Into the Deep Wood

The main road was wide and partially paved. Last they came through there; everything was under a deep, tightly packed layer of snow. It was easier to travel in the summer. They came out further east than they had entered. There were twelve notches on the post next to the road. It was almost a week's walk to the nearest city.

The brothers talked ahead, their tones exasperated and low.

Val sat on a rock, one of many lining the road. She looked around curiously. Everything was still so new. As if a new life altogether. As if the Hag’s Glade was a nightmare, dreamt up by someone else.

She and Erlan had almost begun to be friends. But Marat constantly reminded her that he did not care for her. It seemed he did not care for much in general, so it did not bother her as much.

They never disturbed her in the night. She never had to sleep on the ground or without a tent if conditions were rough. When eating, she was provided food first, never asked to hunt, and never made to get the water for any broth they made.

She lived in servitude for so long, denied the basics, and subject to beatings and emotional abuse - compared to that, this was a pleasant stroll in the orchards. She did not mind having to sleep outside. The open air and smells of grasses soothed her. The brother’s treatment of her had made her feel safe.

The only thing that plagued her mind now was that Marat had told her the night before. It felt like a story. Like a legend. Many of them had been told over her lifetime - not that particular one but similar. They were spoken of around campfires by the elderly folk sitting on benches in the summer. She heard of the All-Father but under a different name and no mention of the Nothing at all.

Of course, she knew now that there was a lot of merit to the Nothing. And the things that lurked in the forest shadows, too. But still - the people’s superstitions reached far. She had decided that this story he told her would be tucked far away for now. If it kept her safe and fed, she could be a Golden for a while longer.

There was much talk of Tarahz. Listening in on the brothers, Val gathered that it was the capital of the East. They were very intent on taking her there.

The two men finally returned.

“We will follow the main road, but we camp away from it; if no hills or outcroppings are nearby, we do not light a fire,” Marat instructed Erlan, knowing that Val had also been forewarned even though he did not look at her. He hadn’t since the previous night.

Val wondered about that. Had Marat shown her something that he’d not meant to?

The trip would be long, and the road was lined with the same grassy nothing as the day before. To entertain themselves, Erlan and Val had fallen into a friendly conversation.

“What is a watermerchant, and why do you need its bones?” She asked

“It is a small, man-like animal that lives in lakes and swamp lands,” Erlan explained. “Truly not a man at all but creature like them all. The fine white hairs that cover their bodies trap air and keep them warm in the deep waters. But do not mistake them for peaceful passers-by. They are called merchants because they catch people when they swim - and switch bones with them.”

“What…” Val made a disgusted face, trying hard to picture how one would trade bones with someone else.

“Their bones grow outside their body when they are hunting or are trapped on the defensive,” Erlan explained.

“Like hairy frogs…” Val whispered, fascinated. These frogs had been in one of the books her father had gifted her. They’d produce and retract their bones to pierce through their predators.

“They eat the marrow of the people they catch. It's not exactly switching bones, but it is close.” He continued. “If one is to hunt a watermerchant, one has to be very careful. They will pierce leather, but they cannot pierce a net. Should they be dried out for a day or two, they’ll die - and then you can strip them of their bones.”

“But what for?” Val insisted.

“They harden a man’s desire for his wife,” Marat answered instead of Erlan, walking ahead of them. “Or, for any woman unlucky enough to cross his path.”

He’d thought himself funny, it seemed.

“What else?” Val asked excitedly. This was a world she had not known and she wondered how it was that others did. Was her whole village so sheltered?

“A chucktoad produces a kidney stone of sorts the more it gorges itself on water horsetail plants.” Erlan seemed to be reciting now. “The stones act as an antidote to all poisons.”

“Don’t know how true the ‘all’ part is, as no one that had been wrong has lived to tell about it,” Marat noticed.

“Mandrake plants, when crushed and boiled, stabilize acid mixtures.” It seemed Erlan was more excited about alchemy than he was a bestiary. “But one does not pull mandrake out of the ground - it must be trimmed. If damaged, the root releases deadly gas that kills its handler rather quickly. And this is why it has not been made a commodity in personal gardens.”

Val had never met anyone who knew so much. Her father had been reserved, but now she wondered - through his many travels if he had gathered this same knowledge these two men carried.

“And what about the trinkets you had bartered?” She asked next. “What of them have been your best?”

“Best is not a term that I would use, girl,” Marat said. “For every trinket is made by a trickster force, they’re Nothing-touched. It does not come without a penance. No blessing comes without a curse.”

“Your favorite then?” She changed her question.

The brothers exchanged glances.

“The seven league stride boots,” Erlan said, grinning. “They were red and light as a feather. A baron had bought them from us for his noble letter carrier. Each step in them had carried you seven leagues in whatever direction you stepped.”

“Too bad he stepped and found himself in the middle of the lake,” Marat added.

“And yours?” She asked Marat, his sour contributions tiring her. “Do you have a favorite, or is it all doom and gloom?”

This caught him visibly off guard. They walked silently for a minute, and it did not seem like he would answer her.

“A devil’s green coat.” He said finally.

“What’s that?” She demanded, seeing he was not going to continue.

“It is a coat; its pockets are always full of gold no matter how much you take out.” He said. “The trick is, if you reach your hand in - you can’t take it out again.”

“That makes no sense. How is this?”

“A merchant had bought it. He planned on growing rich and fat through no work of his own. He thought himself more clever than the rest - and turned the coat inside out - cutting the bottom of the pocket. And gold fell out, sure, but the pocket never filled again. He’d spent more on the coat than he ever found in it. Served him right; his sin was greed.” Marat explained.

They’d walked and camped for three days. It came easy, as the road through the Insipid Flatlands was not nearly as menacing as its name suggested. There was plenty of game. Streams were running through the deposits of clay - purifying it. The days were not too hot despite the sun, and the nights were not too cold. The moon was large here - as Val had never seen before. It seemed like a giant pearl with all of its lustrous glow.

Each day, Marat’s mood had grown darker. On the dawn of the fourth day, he had the last watch and spent it intently on the road.

Erlan had stepped up by him, looking as far as he could see.

“There hasn’t been anyone else traveling these roads,” Marat said. “In three days, we had not seen a mortal soul. Something isn’t right.”

“Perhaps there are no travelers west as there is war.” Erlan offered. “A quake had maybe broken the road with no way through?”

Marat shook his head no.

“No armies are marching. The soil does not beat with their steps.”

Val joined them as if her presence was at all helpful. She’d grown bolder each day, not the meek girl she once was. It felt as if the torture she’d endured was the worst that could ever be, and being thought of as stupid or judged by others truly paled in comparison. She would have rather known a hundred people laugh at what she had to say than spend a day worried about such an insignificant occurrence.

“There is a reason the roads are clear, and should we meet it a day's journey forward, it is still better than meeting it here,” Erlan said.