest.

Slowly, she remembered that she had not always been there. There was a time when she had seen homes with carved animals decorating their roofs. There was a time that maybe she had lived in one. A house that did not breathe, where the rankness did not cling to her clothes and hair. Instead, the fragrance of flowers, starch, and bread filled the rooms.

She’d closed her eyes and remembered the smell of burning birchwood in the stove. But then the Hag was there, and her vision was gone - startled awake and in a cold sweat.

It was the third day. And they still walked against the direction of the compass. The trees around them slowly began to change. Their trunks are not as thick. Light snuck through the treetops. The mood of the three travelers improved with these changes. The men joked among themselves, and portions of food had become bigger. She had not seen a chort in days now and felt the two men’s company was to thank for that. She began feeling gratitude toward them.

Suddenly, as if stung, Marat jumped up. This movement scared Val, and she froze. Erlan ran over to his brother, them looking at something in the man’s hands.

It took but a moment, and the air changed.

The compass had spun, its needle now pointing in a different direction.