Into the Deep Wood

And so, the trio had spent an entire day on a half day’s journey. They had no water left, and it seemed this was the hottest of the days that they had been on the road.

They heard the river before they saw it; the rumbling should have been welcome, but a strange feeling hung in the air. Marat limped, supported by Erlan, who now carried both their packs and his brother. Upon hearing the river, their pace quickened, thirst being a bigger driver than anything else that day. All three were discouraged at this point, most of all Val. She hadn’t spoken. She retreated to the back of the group, keeping her eyes down and only anxiously looking up whenever she heard Marat grunt or speak. She watched the man closely.

The three bridges were named Semey Bridges, in an old dead language, after a serpent. This was largely due to the three, one after another, arching like the shape of a serpent - each section of its torso above water. The three stone giants had connected a very wide river. Although the water was safe to drink, it, too, ran red like the dirt of the Insipid Flatlands.

No vegetation grew along its banks, although all the animal inhabitants would come down to drink. The banks themselves were dangerous to approach and only allowed it in a few places - they were smoothed with the same slick crimson mud that the three had encountered earlier that day. It was from this river that the smaller streams originated. These had kept their canteens and flasks full. The currents were strong, washing away the red clay.

They had set up camp at the base of the first bridge, not bothering to conceal themselves away from the path. Erlan had stared down into the river for a long time, trying to figure out how to retrieve the water without going far downstream and looking for a safe path. He took one of the heavily waxed cloths they carried and tied it up as one would a bag on a rope. He then lowered it down from the bridge, quickly pulling it up the second it took on water. Much of it still drained out, but enough had been left that all could drink and satisfy their thirst.

Nighttime came, Val having still not spoken a word. Marat had not even noticed, but Erlan had stared at her nearly all evening. The older brother had fallen asleep, but Erlan could not shake the concern and scooted closer to her by the fire.

“What’s wrong, Owlet?”

She was tense and did not look at him when he spoke.

“Nothing…” she muttered.

“You hadn’t spoken a word all day.” He pried.

“Haven’t felt like it.”

Normally, they all slept around the fire, if there was one. This time, no one felt the need to stay awake and keep watch. They had not seen a mortal soul in a week, and Marat’s scouting had not revealed a thing ahead.

“You are agonizingly chatty.” Marat had groaned from a few feet away, disturbed by their conversation. He stood with difficulty, grabbing his bedroll and hobbling away - unmoved by being far from the firepit.

“You can tell me.” Erlan insisted, getting frustrated that her demeanor had changed drastically from days before. “You have to tell me.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Her voice was quieter now. “Please leave.”

He sat, intensely looking at her in silence.

“Was it something I’d done?”

Val felt that he would not leave if she gave him nothing but had no strength to continue this senseless discussion. She moved away from him, grabbing her blankets and walking opposite where Marat had gone. She had not gone to where she couldn’t see the fire, but the thought of being asleep around the men now filled her with dread.

She’d dreamt of the Glade again. Of sitting at the table, a bowl of rancid, spoilt sludge before her. The Hag was standing over her. The horrid wrinkly face was so close to hers. She’d not fed Val in days, and now this was the only thing she gave her to eat. No… forced her to eat.

Even in her dream, she remembered the smell of it. She felt the bile rise and turned away, but the crone wrapped her arm around her head, forcing her face forward. She held Val’s mouth open with her hand - her chipped, ragged fingernails digging into Val’s skin. Her other hand held a spoon - stuffing it into Val’s mouth and quickly holding it shut so Val could not spit it out, and was she to throw up, she’d have to swallow that as well.

The sensation felt terrifying and so real.

So… real…

Her eyes shot open, dream vanishing into the night air, but the sensation had not gone. Over her mouth was a rough hand pressing tightly. Confused, she tried to yank away but found that something substantially large had been pressed against her chest. She tried to push it but was met with a strong resistance that she could not budge. She screamed, but the scream had been reduced to a muted hum by whatever was covering her mouth.

“Hush, Owlet.”

With horror, she heard Erlan’s voice whisper to her from above. She thrashed, trying to throw him off, but his grip on her was too strong. She felt him shift, moving from next to her to sitting on top of her. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. He removed the elbow from her, relying on his weight to keep her down.

Now, the two brothers had not been very large men. Larger and heavier than Val but not as big as the farmers she grew up with. Marat was the bigger of the two, but not by much. Val previously guessed that they were stronger and more agile than they let on - the ease with which they carried their packs, swung their blades to chop through the tightly woven brush in the forest and climbed difficult rock formations led her to feel safe in their company.

She did not feel safe now.

His weight was hurting her; she found it hard to breathe. Her eyes were wild, her thoughts completely blank except to get away. She felt him bend down to her ear.

“You’d wanted me to kiss you just the other night. Your eyes had begged for it, Owlet.”

She tried to scream again, but the scream got stuck in her throat.

“You’d been there, in the Glade, a long time.” He continued, his tone alone would have been terrifying under different circumstances. “But how old were you when you arrived? Were you a woman yet?”

The hand that did not hold her mouth moved down - tracing a line from her chin to just below her ribcage. She jerked again, but it quickly pressed down on her wrist, his knee on the other.

“You’d dreamed of me ever since I’d given you my shirt. You wear it still.”

And just then, her body calmed. A strange sensation, her muscles failed to fight. Indifference washed over her - Erlan accepted her lack of resistance as an invitation.

He’d let go of her wrist, still keeping her mouth secured. He’d fumbled with his belt.

And out of the dark came down another heavy shape. It’d knocked Erlan off of her, the force crushing her wrist as he’d been thrown off. She yelped, her own voice taking her by surprise.

“You steaming pile of bison shit!” Marat had hissed through clenched teeth, delivering a blow to Erlan’s head. The other man, caught unaware, threw his hands up to cover it - but too late. “Are you so fucking stupid,” Another blow, this time to the other side. “To think you of my mother’s flesh is an insult to my line!”

Catching his breath, but only barely, the younger brother pushed at Marat’s chest with one arm, sending a hit to his throat. This did not seem to faze the older man, as he delivered another hit to Erlan’s face. Val heard a gut-wrenching crunch as Erlan’s nose broke.

Now scrambling to get away from Marat’s maniacal rage, which threatened to kill Erlan were he not to resist, he’d managed to catch Marat by his hurt ankle. The shock of the pain forced Marat to pause momentarily - a chance Erlan had taken to throw him off and make it to his feet. He was afraid of his brother and had no plans to go on the offensive.

Marat knelt between Erlan and Val.

“What did you do?!” Marat screamed at him, his breath heavy in his chest. “Are you so stupid that you were to risk IT ALL to stick your cock inside the girl?!”

Erlan remained silent, gasping for breath, which only came at a wheeze. Blood had covered his face and shirt. He held his nose.

“She would be useless to us had you fathered a vermin with your foul intent!”

“I would not have…” Erlan tried, but his voice broke.

“What were you to do with a god? What were you to do had we brought Aisultan NOTHING?! Or worse yet, had we brought him a bred heifer - to bear a child and end both our lives in turn??” Marat’s crazed eyes were visible even in the night’s dark.

Val was curled up in a ball where she had laid.

“A god is better than a vat of gold…” Erlan repeated, spitting blood into the dirt now, weakly.

“A god is better than a vat of gold?!” Marat screamed in disbelief. “What’s better than a vat of gold is getting to keep our lives, our freedom! Do you think for one fucking second that should you have inseminated the girl, the whole of the lands would not hunt us to the ends of the earth? There is a reason only those with armies spill their seed inside the Golden, you fucking fool!”

Erlan wiped the blood away from his eyes and spit, coughing up more.

“Leave, and should I see your face before the girl is in his hands, I will make sure I am the only heir,” Marat warned.

Erlan’s face dropped. He knew his brother’s threats were not made in vain.

“The heir to WHAT? To WHAT, Marat?” He yelled back with a sudden burst of bravery, retreating unwillingly.

“We spent our lives in battle, brother,” Marat said, frighteningly quiet. “I do not plan to spend the rest in war.”