Into the Deep Wood

They had been there for eight weeks. The weather had grown cold, the windows frosting at night and forming beautiful patterns across the glass by morning. They ran and weaved and created rainbow light reflections when the sun first hit them before fading away.

Val was mostly recovered. She still had difficulty carrying heavy things but could now help around the farm. However, most of her responsibilities put her in the leather shop and cooking with the farmer’s wife.

Marat had also taken up helping the farmer and farmhand, and he was not around Val much anymore as she had been moved into the main house. Marat had adamantly refused to move closer to the hearth despite the farmer’s wife assuring him he was welcome and wanted there. He remained in the barn, without glass windows, to see the beautiful morning frosts.

This was the first deep fall and early winter that Val had seen in many, many years since the Hag did not allow the cold into her clearing. How many years? Val had not known still, but it was here in Aimak Sein’s house that she’d first seen herself in the mirror in a long, long time. It was small, right above the water basin. Imperfect, blotched with dark discoloring, but nevertheless, she finally saw her reflection.

Val was much older than she recalled. Her jaw was sharper, her eyebrows thicker, and her cheeks more hollow. The slimness of her face had balanced the thinness of her lips. Her eyelids looked heavier, and the redness of her cheeks had faded slightly to reveal a pale complexion. She looked so much like her mother, and yet not at all at the same time. She did not remember her father’s face any longer, but she knew it to be longer than her mother’s. He had a big nose and bushy eyebrows. He always looked very stern.

She guessed herself to be in her late twenties, perhaps even early thirties. Not having anyone to compare herself to, she only knew she was older than Amir and the farmhand’s wife, who’d just given birth. And she was younger than the farmer’s wife by at least twenty years.

She felt herself mourning the life that never was as she ran her fingers across the fine lines formed at the outer corners of her eyes. Val did not get to live these years now reflected on her face. She had not gotten to make memories or experience love, only knowing loss. The Hag had stolen from her a third of her life. The only remnant of those years were the nightmares that still haunted her dreams, living the events of the Glade over and over in the night.

Ever since Val had been tasked to help in the leather shop, she’d gotten to know Amir a bit more. He’d grown up in a somewhat neighboring farm in the community, although a half days walk from there. He went to Tarahz to learn leathercraft as an apprentice, a fairly prestigious craft usually not available to the farmers. But a long-time customer of his father’s had vouched for him, and he got to spend ten years of his life doing the work of cleaning, sweeping, and carrying tubs of water, salts, and acid.

Eventually, he could work on pieces of his own in the shop. His goods were durable but imperfect to the eye, so they were difficult to sell in a neighborhood that paid for perfection. During this time, he would visit his parents now and then, but they’d been much older as he was their youngest - and passed while he was in the city.

His older brothers had inherited the farm, and their large families quickly moved in. Amir had no wish to return without his parents there. But he found that they'd been his best customers among the neighbors.

So, he rented a cattle shed that stood empty from Aimak Sein. He had refurbished it into a leather shop and, in return, supplied the family with everything they could ever need.

Val liked how simple his life seemed. She liked how excited he got when he talked about his work. She enjoyed their time as he was patient and thorough in teaching her how something is done and instructing her on how to help.

But whenever he asked about her, she would give answers that had been vague and short. She did not know what to say to him or what she even could say. Had they met when she was young, she could have talked with him for hours about the village, her reading, and her family. All of that seemed so silly and uninteresting now. It wasn’t who she was, and it wasn’t who she would ever be again.

Sometimes, she’d speak of what she knew. Of some of the things she’d seen since traveling with the brothers. Of things Marat had told her. Amir did not care to hear about Marat, and although he would never say so - she’d see the darkness fall over his face whenever the story mentioned the man.

She never spoke of Erlan.

On one occasion, she was carrying a tub for soaking the leather. He had come up to her, meaning to help - his hand on her arm. She sprung back, sending the water all over the floor and the container tumbling - loudly ringing - into a corner.

He looked so apologetic, and he’d hurried to pick it up. She shrank back, hugging herself and looking at him with embarrassment. He apologized to her profusely and even went to get new water himself.

She knew she was the one who should have apologized.

Meanwhile, Marat had gotten more and more distant from her. For a quick moment, she felt that he had cared for her, protected her, and had been gentle with her. Like they had become friends, now, he was absent and cold. There were those rare moments when he was not away for one thing or another, and they found themselves being in the same place at the same time. She thought he looked tired and drained.

“How are you feeling, girl?” He asked, sitting next to her on a log set in place of a bench.

“I’m well. I carried a bag of feed today. Only a satchel last week.” She answered. Looking at him, studying his face, she asked, “And how are you, Marat?”

He seemed to flinch at hearing his name.

“Each day a step more than the last.”

They’d sit in silence for a bit.

“Where do you think he is?” He’d finally say, but not to her. The question was one he had sent into the stars nearly every night. She didn’t reply, and he didn’t notice.

“I’m not a girl, Marat.”

“You were a girl when I met you. You are a girl still.”

“When do you think we’ll leave?” She asked, not sure if it was with hope or dread. He looked at her, trying to figure out the same thing.

“Who said we are leaving?”

“We have to. You have to bring me to the King. So you can be free.”

“I’m free now, girl.” He patted her fidgety hands and made an excuse to leave. It was always gathering firewood, checking on the sheep, and watering the horses. The hearth needed to be cleaned, and the farmer's wife needed a large sack of potatoes from the cellar. But he would always leave.

So often, he was nowhere to be found. Even at dinner time, when all across the farmstead gathered at the farmer's table, the stump that served as a chair for him would remain empty. Her eyes rested on the place where he would be, and her stomach felt a familiar cold wash over it.

Then, she and Amir began taking walks in the orchards. At first he did not speak much, the comfort of his familiar place in the leather shop gone.

There was no uttered reason, but they both hid from the eyes of others when they would leave.