Into the Deep Wood

Blood, everywhere, mud, blood, indistinguishable from each other. Men slipped on the spilled innards of the fallen, tripping over the bodies not yet stomped into the ground.

Yaro braced himself against the inner wall of the gate, his head hazy, breathing hard, praying to any god that would have him still that he did not pass out. An echo sounded at the back of his head like someone had been shouting. Shouting something important.

He looked up, and men were running toward the road leading into the city.

“Cowards!” He hissed, but he saw them slow, then turn.

“The Ember Sword!” They shouted, turning back.

“Thank-fuck, Marat!” Yaro wheezed and hobbled forward, his right leg all but crushed by the impact of a dying man’s weight.

As he neared, Yaro saw that the man was carrying something heavy draped over his shoulders.

“Get a fire! Get light!” Marat shouted with a raspy, strained voice. “Up on the walls!”

“Fire on the wall!” Yaro repeated, louder, to the men still atop the battlements, then rushed to Marat.

His eyes widened when he realized what it was he carried.

“I-s that–”

“Get boards, ropes, get wood. Up on the walls….” Marat didn’t let him finish.

“Give it here.” Yaro took the weight from him, allowing the exhausted man to catch his breath.

“It cannot wait,” Marat straightened, and helping Yaro, they moved forward.

The battle was loud, although much fewer men were left standing still. Bodies lined the field, the walls, and the road beyond. Machinery lay in ruin or went unmanned. But the horde pushed on.

The rain had lightened then, only a sprinkle leaving a light dew on the mangled bodies lying in heaps. A fire roared to life Somewhere high on the walls, three torches put to damp wood and lamp oil.

Unconsciously, many men’s eyes flew up to it - and before they could look away, a man stood tall in front of it, facing the armies beyond.

“Stand back!” He shouted with all the might of his lungs, the cold, humid air scratching at his throat.

At his words, two men brought something large forward to the flames, and the fire caught it despite the dampness - illuminating it in the night - visible even from afar.

“Stand back!” Marat’s voice carried, and in that moment, the flaming weight was dropped, swinging suspended on the outside of the city’s walls. “Your King is dead!”

And all could see the tall man’s body swallowed by the flames, hung by his neck next to the rotten remains of his own people. And, any of those near enough could spot the golden crown upon his brow reflecting the tongues of flame.

Dirty, looking more like an animal than not, Val pulled herself up on the roots, her arms shaking and fingers gripping with the very last that she had. She could see the light far up ahead. The end of the rope would be somewhere near.

When her fingers found it, she breathed relief.

“Ivan…” Her voice broke into a cough, “Ivan!”

She felt the rope tug, and somewhere far above her, dirt came raining down. She flinched, lowering her face, and felt it lifting her up. When she was near enough, the early morning light burned her eyes.

He grabbed her under the armpits and lifted her out without a word, sitting back on the ground, his hold still on her. Neither said anything, sitting against each other, breath coming with great effort. Enough time had passed this way that the sun illuminated the tops of the trees around the clearing.

“Did you…” Ivan asked, leaving the question hanging.

“Yes…” Val answered, her eyes on the still-steaming corpse of the giant serpent. “I found it.”

“Good…”

The laughter rose from within both their chest and burst out at the same time. The absurdity of it all forced its way forward. They laughed, gasping for breath until it had been too much for their exhausted lungs.

“What now?” Ivan asked, pushing himself up to stand and offering her a hand.

Val took it gladly.

“Now we pray it was in time.” She said, receiving a nod in return. “And…”

She turned to the Great Oak, her face losing any remnants of joy.

“...and I must close the Wound.”

“Val…”

“It is what I came for. The Third Sister still sinks the ships off the coasts of the kingdom. The Nothing still seeps through it. I must.”

“Tomorrow.” Ivan insisted. “We worry about that tomorrow.”

She turned to him, taking a deep breath.

“Tomorrow, you must leave.”

He looked at her as if she were speaking in a foreign tongue.

“What?”

“Tomorrow, you must leave.” She repeated. “I do not intend to return. I never did.”

“What are you talking about?” He said louder, unable to stop himself. “Val, what do you mean?”

“I am it, Ivan.” She smiled kindly at him. “Once I close it, I am it. And I cannot, should not leave.”

He looked at her, desperate for any sign that she did not mean what she said.

“I made a promise…” He said quietly. “Not only to him, but to you, to myself.”

Again, she placed her hands on each side of his face, reaching up.

“And you have done so. You kept me safe, so I would get where I needed to be. And I am here. And I will do what I came here to do.”

“No.”

“Ivan.” There was irritation in Val’s voice now. “What is one woman in the face of the world? What is one fate?”

“It isn’t a woman. It’s you, Val. It’s you.”

He looked at her with eyes full of despairing emotion.

“I can’t…”

“You can. And you will. But, I must ask one more thing of you before you do.”

He left in the morning after a tearful goodbye.

The day passed, and she waited, willing the forest to whisper to her when he had gone beyond it. Then, she stood, placing a hand on the Great Oak.

“You didn’t even cry. Years, and you didn’t even cry. You’re so heartless, Nameless One.”

The flap of wings came from above, and Sirin flopped on the ground beside her.

Val smiled.

“His heart was broken enough. I had to be strong enough for the both of us.” She said. “What are you doing here? Do you not know what is to come? You seem to have known it all so far.”

Sirin wobbled over to a root and hopped up on it.

“Sit when company sits.” She instructed.

Val lowered herself to the ground to face the bird.

“I know more than you, that is for sure.” The bird-woman said. “What I don’t know is what you wait for. Why don’t you go on.”

“It’s hard,” Val admitted. “I want to… just one final time. I cannot leave, but he can come. He can come if we have made all the right choices. And I can see him one last time.”

“Selfish. How will he leave, then?”

“I’ll make sure he has a path through.”

“He’s not going to leave you once he gets here.”

“Sirin,” Val’s brows furrowed. “How is it you know so much?”

The bird-woman shifted about on her feet. If there was ever an expression on her face, it changed then.

“I knew the Mistress.” She said, “I knew the Mistress before the voices took her mind.”

“The Hag?”

“Of course, the Hag, but you call her a Hag; I don’t call her a Hag because no one wants to be called a Hag.” Sirin sputtered off. “Now, shush.”

Val nodded in agreement.

“I knew the Mistress before the voices.” She said. “It took a long time, the madness. It took hundreds of years. Maybe thousands. She cared for us, for the forest. She used to answer the cries and soothe them until they grew quiet, for a time.”

Val propped her head up on her palm.

“Can you tell me about her?”

“Why?” Sirin’s face twisted.

“Because she was the first. And I am the last.” Val said. “I want to know why she bound her sisters. Why she did what she had done.”

Sirin seemed satisfied with that.

“We are neither good nor evil, as you have found out with your amazingly fast deductive skills.” Sirin shook her head. “But they had too strong of a hold on the world. So she made sure that how they fed would not destroy it. What was left of us after… after the thing. She didn’t want what was left of us to die off, too.”

“She loved you…”

“She was our caretaker. Our All-Mother.” Sirin sighed, some emotion making its way through the words. “I call her the Mistress because I spent much time by her side. She knew much of the world before, during, and after. But there were too many things in there. She shared many with me so they would not be forgotten.”

“...of me?”

“You weren’t even born yet. The world doesn’t revolve around little farm girls, you know.”

“How did you know about me?”

“I didn’t. She did. Whatever remained somewhere in there when you arrived grabbed desperately at you. I got curious. She hadn’t had her mind for so long that I got curious about you. She didn’t want the Deathless One to eat you like he did the others. She just didn’t know what to do with you once she had you.”

“She wanted my… help?”

“I don’t know what she wanted.” Sirin snapped. “But it was something.”

“Why did she allow me to unbind them if she did not wish them death?”

“Because, like it happened to her, time here corrupts. She didn’t know that at first. She did her best to hide her children all about. But they hurt, and the sun became too bright for them. The air was too polluted, crowded, and too thin to breathe. They begged her for release and she couldn’t do that. Not to her own children.”

Val sat in thought.

“She couldn’t close the Wounds.” She said.

“No, that she could not.”

"Is it because of her that I can?" Val held up Arachne, the spider slowly crawling across her fingers.

"She teaches the unteachable, that's all."

“Do you wish to be unbound?” Val asked quietly. “I’ve seen your weave.”

“You can be awestruck at a different time; it is a very good weave.” Sirin nodded. “But… I don’t know. I do not wish to haunt the forests any longer, yet I cannot leave them. I do not wish to eat the smelly men; I wish to eat bread and be satisfied with that. But what I am does not allow me to be anything but what I am. I want to be free.”

“Will you stay, then?” Val asked.

“I want to watch,” Sirin said quietly. “I want to watch the girl bring the candle into the forest.”

The soldiers did their rounds near the wood, and when the man they awaited appeared at its edge, he was given a horse and quickly escorted to the city. They arrived within a day, greeted by thick columns of nauseating black smoke rising to the sky.

“Funeral fires…” Ivan muttered. “They’re so large…”

“The men who lived here burn with the men who came here.” One of the soldiers beside him said. “That is what the general said. They deserve an honest send-off on their land.”

As soon as they were in sight, mounted men came through the gates and toward them. The one at the front riding fastest of all.

Marat’s eyes fell on the party, and when he spotted Ivan, his quick gaze scanned the rest.

“Where is she?” He said quickly. “Where is Val?”

Ivan’s breath caught, or perhaps his heart jumped and restricted breathing. He shook his head at first.

“What do you mean?” Marat was nearly shouting, and the soldiers exchanged glances, lowering their heads away from view.

“She said–”

“You left her?” Marat’s expression looked like that of a man who might kill another in cold blood just at that moment. “She’s still alive, and you are here?”

“She asked that I tell you to go. She said the forest will guide you to her.” Ivan said quickly.

Not another word was said, and any who shouted after him caught only Marat’s back as he drove his horse ahead and toward the woods.

“He comes,” Val said to no one in particular, and Sirin ruffled her feathers. “He’s reached the edge of the wood.”

“You better do it now then, or the Deathbringer won’t let you.”

“You’re right.” Val sighed. “He won’t.”

She stood at first, brushing the leaves and twigs from her shirt. She was still muddy, her hair unkempt, her gloves long discarded, showing her deep, ugly scars.

She closed her eyes and reached out.

The final Wound was as cold as the earth beneath it. She felt the things crawling about its edges, the vastness inside it going somewhere deep and unknown. She felt for the thread that would bind the Rusalka to it. It came easily. This time, it did not hurt. She heard the screech as if somewhere far away. She felt its anger as the third sister thrashed against it, a fish caught in a net.

Val felt the earth shake beneath her, at first lightly and then violently, and the roots beneath the tree wove into a pattern, the earth and stone beneath them twisting and falling apart.

“You best do it quicker, Nameless One; the trees aren’t happy.” She heard Sirin’s nervous tone behind her. Something she never heard from Sirin before.

Her eyes snapped open, and she jerked her head to the side. The trees were closer and taller, the air around her thickening.

“I don’t think they’ll let the Deathbringer through if you don’t make them right now.” Sirin squawked, pressing herself against the oak. “Forget the Wound; it’s not going anywhere, been here for thousands of years.”

Val quickly placed a palm on the Great Oak, and whispered.

“Burn.”

And, they burned.

All around them, the rot crawled up the trees, and where it touched, the glow of the flame came from within —the tongues of golden red and white lapped at the trunks and soon the branches and the leaves.

On every border to the clearing, the Deep Wood burned.

“Part,” Val said, and they parted.

She sat against the trunk next to Sirin, the sight of the flames painful against her colorless world. No wonder so many had been afraid of fire.

“How far’s the Deathbringer?” Sirin asked.

“Not far. They’ve cleared the way.”

“Hm,” Sirin said thoughtfully. “Well, there it is. Somehow, I always knew you’d burn the place down.”

“Thank you, Sirin,” Val said, reaching out and brushing the bird’s feathers with her fingers. “Thank you for all you have done so I may be where I am.”

The bird woman did not answer her at first, waiting so long that Val had already given up listening for it.

“I think I’d like to go now,” Sirin said.

“Where?”

“We just talked about it.” Sirin scoffed. “Still do not listen.”

“You’d like to be unbound?”

“Yes.” Sirin bobbed her head. “I think I want to go before the Deathbringer gets here. I do not wish to smell him or to listen to his whining about you dying. It’s pathetic, and it takes too long.”

Val smiled.

“Will it hurt?” Sirin asked suddenly.

“I’ll be very, very careful,” Val promised her, “Do you want me to hold you?”

“Ew.”

The thread was silky, like running your fingertips along a feather. She handled them with utmost care, working with one, then another, allowing them to slack but not tangle.

“He’s going to try to ruin everything like men do,” Sirin said somewhere outside of Val’s consciousness.

“What?” She held on to the threads, the last of the ties that she had not let go.

“I said he is going to try and ruin everything. Deathbringer is dramatic, and he is going to try and ruin everything. Whether you let him is up to you.” Sirin repeated. “I do not plan on elaborating anymore, so let me go.”

Val’s hands slacked, and the final of the threads fell away, leaving her completely alone.

He is going to try and ruin everything.