Into the Deep Wood

Nothing could have prepared Marat for the words that left Valeria’s mouth. They were so soft, so full of hopelessness, as if she was still speaking of the horrors they saw within the past few days.

“Valeria…” Astonishment, fear, alarm. His face reflected them all.

“I didn’t know. She did. He told me.”

“And you trust it?”

“I do.”

His eyes, unblinking, would not leave her face. And she would not meet them. So many thoughts rushed through his head at once.

Realization dawned.

“Val…” He crossed the short distance between them, kneeling in the dirt. He raised his hand, pushing the hair out of her face and leaving it tangled in her hair, nudging her to turn toward him. “Val…”

She started crying at his touch. But she was not hysterical; she seemed deep in thought - only the tears rolling down her face had marred her calm.

Val hadn’t wanted to think about it. She hadn’t wanted to say it out loud. Anytime the thought had floated up, she would shove it back down. Maybe the loneliness of that secret was too much.

“He said,” Her voice broke, “She sent him after me. She bargained me for her freedom.”

A deal that the Hag would surely make with another.

“Valeria, this isn’t the end; we will figure it out.” He said the words, but he didn’t believe them. His own voice shook. “It could be a girl. She could be safe. We could…”

He trailed off.

She would not hear anything that he could say right now, so he just sat by her, putting his arm around her and allowing her to lean her head against his shoulder. The obvious question hung in the air, and yet, it was not the right time. Not while this was so fresh, so raw. Everything in him rushed, his blood, his thoughts, the grinding of his jaw.

“It will be okay.” He told her softly and felt her shake her head subtly, no. “You will be okay.”

They slept through what was left of the night. In the morning, Marat brought her food but took none of it himself.

“Stop.” She told him, “Just stop it!”

He paused, fastening the tent to the horse’s saddle.

“What?”

“Stop treating me differently!” Her voice went high, “I don’t want your portion of food; I don’t want you to fuss around me. Marat, I don’t want any of this.”

He let go of the straps entirely.

“Valeria. You’ve spent the past year and a half crying at least once a week. You cannot climb up on the horse unless I help you. You think just now I started doing this?” His face, hard, put her at ease; at least that would not change.

“I know the way that people treat women… like this. Tiptoe around them, worship the ground they walk on. I do not want any of this.” She told him again.

He stepped forward to her.

“Make no mistake. I will make sure that you are well and safe, but Valeria, I am not here to treat you as a child. We are to ride through a country where war will burn right at our heels. There is no telling when, but Korschey will come after you.”

Or worse, Johannes.

She nodded, only taking it slightly personally that he had accused her of crying so much…

He turned around to finish tightening the straps. She stared at his back momentarily before turning away. He had always been so grounded, so reasonable when she was not. Val felt as if a tempest had risen inside her now.

She knew what he wanted to ask but didn’t. And she did not have an answer for him.

She couldn’t have.

Her first thought was Erlan’s herbs, teas, and poisons. Something described in the journals to rid her of the curse that hadn’t left her be. She wished that she had cut deeper and bled a great deal more.

At least, those were the first thoughts. And then, somewhere deeper, she thought - what if it is a god? She knew nothing of it, knew nothing of protecting it.

But Marat did.

What would she even name it, knowing what power a name would hold?

“Aditi.” He said flatly. She looked at him quizzically.

“What?”

“The horse.” He explained. “It’s name. Aditi.”

“Aditi,” Val repeated, unable to help the smile that crept onto her face. He named the mare. “Why?”

“You’d picked Sao’orze. It is a southern name. But, whether you realize it or not, it means freedom.” He said. “And, there is power in the name. So, Aditi. It is a Western name. It means freedom, but it's boundless.”

They rode until Marat had deemed the mare needed a break. He tried to look for notch posts, but whatever road it was had none.

“We’ve gone too far south,” Marat observed, the dryness of the air about them stealing moisture right out of their mouths. “If we do not find a way to get west, we will soon be in barbarian territory.”

“Where?” She asked.

“The uncivilized tribes of Sudraj. Where it meets Nasmeria is the desert. Vast spans of it batter against the mountain chain - like waves.”

“Are they dangerous?” She looked at what was ahead, whatever vision was on the horizon, swimming with the heat of the early evening sun.

“Most people are.” Marat took Erlan’s compass out of a shirt pocket, but its hand had twisted and shrank, crumbling inside the broken glass. He held it for a minute before putting it back into his shirt.

They stayed the night at the foot of a mesa. It had protected them from the winds, but the chill of the desert night bit even through their blankets and clothes. Unlike any other time during their travels, Marat had slept cradling her.

Again, Val had moments of complete disbelief that this was Marat, the same man that had brought her out of the Hag’s lair—the same man who planned to hand her off to his king in exchange for his freedom.

He looked different now. His eyes were more tired since the death of Erlan. He had kept the short stubble instead of his previously thick beard; a testament to the end of Aisultan’s hold over him.

She still had the Ambrosia Blossom that Theodora had given her. She carried it tucked away in her tunic, underneath her clothes. And, laying there under the stars, feeling his steady breath as he slept, she thought again back to her village. To the promise in her youth of Ura, of marriage, of living in a home but a short walk away from her mother’s house. Bearing his children and raising them to play with those of her childhood friends.

Now, it was a life that someone else had.

Even there, with the cold numbing the tip of her nose, sleeping on the ground –a fugitive, she still would not have chosen it. In that life, she would have never met Marat.

The next day was spent following the edge of the desert, still no road signs in sight. Although he tried his best not to let on, Val saw that Marat had become increasingly worried as finding water sources became harder.

“The Crimson River bends and splits in the southwest. We only have to find it. From there, we will follow it upstream to reach the main road.” He told her when she nervously checked their water canisters.

But Val knew by his tone that they had been terribly lost.

After another three days of riding, the water rations were prioritized for the horse.

Marat’s demeanor grew darker with each passing hour. He spoke less. Since that night, there was no mention of Val’s condition, and she was thankful it had been the case.

On the fourth, Marat was able to dig up some mud between a patch of green bushes, and they filled their canisters and allowed the mare to drink throughout the course of a couple of hours as the small hole was refilled with water from the earth.

It took another three days to reach what looked to be a low mountainous area. It seemed like it would be challenging but possible to cross. It was still half a day ahead, and they had been completely dry.

Out of the three of them, Aditi seemed the only one who had been in good spirits. Despite the hot days and chilling nights, the lack of water and limited food for the mare, she’d never broken pace or appeared stiff and weak. For what it was worth, if they were to steal a horse at all - Val had been glad that it was Aditi.

As they crossed the last bit of distance, it had become painfully clear that what at first had appeared as low, gradual slopes were, in reality, littered with jagged rocks and impassible boulders. They rode along the foothills with Marat carefully searching for a path or trail that may be wide enough for the mare.

As the sun began to set, Val looked for somewhere to make camp as they had every night prior. But Marat shook his head no.

“There may be people in the hills. We should find a vacant cave if we are going to make a fire.”

It was only a few minutes until he seemed to see something that Val hadn’t and veered off the trail. Past some dried shrubs was a rock formation. When they approached it from the side, it revealed the low entrance to a cave.

“The dirt at the entrance is undisturbed; the layers of sand have been building up for a while.” He muttered both to himself and to her.

They built a fire just outside, placing the bedrolls under the overhang. Where the rocks had shielded the earth from the sun were patches of young grass, and the mare hungrily attacked it the second that Val let go of her.

“I will stay up tonight.” He told her. “I can feel Nothing-touched here.”

“You can feel them?”

“Never mind that.”

“Let me do the first watch.” It was not a question, her tone was insistent, which had made Marat do a double take. It was a rare moment of bravery for Val to ask, and her face showed that she would not be dissuaded.

“Second.” He bargained, and she accepted.

“If you do not wake me, I will not sleep the following night at all.” She threatened, the lack of any authority in her voice making him smile to himself.

“Okay. Let me teach you what you must look for.” He reached into his pack and fished out the vial of yarrow oil. “You will dab some of this on your wrists and behind your ears. They can hear you, and they can smell you. The yarrow prevents that, but only from far off. It gives you time to see them before they notice you.”

“Couldn’t we both put it on and just sleep?”

“If you want one of them to crawl over one of us by accident or eat the horse.” He answered, shaking a couple of drops of the oil onto his wrists. “Here.”

She took it hesitantly, smelling it first. It smelled earthy and spicy.

“This wards away the creatures?” She asked, dabbing some on her wrists and rubbing it on her neck.

“It conceals good from evil. It is a holy plant.”

Holy.

“Can I ask you something?”

He looked at her suspiciously.

“What?”

She sat, looking him in the eyes. She’d never found the courage to ask him before.

“What does it mean that you swore in as a templar?”

He looked away from her, visibly uncomfortable but not dismissive.

“It means I wanted to devote my life to the All-Father.” He finally said. “I wanted to be both his scholar and his sword.”

“What happened?”

“I was pulled away by a greater duty.” He still would not meet her eyes. “Or, so I thought at the time. If it were just me, my life would have been devoted. I would have lived by my oath. But, long before I was sworn in - I was a brother. He had no one left. I looked for refuge in the order, and he in his sins. When I left it, I lost even myself.”

“Why didn’t you go back after…” She paused, realizing that this was not so long ago as she had grown used to thinking. He had no chance to go back. He’d left to redeem Erlan, and then Erlan was gone. And now, she had become his burden.

The weight of that realization settled on her slowly, like a fog falling on the valley.

“Do you think you ever will?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Once an oath is broken, you cannot swear another. It would tarnish the order; it would rob the meaning out of dedicating yourself to the All-Father altogether. I sought meaning in those pursuits, but it was not my fate to do so.”

“I’m sorry.” She muttered. She did not know if she meant that she was sorry he had gone through that - or that she was sorry that she was now what kept him away. This meant a lot to him; she could see it in his face and how he played with his hands while speaking, like a child trying to talk their way out of trouble. He’d felt guilt. Disappointment.

“I do not wish to speak of this again.”

Val nodded, agreeing to his request. She felt she understood now.

She’d gone to bed, and Marat stayed up.

He had explained the signs of a creature she may see out here - there were no chorts in the desert. Nothing that she would know.

The desert was all slithering, scales, and crumpling dust. He did not want to scare her, but he knew that she had been reading the journals - and babying her at this point could be detrimental to them both.

Once, not too long ago, he had thought she had distracted him. That she had been taking something from him that he previously had. He told her that she made him weak. He was trying to hurt her, although he would never admit to it. To shut down whatever it was that had a hold on him with this whiny little incessant creature of questions.

But, he began to realize she had not made him weak. She held him above water when he himself wished to sink. And, by keeping her at arm's length - he had handicapped them both.

There was trust he would have to put in her now. If he tried to do it all alone, he would fail. She carried a sword now; never mind that she twisted her wrist the one time she had to use it. She read the book that he and his brother wrote over the course of several decades.

She even understood parts of it.

And she didn’t have to be protected from the realities of the world. It was not that Marat firmly believed she could handle them; no, he was certain that she would cry, and he would hold her hand through much of it. But she would make it through.

And he did not mind holding her hand.