Into the Deep Wood

The crowd parted. No one interfered with the man leaving the ring.

Johannes remained behind, speaking to his men as cheers framed his loud voice. But Val did not hear, nor did she want to. She hurried to get down and find Marat. He was alive –she could not believe he was alive. At the moment the sword was thrust, Marat’s life was over; she felt it in her heart.

But what had he done? Cut his beard? The look on Marat’s face had crushed her. Clearly this meant something, and something very important.

The man’s figure was out of sight. Val ran away from the ring, her eyes desperately scanning every alley between the tents.

“This way, girl.” His words held no life in them. He appeared next to her as she rounded a corner, giving her a jump. “On the outskirts.”

“Marat!” Tears instantly rolling down her cheeks, she flung her arms around his neck. “Are you alright?”

“Not, girl. Not here.” He removed her from the embrace carefully, his face completely devoid of emotion.

This time, it was not a luxurious tent. There were two thin floor mats and space for them to store their bags—a small metal bowl between them with ash spilled around it. But, the second the door had swung shut, Val turned back to him, this time not daring to touch him.

“Marat, please,” She didn’t know what to say, “I am–”

“Please, Valeria.” He stopped her, lowering himself on a mattress. “I am alright. It is only my pride that is mangled. As for you, you have nothing to explain.”

“I cannot do that.” She said. She could not do the tension, the underlying poison in the air. It was her fault.

For what? To sweep her mistakes under the rug? But.. she’d almost felt hurt that he seemed not to care about her transgression. “We have to talk. It’s my fault; it was all my fault.”

“Girl.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You hold no blame here. He used you as a means to an end, and, unfortunately, it had worked. I am sorry you were involved in this; I should have kept you away. I thought of him as a friend. And I am sorry that my bad judgment had left you in this position.”

She sat quietly, this was not how she expected the conversation to go.

“What does it mean?”

He ran his fingers through the roughly cut bit of facial hair that had remained.

“It means dishonor.” He finally answered. “A young boy cannot flaunt his beard - as he has none. He has an empty head; it is demeaning for a man to lose the greatest sign of years lived and wisdom gained as he will look only as a boy. Aisultan had declared this at the beginning of his reign. As punishment for the nobles, he would take men and force them to bow low to the ground. He stepped on it, and as they pulled in panic, he would cut it off. And so, anywhere a man went, it would be seen as shame and weakness, as it is not something that one could hope to hide.”

Her eyes fixed on his face. His normal stoicism was gone, replaced by something very raw. At that moment, he was vulnerable.

“Why had using me worked?” she asked.

“You know why, Val.”

He did care. Despite the circumstances, she felt the warmth of those words well up inside her.

“This cannot happen again. It is not the first time I’ve allowed myself to be caught unaware because of you, Valeria. Whatever it is, out there, looming and making its presence known at the most inopportune times - it cannot go on.”

“...What…” And just like that, he tore it away.

“I am not an adolescent boy unaware of what his heart wants. There are no games here. It is true that I care for you, but it is no less true that it may very well get us both killed. I am not here to boast of my ability - I think that has been made very clear tonight, but nevertheless, both of us depend on my ability to lead.”

Her heart throbbed and stopped.

“And you, Valeria, it is no fault of your own - but you make me weak. And I do not intend on being weak again.”

Their talk was short-lived, and Val was so exhausted that she dozed off the second her head rested on the pillow. When evening came, the camp stirred, ready to move out.

Marat’s words had been genuine. Honest.

And she hated him for it.

She hated him for how she felt and how he had shut it down without even fully knowing. She hated him because, in fairytales, love was the only meaningful thing in the world –and instead of its pursuit, he wanted…

Was that what he wanted? What happened to the stories of the conquests that met him around every corner? Of the women and the courts? It seemed like everyone alluded to that in one way or another about him, but here he was. And here she was. And he did not want her.

As the dusk vanguard got ready to leave, one of the captains, whom they had the displeasure to meet, had come to the tent. He spoke to Marat in low tones, and the man nodded.

“We are to leave, but this was expected,” Marat told her. “We are not far from the city. Maybe a day. But we are not an army, and we do not have horses and scouts - we will have to stay the night and make do in the morning.”

Val looked at the ensemble in disappointment - the horses made the journey so much easier, even if they were conniving beasts.

As everyone around began to leave, Val noticed the looks they gave Marat. It was difficult to watch the disdain. Some of them would spit at his feet again as their horses walked by. He did not react to any of it.

“Why don’t you get mad?” She asked in disbelief as he just took the humiliation. The man got angry at a buckle that didn’t release on the first try, yet now…

“The law of the land. He won. There is nothing to dispute. They have every right.” He answered.

“I feel there is something you aren’t telling me.”

He looked out onto the procession that moved away from them rapidly.

“He cheated, girl.” He said finally, “But it mattered not. He was always going to win the minute we came across his path. And so, I was always going to lose. How that happened is irrelevant. There is only one truth for his men.”

“Is everyone from the large cities so awful?” She asked, resting her head on her hands, seated on the hard ground where their tent had been.

“No, not everyone.” He answered. “Although there is little room for morality in royal ranks and houses. It is much worse in the East, as their armies are bought with gold and not loyalty. Those men - if the gold ran dry or their stomachs empty, they would leave.”

“Is there no honor at all? Like the knights and princes in the stories?” Val thought maybe she’d been speaking too much. It was unclear to her what Marat expected of her. But as long as he kept talking, so would she.

“There is. Within the servants of the All-Father.” He told her. “But it is not an army. More of an order, decentralized in structure, but one in belief. It does not hold their loyalty to any king. Busy yourself with something or go back to sleep. I’ll keep an eye on the road.”

Neither of them slept much, but neither of them spoke much after that conversation either. Val tried, but she could not shut her eyes, her legs were restless, as was her mind. She stood, determined to walk off the unease.

“I thought I would take a walk...” She turned to say, but the firelight flashed across a blade in Marat’s hands. But it was not his hunter's knife.

Marat’s face was almost clean-shaven with the straight razor he held. In the limited light, it was difficult to make out the details, but this sight - she’d never thought she would see his face this way. She had never seen any man’s face this way, at least not one that had been grown - especially not of his age.

He turned his head to her as she spoke, and she paused in her tracks. His face had very well-defined masculine features. His jaw was distinct in its lines and angles. His nose looked bigger, but not in a way that did not suit his face. She would have guessed, like the wrinkles by his eyes, that his lower face would show more signs of age.

However, he did not look as old as she had thought he would. It could have been the tricks of the night and the light of the fire, but she thought that before her sat a relatively young man. Not as young as Amir had been, and not as young as she was - but he was not an old man like his attitude would lead one to believe.

“Please do not comment.” He said point blankly. “I would have it believed that I am a foreigner in a strange land than a man whose beard had gotten caught in the cog of a wheel.”

“It looks… nice.” She replied.

“I asked you not to comment.”

In the morning, they started their trek again. This time, they would reach the city by nightfall if they did not stop to rest. Val had been excited to see something so grand and so new.

But even with this looming just ahead, she was exhausted, as if in a fog. The whiplash of emotion had left her raw. So many things had changed for her. But she just did not have enough left in her head to deal. Her body moved, but her mind stood still.

It was well into the afternoon when something large ahead appeared on the horizon. Val perked up - the city! The Midtrade City! But Marat, guessing her thoughts, held up his hand.

“It’s not the city, girl. It’s something else. We will avoid it; it’s well to the north of the road.”

“Is it the dusk vanguard?” She asked.

“No, it’s too big to be the dusk vanguard. Too tall. We will see it when we are near, but we will not approach. You never know the state of the roads and the state of the kingdoms.” Marat answered. He’d been worried that perhaps what Johannes had told them was not entirely true. An armed escort of that size with only a few wagons - full of what he saw too late- weapons and large felled logs.

And just then, it dawned on him.

“It’s a military camp.” He said, frowning. “Aisultan is coming. They’re setting up a fortress outside the city.”

“Does this mean there is going to be war?” Val asked as she’d heard him speak of it many times. Surely he would not march them right into it…

“No. A fortress is set up outside of a neutral city for negotiations. This means the other three kings will have their own, likely on the outskirts facing each state. They will be here for months, but it does not mean war. Yet.” He wondered how much of that was true. Negotiations meant a lot of things. There could be bloodshed, could be just dusty politics.

“So I may not just see a city; I may see KINGS?” Val felt the thought swell up in her. Kings, queens, princesses? All at once?

“I would highly doubt it, girl. Kings are not seen. They’re heard from and about. They do not walk the same streets as you and I.” He answered, a little bit endeared by her enthusiasm. Sometimes, he would forget just how sheltered she had been.

They walked past the large structure, far enough away that they could barely hear the clings of hammers and the yells of men. The large logs that had been stacked atop the wagons in the dusk vanguard’s procession stood upright and rooted into the earth—tall as seven men.

Large roofing tarps were being stretched across. All around it, for what seemed like leagues, were tents - the mercenary armies of Yeztok.

Marat urged them to get off the road for fear that more were still coming. In Yeztok, he would be easily recognized. The rest of the states had been much more enlightened regarding the male beauty standard. Once in the city, people may not even take a second look at his lack of facial hair.

By the evening, they’d reached the gates. Val had spotted them even from afar but was so exhausted she thought she would save the excitement after a good night’s rest.

“Where are we going once we reach the gates?” She asked him, feeling her legs would give out any moment - her shoes had been so worn down and the soles so thin from many, many leagues of travel. It was not much better than Val felt herself.

“I’ll take us somewhere. Be patient. There are many inns and taverns in the city. But we must be strategic in which one we choose.” He answered her.

The Midtrade City was a metropolis of trade and commerce. The large but always open gates contradicted its thick and tall walls. They had not shut in so long that bushes and vines had grown over and around the doors themselves. The locks and hinges were so rusted that they would have to be torn off to ever close again.

Once inside, the buildings were built tall and thin - many standing as high as five stories. Every other house was a shop or eatery; even at night, it boomed and buzzed with the energy of people, animals, and wagons.

At its center stood a massive Cathedral. The center of all trade, this was the envy of any noble - and king - for its grandeur and intricacy of architecture.

Eight men came together here. Four ambassadors - one from every state, although they held very, very little power or say. They mainly acted as a voice for the kingdoms when something came up that would be inconvenient to their way of life or economic structure. However, there was no guarantee of being heard or acknowledged. Three Templars of the All-Father upheld the practices of fair trade, honest deals, and the balance of tempers at the table.

Marat led Val down the streets, her eyes wide, taking in the grandness that was the city.

Never in her life had she seen houses made entirely of stone. They were tall and different from what she had known in the village - or what she had seen on the farm.

The number of people was overwhelming, they either stared at her or completely did not see her at all as they bumped into her shoulder, casting angry looks back as they continued on their way.

It felt as if they walked a while, took side roads and went down streets that were poorly lit. Finally, Marat ducked inside a large, tall house. It must have been five stories in height - Val thought.

The narrow entryway took them to a small room where a very shriveled old man sat behind a desk. All around him were stacks of papers, trinkets, notes written on various items, and a shelf of dusty glassware. To his left, atop a shelf, sat a black tabby, licking its paw and quickly twisting around - presenting a different one in the air in favor of also cleaning its back leg. It was a shameless display of both hygiene and lack of personal awareness.

The little old man lowered his round spectacles and smiled widely as they entered.

Val noticed that the home was in a state of disorder - it seemed every surface had something stacked against it, sticking to it or balancing on it. She wondered where Marat had brought her.

“Good evening!” The little old man exclaimed, pushing his glasses up to his eyebrows, which were growing impossibly in all directions. He wore a sweater and a coat, with gray hair that looked as if it was brushed only once - and even then, in a hurry. “You can call me Ezra, pleased to make your acquaintance! A room, then?”

“Two,” Marat answered. Val noted how adamant he sounded. They’d spent a year and a half sharing single sleeping quarters. Perhaps he just wanted a bit of privacy. Perhaps this was what he meant before.

“I have no money…” Val whispered, at which he sighed.

“And I requested none.” He shut it down.

Ezra produced two keys from under the desk.

“Third floor, under the attic! My dear, but you look like you could use some rest.” He chirped, putting the keys into their hands and then prompting them toward the stairs.

“We will be staying a few days,” Marat told him, already one foot on a step.

“Welcome as long as you like! The kings are here, and the city is full, so if you care to stay more than a night, I will need full payment upfront.” His tone did not change, remaining excited and pleasant.

Val wondered how people could be so cheerful and so demanding at the same time. She was not used to the way things were bartered here. Back home, it was a task to pay for something - people were so eager to give it to you as a gift, often arguing over who could give the other the most. Here, it seemed the pleasantries were just the padding to the gold ahead.

Marat handed him something out of her view.

“Very good then!” Ezra clenched the coins in his hand. “Third floor! Under the attic!”

The rooms were next to each other, and as Val turned the key, she looked at Marat.

“Thank you.” She said. He nodded and, without saying good night, disappeared behind the door. She pushed hers open to a small room that hardly fit the bed inside it. But it was warm and the bed was soft, and Val fell asleep faster than she had in months.