Into the Deep Wood

The morning came, but Val did not sleep again after waking up in the middle of the night. The rustling in the walls, the hot, muggy air, the constant feeling that something on her body was itching, just to reappear on another part of her when she scratched, painted a picture of a pretty miserable night. When she saw daylight, she gave up on trying to return to sleep and got up.

The little parcel containing the cheese danishes was sitting on top of her pack. Excitedly, she grabbed them - unwrapping them - and, to her immense disappointment, Val saw that they had gone entirely moldy in the night. They were only from the day prior. How could that be?

This time, it was Marat who knocked on her door very softly, as if he was avoiding the ears of anyone else in the house.

“This morning,” He immediately said, walking past her as Val stood dumbfounded at the door, “I met up with a friend. A friend of a friend. There’s talk.”

“Good morning.” She closed the door behind him. He threw up a hand gesture that indicated he had no time for pleasantries.

“The Negotiations are to happen soon in the next few days. After that, the Northern King is leaving for his capital. It is an army and a court that travels with him. We need to try and do so as well. In every city we stop, there will be talk. What’s around, what the area offers. Overhearing a hundred voices talking of nothing is a better chance than one voice that does not speak. There is one main road that leads from the Midtrade City to the northern capital, Volkograd. All other roads branch off of it like streams from a river. We have to figure out a way to go with them.”

Val perked up at the idea of seeing her lands again. Maybe she would recognize something...

“Are you ill?”

“What..?” Her thoughts of possibilities were interrupted very suddenly.

“Are you ill? Did you not sleep?” Marat repeated.

She touched her face, even more self-conscious than she had been the day before. Why was everyone commenting on her appearance all of a sudden? Perhaps the city air did not suit her. She was fairly tired, though. And hungry.

“The rats, they keep me up.” She confessed to him. “They’re in the walls. Or the attic. I’m just not used to these rooms, these walls.”

“Girl, we slept on cots in a barn for over a year.” He reminded her but quickly realized she had given that answer for lack of any other. “I am sorry to hear that.”

She nodded in thanks.

“So, what do we need to do?” She asked, returning his thoughts to his earlier statements.

“Right.” He said, “I do not know anyone that could be persuaded to take us on. If we were to travel alongside, we would be arrested shortly; no one stands for a few lowly people following around a king and his procession. They will be on horseback, and we could not keep up anyway.”

He looked away momentarily.

“I have money, but not enough to get us horses. And certainly not enough to bribe us into a noble’s escort.” He admitted, seeming a fair bit embarrassed. “But, this friend can possibly get us into the rooms of the Negotiations. There, it would be plausible to arrange a mutually beneficial understanding that would grant us passage.”

“That’s great! Does this mean we get to see the kings?” Val exclaimed.

“Yes, and no. I do not know how close we can get. It could be the back corridors of the Cathedral; it could be the very audience room. These Negotiations are not exactly private matters, more of a chance for every king to boast their position. It is a war, but it is a war of politics. They want people to see it. However, many people do want to see, which is why it may be hard to get close.” He seemed to be musing now, thinking, planning.

“I would love to see the kings…” Val said quietly to herself. With the exception, of course, of Aisultan. She’d heard enough about him - enough of what Marat had suffered and continued to suffer at his hands, the fate that almost befell her there, and what Johannes did in his name. She did not care to see that king at all.

“Would you like to see the city?” He asked suddenly, interrupting his own train of thought.

“Yes, very much so!”

“Let’s go then.” He stood, flinging open the door. Val thought his speaking was a bit hectic that morning, with energy all over the place and chaotic. It was so unlike him. She could not help but wonder who this friend of a friend was.

He’d taken her out, and Val took in the whole of what the Midtrade City was. To her surprise, much of it was just homes and rundown merchant stands. At least around there. Everything smelled either of trash or human feces.

Where she imagined running down the cobblestone roads and frolicking among tall colorful buildings, instead was dirt and mud and carts riding through piles of horse manure. The merchant stands held the same wares, one after the other, and each man and woman peddled them loudly. Val quickly got anxious about walking by them as they pestered every passerby without discrimination. But Marat led on, ignoring anyone who tried to get his attention.

“Could we please get food soon?” She whined. Previously, she would go a day without food, and her stomach would ache, but she would otherwise be okay. In the past few, she’d woken up with hunger knocking at her mind incessantly. The memory of those cheese danishes and the growing mold did not even seem to put her off.

“Just trust me,” Marat answered, looking back and forth down the streets.

They walked for quite a ways until the smell hit her. It was wonderful, but she could not tell what it was. Overwhelming and making her mouth water, it was so strong that she could almost imagine the food it poured out of. Marat saw her expression change and smiled.

“Here.”

He stopped at a market stall where ducks and chicken hung off a wire already plucked. On the tables were bins of spices and, notably, small red peppers that gave off an intensely hot scent. The food smell was almost thick, and so inviting that Val thought she would part with any of her earthly belongings just to find out which piece it came from.

The stands here were filled with bags of garlic, spiced peppers, chestnuts, a white root that Val did not recognize, and what looked to be deep purple potatoes.

Someone shouted something indistinguishable. Val turned her head, trying to find the source.

“Not everyone here speaks Common,” Marat explained. “There are whole communities in the Midtrade City that get by without it all their lives.”

He took her to a trader with a large stone pot set on a flame. Inside it, tea was brewing. He bought them a couple of mugs. It smelled incredible, but Val could not tell what it was.

“Jujubes, ginger, orange peel, and mint leaves,” Marat explained, taking a sip that must surely have burned his mouth, but he showed no reaction.

“I do not know what half of those are,” she admitted, “it smells so amazing.”

“Ginger is warm and spicy; it has a hint of sweetness in its smell,” Marat told her, smelling the tea closer to distinguish the different flavors. “Jujubes are simply sweet. Mint is almost cold to the senses - highly aromatic and sharp.”

She watched him as they walked. There was a different energy about him that day. He was so… talkative.

At another stall, he picked out some meat on a skewer for her. At the next, a handheld pie with goat cheese and mushrooms. It was like he was showing her the entirety of the city down this street. But more than that, he was excited to do so.

She hated this feeling and loved it all at once. It felt… special.

She willed it to the back of her mind and focused instead on the walk and the bustle of everyone around them. There was no place for those sorts of thoughts.

“Tomorrow, we will meet my friend. The Negotiations are in three days. We have to ensure we are there.” Marat told her as they parted for the night. “I will come for you in the morning.”

“Good night, Marat.” She said softly after him as he had already disappeared behind the door.

She shut hers and leaned up against it. So hard had she kept the thoughts at bay. So much she hoped that they would leave her, but at the same time, she’d relished every moment that she allowed them to herself. Her stomach twisted, and her heart raced at the thoughts of him; it was almost intoxicating - and then his words would force themselves into her mind.

You make me weak. And I do not intend to be weak again.

“You make me weak.” She whispered sadly.

He was not wrong.

She was the reason the Legho did not pass by. The reason his brother was gone. It was her entanglement with both Amir and Johannes that had cost Marat so dearly. She’d cost him everything, and when he tried to leave, she followed him.

Val felt tears well up in her eyes. She sobbed and wiped them away. It was no wonder he did not want her, and she had to accept that. She had to accept that in every moment they were together. And eventually, she would have to accept that when they parted forever.

The thought lingered in her chest. It was a strange and unusual sensation to think that it may only be a matter of time until she was reunited with her family. Or not at all.

And what did that mean?

Would Marat abandon her somewhere in the north if they couldn’t find her village? She did not think so. But it felt worse that, instead, she would be a burden to him forever.

She crawled into bed, the covers feeling extra heavy on her. Staring at the wall, she tried hard to push all thoughts out of her head and fall asleep.

And that’s when she heard the scratching in the walls.

“No! NO!” She was so completely aggravated by the rats now. She would do anything to get rid of them. She would put a hole in that wall and scoop them out of there one by one if she had to!

A demanding meow came from outside her door. Val sat up and listened. Another quieter and longer one followed. She slid out of bed and cracked the door open just enough for the black tabby to slip through, immediately jumping up on the bed as if Val intruded on its room.

She sat on the bed beside it, remembering how the cat would not let her touch it. She slowly reached out a hand, and the cat ducked away but did not run off. Val sighed and slipped back under the blanket. The cat settled at her feet, facing her.

“Goodnight, kitty,” Val told it, closing her eyes.

“The coals are cooling! Go stir them and add some wood to the fire.” The Hag had commanded her. Obeying silently, Val grabbed firewood and stacked it by the heavy iron door leading to the long stone channels of the stove where the coals barely glowed now. With metal tongs, she reached in but missed and only pushed the coals back.

“Stupid girl!” The Hag scolded her. “Stupid girl cannot make a fire. Stupid girl freezes in the frost, frost and frozen soil!”

Gritting her teeth, Val reached further in, now so deep with her shoulder that her neck was only mere inches away from the iron gate and latch - still tremendously hot and threatening to burn her if she reached any further.

“If you do not set aflame, your family will burn, and you will be to blame!” The Hag encouraged her. Val shook her head; it was too hot; thick dark smoke poured out of the opening and into the room instead of up the chimney. She could not reach the coals.

“I cannot, Grandmother; I will wait until they are cooled and scoop them out with the ash.” She begged the old woman.

The Hag did not reply but instead stepped behind her and promptly pushed the girl’s head against the iron of the gate, her cheek sizzling immediately. Val screamed, but the Hag pressed down even more. Val could feel her flesh searing against the rigid metal surface. As if being consumed by the excruciating heat, the skin and flesh melted away. There was no room to retreat with both the Hag’s hands pressing down into the back of her head. It burned through the skin, the fat, and the muscle of her cheek.

“Moth to flame! Moth to flame! It is a girl that is to blame!” The Hag sang. “Have enough, little moth?”

“YES!”

The Hag let go, and Val collapsed back - feeling a part of her flesh rip off and remain on the hot iron. She felt nausea and lightheadedness overwhelm her.

“Should I make it go away?” The Hag asked, hovering over her.

“Please…” Val could barely push out. The Hag’s power had shown itself time and time again; no rule was one she could not bend. If she could make the pain go away, Val would give anything.

“Anything, my dear?”

Val nodded shallowly, wanting to say please but unable to any longer. The agony was blinding her and taking the air out of her lungs.

The Hag clapped her hands, and the pain was gone just like that. Val gasped for air, and her chest was so tight it hurt.

“Took the pain, passed it on. Go outside and see where it has gone!” The Hag told her. Something in her voice was a familiar tone, and Val knew that the price she paid was greater than she ever otherwise would - the old crone had tricked her and had taken something that she would not have otherwise given. She turned on her side, then her back, pushing up and stumbling forward. The door opened in front of her on its own.

Val stepped out, and from all sides, the forest, the swamp, the meadow - behind the house and from under the ground, she heard the blood-curdling cries and screams of pain and agony - every voice was that of her mother and grandmother.

She fell on her knees, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut as if that would make it stop. Gods, please, let it stop. The Hag’s hands gripped her shoulders, forcing her up.

It was dark and cool in the room as Val’s eyes flew open.

Someone’s hands were on her, shaking her by the shoulders.

Her heart was threatening to burst; with every beat, it sent sharp pain across her chest. Her clammy hands gripped the covers, and she felt the bile rise until she doubled over and vomited all over the blankets. The hands did not let go.

“All-Father preserve you…” Marat whispered, holding her upright. He wrapped an arm around her back to help her sit as she retched and heaved, the bile ripping its way through her throat and coming so violently that it dripped from her nose as well. There, it mixed with the tears pouring down her cheeks.

He carefully lifted the blankets, helping her sit back against the headboard as the heaving died down. He only let go of her when he saw she could hold herself up enough to scoot against the back of it securely.

“Valeria?” He said carefully.

“I’m sorry…” She gasped, the tears coming anew. She did not know what she was sorry for, where she was, or what was happening. All she knew was Marat was here, and she was violently ill.

“Shush, girl.” He took the blanket and lifted it off the bed, opening the door with his foot and tossing it outside.

“I’m so sorry!”

He brought her the basin and a cloth towel. Hysterical, she did not seem to notice this at all. So, he took the cloth and wet it, carefully wiping her face, hands, and chest first. She was still breathing as if there was not enough air in the world for her.

“Shhh…” He put the basin back and insistently helped her scoot down on the mattress so he could sit next to her. Immediately, she pulled herself closer and shook until she calmed enough that only the occasional sob disturbed the silence.

“What happened?” He asked her, but Val shook her head.

“I had a nightmare…”

“You mean to tell me that was a nightmare? For which of us?” His words only got him a small sob. “You’re unwell. We can find a physician tomorrow.”

She shook her head again.

“It’s just the rats, they’re in the walls, they’re in all the walls.” She mumbled, exhausted.

“Of course,” He sighed, examining the walls and ceiling - cracks and wood exposed between chunks of plaster. “I don’t hear any rats.”

“The cat must have gotten them…” She whispered, slumping against him harder as she drifted off to sleep.

“What cat?”