by K.N. Lee
"Bleeding superstitious peasants," Hussar grunted, and strode past me into the forest.
The prince cocked his head, as several of his men followed Hussar's example. "You don't follow the Way of the Light?"
"Do you think your new religion holds sway here?" I asked.
Evaron's eyes roved over the silent trees, and the shadows their boughs cast. He sighed, and then moved forward. "Paint me with chicken blood then. We'll probably need every god we know of to help us find the firebird, and my father would be most unhappy to lose me to some old wives tale."
"It's a pigeon," I muttered, tracing his forehead.
"I know," he said, and his eyes twinkled.
It was difficult to hate a prince who mocked himself.
Several of the men allowed me to mark them in the same manner.
Then finally it was Casimir's turn. He stared at my finger, his nostrils flaring. "I don't need the protection."
"You're a wolf," I said, "but here in Gravenwold, you're no longer the most dangerous thing in the woods."
"Just do it, Cas," called the prince, mounting his fine, sleekly bred bay gelding.
Casimir growled. "Blood brings predators."
"The trident scares them away." I smeared sticky blood across his forehead, having to stand on my toes to reach. He was almost as tall as Hussar, and it felt somewhat dangerous to be so close to a creature that could rip my throat out. I had to rest one hand lightly on his chest for balance, and by the time I'd finished, I realized he was barely breathing.
"What if the predator is within?" he murmured, for my ears only.
Wolvren were dangerous creatures, or so they said. Primal in their needs, and filled with such violence that could tear their way out of their human bodies, bringing the wolf to the surface.
I lowered my heels to the ground, a skitter of butterflies swirling in my stomach. "It's a good thing I know how to kill predators then."
And he smiled, the first one I'd ever seen on his face. "Make sure you aim straight for the heart then, Neva."
He might as well have punched me in the chest. Sweet Vashta. I turned away, trying to cover my sudden fumble into a move designed to shift the satchel on my shoulder. "I always do."
Something told me I hadn't fooled Casimir with my play at nonchalance. I could feel his gaze burning between my shoulder blades.
"Move out!" called Hussar, glaring at us as we stepped into the forest.
It was with some delight I called back, "But you're going the wrong way."
We made camp well before the sun set.
The forest grew more oppressive the deeper we went, and the sound of voices had gradually faded during the day. We encountered nothing—man or beast—but you couldn't escape the whisper of wind through the trees and the feeling something out there was stalking us.
I watched the prince move among his men, casting a gentle word here and a laugh there to assuage their fears. He was good at managing them, I thought cynically, though his golden looks didn't hurt. Prince Perfect. Evaron seemed like the sort of prince who could slay dragons, with his golden armor gleaming, and his sword glittering with gemstones.
It was Casimir who took the prince's horse and brushed it down; Casimir who dragged both of their leather satchels to a small thicket, and began setting up the prince's bedroll. He ignored most of the men and they returned the favor, though sometimes they looked uneasy when their eyes lit upon him. Wolvren were outlawed in the kingdom, unless they were leashed. It kept their wildness at bay.
Hussar, of course, dumped his gear in the middle of the clearing for one of his men to set up. Catching my eye, he made a deliberate motion to take a piss right near my bedroll, until the prince caught sight of him and sent him scowling into the woods with a few sharp words.
Evaron sought me out. "How far did you make it today?"
I shrugged, shaking out my father's blankets. "Not far. The trails are twisting, and I wouldn't be surprised to find it only ten or twelve miles."
He squatted beside me, watching as two of the men started to strike a fire. "You're good at what you do."
"Are you surprised, your highness?" I arched a brow. "I am my father's daughter."
Slowly he smiled. "And your mother?"
He didn't need to ask more. My coloring spoke of the south, and he wasn't the first northerner to comment upon it. "My mother was born in the plains of Burubar. She fled the war there—or something else perhaps. She never truly said, but she was trying to get as far away from her homeland as she could."
And she'd been unnaturally frightened of storms, hiding beneath the bed at night when lightning split the sky.
Once she'd asked me if I could see anything in the stormy sky. I'd asked her whether she meant a bird or a man, but she'd only brushed away my question. I'd know what she meant, she said.
Evaron scratched at his jaw. "I wanted to apologize for earlier. I shouldn't have allowed Hussar to threaten your father."
I tucked the edges of the blankets into my bedroll, keeping the emotion off my face. "You're a prince."
"And you're one of my people," he countered. "It was ill done of me, and I'd ask for your forgiveness."
Ask? Or demand? "As you wish, your highness."
Evaron's eyes narrowed. "You say 'as you wish' but your eyes say, 'I'll see you in the Darkness'."
His Darkness was a place reserved for those who lost their path from the Way of Light. I knew only a little of the religion the citygoers flocked to. "What is forgiveness to a prince?"
"It is everything to a man who has watched others overstep their place in this life."
Who was this man? Prince who brooked no argument, or a charmer determined to please? Whoever it was he meant when he said 'others', it had cast a vast shadow over him, I thought.
I softened. "To grant forgiveness seems an easy thing. Perhaps you should earn it, or how can you tell if it's real?"
He looked taken aback. "Earn it?"
"You clearly dislike the sanctions against wolvren, and yet you allow your boyhood friend to wear a collar. You ask for forgiveness, and yet you were quick to demand an ill old man venture out into the snows. Your father bleeds us dry with his taxes, and here you are, throwing good coin about my village as if you meant to make it rain gold. Perhaps if you lived a different life, you would not have to ask for forgiveness."
He was definitely taken aback now. "Did you just—" Then a shocked laugh escaped him. "You did. I don't think I've ever been chastised by a...."
"Village girl?" I suggested.
He rubbed at his mouth, his eyes twinkling. "I was going to leave it at 'girl'."
I rolled my eyes. "I doubt you've never been chastised by a girl. I've heard all the stories, you know."
"Well, not for throwing coin around, or ordering my country's men to fall in line. Or for Cas." His brow furrowed, as if he didn't like the thought. "I don't have much choice in Cas's predicament. That's my father's doing, and you cross my father at your peril."
"Even a son?"
"Especially a son."
None of the stories I'd ever heard about the king were complimentary. His legacies involved endless wars, and the crushing destruction of his foes. Crippling taxes, and thousands executed for a long-ago rebellion... I barely knew Prince Evaron, but I decided to reserve judgment.
If he took after his father at all, then I'd be dealing with a miniature tyrant.
What would it have been like to be raised by such a man?
Evaron cleared his throat. "Am I allowed to wash the blood off my face?"
"Only if you wish to die a gruesome death in these woods."
He looked at me sharply.
And despite myself, I softened. "I jest. The blood doesn't protect you. You asked for Vashta's protection, and she granted it when you entered. Her protection shall rest over you like a mantle, until you leave these woods."
Little lines curled in the corners of his eyes. "You have almost as bad a sense of humor as Cas."
"Casimir has a sense of humor?"
Evaron rubbed his mouth again. "Only with those he trusts. It's a small list."
I'd seen the pair of them act throughout the day. If I didn't see the wolvren collar, then one would almost think them friends.
"Tell me about these woods," he finally said, and then seemed to recall my previous words. "Please."
"What would you like me to speak of? Gravenwold... it's not just a forest. It's not just trees. Do you wish to know the length and breadth of it? The ruins it chokes with its vines? The creatures within it? The Heart? The Old Ways—"
"Let us start with the Old Ways," he said firmly. "How do you know of them? What are they?"
I sat on my heels, and breathed out. "My father taught them to me. His father, and his father's father before him, and so on... My family has been in these parts for centuries, long before the Empire of Velides fell. They were here when Vashta finally succumbed and created the Well of Tears to fight the Darkness."
"My Darkness, or your Darkness?" he asked quickly.
I frowned. When one came down to it, there were similarities between his Way of Light, and my Old Ways. "Do you know the story of Vashta?"
Every child learned it at its parent's knee here in Densby.
"The patron saint of hunters."
"The Huntress," I murmured, holding my hands out to the fire. "It is said there was a great darkness lurking in these woods once—the Darkness—and when the empire kept expanding, building its keeps and strongholds in the borders of the forest, they awoke it. It killed men and women in the night, leaving entire villages slaughtered by morning, their throats torn open. It murdered every man in one of the empire's finest cities, and turned the hearts of another city to pure evil. The people there killed and stole and raped, until finally the empire was at war with itself, and the capital city was burning.
"And with every death the Darkness grew, both in itself and in the hearts of men. The emperor sent his finest warriors to battle it, but they could not see it. And they could not track it. Nor could they fight it. All they could do was bury the bodies of their fallen comrades as one by one they fell to its teeth and claws in the night.
"The emperor grew desperate; he promised half the treasury to any man, woman, wizard or beast who could destroy it. And so, three of the greatest hunters in this area rode to his call. Vashta the Huntress; Rior the Silent; and Ermady the Fox, who had the gift of shape shifting.
"They fought the Darkness for many days and many nights. Ermady fell, his blood soaking the earth, and from his body burst a mighty ash tree. Rior changed into a dragon and tried to burn the Darkness, but it surrounded him like a cloud of night and he plummeted from the skies,
"The only one left was Vashta. Carving a spear from the branch of the ash tree, she lit the head of it in the fires of Rior's ashes, and sank it into the heart of the Darkness. But their blood had bound them during the fighting; as long as Vashta lived, the Darkness could not be vanquished. Knowing this, she fell upon her sword, and when she fell, she took the Darkness with her. The creatures of the forest wept, and where her body lay the tears pooled, and swallowed her body whole. Thus the Well of Tears was formed. Or so they say."
Silence
"My Darkness is a little different," Evaron mused, turning to survey his men as they set up camp. Nearby, Cas blew smoke from his tinder, nursing a small flame. He looked at us, clearly not liking what he saw.
I scowled back.
"It is said that only those who turn from the Way of Light fall to the Darkness. A monstrous, demonic force that will blind your eyes—and your heart—to the Light forever."
I shrugged. "I like mine better."
He laughed.
"I wonder where the origin of your story came from?" Evaron mused. "It's not the sort of story to spring from nowhere. There had to be some origin—some foul beast—that made people spin grand stories about its appearance."
"They say the Darkness means ‘Death’ in the Old Tongue." I replied, feeling a little stung. He might as well have called us superstitious peasants. "It's dead now, thanks to Vashta and her companions. I suspect we shall never know. As long as we bear the mark of Vashta's protection, then the Darkness cannot touch us here."
Evaron frowned, looking over his men. "Not all of us have that protection."
"No." My eyes fell upon Hussar, and a few others who'd not deigned to let me mark them. "Not all of them. But you do, my prince. You should be safe." I glanced up at the overhanging boughs of the forest. "From the Darkness, and hopefully from whatever else lurks in these dark woods."
5
A hand curled around my shoulder. I woke swiftly, alarm sweeping through me but there was a finger to my lips, and a warm shadow leaning over me.
"There's something moving out there in the woods," Casimir barely breathed the words in my ear.
I could just make out his amber eyes in the dying glow of the coals in the middle of the clearing.
Heart punching behind my ribs, I nodded as if to tell him I wouldn't cry out. His finger vanished from my lips, and then he melted into the shadows. All I could see of him was a darker form among the shadows of the overhanging branches. Easing from my bedroll, I dragged my boots on and slipped after him.
I knew these woods like the back of my hand, but the way Casimir moved through them was inhuman. He ghosted through the trees, making me curse to myself every time leaves rustled beneath my boots. The guard who was supposed to be on duty snored as he leaned against a tree. Good thing nothing had murdered us in our sleep.
Determined to track Casimir, I slipped through the trees. He was a flicker of shadow ahead of me, barely distinct from the darkness. Maybe it was the way he'd woken me, or maybe it was the conversation I'd had with the prince about the Darkness, but my nerves were on edge. Every now and then I stopped and cocked my head to listen, certain there was something out there haunting my footsteps.
Nothing.
We circled the camp, then drifted further.
I didn't have Casimir's nose, but now my eyes had adjusted to the dark I could see his wrinkling. He looked up, his gaze locking on a small clearing ahead, and the line of his spine that of a hound that had caught the scent of something.
"What is it?" I mouthed silently.
"Blood."
Pale moonlight streamed through the trees. We edged closer, creeping through the branches. Something that looked like black ink sprayed the snow in the clearing. Far too much of it for a small animal.
Both of us knelt silently in the bushes, waiting. Nothing moved. No sound caught my ear. Finally, Cas shook his head. "Whatever it was, it's gone now," he murmured, and broke from the trees. It felt strange to hear his voice.
I knelt by the eerie spatter, and touched it with my fingertips. "It's frozen. Had to be half an hour ago, at least."
"Maybe that was what woke me," he said, circling the blood splash. "I almost thought I heard something squeal."
"Unusual for something to hunt so close to where we were camping," I murmured. "It had to have smelled us."
"Mmm." He paused in his circle of the clearing. "I think it wanted us to know it was here."
A meaty skull stared back at us with hollow eyes. Someone had slammed it on top of a sharpened stake.
"Is that—"
"Deer," he replied, his voice roughening.
Something had stripped the skin from its face, and the eyes from its sockets, but thin sinews and gobbets of flesh still clung to its scalp.
I turned and strode away, trying not to vomit. It was one thing to skin a creature, and butcher it for meat. There was a purpose to that. Quite another to see something like this.
Casimir let out a slow sigh, scrubbing at his nose as he crossed to my side. At least I couldn't smell it as richly as he could.
"Sorry to rouse you," he rumbled, in that almost-growl. "I thought you might have known what was prowling around us."
I shrugged. "It's long gone, but it was here. And it's too
dark to make out any prints. I'll check it out in the morning."
"Go and get some rest."
I hesitated. "Somehow I think I need to walk it off a little first."
Going back to my bedroll right now would be to take that bloodied skull back with me. He shot me a knowing look and nodded. "Care for some company?"
We'd been avoiding each other all day, ever since the argument last night at the bonfire. I rubbed my arms. It was different here in the forest. Neither of us truly belonged in the company, and... he moved through the forest the same way I did. Respected it. Breathed it.
"Are you certain you heard something out here?" I stage-whispered as he fell into step beside me, "or were you just trying to get me alone?"
Casimir looked at me sharply, then his shoulders relaxed. "Yes," he said dryly. "I thought I'd conjure up a monster, just so I could listen to the dulcet tones of your voice."
"Nice touch with the skull. You might have gone a little overboard, however. Makes a girl want to throw up, not throw herself into your arms."
"I'll remember that for next time."
The terrible humor took the edge off my nerves. "Hopefully there's not going to be a next time. I think I've managed my quota of skulls for the month."
"What do you think did it?"
I didn't answer.
"No animal did that," Cas added. As if I wasn't entirely aware of that fact.
I dragged myself up onto a fallen tree, and tucked my knees against my chest. "I told you. There's something in these woods that isn't human."
"Monsters," he said flatly.
"Don't tell me you don't believe in monsters?"
"Only human ones." His nostrils flared though, and I knew he could still smell whatever it was.
Human ones. I couldn't stop my gaze from dropping to his collar. "I don't know what it was. Could be anything. I've never seen a monster, but all the old tales speak of them." A pause. "I think there's a witch in these woods. At least... I met her two days ago. She was pretty scary. Definitely witchlike."
Destiny, Neva.... I could almost hear her voice whispering through the trees.
No, thank you.