Into the Deep Wood

Val had remained in the home for three days.

She forced herself to speak, to smile, but it was as if a part of her soul had been sucked out and embodied among the shrubs.

Marat saw this. Saw her putting on a brave face. But, she would look all around when they walked, always searching the trees. She heard only about half of what he said, and even that was met with very absent answers.

“Come with me.” He told her as he pulled the quiver by its straps off the wall. “You can try again. I’ll help you.”

“Please do not take offense,” Val answered him, her hands busy mending a shirt. She worked fast with the needle and thread. It was a skill she had developed from an early age in her mother’s home, “but you are not a patient teacher. It would be better if you went alone.”

“Then come, keep me company.” He offered, insistent.

“I would rather remain here.” She said, without looking up. Then, realizing the chill in her voice, she softened it. “I do not feel well. I need to rest. Please.”

He nodded, grabbing the All-Father’s Reach and throwing it on his back. He fastened the arrows to metal hooks on the right side of his belt, securing them against rattling. He’d only broken a handful in the months of repeated practice.

“I will return before dark.” He promised her. She shot him a quick smile, returning her eyes to her task before he even looked away.

He walked outside of town, where he often set up targets against the hills.

Nocking the arrow back, like every time, he marveled at the balance of the longbow. It was comfortable and responsive in his hands. When he let go, a rich, resonant tone would ring from it.

Marat drew the arrow back, his attention on the steadiness of his breath - not a single tremble affecting his alignment. He felt his muscles tighten, ready to loose the arrow–

“What are you doing?”

And he missed.

Asha appeared out of nowhere, strolling casually toward him.

His chin fell. All-Father must have forsaken him that evening.

“Girl.” He said, looking accusingly at her. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve brought you honey bread!” She offered, holding a small basket covered with a blue embroidered linen. The smell was breathtaking, but he shook his head no.

“You should go.” He told her. But, instead, she straightened out her skirts, lowering herself onto the grass.

“You must have not had dinner yet. It is getting late, and you are here.” She said, her mouth unable to contain a certain sly grin.

“I am not hungry.” He answered her, nocking another arrow. He meant to let her know that her presence, although interrupting him, did not warrant his ceasing what he was doing. He shot, and she watched him.

“I bet you could hit a deer, even three hundred feet away!” She said.

“Probably not.”

“I bet you could.” She insisted, “I’ve been thinking, you asked me about dancing before. I thought, maybe you’d like to see me dance?”

“No.”

Her face fell.

“You do not have to be rude.” She told him. “I have not been rude to you.”

He let the bow fall at his side and turned to her.

“I would prefer to be left alone, girl. I know you do not mean harm, but this is not the time or place.”

“Then there is a time and place?” She beamed, seemingly unbothered. “When? Tell me, then. I will bake you something. I will make salted fish - I make the best around.”

He was growing impatient.

“Just later.” He grumbled, turning back to what he was doing. She was taking up precious minutes of daylight.

“I’m not a child, you know.” She said suddenly. “I will be tested this Fauna’s Day, during the summer solstice.”

She paused, seeming to draw bravery from her words.

“I could be Golden. I’ve had my blood.”

Marat’s face scrunched in a cringe.

“Please,” he begged her, “go home.”

“I would not act as she does!” Her tone had grown desperate, her voice higher. “Moping about the village. Everyone sees how miserable she is. I am not so!”

“Go home!” This time his tone was harsh, his voice loud.

She recoiled as if he hit her. Without another word, she stood and left the basket in the grass as she walked away. Marat gave the basket a long look, and when she disappeared out of view, he lifted the linens. The smell of the baked honey bread rolled over him like a wave. Resisting was impossible, and he immediately stuffed one in his mouth.

Val had thought a lot about what she had seen in the Wound. The All-Mother led her past the phoenix coop, and they would see movement in the shadows.

“Do not be afraid, and they will be no threat to you. They only want to live like any beast in the forest.” Avgusta would warn her.

At one time, Val saw a deer in the trees. But, it was not quite a deer - it stood on its hind legs as a man, its body awkward and distorted. It did not move as they passed, but its head twisted hungrily, its snout following them, nostrils flaring.

“Do you trust what you see with your own eyes, Valeria?” Avgusta asked.

“I think so…” Val answered.

“All you have seen so far is fear. The fear instilled by the followers of the All-Father.” The old woman said. “This life before you - it has been hunted, near eradicated for the gain of men. Is that fair? For a creature to live, have thoughts, even speak as a man would - and to be killed simply because it is born with something that is not accessible to humankind? A piece of godlike power?”

Val thought quietly.

“Your fate is not one you got to choose either, dear one. Remember that when the time comes.”

“Do you think…” She started as she and Marat sat at the table one night, cabbage cakes and carrot pie on their plates. Marat was working on his eagerly. “That maybe there is a reason they do not wish you to hunt?”

He looked up, still chewing, but eyes giving away his sudden high alert.

“What do you mean?”

“Like…” She had difficulty explaining herself; she wanted too badly to tell him what she had seen, but she could not. “If maybe they had found a way to coexist with the Nothing?”

“No.”

She waited for him to say more, but only the sounds of him chewing answered her.

“These people do not die as people do in the Deep Wood.” She insisted. “If we are so close to the Wound, shouldn’t the Nothing take them in greater numbers than anywhere else?”

“Valeria.” He looked her in the eyes, his fork resting in his hand. “What is this about? Have you forgotten that they sacrificed a mere child to a creature in the river?”

“No…” She admitted, trying to find words to make it make sense. “But, it seems there is more to it. If Golden are born here… isn’t it possible that maybe the All-Father and the Nothing are connected? That one stems from the other, maybe?”

This time, he put the fork down entirely.

Something in his eyes changed.

“Who has been putting these thoughts in your head?” He asked sternly. His tone was that of a father speaking to a child.

“I do not have to be told things by others.” She snapped. “We have been here the greater part of the year. You tell me that you do not see any of this?”

“Valeria, there is much you still do not understand about these things.” He said, ignoring her retort. “There is a reason that hunters exist. That templars exist.”

“Maybe we do not understand it as well as we think we do…” She said, feeling the words of the All-Mother flow from her mouth.

This time, he sat back, seemingly forgetting about the plate before him.

“I do not know who has fed you this nonsense.” He told her stiffly. “But there is no blurred line when it comes to the Nothing. None.”

“How do you know, though?”

“Because Val.” He spoke less abrasively, the jolt of the topic thawing away. “I have spent my life in the service of the All-Father, in one way or another. Each creature killed, cursed object pulled from the depths, each time a Sister of the Nothing is brought far from man - this is a small victory for any mortal soul.”

“You said it was a noble’s sport.”

“As taught by atheistic entities, sure. They have lied and deceived you, Val.”

His eyes left her and focused on the candle burning on the windowsill.

“Let me put it this way.” He said. “Look at the candle.”

Her eyes followed his gaze to the light.

“You see the flames dance? As they do, the shadows dance as well. They fill whatever space it is that light does not touch.”

She nodded.

“To say they coexist is not quite right. It implies mutual acceptance. But what happens if you were to extinguish the candle? What would happen to the shadows that it keeps at bay?”

She frowned, understanding.

“Were it to be allowed, they would eat everything around them. All it would take is allowing the flame to go out.”

“But what of the creatures that hurt no one?” She asked.

“Like what? Have you not read the journals?”

“I have, but… what about ones such as a silver stag?”

“A silver stag.” He looked indignant. “Low-hanging fruit, Valeria, what do you know of silver stags?”

“You can only see them in the moonlight?”

“Right. But do you know how it is they feed? You should always ask how they feed.” He waited for her answer, but when none came, he continued. “They are plague bringers. With them, they carry disease that kills crops and makes people sick. Should it come in contact with a human, it can spread across whole villages - and the dying will suffer before they go.”

Thoughts of the dead crops in her village shortly before the chorts came lit up in her mind. She always assumed it to be them.

“I understand.” She said, finally. And she did. As he spoke, images of the All-Mother, her matronly voice, her warm wrinkled hands… it was as if it had been a carefully crafted trap. “I think I should not be alone with the All-Mother.”

He looked at her, expressionless.

“I think maybe you shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Marat.” She said.

“Val,” He put his hand on hers, “you are not a fool. But do not take lightly that your life has treated you unfairly, and there are many things you had no chance to know. As many creatures of the Nothing do, people, too, will prey on your weakness. They’ll use it, exploit it. Do not let them succeed.”

That night, she thought about the little disheveled phoenix in the coop. So unconcerned with the outside world, pecking at insects as a hen would. The way he spoke of a phoenix, the curse of the Nothing-touched lay only in the hands of men who looked to use it for their own gain.