Into the Deep Wood

"So what do you want to do, Marat?” Erlan asked, the flames dancing above their heads as all three sat around them. The smoke kept circling. The men did not pay it heed, but Val moved away from it several times, annoyed.

Marat stared silently into the fire, absentmindedly chewing his nails.

“We keep going.” He said finally. “If the armies had left and did not return - so be it. If they had been slain in their city, then Batyr’s men would be there, either way, a shorter walk - whether to our death or not, it matters not.”

Erlan nodded.

Val felt her heart jump. To their deaths? Surely they did not mean to take her to her death? Not after everything she had survived…

“What’s left.” Marat did not ask so much as demand an answer.

“Some prairie turnip and wild onions,” Val said quietly.

“Up the road, a half day’s walk, a river flows under three bridges. The rains must have been heavy and the snow plentiful because it is full - the last year's banks completely under water.” Marat told them. “We make it there early and spend time fishing. We’ll dry the fish and ready ourselves for more harsh terrain. Whatever it is clearing these lands of game and fowl will surely be ahead.

The night was disturbed for all. There was no wind, no noise, and yet all tossed and turned, getting very little sleep.

Val could not get comfortable and kept feeling pebbles underneath her. When she had managed to doze off - she’d dreamt of herself on the cot inside the hut, the Hag reaching for her as she slept. Her hands would grasp, and Val would clench her teeth, unable to scream. They’d pull at her nightshirt, and Val would try to hold it to her chest.

She awoke to hands in the dark grasping at her.

In her confusion and a fire that had already turned to ashen coals, she did not see whose shape it was that retreated into the dark. She pulled herself to be as small as she could possibly become - her knees up to her chin, hectically looking around. She felt her body shiver, although the night was warm. Who was awake? Who has stood guard?

And this is how she spent the night until morning.

She did not speak as they walked, Erlan shooting her concerned glances as he and Marat led the way ahead. She pressed her arms to herself and did not meet either of their eyes.

Marat’s temper grew the further they had gone. When Val could not keep up, he’d turn and tell her to hurry. His tone was rough and unforgiving. She’d been a burden since they plucked her from Hag’s clutches. To get rid of her as soon as fate would allow would be best.

Erlan would take every opportunity to look back at the girl. Since the very moment he had held her face, he could not help but think of her. Since they had brought her out of captivity, fed her, and let her rest, her cheeks had filled out, and her skin had regained color. Although still skinny, she’d recovered to now look like a woman, not a girl. If he were to guess, she was surely in her mid-youth - no more than thirty years old. Although not an exceptional beauty, she held an innocent and pure charm. She reminded him of the woman who lived in the river lands of Chelkalka.

It was a set of small towns, appropriately called the River Cities, interconnected by rivers and closely knit together. They’d grown prosperous over the years but did not attract many visitors as the residents were harsh to outsiders and did not even have an inn. Some theorized that the townfolk had learned to pull gold from the river. These towns were settled long ago before the territories were even divided. The women’s very light features could be distinguished anywhere. Fair skin, green eyes, and hair that had turned golden under the summer sun. They had high cheekbones and wine-red lips.

A series of mishaps had slowed them down, making it difficult to make good time. It seemed the heavy rains had washed away a part of the road. In its stead was left a cracked, dry dirt under which red mud had remained soft. Erlan had been the one to step into it, thinking it had been solid ground. His boot immediately sank, making him lose balance and fall forward. He braced himself on one knee and sank partially into the mud.

Val gasped and covered her mouth, nervously running her eyes across the vast area that had hidden this under the dried-out terrain. It distinguished itself with shallow separations which took on an almost scaly appearance. This deceptive ground ran widely across to where the road resumed.

“You dunce,” Marat said under his breath, his words poisoned with disdain. He walked over to where his brother knelt.

He reached out his arm, and, twisting his body Erlan had managed to grab it. Leveraging himself in the opposite direction, Marat had managed to pull him loose - although his boot remained buried and his pants caked with red mud.

The older brother turned away from him, silently declining to be of further assistance. Erlan did not even look at him, crouching just beyond the stuck boot and considering it carefully.

“Drink, then give me the canteen.” He instructed.

Val took a healthy sip and passed it to Marat, who took a deep chug as if being spiteful. Water spilled down his chin and onto his shirt. He lowered the canteen as if proud of himself and tossed it to Erlan.

Erlan took the water, and without putting it to his lips, he poured it around the perimeter of the boot. The mud immediately softened, making it possible to retrieve. Not having anything to clean it, he slipped the boot on, hoping the day's heat would dry the dirt and allow it to flake off on its own.

It set them back half a day to go down the drying mudslide channel. Finally, they came to a rocky area where the boulders were too large to have been washed away. This would be their best chance to cross.

Like children in puddles, they jumped from one to another to make it across.

Of course, on the last step, Marat had landed just wrong enough that a crack and a heartbeat later, he grunted and propelled himself to the other side with one last push, landing on his hip - his ankle twisted.

“GODS FUCK!” He roared, grabbing whatever rocks and dirt were under his hand and throwing them in whichever direction was before him. He pulled himself up to a seated position, his face red, and threw the pack off his shoulder. It landed, sliding, and stopped with a small cloud of dust floating down on top.

His jaw clenched, he pulled his ankle closer, rolling the pant leg up. He forced it to bend with his hands and cried out in pain.

His brother hurried over, lowering his pack and digging for bandages. He had to restrict the movement and keep it from swelling. Gods knew that his older brother would not know what to do.

But Marat swiped at him, pushing Erlan off his feet and back.

“You idiot, sit still,” Erlan said calmly, ignoring Marat’s outburst. He steadied himself and tossed the bandages to Marat, walking away toward Val - who stood frozen, watching the scene play out from a distance away. She felt her heart rate increase, and her palms began to sweat. She’d become more afraid of the man than ever; it seemed he kept giving her more reasons to do so.

She did not doubt that it was Marat’s hands she felt in the night.