by C. Greenwood
* * *
Eventually I became aware of a raging thirst. My mouth was dry, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had a drink of cool water. Suddenly I was desperate for it. Maybe dehydration was contributing to my weakness and the jumbled confusion of my thoughts. I could lie helpless no longer.
After failing at a pathetic effort to stand, I settled on crawling, dragging myself inch by inch out of the shadows of the cave. The afternoon sunshine seemed bright after the dimness I left. I was drawn by the sounds of the gently splashing fountain that fell over the rocks and tumbled into the pool at their base. It was a short distance from the mouth of the cave to the pond at its side. But it might have been a mile, for all the work required to reach it.
When at last I reached my goal, I lay on my belly on the bank and dipped my face into the shallows, lapping up the cool, refreshing water. Almost at once, my head felt clearer. I was now revived sufficiently to notice other discomforts besides pain and thirst. I decided hunger was my most immediate problem.
Seeing the shadows of little perch darting along the bank, I made a clumsy grab for one. I felt the brush of its tail as it slipped through my fingers. I had never attempted fishing with my bare hands before, so it was unsurprising I lacked the skill. I should try again. But my energy was depleted after the struggle to reach the pool. I lay my head down on the muddy shore and slept.
The next time I woke, the afternoon sunshine had given way to the half-light of evening. Again I was aware of the rumbling in my aching stomach. I tried sitting up and was glad to find the action no longer made my head spin. I took another drink from the pond. Then I felt strong enough to peel the hastily made bandage from my wounded leg. I hadn’t looked at the cut since it happened. Once I had cleaned away the dried blood with fresh water from the pool, I was relieved to find it seemed to be healing well enough. At least there was no swelling and it was less painful than it had been. I cleaned my neck wound as well.
As I sat by the water and finished binding my injuries with fresh strips of cloth, my attention was recaptured by the moving shapes in the pool. I decided to give fishing another try. I spent the last hour of daylight trying to scoop fish onto the shore. In the end, I finally succeeded, only because I found an injured, slow-moving perch. Starving and without easy means to build a fire, I ate my catch raw.
I thought of my friend Ada’s skill of summoning fireballs out of thin air and wished I had her here to create one for me now. But because I didn’t, I crawled, shivering, back into the cave as the last glow of daylight vanished from the sky. Once more, the cold crept up from the stone floor. Again I buried myself beneath a layer of dried leaves.
Tomorrow, I thought, things would look better.
* * *
During my recovery, my days took on a sameness that made it difficult to tell one from the next. Each time I woke to find it light outside, I dragged myself from the entrance of the cave to the pool. Some days I was able to catch breakfast. More often the fish eluded me and I spent the day hungry.
Once, I found a flowering bush growing up the side of the cave. Its berries provided something to fill my empty belly. Unfortunately, I knew little about wild berries, and those turned out to be mildly poisonous, making me sick to my stomach for hours.
Despite the scarcity of good food, my body was gradually growing stronger. I was now able to hobble short distances on my wounded leg although I tired quickly.
Only my mind refused to heal. I could remember recent days very clearly, but the events from before my plunge into the lake remained murky. I had to concentrate hard to recall some things that kept escaping my grasp. I didn’t believe this was related to my injuries. More and more I looked with suspicion on my magic amulet. My memory had been clear enough before the riverwoman put the thing on me. Was it to blame for my confusion? Even if it was, I had developed a funny superstition against taking it off. Anyway, the amulet was hardly the only enchanted object I possessed. My bow remained at hand, a convenient crutch or weapon if I had need of either. I was fairly sure that it, at least, wasn’t playing with my wits.
During the long, cold nights, my dreams were haunted by the memories my waking mind struggled to sort out. Vividly I saw places from the past. I viewed again the inside of my former prison, the rough gray walls of the Eyeless Tower. That stone edifice wasn’t truly eyeless, possessing a single slit-like window looking down from my cell into the courtyard below. There stood the grim scaffold and the bloodstained block where my father had lost his head. In my nightmares, I witnessed his death again, as I had in so many dreams before.
Some nights I dreamed instead of my mother’s death in a carriage accident, a dimmer, more distant memory, as I had been much younger then. Even in my sleep, it occurred to me that it was best she hadn’t lived to see the fate that would befall her family in later years. She had died at a time when we retained the favor of the praetor of Camdon and when my father was still honored as the congrave, a generous lord to his tenants.
I always awoke disturbed after those dreams and felt more than ever an impatience to get back to Selbius and learn whether my brother was safe and well. But it was too soon. I wasn’t ready yet for travel. So to calm myself, I would finger my father’s silver and jasper signet ring worn over the knuckle of my thumb. Sometimes I would flip the little catch that swung open the face of the ring, revealing the hidden compartment inside. There rested a tiny lock of my mother’s pale golden hair.
Another comfort was a leather-bound book I carried at all times tucked into an inner pocket of my cloak. I had kept the book during my days in the tower, at first chronicling within its pages the downfall of my family and, later, scribbling random thoughts or snatches of poetry I had learned in happier times. This collection of pages grew more important to me with each passing day, as I foresaw a time when my own memory might completely fail me. Back on the riverwoman’s raft, I had borrowed ink and quill to record recent events since the tower escape. Now I renewed my determination to continue keeping a written record of my life, against a day when I might have nothing else but these scribblings to remind me who I used to be.
* * *
There came a morning when I was able to walk a little. I couldn’t go far without tiring, but I could limp around the small clearing surrounding the cave and pool. Encouraged, I hoped this would give me more opportunities to procure food. The perch in the pool were becoming wary and harder to catch. But there might be berries out there among the trees—nonpoisonous berries this time, I hoped. There was also bound to be small game if I could only figure a way to trap some.
Once long ago, on a walk in the woods near our family castle, I had encountered the young son of one of my father’s tenants laying small animal traps. Knowing the boy would be punished for hunting or trapping on the land, I hadn’t told on him. Could I now duplicate the sort of traps he had laid?
I collected what materials I could, gathering small sticks and stones. I unraveled strands of string from my cloak, which was fast becoming little more than a tattered rag.
I laid several traps that day, using berries and scraps of old fish for bait. I envied that long-ago farmer’s son his expertise, for I scarcely knew what kind of creatures I was hunting or what they ate. I only knew that I had seen tracks in the mud on the bank of the pool, where small animals came to drink at night. It seemed a good place to set my traps.
My early efforts were crude and produced no results the first time I checked them. So I decided to set my traps farther from camp. Each time I left the cave, I ranged a little farther from the clearing and deeper into the trees. I wasn’t just looking for food. I was testing my strength, measuring my readiness for a journey toward the city. I still had my map of the four provinces tucked safely inside my cloak. It included markings of the main roads surrounding Dimmingwood. If I could ever break free of the trees, I could find the path that would lead me to Selbius. All I needed was the strength for the long walk ahead. Soon, I felt, I would be ready.
&nbs
p; One morning when I hobbled out to check my traps, I had two pieces of good luck. The first, I had finally caught something. A squirrel had been crushed by a large flat rock I had propped over a slender stick attached to a piece of baited string. For once, I would have something besides fish to eat.
I was still celebrating this when I made my second discovery, a large bush full of berries. My previous experience with the berries growing along the cave made me wary. Those berries had sickened me, and even the animals wouldn’t touch them when I used them as bait in my traps. But these berries were different. I recognized them as tartberries, which used to grow in the woods on my father’s land. Ferran and I had picked them when we were small, proudly serving them in silver bowls to our mother. They were sour but safe. A cautious taste confirmed it.
Thinking of the journey I would soon be making, I filled my pockets until they bulged with berries. I might have nothing else to eat on my way to the city, for my bow was useless without arrows and I would have little time for setting traps.
Now in my search for more berry bushes, I wandered farther from my base at the cave than usual. My injured thigh felt strong enough today to walk a longer distance. I had just found another patch of the tartberries and rushed over to pick them, when I noticed something unexpected in the soft dirt surrounding the bush. Footprints. These weren’t the delicate tracks of animals but the large prints of a man.
A chill passed over me. Since entering Dimmingwood, I had seen no sign of any humans but the madman who had nearly killed me. Did these prints belong to him? And if they did, was he nearby, stalking me, watching me from some concealed spot, waiting to pounce?
I suddenly felt that I shouldn’t have left my bow behind in the cave. At least it made a decent club for protection. Better than nothing. Now I had only my bare hands to defend myself if the madman should attack. Remembering his jagged knife and the feeling of his sharp teeth sinking into my flesh, I hurried back toward the cave as quickly as my bad leg would allow.
All the way I imagined my enemy following me, letting me lead him straight to my hiding place. It was a spot where I would be helpless and easily cornered come nightfall.
CHAPTER THREE
I shouldn’t have ranged so far from the cave. My injured leg, still not fully recovered, couldn’t take the strain. I collapsed many times and was crawling by the time I reached the familiar clearing.
In the shadows of the cavern, I felt safer. But I knew it was a false security. If my enemy tracked me back here, I would be easy prey in the confined space. There were offshooting tunnels leading deeper back into the rock, but I had no idea how far they ran and wasn’t eager to explore them in utter darkness. There could be holes, unexpected drops into deeper levels. I might easily fall to my death or break a limb and find myself in an even more helpless position than the one I was in now.
So I gripped my magic bow, drawing courage from it, and kept watch out the mouth of the cave. The bow never glowed and remained cold in my hands. That was reassuring. Since gaining the enchanted object from a peddler woman, I had discovered its former owner wasn’t exaggerating when she claimed the weapon was in the grip of some curse or spell. She was right. At moments when I was in danger, the bow warmed and cast off a fiery glow, as if to warn me. Sometimes I even imagined I could hear it chanting in my head, urging me to do things.
But the bow was silent now, as lifeless as any ordinary weapon.
As sunset came, lulled into letting down my guard, I finally lay down to rest. This time it seemed I had escaped the dangerous lunatic who wandered this wood. I might not be so fortunate again. I would push toward the capital city tomorrow, I decided drowsily. Between my wounded leg and my low food stores, I wasn’t ready. But I had taken all the respite I would get here. In the morning, I would brave the dangers and set out.
* * *
Dawn found me still determined to go ahead with my journey. As the early light cast its golden glow through the cave entrance, I gathered together what little I had and said goodbye to the gloomy place that had been my shelter for too long. I was eager to be away to the city, where I could pick up the search for my brother.
Along the bank of the pool, I took up a fallen branch. It was the right size and shape and had been previously stripped of bark and twigs by the teeth of a beaver. It would make a sturdy walking stick. With nothing but pockets full of berries, my bow, map, and the walking stick, I left behind the peaceful clearing with its red-rocked cave and babbling waterfall.
My leg seemed none the worse for the strain I had put on it yesterday. With the help of my new staff, I covered good ground. It was difficult to figure out exactly where in the forest I was, because so much of Dimmingwood was not filled out on the map. But I knew the stream I had floated in on while aboard the riverwoman’s raft, and my sense of direction told me in which way the forest’s edge should lie. Surely if I pushed on for a couple of days I would reach the end of these trees.
Dimmingwood seemed a less sinister place to me now that I traveled it on a warm morning with the dappled golden sunshine playing through the treetops. Birds sang, and squirrels chased one another through the branches above. Once I spotted a fat brown rabbit that darted out of my path when it saw me coming.
For the first time in a while, my spirits lifted. I was healing. I was leaving the territory of the wild man, and I had a little food to sustain me. I dared to hope I would reach Selbius without incident and find Ferran safe and well. After all, I had left him in Ada’s care. The magicker girl was experienced in fending for herself. She would have the sense to take Ferran into hiding until our enemies gave up the search.
As for me, with any luck the man with the scarred chin who had attempted to kill me atop the city wall would think me dead. Why shouldn’t he? The last time he saw me I was plunging into the mist-shrouded lake far below. My last act before the fall had been to shoot his red-bearded companion. My arrow had struck the man’s neck. I didn’t see how he could survive such a hit. That meant one fewer enemy hunting Ferran and me.
Morning wore into afternoon. I grew hungry but conserved my berries, knowing they had to last me a long way. I became thirsty but had no water. Reluctant to do anything that would delay my reaching the forest’s end, I decided to stick to my course and not wander off looking for a stream. I could drink later. Right now what mattered was covering as much distance as possible. That was important because the longer I walked the more my leg began to bother me. At first it was only a dull ache, but gradually the site of the semihealed wound began to throb. Refusing to rest, I continued on for several more hours.
It was as the sun was finally sinking and a blush of pink spread across the horizon that I noticed something strange about my surroundings. I had encountered many small animals earlier in the day, but now I saw none. It was as if they were in hiding in this part of the forest. The birds that had sung so freely in the treetops during the morning and afternoon had since fallen silent. Had someone passed this way before me, startling them into silence? It was an uneasy thought.
I told myself I was concerned over nothing. All the same, as the shadows of the tall trees grew long across my path, it began to seem there was something threatening about the thick tree trunks and stands of bushes lining my way. Did I hear a rustling among the leaves? Was there movement among the shrubs?
CHAPTER FOUR
My mind jumped to the wild man and his earlier unprovoked attack. What would happen if I stumbled across him again? I was painfully aware I still had no weapons but a useless bow without arrows and a slender walking stick that could be easily snapped with little effort. I was also weakened by injury, weariness, and hunger. If I had been no match for the madman before, I was even more vulnerable now.
While I wrestled with my fears, the evening breeze carried a familiar scent through the woods—smoke. The light haze drifted this way from up ahead. I was instantly alarmed. Where there was smoke there were humans. My lunatic enemy or someone else?
There was o
nly one way to find out. I followed the trail of smoke, on my guard for the first sign of danger. But I found none. Instead, peering through the greenery, I spotted wooden-shingled rooftops and stone chimneys. I had come upon one of the woods villages Ada had told me dotted this forest. It was a sleepy little collection of not much more than a dozen houses, ranged in a circular pattern around a green. Laughing children played on the grass. The homes were small and roughly built, with chicken coops, goat pens, and vegetable gardens alongside them. Some even had pigs or chickens wandering in and out the open doors.
My heart lifted at the sight of any kind of civilization. It seemed like I’d been roaming alone in this wilderness forever. Perhaps the villagers could tell me whether I was following the right path to get to Selbius. Just as importantly, maybe spending the coming night close to the village would grant some protection from the wild man. Such a person was unlikely to trouble me so near other people.
I barely hesitated. It made sense to approach the locals. I had no enemies here.
I walked boldly into the middle of the village. The handful of ragged children who had been chasing each other in circles on the green fell still and silent at my approach. A balding man on his knees, weeding a vegetable garden, looked up as I neared his house. At first I thought he was staring at me. Then I realized it was my faintly glowing amulet he was looking at. Either way, it seemed I had his attention.
“Good day,” I called to him. “I’m a stranger to these woods and am seeking directions.”
He looked quickly down and continued his work as if he hadn’t heard me.
Maybe he was hard of hearing?