The sensation of walking on dry, dead leaves and needles was pleasant and reassuring, even if the light underneath the canopy was dangerously reduced. Fortunately, I finally got an opportunity to light a fire and warm myself. Its amber light revealed how tattered and torn my boots had become.
“They definitely need some mending,” I mumbled to myself wiggling my toes as soon as I’d liberated my sore and cold feet.
The fire’s warmth was a welcoming sensation, thumping at my skin through wet clothes. Alas, the soothing sensation only allowed space for another, crueller feeling; hunger. It let itself known with a loud gurgling of my stomach, disturbing the thoughtless Firebreath as he neighed, while gnawing. Maybe I could carry on wet for another day, but I definitely could not ignore the hunger for much longer.
With some agitation, I rummaged once again inside the saddle bags, hoping that something had escaped my previous inspection.
Perhaps a slice of loaf? Dare I say some cheese?
No, nothing, just minuscule crumbs and a couple of ants.
“How did you two get here?” I puffed them outside, flipping the bag in anger.
The dagger that Nana had given me, dropped with a heavy thud between my legs, unfolding halfway from its bundle. I could see its sharp tip sparkling in the fire-light, almost entrancing me to a full stop. I hurried to wrap it again and placed it back into the saddlebag.
A terrible mistake, to take only that little food that I had decided to pack. Still, there was no point in blaming myself for such a poor decision at this point.
There had been a few handfuls of sweet and delicious berries during the second part of the day, which luckily spread around in abundance on this side of the forest. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been enough to satisfy a growing appetite for sustenance. I had to eat proper food and I knew exactly what I needed to look for. All I had to do was to reach the tall patch of cedar trees I spotted up ahead, surrounded by a thin area of grey poplars, and there I’d have a good chance of finding some fresh red-pine mushrooms.
“That would be very nice indeed for my little fire, don’t you agree?” I said to my horse, imagining how well-received the delights would be for my noisy stomach.
I had to take advantage of the remaining light of day, and quickly grabbed my boots which I had propped near the fire; they were warm but still wet. Disagreeably accustomed to the disturbing feeling of wetting my dry feet again, I secured the fire, tethered the horse to a pole and went on my pursuit.
A few hundred feet ahead, the forest altered radically. The thicket dwindled considerably, leaving many open spaces where the pine needles coloured the forest bed. There was more light on this side and it looked like the perfect spot to find what I was looking for.
I stopped in the middle of the closest open-patch and tried to accustom my eyes to the change in colour tones. I knew it would take time to spot the precious mushrooms so I closed my eyes and took two long deep breaths, pleased to notice how the scent of the wet pines pervaded the air and overwhelmed the other mild fragrances.
The evening air was warm. The rain had reduced so only a few drops penetrated the thick crowns of the pines, splashing to the ground, each sound muffled by the soft blanket of needles.
There you are!
It didn’t take too long to find the scrumptious delights often hidden underneath bonded clusters of needles that required patience to clean and avoid losing too much of the precious, succulent mushroom-meat. Thinking of which, had I been home it would have bothered me a great deal to clean – often having to chop entire portions off the mushroom because of that thick and stuck blanket of dirt and needles that was hard to separate – but not now. Hunger had transformed me into a patient hunter and I was determined not to waste anything. Surprisingly, they grew in abundance here and against my recalcitrant stomach I took the time to clean each and every one.
I returned to my dying-fire with a pile of cleaned, fat milk-caps, which I couldn’t wait to eat without any spices or salt, in itself a culinary irreverence.
Rekindling a bigger fire proved easy and my cooked-to-perfection dinner was delightful. I could finally take off my boots again and let them dry for a while.
There was no point returning home with no light and I decided to spend the night, sheltered by the same bush until the morning. The thought did not bother me much; it wasn’t the first time I had to spend a night outside, especially in summer. Besides, I had my bow and a well-stocked quiver with me, even though I knew there wouldn’t be a real need of its deadly arrows. Very few night-predators hunted on our lands, and there were none that could harm a human. The bears had been long extinct and the last pack of wolves had been hunted down and directed miles away many years ago, when they had endangered the herders and the sheep they took grazing for months at a time in the nearby hills.
Thinking about dangerous animals made me ponder at what Nana had said. My grandfather had been able to take a black-bear down. If that was true, he must’ve had magical help of some sort. There could be no other explanation as those were terrifying, giant beasts, that used to be hunted in parties of dozens of people. Borr, the butcher in Sallncoln, still kept the head of one he had acquired from some travellers, framed above his counter inside his store. The attraction of very few people in our village, the nightmare of most. Its wide-opened maw was big enough to put my head inside, and still move it freely about. I could barely embrace it entirely from ear to ear.
Almost without realising it, my hands reached for the cloth that covered the odd-shaped weapon, and started to unfold it. I did not desist. It was mine, yet I still had to understand its meaning, or use it. Even if it felt enjoyable in my hand, my mind was reluctant to share the same pleasant feeling. It filled me with the same sense of weakness and inquiry instead. Did the fire have anything to do with my grandfather’s knife?
I passed my finger along the gleaming blade and, as if in response to my motion, it appeared to spark brighter for a moment. The same tickling sensation lifted itself from the tip of my finger to my wrist, and then quickly up, over my forearm and shoulder to end over my head. I smiled aimlessly as the itching sensation trailed over my arm’s hair.
Though the brief moment of concord vanished with haste and no anticipation; my mind shifted me wildly back to the moment of the fire in Sallncoln. Raw, disturbing memories flashed across my body making my skin crawl with hundreds of imaginary spider bites. I recalled people’s screams and the boisterous noises of the scorching fire, loudly biting at metal, wood and flesh.
I jumped to my feet, fighting the impulse of covering my ears with my hands. While circling barefoot the small bush that would be my shelter for the night, I remembered every face of those I saw lay naked and dead at the market’s stalls. With horror I comprehended I might not make it back to Sallncoln for the last goodbye, as their funeral would take place in the morning. The realisation bothered me a great deal.
“That dreadful fire!” I heard myself weep.
Yet, like a veiled hit, accused long after it had happened, a second pang hit at my stomach with reinvigorated vehemence; Elmira.
I dropped the knife on the ground, failing to contain the wretchedness that slowly took control of me.
On my third attempt on finding them, right before departing, I’ve learned from their neighbours the same thing that Nana and my brothers had supposed; that they must have probably returned to their village. But it did not make any sense to me, there was no reasonable explanation why Elmira and her mother would return to the place that had taken so much from them. And I strongly doubted that Elmira would have done so without first telling me. Something else had happened, of that I was certain, and it must have been about the fire.
The consideration made me more resolute to understand what it all meant and if, indeed, it had anything to do with that Naghnatë witch.
After a dozen more circles around the same shrub, I finally recovered the knife and sat down by the fire. My knee was hurting, a good distraction and a remi
nder to properly rest, if in the morning I wanted to look for the old man.
Loud chirpings delivered me to a nippy dawn after a rough night. I yawned widely and lengthily, considering how lucky I was that the fire had died after my clothes had managed to dry to a decent state and there had been no more rain during the night. I did not feel soggy anymore.
“Slept well, my friend?” I brushed Firebreath’s long mane, content to see him dry, rested and still nibbling, “Do you ever stop eating?” I chuckled and untethered him.
With determination, I gathered my belongings and continued my journey.
The intermittent sun soon started to cast bright rays, making the dawn unthreatened by imminent rain. The clouds were moving fast and were light enough to dissolve in the ray’s beam; spending another day in the rain was something that could’ve seriously risked my resolve.
I crossed the wide patch of pines, where I had collected my dinner the previous night, and not long after, I reached a fortification of brushwood. A long barrier of thick, living bramble and undergrowth was blocking my way to either side. It was unnaturally congregated as if to make a growing wall, denser still than the thicket at the forest’s edge. It was so dense that I feared I’d have to continue without the horse, and dreaded I’d have to circle it and waste more time. The positive thing was that I could the hear rushing waters louder than before. A reassuring sound, I was getting closer. There was no mistake, the place was the Ilka’s Covert, a place I had never visited before, yet often heard of its unusually tall trees and the multitude of sweet rivulets that fed into the main river, the Irhe.
I picked a sturdy twig to help me cleave myself a path through the plants but even with my hardest blows, it was impossible to penetrate.
“Aaarrggg!” I yelled my frustration and launched the useless rod to one side with what was left of my violence.
Two long intakes of air and I calmed myself, briefly considering the sole solution at hand; I’d have to circle it to reach the rushing waters. Though as far as I could see the wall continued with the same distribution and magnificence.
When I turned to pick Firebreath’s bridle, a twig snapped behind the thick bramble.
“Who’s there?” I promptly asked, hand on the saddlebag that kept knife.
No reply came, even as I became certain of a presence.
“What are you mumbling there, lad?” Unpredictably, a croaky voice came from behind me.
I turned around to see the face of a small, old man. He was wearing a long robe that reached to the ground and in one hand he had a walking cane, which he gripped tightly. What he lacked in hair over his almost completely bald head, he made up for with his long and properly trimmed grey beard. His slight stooped back did not make him a proper hunchback and nothing of him betrayed his age.
“You almost scared me to death, kind sir,” I offered, slowly recovering from my fright.
“As you’ve very much done to me, young sir!” he retorted, obviously disturbed by my intrusion.
“I didn’t know,” I tried to argue.
“That I lived here?” he scoffed. “And how could you? Still, I’m most certain that you’d made it your undertaking to take down my fence, had I not come to its rescue.”
He looked keen to show his disappointment.
“I apologise, it was not my intention,” I stammered, “I didn’t know this was a fence, I’m only looking…”
“Bladder, boy! Of course you knew, what else could it be? Have you seen anything of the like before? I very much doubt that.”
His serious face and reproaching tone made me very uncomfortable.
Under his scrutinising eyes, I slowly reached for the reins of the horse and tried to find an excuse to leave.
Though, his altered tone surprised me when he continued, “But it is a very fine wall, don’t you think?”
His serious grin turned into a wild smile, showing all his remaining teeth.
“Excuse me?” I asked, unsure if he was mocking me.
“Now come on, lad. I was just teasing you, cheer up! Barely anyone comes this way, ever. I thought I’d try and scare you a little.”
“I see.” I was not sure I had an explanation for the sudden change of temper.
“Now honestly, was I believable? Did I scare you a little?” He craned his head closer to me, carelessly dodging Firebreath’s nose and placing one of his thin hands over the horse’s forehead.
Miraculously the horse did not even flinch at the touch. I was starting to believe that he was not right in the head and prayed he was not the man I was looking for.
“Of course you did,” I said, quickly changing the subject, “Would you happen to know a man named Alaric? I came a long way to find him, and I’m afraid I am lost.”
“Isn’t this the most fortuitous day? Someone looking for me. How lucky am I?” he snickered, while hopping jubilantly from foot to foot. “Name’s Alaric Eamon Beorth; at your disposal, young sir!”
“Lorian Garr.” I grabbed the hand he extended and shook it, surprised at the strength he offered.
“Nice making your acquaintance, Lorian! Now, what can old Alaric do for you? Do you require a map, a formula, dare I say, write a love letter?”
“No, none of that. I know how to write and read quite well, thank you very much.” My reply came out sharply.
“Oh,” he murmured, turning more serious, “then what?”
“I need counsel on an important matter. I’ve been told that you might be able to help me find someone, an old woman that went by the name of Naghnatë.”
His face became blank. The name most certainly was familiar to him, but I could not comprehend why the sombre stare, nor the silence that followed.
“Naghnatë, you say?” His words trailed with a long humming before he continued, “I believe there’s no hope for such an endeavour. She doesn’t want to be found!” His tone elevated as he almost shouted his disdain.
With imprecision, he started to move, small steps back and forth as if deciding whether he wanted to stay or leave. He pushed his pointy cane into the ground and took out his anger on a smaller twig at his feet. He wasn’t content until he had broken the rotten branch in half.
“I believe old Alaric cannot help you much, lad! This may be something for a wiser being,” he mumbled and moved away from me.
“But, wait! What do you mean?” I followed him. “I know the name’s familiar to you. Why would you not impart what you know of her?”
“Because…!” His tone was irritated, his pacing faster.
“Because, is not an answer! An educated man such as yourself should know better.”
My witty remark made him stop and turn.
Nana had mentioned that the man had struck her as an educated scholar, perhaps a clerk, or at very least a scribe. And that must have been the case since he had offered to help me with a map or a love-letter.
“Boy, trust me when I say this! You do not know what are you meddling with. Turn back and go home before you spend another night in the forest.” He started to walk again.
I was baffled, “Did you…”
“Of course I knew you were here. I should know whenever someone intrudes into my forest. It’s my home, what did you think?”
“Wait!” I pulled at the horse’s reins.
“Go home!” he kept at his diatribe as I reached him.
“I won’t go home, I need to know where I can find her and then I’ll leave,” I insisted.
He did not reply. However, nor did he insist on sending me home. Instead, he followed through the shrubberies and trees with impressive deftness, apparently unbothered by me following him.
To my surprise, he had a lively pace. I was struggling to keep up with him, mainly because of my stubborn horse, but also because of my bad knee.
Being further back gave me the chance to take a better look at him. Soon I realised that what initially had appeared to be a white-grey tunic was now the most detailed robe I had ever seen. The rays cast by the leaves�
�� filtered light made the fine embroidered details twinkle lustrously. There were subtle, golden double-lines, crossing around its base, sleeves and neck. His waist was bound around by a thick leather belt with small pockets all around, some bulging with small things within while others were empty. The belt had odd bumps over its surface, undulating and elegantly flowing around its surface, like the scales of a lizard’s skin. Remarkably, the stick he was holding and aiding his stride with was not the simple rod I initially thought. There were markings all around it, from the very bottom to the very top, which ended in an entanglement of little branches that covered a dark-red stone. In my rushed pacing, I thought the stone was pulsing with light. What a nice rod that was, I marvelled and wondered inquisitively how a defenceless old man could carry such fine things without worry.
Just as I was trying to get closer so I could see the stone, he said without looking at me, “So, what do you want with the witch?” He slowed his pace, though he did not stop.
“There’s been a fire in Sallncoln, an inexplicable tragedy which claimed many lives. Some of us have reason to believe it has to do with the tokens.”
He stopped and found my stare. “Are you another of those filthy pilfers that thinks he can find a token with my help? Don’t lie to me, be honest! I’ve had enough of you people –”
“No, I am not! I am from Sallncoln and…” with hesitancy I decided it was best to be honest with him, “as a matter of fact, I think I have one of my own.”
His intense gaze turned to a muddled one and, by the time I had lifted the bundle and unfolded the knife from my saddlebag, his face was contorted with curiosity.
“Mind if I have a closer look?” he whispered, pointing at Winterhorn.
I extended my hand and, as soon as his spindly fingers touched the handle, his face shifted to complete astonishment, “By all beards, son, it is true what you said. Look at the boundless mark!”
Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1) Page 7