Into the Deep Wood

The only way Val was allowed to leave the barn was to relieve herself in the outhouse. Even then, whoever guarded her door would wait close by, watching for her return. The outhouse was behind the barn, facing the overgrowth beyond the sparse forest leading to the lake.

She desperately tried to find the opportunity to make her escape. But if she was to take off, she could only run a little ways until she was caught. And how would she do so without any supplies? Without any direction? She did not even know which way was south.

At least the supplies were within her control. Val had been putting away food from every meal they had brought her. Cheese, cured meats, and bread. She would eat the most perishable and stash the rest wrapped in her scarf under the bed.

How similar this had been to the hut in the Glade.

They always remained outside the door.

It had already been more than a week since Marat left. She imagined he was far enough that she would never catch up, even if she knew what direction to go. The only thing she could think of was what Erlan had told her once - about the Midtrade City - that had stood at the crossroads of the four territories. That was where she would go.

It was early in the morning when she opened the door to find Aimak outside. He was visibly uncomfortable when she began to tell him of how ill to her stomach she had been, and stepped aside when she went past and toward the outhouse.

Val ran as hard as she could. The pack she threw out the window the night before at her back.

She ran past the valley of trees, past the overgrown lakeshore, past the giant oak by the old dock - the chains still hanging, empty, from the branches.

She’d pause when she was winded, waiting to hear pursuit.

But nothing came.

She did not know what direction she was going, but she went toward the forest ahead. She could hide better among the trees.

When she stopped for the night. Val found a dry pile of pine needles under a tangle of brush, and that was where she went to sleep.

The next day went as the one before.

On the third night, she was cold and exhausted, even rationing the food had had left very little now. Suddenly the idea of her escape did not seem so wise.

Val ate some cheese, rested her head on her pack, and pulled the silver stag hide over herself like a blanket.

It was a disturbed sleep that night, full of memories of the Hag.

Right before waking up, in the thinnest of a dream state, she had dreamt of Marat’s face. He was right there - in front of her. The details that she knew, the texture of his skin, the deep lines around his eyes, and his furrowed brows. In this dream, he did not speak. She recognized the pale gray of his skin in the depth of Rusalka’s grip. She wanted to call out to him but could not find her voice.

When her eyes flew open, there was indeed a face, only a few inches from her own.

And this time, she did have a voice with which to scream.

Val cried out, jerking back but unable to go anywhere with her back digging into the rough bark of the old birch.

In front of her face was that of an old man. It was a large head with straw-like wild hair expanding in every direction. Small branches and foliage were stuck here and there - even a couple of pinecones were tangled in the matting near his neck. He was very, very old. His skin was graying - greenish veins visible underneath where it was thinnest. His eyes were bulged and equally feral - although they faced different directions, without any gleam to them at all. His crooked, downturned nose was proportionally as big as his ears - their earlobes hanging halfway down his neck.

“Oooh!” He yelped as she screamed.

She saw then that he was rather tall, although slim. His pants were torn to well above the knee and so dirty she could not distinguish their color. He wore a thick knit sweater and no shoes - his feet caked with dirt and foliage between his toes.

“Get away!” She screamed again, grabbing for her things and trying to get behind the tree.

“Get away!” He repeated, unmoving from the spot he stood. He was hunched, and his limbs looked permanently bent and crooked. He seemed confused.

“What do you want?” She called from behind the birch, her heart racing. He could be dangerous if he were a vagabond, a crazed beggar lost in the woods. At the very least, he could take all her supplies and run off - leaving her with nothing.

“What do YOU want?” He repeated.

“Please, leave!” She felt as if she was going to cry. The soft light of dawn lit up the trees, and when she peeked, she could see him clearly. He was unsettling, but aside from what she already saw, she could not tell why.

“You, leave.” He said, matter of factly, still not moving either toward her or to leave.

“I cannot, I’m trying.”

“Oh.” His voice was deep but dry. He did not say anything else, or move, his hands just hanging at his sides.

She waited in silence, sudden feeling of awkwardness replacing fear.

“Who are you?” Val asked, eventually peeking out at him.

“Who?”

“Who are you, Grandfather?” She repeated, thinking that maybe he was an elder who had wandered off from a village or farm and had gotten lost. It seemed that he was not all there in the head.

“Oh. Me.” It seemed like, suddenly, what she had been saying dawned on him. Clarity ran across his expression. “I am the Evergreen Man.”

“Evergreen,” Val repeated, “Where do you come from?”

He seemed deep in thought, his face blank again for a moment.

“Well, here.” he finally answered.

“Where is ‘here’?”

“Over there.” He said but did not point, and his eyes did not focus on anything at all.

Val let out a deep, frustrated breath. She was very rapidly losing hope that this would lead absolutely anywhere. She felt sorry for him. He must have been lost for days, maybe weeks. It was likely that he hadn’t eaten a thing in that time and must be starving. She did not have a lot, and certainly, none to spare, but she got her little tied-up bag of food out anyway. There was no reaction from him.

“Please, Grandfather, sit.” She told him, setting the shawl down on the ground carefully and spreading out some fruits and meat on it. “I do not have water with me, have you drank anything?”

“Oh.” His eyes seemed to scan the food, but not simultaneously. He moved forward, his joints creaking slightly, and sat across from her, the shawl like a dinner cloth before them. “I have drank deep.”

At least, she thought, he had remained hydrated. She moved an apple and a piece of dried mutton to him. He picked it up gingerly as if it was so fragile that had he moved too fast, it would break. And then, quickly, as if afraid it would escape him, he shoved both into his mouth - only chewing once or twice before swallowing them whole.

“Who are you?” He asked when none of the food had gotten stuck in his throat.

Val considered what she should answer. There was no truth to tell him, nothing that would matter. She could lie - but she doubted this frail old man would care either way.

“My name is Valeria, Val.” She said.

“Valeria Val,” He repeated. His expression seemed to get the same clarity as before, “Valeria Val, who looks for a way forward, who sleeps under a son of the moonlight.”

He must have meant the silver stag pelt, although she was not sure how he knew - maybe he had been watching her since the nighttime. The thought of this was very unsettling.

“I am looking for the main road to go south, Grandfather. Do you know where that is?” She asked. She didn’t think she would get an answer, but any clues were better than none.

“M-a-i-n road.” He said thoughtfully, taking another piece of meat and shoving it into his mouth. This time, he chewed it overly long and very thoroughly. “I cannot take you there. Too many small trails, horses being driven by men.”

So, he knew of a road? How to get out of the forest itself? For a moment, Val felt hope.

“Can you help me get out of the forest?” She asked.

“Why would you want to do that?” He marveled, yet again eating a large piece of meat. Val stared in horror at her only supplies dwindling away in his mouth.

“I need to find someone,” she told him, “a friend.”

“Oh.” He stopped chewing, and his hands again fell to his sides. “I am a friend.”

“Someone else, Grandfather.”

“Tell me, what is this friend?”

She looked down, focusing too hard on the remaining food. As he was no longer eating, she began packing it up again.

“He is someone that left days ago. He went south. I’m trying to find him.” She said.

“Oh.”

He stood, again creaking. The sound of his joints struggling to support him made her skin crawl.

“Then let’s go find the bearded man.” He said, beginning to walk very, very slowly.

Val quickly grabbed her things to go after him.

It was not until a minute later that she realized she never described Marat.