Grimenna

by N. K. Blazevic

  As she closed her eyes to sleep she sent her prayers out, wishing the Spook to find his peace if that was what he truly was. A ghost, a soul, trapped between the netherworld and here.

  — «» —

  By nightfall the next day they had reached the top of the mountain without any hindrances. They made a quick camp and collapsed into sleep.

  The next morning, by the light of the early dawn, as the Wildermen roused themselves and wiped the soot of the campfire from their eyes, Paiva ventured out to face the northern sky wherein the Highpeaks rose. The valley floor below was deceptively small, looking more like a lush green blanket than a treacherous forest. She had awoken with an empty feeling and rolled over to find Renn was already awake and gone to tend to the horses; the moss alongside her still warm and imprinted from where he had lain. She closed her eyes and recalled the sound of her mother’s voice, the smell of bread baking in their small kitchen, and the rich mixture of flowers that grew in the meadows above their little house. Only then did she find the strength to rise and face the mountains that loomed ahead.

  Renn came to find her and stood beside her whilst she stared at their formidable shapes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am weary.”

  “It will be easier now,” he replied softly. “We have not far to go now before we reach Maggra’s.”

  “What if what the Spook said was true? What if the Folka are coming?”

  “That’s why they call him the Spook, Paiva, don’t let him get to you. I do not doubt we have been watched by the Folka since we left. If they wanted us dead, it would have happened already.”

  He came to stand next to her, reassuring her with his presence, and followed her gaze out to the mountains.

  “Do you suppose on the other side of the river under different circumstances… do you suppose we would have befriended each other in some other way?”

  “No,” he responded shortly.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Lords do not become friends with kitchen maids or sheep herder’s daughters. And if they do they are not sincere.”

  She was quiet, saddened by his response. “If we return to the world again do you suppose we could try to be true friends? Not this, whatever this is, where you are bound to me because of guilty promises.”

  Paiva could feel his eyes studying her, could feel him shift his weight. “Surely,” he nodded. He made to head back to the others then, but stopped of a sudden and turned back to her thoughtfully. “The person I was before, I am glad he died in that gully. And I would let him die a hundred times again if that is what it would take to make this ragged person I am today. I might be ugly and sullied now, but at least I am sincere. I am bound to you Paiva, but not by guilt. By belief.”

  She turned her head to him and found his eyes were bright on hers.

  “You’re not ugly,” she said. For a moment she wondered if she could still breathe as a growing tension seemed to mount between them. He blinked uneasily, then stepped away, turning back to the others to make ready for the day.

  — «» —

  Hidden Rock, which would lead northwards straight to Maggra’s camp, was unlike the rest, for it was painted in swirling blue dye. Paiva studied it curiously, discerning the woman from Ginver’s song lying in swirls of flowers as she looked up to a hawk that appeared to be falling above her pierced by an arrow. It was a beautiful and haunting image, primitive in its execution yet clearly depicting the song.

  They stopped at the rock to rest the horses and eat a small ration of dried meat and berries. Ulrig went to sit atop it and spread his palms flat against its surface, staring out and into the trees with his strange wide eyes.

  “What is he doing?” Yulin asked Renn who was bent over Runa’s hoof inspecting it for bruises. He cast a sideways glance to Ulrig and chuckled, dropping Runa’s foot and patting her neck.

  “Talking to the stones,” he answered.

  “He’s a strange man,” Yulin said, watching Ulrig mutter to himself. The rest of the Wildermen took no notice of him and went about their business of tending to the horses and eating their meat.

  “I hope they don’t have anything bad to say today,” Renn noted.

  Ulrig snapped out of his reverie and rose, descending back to his horse with a grave face. He muttered to the men around him and Renn watched as their hands darted guardedly for their weapons. Renn stiffened and looked to Yulin.

  “That’s trouble,” Renn said.

  “Trouble?” Yulin echoed. “What sort of trouble?”

  “Folka.”

  Yulin’s eyes darted into the trees warily. Renn came to help Paiva up onto her horse and then swung up on his, leading them back in line with the others as they headed onwards. Yulin followed up their rear, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword. They had not headed out far when Ulrig looked back at Renn and through some small signal Renn fell back, halting his horse to let the others pass him by.

  Paiva whirled her head around to give him a questioning look, but he motioned for her to keep going. She turned her questioning eyes on Yulin instead.

  “Scouting,” Yulin nodded to her as another Wilderman ahead broke away from the procession and cantered up the trail ahead of them. Yulin pressed his horse closer to Paiva and swung his gaze through the trees. They went forwards in silence, moving through the trees in a snaking line. She looked back to Renn nervously, but he had already disappeared.

  By the time they made camp that evening, only the forward scout had returned, bringing no ill tidings with him. Paiva helped Ulrig to boil water and waited anxiously for Renn, her mind spinning with possible altercations he had encountered. The air was heavy with unease as the men began to settle in for the night. They bristled together and darted their eyes through the trees in apprehension, but nothing unusual appeared.

  Like the Spook Renn returned, riding his horse into camp and tethering it with the others before joining Ulrig by the fire. Yulin and Ulrig both watched him settle down impassively. Only Paiva breathed a sigh of relief at his safe return.

  “And?” Ulrig asked as he handed Renn a bowl of hot broth and ash cake.

  “They’re gathering behind us,” he said ominously and sucked on his meal. Paiva looked to Ulrig in alarm, but he was calm.

  “We’re almost in the Northwoods. I’ll call for them in the morning. If any are about they may come.”

  Paiva gathered he spoke of the Northwoods Wildermen.

  “Anything up front?” Renn asked.

  “The way is clear,” he mused. “So far. How many behind us?”

  Renn lifted his eyes up and searched the trees he had come from. Paiva felt the hair on her neck stand on end at his chilling gaze. His face flickered with firelight, his body coiled with tension.

  “Too many,” he said.

  “How close?”

  “Too close.” He dropped his eyes back into the fire pensively. “They’re stalking us, but they don’t seem hungry.”

  “So we do not trespass unnoticed,” Ulrig sighed. “Of course not. Let’s pray they keep their distance until morning light at least.”

  — «» —

  Paiva could find no sleep as she lay down. Ulrig dozed alongside the blazing fire and Yulin slept propped against a tree. Two Wildermen remained on guard at either end of the camp, and Renn sat up by the fire whittling at a stick. She lay awake for hours, staring into the fire too afraid to close her eyes, jumping at the slightest sound.

  At some point in the night Renn rose silently and went to Yulin, who came awake before Renn bent to rouse him. Wordlessly they exchanged watch. Yulin rose and sat by the fire where he began to clean the dirt from beneath his nails with his knife, his eyes bleary and strained. Renn padded along the perimeter of the camp, searching the trees. The other Wildermen on guard were also relieved by their comrades, and Paiva’s
heart surged with relief to know that half the night was already over.

  Renn crept back to their fire and threw more wood on it, then stepped over Paiva and lay down along her back. He instantly filled the drafty void, her exposed backside suddenly warmed by his presence, blocking her from the woods. She heard him rustle with his oilskin cloak, closing himself into it like a bat would its leathery wings. When she looked over her shoulder she found his eyes were wide awake, staring into the ceiling of stars through the branches above. His face was awash with weariness and he closed his eyes in resignation.

  “Go to sleep,” he murmured and rolled to his side to face the creeping shadows. She took another glance through the trees uneasily and laid her head back down, finding that the air was growing chilled and dewy. The sky above remained black; there was no sign of morning blush. Her own weariness made her bones ache and her eyes feel like they were filled with sand. Unhappily she closed them, but she found no sleep waiting for her there. She shivered miserably with cold and her aching fear, and still she found no rest. When she opened her eyes again Yulin sat hunched over the fire, his hands on his knees, staring at the glow of flames with empty eyes as if he were in a trance. He looked empty, far away in another realm where there were no nightmares watching. Slowly she closed her eyes and sought to find some rest.

  She bolted upright when Yulin tossed another scrap of wood on the fire, the noise startling her. Yulin did not notice her alarm. He was staring into the woods with his haggard eyes and she swung her gaze to where he looked. There was nothing but creeping shadows — and then, to her alarm, a flash of eyes that appeared momentarily. They blinked, reflecting the firelight back at her, then dissolved into dark and disappeared.

  “Renn,” she whispered and nudged him. “Renn, there’s something in the trees.”

  “Go to sleep,” he murmured, unmoving. The eyes appeared again, flashing at her before they passed through the slash.

  “Renn…” she hissed and reached out to grab his shoulder. As she shook him she felt cold seep up her hand. Hastily she drew away from him, looking to Yulin who still stared vacantly into the trees.

  “Renn…?” she said again. He sat up silently and swiveled his head to her, and she gasped when she saw his face. He was ghostly pale, his knotted hair stark white, and his eyes an empty black.

  “Go to sleep,” he said, and smiled.

  — «» —

  She realized she was dreaming. No sooner had she begun to scream than the vision vanished and her eyes shot open into darkness. Her scream was muffled about her ears, trapped under the fur she slept in. She tore at it and struggled to rise, grappling in the dark to regain her senses.

  The camp site spun into view. Yulin was on his feet with his knife in hand and there were hands on her shoulders.

  “Paiva, Paiva!” She heard her name and found Renn’s face inches from hers. He appeared normal, whole, and as he should. His eyes were fiercely bright staring into hers as he willed her to come to her senses.

  “You’re alright,” he said gently. “You’re alright. Hush.”

  “What is wrong with her?” Yulin asked nervously.

  “She was dreaming, that is all,” Renn replied. The others lifted their heads to see what the commotion was about, but Yulin was already sitting back down to resume his watch. The others took his gesture to dismiss any further worry. They soon settled back down and resumed their weary slumber.

  “It’s alright,” Renn said as Paiva looked back to him. “It was only a dream.”

  “You were him,” she trembled. “You looked back to me with a white face and black eyes.”

  Renn withdrew his hold of her and looked to Ulrig, whose speckled eyes were watching sagely from his sleeping spot.

  “He is the Lord of Nightmares,” Renn said. “Tomorrow I will find you some mountain sage and burn it in the fire. It will keep him from your dreams.”

  “But you were him.”

  “I am Renn. Don’t let him trick you.”

  “What do you mean? Is he here? Is he watching?” Paiva exclaimed in horror. Again Renn looked to Ulrig who imperceptibly shook his head. There was much that could be relayed amongst Wildermen with only the slightest of gestures. “No,” he said to her. “But you cannot be afraid. You give him power over you when you are afraid.”

  “But I am afraid,” she hissed fiercely. He watched as her wild eyes roved through the trees in panic.

  “He’s not here,” he said again, and laid his strong hands on her arms. “I am here, and I will keep you safe.”

  His eyes were steady on hers, filled with firelight and promise.

  “Alright,” she said, swallowing her heart, for it had leapt into her throat. “Alright.” She sidled back down into the moss and stared at the stars as her pulse slowly calmed.

  He followed suit, resuming his former position curled with his back against her.

  “Renn,” she whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “You were right. I would never be able to do this alone.”

  — «» —

  When she woke in the morning the air was freezing, the moss around her covered in heavy drops. Yet somehow, she was warm. There was a spitting rain falling through the trees — more of a mist than an actual rain. She was surprised, for the sky had been so clear last she had glimpsed of it. There was birdsong filling the trees, along with the gentle snores of the sleeping men. All was hushed, peaceful and undisturbed.

  She closed her eyes again to savor it, and realized why she was warm. Renn had rolled over in the night and thrown his oilskin over her to share and to keep her from the damp. His arms were crossed and his chin tucked into his chest, and though he did not touch her she became intensely aware of how close he was. She turned her head to study him and found that in sleep his face became soft and vulnerable, its battered edges smoothed with peace, becoming almost boyish again. She could smell the horsemint he chewed in his long breaths and his strange bodily scent of earth and leather. She found herself wondering intensely who he had been before he had come to the woods — what sort of character he had possessed, what he would have been like had his life not been thrown away. She thought sadly to herself, that he would have been too beautiful.

  Suddenly the softness of his face hardened and she knew he was surfacing from his faraway dreams. She did not have time to look away before his eyes opened into the morning light and found hers. It was for a breathless moment he stared back at her and the world around her grew even more hushed.

  He rolled away to rise and pulled with him his sheltering cloak. She huddled down into her own fur, trying to preserve the last of his warmth, unable to look up and meet the expression she might find on his face. He moved away without a word, moving off to waken the others.

  — «» —

  Later that morning, Ulrig stood atop the Stone and bellowed on his horn, calling in long winding blasts that echoed through the hills. He waited for long moments, listening for a return call, but nothing came. With a long face he hopped back down from the rock and found his horse, leading the gang off in silence.

  By late afternoon they passed a painted fir tree. Its trunk was covered in swirling blue patterns. She looked to Renn for answers.

  “We’re entering Maggra’s woods now,” he muttered darkly. Ulrig stopped again to blow on his horn and wait for a return call, but nothing came. There was only the silence of the hills. They moved on, trespassing into the Northwoods.

  — «» —

  It was by dusk the creature appeared. A shadow flitted through the trees and spooked the horses, causing the men to shout out in alarm and draw their weapons to the ready. Yulin brandished his sword and tried to keep from losing his seat on his horse. Renn had an arrow notched and aimed into the trees before Paiva could blink. A shriek echoed from the trees, a spine-chilling sound, like a woman would make if she had been stabbed through th
e heart. It sounded again, closer, louder. The horses began to prance. Jakbur lifted his head and snapped the tether that connected him to Runa. Paiva lunged for his reins and his mane, trying to keep him still and herself from being thrown. Yulin pressed his horse forward and she remained trapped in-between him and Renn, guarded from both sides.

  Then a shape appeared before Ulrig at the lead of the group. A shadow that lifted from the trees — a twisted, bearded face with a maw that opened wide and uttered a low, pained moan. It stared at them with gaping, sightless eyes and in them was the shadow of every primal evil known to man. It pulled back its lips in a rictus snarl, its furred body coiling as it drew itself into a crouch.

  “It’s wounded,” Ulrig called, and Paiva saw broken arrow shafts protruding from its back. “Turn back, it’s not after us.”

  An arrow hissed out of the trees, thudding into the creature’s back before anyone could react. Then the trees were moving and horses were thundering towards the Wildermen, arrows and spears were flying through the air. Ulrig was knocked off his horse as the Folka lunged passed him, fleeing for escape from the slicing arrows. Renn let loose his own arrow, hearing the satisfying sound of it piercing hide.

  Riders flew out of the woods, swarming the Wildermen. Yulin looked around in shock and grabbed hold of Jakbur’s broken tether to keep the horse from bolting under the onslaught of commotion. Renn had another arrow notched and aimed; the others of the gang were in a similar struggle of trying to keep their horses reined and their weapons drawn.

  The Folka fell, crashing into the trees, so filled with arrows and broken spears there was no more room to stick any. The riders halted their horses and circled the dying beast, then a man dressed in painted animal skins hopped from his horse and wielded a stone axe which he used to sever the creatures head. When the kill was done and the creature’s body twitched with dying nerves, the man in the painted furs strode towards them. As he came closer Paiva saw his skin was also painted in swirling, intricate patterns of a dark blue dye. His face was haggard and heavily scarred, an upper lip half torn away revealing part of a row of hooked teeth. He was hairless, his scalp bald and his face beardless, as all the others around him were. He came to a halt before them and leaned on the handle of his bloodied stone axe. There was at least a score of riders dressed similar to this man, closing in around the group of defensive, bristling Far Reach Wildermen.