She whispered something to Veker, and when he seemed to disagree she raised one hand, silent, to him. Her open palm almost ordered Veker to listen.
Before I turned to leave with her, I said to Veker, “I don’t mean harm. I am trying to protect you.”
I didn’t give a damn about Veker or the Dasal. Save one.
“You come back with her before dusk or your men die,” said Veker.
I grabbed Zeria by the hand and we stepped outside into the gray, bleak wood. She was pulling me away.
“Not here, it is not safe,” she said.
There were many Dasal men around us, watching, and approaching. One of them, young and fair looking, was trying to reach me, while two more were pushing him back.
How I wish you’d let him free. Bring him to me. I know who you are. Come, claim her.
Zeria was pulling me away from them, but I kept looking at the danger. Leke had left Temin with the horses and was coming my way to help.
“Hide your eyes. My men must not see the blue,” I whispered to Zeria.
I ran to stop Leke before he came closer.
“Leke, I have to speak to their witch. She knows the secret paths,” I said.
“What of us?” he asked.
“You wait here. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be back soon. Promise me.”
He nodded without a word.
A few breaths later I had disappeared away from all eyes with Zeria. She took an uphill path and I followed. Mud and dead leaves, silence and a cold hand. We kept walking fast without words, trying to find a moment of peace away from the rest. When we reached a slope that cut our way abruptly, she stopped. We were about a hundred feet high. In the void stood one tree alone, clawing with its dark branches on the rocky cliff. Its gnarled body was the only thing that broke the fog below our feet.
You don’t belong here, tree.
“You don’t belong here, boy,” it whooshed back.
Zeria cut my thoughts, only to say the same thing. “It’s late, Da-Ren.”
Late? Dusk was falling fast. I hoped that’s what she meant.
Four whole moons had filled from the time I saw her last. The day I promised that I would be back for her in one moon.
I tried to come back for you.
She wasn’t looking at me, and when she was it was even colder.
Where is your smile, girl?
“I tried to—” I tried to explain.
“Saim said that you would not come back for a while. Much longer than four moons,” she said.
She kept walking carefully close to the dropping cliff, more to avoid my eyes and words rather than to get anywhere. I followed, I tried to say my Stories, about Gunna, Malan, the Blades. Not about the naked Ouna-Mas.
The farther away from the huts we got, the more she talked of trivial things. “We gathered enough supplies last summer. This winter is dark and heavy in snow, but we are well-protected from the winds here.”
I didn’t care about any of that. I wanted to steal a night with her. A real night, like the one I’d had with Razoreyes.
We were descending through the winter woods and after a while we miraculously reached the pond, where the arrow had hit me. Around my feet, the leaves had frozen red, gold and some even green, like the colorful tongues of monsters that didn’t manage to finish their words. Everything was still, sleeping, to rise again much later.
“You chose a bad moon,” she told me.
“It chose me. I could not come sooner,” I answered.
“Why did you come here again, Da-Ren? Our story died with the autumn flowers, moons ago. There is no hellebore or cyclamen anymore. Our light no longer shines.”
I took her hand.
“Since you left, the black hellebores… The snow killed them now, but when they blossomed, they made me think of you,” she said. “Dark roses, so dark, so different and beautiful. Sad.”
“What are you saying? I left to find the monsters. Only when I defeat them will you be safe here with me,” I told her.
“You should have stayed with me the first time. Now it’s too late. We are leaving for north, come spring. Before you hunt again.”
“You must wait for me.”
“I had to defy the men to save your life once more. My people were cursing and asking Veker for your death when they first spotted you alone from the Pack this morning. Are you mad to come here only with two men?”
I am mad.
“They know what you bring, Da-Ren. This is the last time I will ever see you. I promised them; you’ll leave and they’ll spare your life.”
“No, I will come back. In seven nights after the first moon of spring.”
“We will not be here.”
“Damn them! You will be. You’ll meet me here.” My eyes searched around for a mark. “There, by the fallen oak that touches the pond. The fallen oak will be here, and so will you.”
“We’ll be far away by then. If we stay here, we’re prey. You, those monsters that hunted you, anyone can come and—”
I pulled her closer and kissed her lips. She did not resist, but she did not embrace me either. An icy cloak, the armor of love lost, covered her.
I am going to kiss your lips just once. A burning kiss as if you were my Ouna-Ma. I am going to kiss you a thousand times just once.
Her lips were a red of chafed flesh and frozen blood; her tongue was warm but lifeless. The winter kiss lasted only two breaths. I ran the fingers of one hand through her hair, and with the other, I instinctively grabbed my blade, as if I needed to protect us from whatever was coming. But nothing came, not even a smile, not even a second kiss.
“Go. Find peace and forget,” she said. She put her hands on my shoulders as if she wanted to point me in the right direction. Away from her. “My father has forbidden me from seeing you ever again,” she said.
“Veker doesn’t matter. No one does. Seven nights after the first moon of spring. We will be together here, Zeria.”
She took her gaze away from me. We walked back to the huts in silence.
“One moon, Zeria. I won’t leave until you say yes.”
“Then…yes. I beg you for the last time. I can’t save you from the dead again, Da-Ren. Go, now.”
She turned her back and reached the huts alone. I followed her, until I lost her in a group of Dasal who protectively gathered around her.
I motioned to both of my men that we were leaving.
“There is a pass. South, through the mountains, but no one can cross it until the third moon of spring. We have to tell Khun-Malan. We gather our Pack and we ride to him,” I told them. I wasn’t lying. Just choosing my truths.
We left the wood behind and led the horses to the vast frozen meadows under the open sky. We could move much faster there, and five days later we reentered the Forest in the south and caught up with Malan earlier than I expected. It wasn’t difficult to track an expedition of a thousand warriors who were afraid of Forest demons.
Malan called me immediately to his tent. This one was a campaign tent and barely fit six men. We all nearly had to bow. He had abandoned the glorious abode of the Sirol camp and was in a hurry to get this campaign over with.
“What did you learn over there?” he asked.
“There is a passage in the south. That was what the Dasal told me. But ice and snow cover it in winter.”
“We will continue until we find it. You will be in front.”
“It’s a very small pass. The horses can go through only one by one,” I said. “No carts can follow.” The lies were crawling of their own will, like roaches out of my mouth.
“If the supplies and the war machines can’t get through, we cannot go to battle with the West,” said the Reghen.
“It wouldn’t be wise. I’ve heard words of a Western Empire. And they say it is very powerful,” I said.
“How do you know all of this?”
“The Dasal told me.”
“Did you torture them or ask them with your honeycomb voice?” Malan
asked.
I didn’t answer, so he continued.
“Can you tell me why you haven’t brought even one captive to show us the way? Are you stupid?”
It was the first time he called me that since the Sieve. I swallowed my rage and my words. Whenever I was forced to tell so many lies, I truly sounded like a fool.
“Those Dasal always seem to get away from you, Da-Ren. But winter is almost over, and then we’ll round them up all. I will make a forest of stakes at the Blackvein and stick their heads there. I’ll boil their light eyes and throw them to the dogs.”
I didn’t say a word.
We continued forward and southward into the Forest. I tried to stay away from Malan so he could forget me, forget them. He kept calling to me and asking me questions. Most of the others couldn’t tell him anything about the Forest. Not even the Ouna-Mas.
Not only were the Ouna-Mas not helping us by clearing the paths with some magic spell, but they were also slowing us down with their rituals, which raised the men’s fears. If there was a willow tree in front of us, they forbade anyone from touching it. Willows were considered the protector spirits of the Blackvein, revered for keeping the Cross Worshippers of the South away.
“It is the ancient willow pact, made by Ouna-Ma, the Blind, the First. We don’t touch them, and they protect us,” a Reghen said.
How did the Blind know of willows? Again, I chose not to speak. I so much wanted to be Reghen for one day only, just to find out if they truly believed all that came out of their mouth. So many lies, for so long, so many times, Reghen. They multiply like the roaches of the Undead.
If it was oak or birch, we were free to cut it to bits. If it was a walnut tree, then the Witches would stop anyone from even passing by it.
“Sah-Ouna asked for green walnut leaves,” a Rod said to me one afternoon. “But she cannot touch them herself. Bring them to me so that I can take them to her.”
“I can’t either, unless I wait underneath the tree for three moons.” Some of the young Rods had spent every day of their lives in Sirol, guarding Malan’s tent. They didn’t know anything about anything else. “Walnut trees don’t have any leaves in winter. Are you sure that Sah-Ouna asked you this?”
“Yes.”
“I will speak to her.”
“No, you don’t need to.”
Walnut leaves were necessary ingredients for many spells, and many Ouna-Mas wanted them. This was not the easiest of routes in the Forest, with the false stories of the Ouna-Mas being our only guides. It wasn’t enough that our men were attached to the magic and stupidity, but inside the Forest, their horrors came to life. If we came across a hazelnut tree, we stopped for a long while because an animal had to be sacrificed. We didn’t have many goats with us, so it was whatever we could find.
We dismounted and walked with our horses for seven long days and covered a distance that, alone, I could have traveled in one night. Eventually, we were south enough where the snow patches melted and some brave trees even spurted their first green. We were warmed by false hopes. Each small glade and each large clearing was succeeded by stone-covered hills and crags, and then the wood rose again, denser than before. The Forest would end many times only to thrust its next tentacle.
Three days later we thought that we had come to the end of our journey, but it was only the end of our patience. It was early morning, and I was riding first. The meager dawn’s light passed with difficulty through the thick fog and branches, but a crisp westerly wind was breathing against my face. By noon I had made it to the end of the Forest where the sun rays beamed plentiful and unhindered. The trees thinned, and ahead of us rose hills and mountains, black stone at the bottom and white snow on top, just as the Trackers had foretold. The course stopped, and the men camped at the foothills.
Malan ordered me and twelve other men to move forward with him. We climbed a hill almost two thousand feet tall. We descended and ascended an even taller one. And then a third, which was a treacherous mountain that tried to swallow us. We lost three men in the gorges and blind cliff drops. It took more days of climbing and nights of sheltering to reach a spot where we could have a clear view of what was ahead of us.
I finally reached the summit. Not the tallest one, but one where I could see the whole of the West. Malan was behind me. I rubbed my eyes, which had remained half-closed against the cold wind. There, across from us, spread the undefeated Empire of the West. Her warriors were nothing but giant firs, arrayed and evenly aligned, still and fearless, countless and endless. They wore their black and white armor, that of frozen wood and snow. The firs grew closely together, like an army of immovable giants, thirty feet tall, their icy spears even taller. Yet another forest. The forest ended somewhere to the north and south, where the clouds, fog, horizon, and snow all became one white nothing. Farther back rose a great mountain chain, like a black stone castle, thousands of feet tall, its invisible summits tearing through the gray clouds. Mountains that ended all paths to the west.
Mountains higher. Forests larger. The words of the Tracker and of Rouba.
I turned to look at Malan. He wouldn’t look back at me. He had just been handed his first defeat by the West’s army of firs and stone mountains. That which no horse could pass through, and that could swallow any rain of arrows we showered on them only to spit back hunger and despair. We were trapped.
With all the strength we had left, we turned back to the thousand men who were dying slow deaths in the land of the invisible Reekaal. We ran like hunted prey and the thorny branches marked us all with countless scratches, like tiny demon swords that remembered us from the Sieve.
They welcomed us back with cheers and bellows that died fast when they saw that Malan had no words for them. He shut himself in Sah-Ouna’s tent.
“What do we do, Chief? Did you see them? The demons of the West?” asked the men of the First Pack as soon as I returned.
“Yes, this campaign is dead. We will soon head back to Sirol,” I said.
I was wrong. We would continue our search. Malan refused to believe his fate.
“We continue farther south until we find the pass,” he ordered.
We wandered toward the south for many a dark night and days that felt even darker, parallel to the foothills, without daring to climb the mountain again.
Malan was pushing everyone forward. He rode first, a blind man, a Khun in search of his foretold fate.
At the council of the fourth night after our return, the First of the Trackers spoke, “I sent men ahead and they are back. They didn’t find any path through the mountains. As I told you, my Khun.”
Those last words sounded stupid in my ears. Those men didn’t know Malan as I did. The Tracker continued. “I say we get on boats and go up the river to the West, to find a way later, after the mountains.”
Boats. Another folly.
The Tracker stood with arms crossed, proud and confident for knowing so much more than all the rest, without even guessing that those would be his final words.
“So our best Tracker here says there is no path through the mountains,” said Druug, looking at me. “Where is your stupid path, Da-Ren?”
“Boats?” I replied. That single word was enough to save me.
Sah-Ouna whispered something to Malan, and before she even finished he continued with an angry, impatient voice: “Where the horses don’t follow, the Tribe doesn’t go. Never will I put the fate of our men upon the black water.” He nodded to the Rods. Two of them stepped forward and caught the Tracker by the arms. “Carve this useless dog and send him to the Fishermen,” Malan shouted for all to hear.
“You’ll get your little boat there,” the Rod said to the Tracker, laughing at his own half-brain joke.
“Someone has to stop this madness,” murmured the Reghen, shaking his head.
Malan looked at the old man, ready to carve him too. But he couldn’t punish a Reghen. There were things that even the One Leader couldn’t do.
“We are cursed. One among us i
s unworthy, and Enaka does not favor this campaign,” said Druug.
It was what I’d expect Sah-Ouna to say, but she wasn’t looking at me. All that was missing was for someone to recall my ninestar mark. Then everything would suddenly be my fault. I took two steps back to hide. I didn’t offer any wisdom, let alone the truth. I had figured already that one shouldn’t say much in these councils. Their only use was for the weak and the old to shout their terror and despair. And to find a scapegoat to lose its head faster. Nobody ever decided anything in a council. A Khun knew better than that.
“Da-Ren, tomorrow you ride forward with the Rods and me,” Malan ordered. “You lead until we find the path, and if we don’t…”
I kept riding first for three more days, waiting for each one to be my last. In my sleep, I saw Zeria, her back turned to me, and heard Rouba’s voice behind my ear. “The Forest Witch. This is her wood. Fear not, Da-Ren, you are safe here.” Once more the old Guide was right.
On the fourth dawn, as I trotted next to Malan and Sah-Ouna, the First Witch raised her hand and stopped. She dismounted and approached a tree. I had seen this tree once before. Bunches of crystalline red berries like drops of clotted blood against the white forest.
You are the tree of my death. You had charred branches, and now they are frozen white. I have seen you in the caves of the dead; you were the one draining my blood. I remember you, tree.
At the sight of the red crystal tree, Sah-Ouna fell to one knee and covered her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Back!” she screamed.
My horse, which had not complained for two tormenting moons, rose on its two hind legs.
Rarely did the Witch speak, and never before had she screamed in front of us, not even at the pyre of Khun-Taa, the one who had named her First. The thousand-warrior horde quickly gathered everything, and we broke camp, running before anyone had a chance to wonder what had happened.
We turned eastward, stopped only for a brief sleep, and returned to Sirol without even paying much respect to the rituals required for each tree. Everyone marched back in silence for days. When one sets out for the unknown on a journey of hope, the road seems endless. When one returns home after defeat, the road blessedly shortens and ends quickly. It still took more than half a moon until we finally made it to Sirol. The Blades welcomed the frozen shithole that was our camp like a warm nest of rest and plenty. All things I loved had died in that winter but the cold was finally dying as well.
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