Into the Deep Wood

The open road greeted them with peacefulness and tranquility. Birds sang in the distant trees but there was no sight of them now. The far-off sounds of the Crimson River felt like they carried with them all the grief of the past few days.

They lost a day staying on the river bank. Marat complained of his infected leg and claimed he could not walk yet, but Val saw him stare off into the waters. His eyes scanned the river banks as if Erlan would be walking upriver to meet them at the bridge anytime now. Midday, she’d gone to fish alone, reluctant to let Marat scale the slippery mud in his state. When she returned, she heard him muttering that Erlan must have seen the Legho and followed it back to them. She did not let on that she knew he was remaining behind for his brother.

But now they were on their way again. Marat tied a red cord at the site of their camp. It was a message left between them that they would use if they separated in the hunt. The knot in which it had been tied gave direction of which way they’d gone and on what date. It also indicated how many leagues it was until the next sign would be left behind.

They continued to move slowly. Marat had not seemed better despite the medicinal herbs. His skin grew ashy, and his eyes dulled. Val remained nearby, helping him when he stumbled. On one such instance, she grabbed his arm to steady him and felt how hot his skin burned in her hands.

“We have to find help,” she told him. “There is nothing I can do. It’s getting worse!”

But he would wave her away and stand taller, taking more confident steps. This lasted for only a minute before his posture fell, and his walk again became strained again.

“We are four days from the city, still.” He said as they came up on a notchpost. It took nearly three days to get from one post to another.

Thankfully, they had dried fish and berries from bushes along the road. There was plenty of shade here. And enough dry branches for firewood. They could wait it out until someone came along. But Marat would not have it. Whatever drove him forward had also silenced him, the evening they spent in deep conversation long gone.

She busied herself with ensuring Marat could keep going. Like a mother hen, she fussed over him as if he wasn’t over eight years her senior. But the thoughts that crept up on her in the long silences had only become more devastating.

Val grieved Erlan. She’d recalled his kindness to her when the brothers had no cause to be kind. He checked in on her when she felt loneliest in the world. She had wanted him to kiss her that day when he held her chin in his hands… and it was the Legho that had brought about his wrongdoing. It had to be. It brought forth Marat’s anger too.

And she was not innocent in this. The Legho clutched at the center of her being and brought out the Hag. In her dreams, in her paranoia of the brothers, in her fears of all things of the world was the Hag. She felt that a day longer and she would have been locked inside herself, as much a prisoner as she’d been in the Glade. Perhaps it was her pushing him away that led Erlan…

She looked at her bruised arms again.

It did not matter now.

“And what will happen to me when we get to the city?” Val asked as they went forward. The words that night - screaming at Erlan - he’d said so many things. Over the days, she had decided that perhaps the sentiment had been overinflated with Misfortune but…

“You’ll have a good place to live, girl. With dresses and food and the best wine that has ever come out of any of the four territories.”

“And in exchange, I will be raped until I produce a son.” She finished his words. He remained quiet for a time.

“You are very young. You do not understand the state of the world yet. It is not like your countryside village that you once lived in.” He finally said, “Whether Golden or not, it is as things work. So you can bear a snot-nosed vermin to tug at your skirts to a shopkeep or maybe a butcher - and wash their sticky hands all day of mud and piss. Or you can bear a son to a king, live in riches, and never once have to think if you’ll eat. And your son will lead an army to a foreign land, and he will decimate their children, then.”

His voice had grown louder and softened again, remembering himself, “I do not take you anywhere that would cause you harm, girl. We’ve both been stripped of choice.”

She’d cried that night again, as she did nearly every night. Laying wrapped in blankets, she shook and sobbed. When she had been young, she’d dreamed of love; she’d dreamed of passion stirred and realized - of a husband with whom she’d share a home. She read the fairytales and fantasized about… what was his name now. Felt like it was a life so long ago she could not remember his name. She remembered his golden hair and dark, kind eyes.

That girl, she was naive. Her worst fear was having to marry a man who loved her and treated her well - and move into a home with him. With Ura.

At that moment, Erlan’s face would appear above hers, holding her mouth shut, his knee crushing her wrist. His hand would fumble with his clothes. The memory would break through, and she would bawl anew until, inevitably, she would fall asleep.

Two days remained until the city. It was the evening; they’d eaten their provisions, and each had left to sleep.

Except, Marat had remained awake as he did many nights, feigning until she’d gone to bed. He slept only a couple of hours here and there, keeping watch. He knew that if the girl realized it, she’d want to take turns - and he would rather have no one at all than try to sleep under her watchful eyes.

He had been feverish off and on. He felt in his bones the evil that was spreading through his body. He nearly dragged his leg now. The pain came in waves, followed by periods of numbness. He would peruse his brother’s pack and anything that looked medicinal, he would immediately eat. He did not care what it would accomplish at this point. He just had to get the girl somewhere. Two days. He’d come this far. There were two paths to his freedom now… now that Erlan…

Two paths. He’d either make it there with her, or he would be free in death.

Val stared ahead, her head down on the ground. She took something from him earlier that day. She did not wish for Marat to know of it. She slipped it away and into her blankets.

It was dark now. She ran her hand across her stomach and further down. She tried to imagine those medical books her father had kept.

Her heart, she’d put her hand over her chest.

Her lungs, she brushed it across.

Her liver. Lower and to the right.

Her stomach, colon, and her hands ran lower - pausing on the thing that had given her so much worth. Made her a valuable ware to trade.

She held her hand there as if she expected something to happen. Her blood rang in her ears. And in her mind, the vision of a man - on top of her, forcing her down and rendering her unable to break free. The pressure of his arm on her chest was so hard. It made Erlan do what he did.

And in this vision, it had gone farther. As if Marat had not stopped it. If he did not interfere…

Soon enough, Marat will not be there.

No one would be there to save her.

Marat leaned his head against a tree; it was spinning, and he fell into a daze. He’d been looking out into the dark and shadows played tricks on his eyes. His vision kept pulsing in and out. Was he falling asleep? Surely, he’d hear if anyone approached. Maybe this was a good time to just let them rest.

As he slowly became unable to fight sleep, he thought he saw someone.

“Erlan?”

Snapping up, he looked all around, but there was no one. His gaze landed on the girl. She was awake and knelt on her bedroll, facing him. She’d not known he was there. Why was she nude?

He watched as she reached for something concealed in her blanket; without a pause in her single motion, she sliced her abdomen open with his brother’s hunting knife.