Into the Deep Wood

Ivan could hear the cicadas outside the tent despite the sounds of a thousand sleeping men. Nearby, Yaro was wrapped in no less than three blankets, his usual snores oddly quiet.

It was the morning. He remained awake the entire night, a strange feeling looming at the forefront of his mind. Soon, the rest would begin to stir, and then…

He did not know what happened then.

They had not spoken much. He saw the hurt on her face that he had left, and when he returned it hurt that she was surprised. She could not know he’d done it for her.

Marat came to him before the Battle on the Hills, in secret, when no one was around.

“You must find out if Korschey knows. If he is Nothing-touched, he would have felt the Wound close. You must find out where the horde is and who will be looking for her. Tell no one that you’re leaving, not even her.” the general had told him.

And so, Ivan went. He went because he understood. The Witch was no match for Korschey. Not if he was a Nothing-touched god. And she would be the first that he would hunt.

He listened, he spoke, and he rode fast. He saw the men in heavy cloaks with their wildly expensive swords - the king's guard, as they rode. There were so many small outfits of them, moving so fast. He saw them in the Deep Wood. They brought hunters with them. They would search the world. And, they would find her if it wasn’t for Marat.

And only Marat.

Ivan sighed. What had remained of his pride had long gone, but not his heart. Never his heart.

“Ivan.”

The words came hushed, in secret, outside the tent. The man pushed aside his blankets, smoothing his disheveled blond hair, and quietly came outside. Marat waited for him.

“Let’s take a walk.”

They did not speak again until they reached the edge of the trees. The camp was left far behind. At the back of his mind, Ivan thought that perhaps this was the time Marat would decide that Ivan cast one too many glances at the Witch.

“Ivan,” Marat said again. “Do you love her?”

A trick question… it had to be.

It had to be because Marat knew full well how Ivan felt. So this really was the end for Ivan.

“Since the moment I met her.”

“Would you die for her?” The general continued.

“I would.”

“I must ask something of you. And it may very well mean that you will face that choice.”

They strolled slower, the tension only broken by the chill of the morning biting at their exposed skin.

“She means to go into the Deep Wood. To the last Wound.” Marat said. “I cannot go with her, may gods forgive me, but I cannot. Nor would she let me.”

“You wish me to go in your stead.” Ivan finished his words.

“I know that you are the only one I can count on. You are a pathfinder; you have been to the Deep Wood Wound. And you have a great love for her. I know this. And trust me when I say that my pride fights against this even knowing what I know.” Marat stopped, locking eyes in seriousness with him. “Once we arrive at Volkograd, and you at the Great Oak, she will have three days. This is what she has said. Three days to find Korschey’s death. Three days until I move to kill him. You must make sure she makes it there to do so. Three days.”

“What was that, three days?” Ivan saw his joke did not land.

“Don’t make me regret asking you.”

“What of the time shifts in the woods?”

Marat scratched the back of his head, allowing only a moment to show he was not confident in his words.

“She says that the woods are afraid. That they will not touch her after what happens today.”

Ivan nodded, his eyes on the tip of his boot as he shuffled frosty dirt with the toe.

“What happens when we find Korschey’s death?” He asked.

“She will close the final Wound.”

The two men looked at each other. Ivan’s blood cooled at the expression on the general’s face.

“You must be there, and you must save her from what comes after. The will of the gods is that she dies, too. But, if the gods have such a say, then I should, too. And it is my will that you bring her home.”

When all soldiers gathered and were ready to move out, they stopped far away from the effigy, only Marat and the Witch riding to it.

She let go of her horse, urging it away. The animal did not have to be prompted twice, it was glad to leave the woman behind.

Marat dismounted. He knelt in front of her, taking her hand. He spoke something to her, although Ivan could not hear. When the general stood, he spoke loudly for all.

“Whatever happens here, you will not approach! You will not leave! Whatever happens here, you will know that the sacrifice she gives is for you! For your families! For the South, the East, and the West!”

He did not remain with her and instead rode away to where Ivan, the Prince, King, and Yaro sat atop their horses. The look on Marat’s face cast dread over Ivan, although their eyes did not meet.

The Witch stood with her back straight, facing the forest. The effigy was right behind her, so close that if the Witch were to step back her foot would crush one of the many branches composing the site of the bonfire.

Everything was quiet. Unnaturally quiet.

Ivan looked at Typhonos, then Dimos. Their expressions were chiseled from stone and so alike. He looked to Marat, just in time, because he saw the man’s lips move.

“Burn,” Marat whispered.

The phoenix feather within the depths of the effigy roared to life.

The fire spread fast, eating at the dry wood, swallowing the scaffolding, and gripping its way through to the very top.

It lit so fast that a wave of heat spread across the plain, and men recoiled as it rolled over their faces. Ivan closed his eyes and let it wash over him. Under the notes of burning wood he smelled the fragrance of the Witch, and his heart squeezed.

She felt him leave, knowing that she only had heartbeats before the flame behind her came to life. Val closed her eyes.

The last time she had reached out to the Deep Wood it had overwhelmed her. It took everything she had, but, it had allowed them to pass through. It was afraid.

It was afraid still.

She reached out, this time her mind and gloved hands moving forward at once.

Thousands of threads were braided into one, the Deep Wood whispers glowing around it.

“Part.” She mouthed.

It’s energy burst with such hate that she felt her body seize, every muscle cramping at once before the sensation fell away.

She felt the heat at her back, and, as she always had - she felt her body warm.

“Part.” She commanded again.

And, again, its hate barreled toward her, the darkest of its depths producing evil that washed over her like poison, melting into her skin.

The effigy burned, and she felt that same fire that consumed it begin to form within. She wanted to scream as the sudden excruciating pain bloomed inside her, but she could not break the mental bond, lest it swallow her whole.

“Part.”

The Witch was too close, the tongues of flame bright against her. Ivan lurched forward, but Marat held out his arm, stopping him.

“You trusted her, trust her still.” He said grimly.

The pathfinder looked on.

He looked on as the flames crawled.

He looked on as they caught every last bit of the effigy –and he looked on as the Witch herself went up in flames.

It caught his breath, and similarly, he heard every man around him gasp, or yell—all but Marat.

“Trust.” The man repeated, his eyes on the Witch.

Her hair whipped about in the violent firestorm, but it did not burn. Her flesh was consumed, but it did not darken. Her clothes were washed away in the flame, turning to ash. All but the gloves. She never lowered her hand, never bent her posture, and her expression did not change.

She stood as a vision from a nightmare, as bright as the sun, as unbelievable as the very first day he saw her.

The earth around her feet began to darken.

Then death crawled from the burning effigy, from the Witch, and the grass decomposed rapidly where it went. It reached the first line of soldiers first, and the horses stirred in fear as the plants under their feet died and shriveled away.

“Remain!” Marat shouted to the men at the top of his lungs, his eyes still on the Witch.

The black earth stirred as if something had been disturbing it underneath, and it rushed toward the Deep Wood.

As it reached the border, an ear-piercing, otherworldly scream bent every man away from the trees. Ivan grabbed for his ears, pressing his palms against them, but kept his eyes on her.

By gods, but she was beautiful, terrifying, everything that she had ever been.

The darkness crept, faster now, among the trees, and where it touched, they fell. Where it slithered up their trunks, they crumbled away as if thousands of years of rot ate at them all at once.

One by one, they shriveled and seeped into the earth.

Where the Witch pointed her finger, the Deep Wood met its end.

The effigy crumpled down as the trees had, and every tongue of flame extinguished.

Where the screams of the forest and the rumble of the giant flames roared, only quiet remained—only the smell of burning wood and rotting bark.

Beyond the Witch was a valley - clear of trees, that stretched as far as any man could see.

Thats when Marat kicked his horse, urging it forward, and Ivan followed right behind.

The Witch collapsed where she stood, and when they neared, she was breathing hard. She spat a bit of saliva mixed in with blood onto the dirt, and her hand came up to wipe her brow, the other desperately attempting to cover herself. She was otherwise unharmed.

Marat put his cloak over her hurriedly; then both men helped her rise, her body weak.

“You’ve done it, Val,” Marat told her quietly.

She smiled slightly, but no noise escaped her lips.

The men exchanged looks.

“Take her back, get ready. The army will move out in less than an hour. When they start moving, so must you.”

Ivan nodded. An unsure look crossed Val’s face, but she did not protest.

“Come on,” Ivan boosted her up onto the horse and led it forward. His stomach clenched at the sight of the Witch. There was so little left of her.

But, if he must, he would carry her wherever they needed to go.