Into the Deep Wood

Marat lay slumped over the stone barrier. He watched the crimson water with a hardness to his face. Val looked at his back; it was tense. He was straining to see the pillars, the banks near and far.

“Let’s go.” He said finally, in a voice so tired Val became worried that he would collapse if he let go of the barrier’s support. She stood, still stunned. Everything moved so fast; just a moment ago, the thin woman stood right there. Just a moment ago, Erlan leaped to his brother’s rescue as if out of thin air. And then she saw him disappear into the vastness of the river.

Marat was a few steps ahead of her.

“He’ll look for us near the bridge when he returns.”

They stopped just at the bottom of the final bridge. Here lay the pack of supplies that Erlan must have ditched when he started toward them. Marat brought it with them when they disappeared from view under the bridge on the other side.

Not a word was spoken by either one - Marat did not seem to want to talk, and Val was not going to risk trying. She did not feel like talking anyway. The whiplash of emotion had left her raw, no time to process or come to terms with any of it.

She’d learned that she was being taken to the city to be, essentially, a slave. She was unsure of what awaited her there. Or maybe she just did not want to think about it.

But Val could not help but feel that the buildup of the fear and distrust she’d felt the past few days had alleviated. Despite everything, the deep emotions softened. She felt as if Marat would protect her still. He had protected her on the bridge, and perhaps she would make it somewhere with his help after all.

They remained there for a full day, and by nighttime, Marat brought fish from the river and made a fire. Val hung the littler ones up so they would dry. By morning they would be fit to store away in the packs.

Now, with the fire blazing and the bounty roasting beside it, they waited, listening to the river. The night was warm, and little glowing insects dashed all up and down the bank.

Marat was the first to speak, his eyes half closed and resting his chin on his arm.

“Erlan had gotten in some trouble.” He said somberly, “In his youth. He became indebted to a baron. Cards mostly. And he drank. Like our father.”

Val looked at him with disbelief. He’d denied her any answers about their past, home, or family. She nearly held her breath for fear of scaring him away. But, he continued.

“But in his greed, he bet against the house of a bigger player when he had nothing left to spend. I’d stepped in. They were going to hang him. His debt became my debt.” He said, his eyes fixed on the fire, “Erlan was foolish, proud. Saw no consequences and did not take no for an answer.”

Val winced at those words but remained silent.

“He was cowardly, but he was not a coward. We do not always have to live by the curse we were born with. He chose his.” His voice was soft now. He seethed with rage the night before; this had been a different man. “We were traded from noble house to noble house. Once, ours would have rivaled them all. But in its stead, we had become their boundservants. Their slaves.”

He leaned back, taking his eyes to the stars instead. “And finally, the king, Aisultan, bought our debt—the four kings of the four states were on the brink of war. A message was sent out to all hunters and those who had dabbled in our trade. He who brought the means to turn the tides of war in Aisultan’s favor would gain titles of viscount or duke, with land and gold. To us, he promised freedom and enough gold to leave.”

Oh gods. These men, who looked to bring her to captivity, only wanted to find their own freedom.

Val looked at Marat’s face. Was he not free now that his brother was… gone?

As if afraid he would read her mind, she nervously shifted her weight. He did not seem aware of her at all.

“I need you,” she heard from his direction, “to bring me the bag of herbs from Erlan’s pack,” a slight smile touched his lips, “he was always the one who had a knack for them, not I.”

Val opened it - she’d never seen inside one of their packs. They would hand her items and even pouches, but this… It was full of contraptions, rope, and tightly sealed bottles full of oil. The trinkets they got in the Deep Wood were wrapped tightly in linen paper. There was an extra shirt, a coat, and a hood. And a strange oily veil that smelled of grasses.

The bag full of herbs was sewn of white linen. She felt the dried ones crunch in her fingers when she grabbed it.

“Here.”

But Marat shook his head no.

“I don’t know medicines. You have to do it.”

“What…” Val’s eyes widened, and she looked down at the bag resting on her hands. In that instant, she did not recall anything she’d ever read or heard her father speak of. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Valeria.” This had been the first time he said her name, “I need you to do this, or I won’t make it.”

Marat pulled his pant leg up, exposing his wrapped ankle. It was soaked in splotches of blood. She could see the redness of it spreading beyond the bandages.

“But you just twisted it…” she said, looking over it in horror as he peeled off the wrapping, revealing the mess of blood and puss below. Her stomach twisted.

“A rock had gotten me. I did not feel the wound until the blood had filled the boot.” He said, grinding his teeth as a particularly attached piece of the bandage pulled off with bits of his skin.

She held the herb bag, looking lost. For a second, he was annoyed.

“Get some red clay, the kind closer to the water, and mash the marigold into it.” He instructed, reluctantly, “... and don’t fall in.”

She did as he asked.

“There is a small bottle of oil; it’s blue-green. It’s in the outside pocket.” He continued when she set the mixture down.

“What is it?” She was already pulling it out. The bottle was oddly shaped.

“Mermaid tears.”

She looked at him quizzically.

“It’s a swamp plant. Infused in pine oil.”

She helped him wash the wound, and after everything was said and done, they’d eaten fish and settled in their bedrolls.

“Who was she…” Val asked, her head resting on the ground against her forearm, “On the bridge?”

“It was not a she. It was a Legho, girl.” His eyes were open, but he stayed very still.

“What is a Legho?”

“A Legho is another Daughter of the Nothing. The Second Sister. It is the pure manifestation of ill tides—a harbinger of foul omens and bad luck. The one legged beast walks every road of every territory in turn. For leagues around it, land sours and cattle die. Birds dash themselves to the ground, and every cart will break its wheel.” He said. “It makes people turn to the worst that lives inside them…”

He paused. His voice was saturated with regret when he spoke again.

“I should have known ahead of time. I should have seen the signs. But it had blinded me with my own anger. My hastiness and lack of planning. She takes the worst that a person’s soul can hold, and unleashes it on the world as her weapon. You become her vessel for Misfortune.” He said, “The closer it comes to you, the harder it becomes - the more your ugliness surfaces all at once. It got to Erlan... that’s why…”

He stopped.

“I’m sorry, girl.”

She nodded for him to continue, choking back tears that, without warning, welled up in her eyes.

“I won’t excuse what he had done. But Erlan has always been rash and selfish in his ways. At the core, only he sits at the center of the world.” Marat closed his eyes, “For days, we walked right toward it. For days, it neared and drew us in, twisting and contaminating. And to have met it face to face…”

“Why did you tell me not to look?”

“Do not go looking for Misfortune, or Misfortune will look for you.” He recited, “Legho is blind. Its eye is sewn shut where once a man had driven a hot iron into its skull. Or, so the legend says. It will not see you unless you see it. In itself, the creature cannot hurt you much. It only has one leg, and it weighs about as much as a child. But swing an axe at it; the axe head will fall off and land in your eye instead.”

“So how do you kill it?”

“You do not kill it, girl. You can but trick it, lead it astray. To trick the Legho men had built a maze of roads, leading to nowhere or circling the forests and the mountains. They led those roads to deserts and into wild canyons. The Legho will always wander a road until it wanders all roads, and then it will start anew.”

“So then…”

“No.” He stopped her before she could say Erlan’s name. “The currents carried it away. It’s far enough now that we’re free of its poison. But the river cannot conquer ill luck. Now, go to sleep. I do not wish to speak of my brother anymore.”