Into the Deep Wood

Another day passed. Both brothers were not talkative that day; whenever Val would try to strike up a conversation, their answers were short and final. Eventually, she gave up, instead busying herself with sightseeing, counting insects, and picking up interesting pebbles.

Neither brother went to sleep that night. There was no place to conceal them along the road as if to add to their bad luck. They had to keep themselves low as the grass and without fire.

In the morning, Marat had gone out to scout - again.

“Are we in danger?” Val asked Erlan, sitting cross-legged with her breakfast of dried wild onion. Its small, oval shape did nothing to excite the senses. Once you bit the whole, it burst forth with pungent onion flavor. All they had left were the onions or prairie turnips. Both of which Val choked down only out of ravenous hunger.

“Always, Owlet,” Erlan said softly.

“What’s worrying you?” She came to sit by him, but as she did, he turned away. She sat down anyway, although hesitantly.

“Something’s scared all game away.” He said. “Have you not noticed the quiet, how there are no birds, not even crows?”

She thoughtfully looked around. She supposed she hadn’t noticed.

Erlan glanced around as if nervous that his brother would hear and get angry that Erlan had been divulging too much to the girl. “There is nothing but the plains ahead for a long time. No settlement, no vagabond’s respite. These lands are not named for their favors to pilgrims.”

They looked ahead in silence, Val suddenly feeling very unprepared. She had felt easy since they’d left the forest, but now, for the first time, she had truly remembered that there were dangers outside the woods. How naive she was still.

“Why do you not wish to meet other travelers on the road? Why do we sleep in hiding?” she asked quietly, immediately regretting it as it made her seem more ignorant than she already felt.

But Erlan did not show that he thought less of her.

“At times, people can be just as cruel and malicious as the beasts of the Nothing.” He answered. “And this road connects four capitols of four nations in rivalry. Long ago, it was agreed that there would be no conflict on the road. But that was forgotten in the recent decade. When we had left the city there was talk of war. The king had been gathering his generals and made promises to whoever would brave the mountains, forests, and lakes and bring him an edge against his adversaries. He would reward them with riches and titles. Although, should he fail, those would not serve anyone well. So that edge had better be very, very good. There are many men who would attack travelers on the road just to see. That is why we do not reveal ourselves.”

“Is that why you are bringing me there?” She asked, playing with her hands. Perhaps it was not just Marat who believed these… superstitions. She never gave thought as to why the both of them truly were keeping her safe. “Because you believe I am a Golden and hope to trade me?”

He looked at her, and his hand lifted her chin from where her head was bowed.

“Don’t worry, Owlet. You are safe.”

And for a moment, she thought back to her village, Ura, and how she’d wished at that time for a fairy tale moment he could not give her. How much she dreaded that they could wed. And at this time, she wondered why it had popped into her mind.

She felt the moment tense as he held eye contact with her, his hand dropping but resting against her leg.

She wondered if he would try to kiss her. This seemed like the type of moment that could happen...

His hand traveled to just above her knee.

But then he dropped it suddenly and looked away.

She could not read his thoughts or his expression. And had promptly decided that perhaps she had been older than she thought when she had left the Hag’s clearing. She watched her hands age, but there was no mirror to see herself. Perhaps the months or years, who knew, had been unkind to her, and now she was hideous. The sleepless nights and lack of food, the beatings and exposure to the summer sun. All that had remained of her already plain face was it mangled by the abuse?

She had not seen herself since before she had left home.

Val stood without a word and walked off where she could be alone.

Erlan heard her quiet steps, resting his chin on his hand; he sighed and rubbed his temples with the other. He was but a man, and Marat would kill him.

Marat had returned far later than they expected. He had not hidden from view, walking out in the open on the road. A notched post stood on the side, marking six days of travel. Erlan had stepped out to greet him, troubled by the lack of tact.

“What is the point.” The older brother snapped. “There is no one on the road! Not for leagues ahead!”

Val did not dare approach. She had not seen Marat lose his temper before. Although the ever-pessimist, neither Marat nor his brother had ever raised their voice.

Marat threw what remained of the gear he had taken with him on the ground and delivered a forceful kick to the notched post. The wood split and sent it down with a loud crack.

Not looking back at the other two, he stomped off to where their camp had been. They followed although Val’s steps had been far more cautious.

“The armies must have left!” Marat had continued to storm. “Otherwise, why would carts ahead have their wheels split and breeching straps cut? Why would the farmers' bags be on the cobblestones, emptied of their holdings? It’s all for nothing. We are too late! The fucking Hag!” he kicked the dirt, sending a wave of it flying forward.

Erlan sat down, not taking his eyes off his brother.

“You could be wrong.”

Marat turned as if Erlan had delivered a slap to his face.

“I’m wrong? I’M WRONG?”

They faced off, Erlan jumping up to eye level with him. Val could see the veins on Marat’s forehead and prayed that this was not how the journey ended. To her dismay, she saw the older brother’s hand hover over his hunter's knife.

Gods, no. She had to leave.

They’d stood there for what felt like enough time for the heart to beat a thousand times over. Then, Erlan dropped his eyes, his posture relaxing somewhat.

“If we are too late, we’ll have to turn around. It will be more than two weeks before we reach a settlement in the other direction.” Marat said, “No horses, no provisions. I’m so sick of rabbit meat.”

“Only a setback.” Erlan urged. “If Aisultan is dead or captured, we go to Batyr.”

“Batyr does not know us. The chances of us not being shot on sight if we are at war are low. What is the point of the girl, then? Might as well let her go.” Marat sat down, and Erlan followed. “Make a fire.”

Val paused, looking to Erlan momentarily - she thought they said they wouldn’t start fires here. Was he talking to her…?

Wait, let her go?

Marat saw the glance and stepped toward her.

“I said, make a fire.” his tone was forceful. Erlan did not move from where he stood and did not try to interfere.

A chill ran through her, something reminiscent of the Glade. The crone’s commands, the tone, the looming, threatening presence.

She obeyed quickly, her eyes cast downward.

It occurred to her that these men were mere strangers to her. She’d treated them like friends, Erlan almost as a potential… interest, even. But she had only known them… had it even been a month? She knew nothing of them, not even where they came from. She knew that they were well-learned and capable, that they were brothers, and that they’d collected artifacts, trinkets, and ingredients from the Deep Wood. What else?

She began panicking. What else? What else??