The Redwoods

by Ross Turner

  “Over here!” The man shouted then, signalling to countless more figures appearing in swarms from the stairwells and corridors.

  As he pulled his second blade from the scabbard at his waist, Vivian could see that his hands were marked with scarred lines, crisscrossed and deep. Clearly this man had spent much of his life in conflict. That was of course until Vivian’s father struck him with his sorcery, sending the assassin spiralling across the room and crashing into the solid stone wall, killing him instantly, again.

  Vivian found a certain satisfaction in that, and without even realising, she too found herself smiling.

  It was an evil smile. One of revenge. One that she had never imagined she would be capable of, let alone enjoy.

  “It feels good, doesn’t it?” The elder Grey said softly to her then, stood beside her still, observing. He saw Vivian’s pleasure in the death of the man who had murdered her mother and smiled a wicked grin.

  She didn’t answer, only looking over at him reproachfully, wanting to retort, but unable to, for they both knew he was right.

  Next, just as she remembered, Vivian watched the flurries of armed Greystones pour into the corridor, charging madly towards her vulnerable family. Then she looked to her younger self, eyes wide and panicked as the troops raced towards her.

  “Father! Father! I don’t want to die!” Vivian watched herself cry. And as her father placed his hands on her shoulders, Vivian could even still feel the warmth and love of his touch. Tears welled in her eyes as she listened to him speak for the last time.

  “Vivian! Run!” He said. Just like before - his voice forceful, but nonetheless full of love. “Go south into the Redwoods. Hide from them!”

  “But…” The young girl whimpered.

  “GO NOW!”

  Vivian watched herself turn and flee, terrified and devastated. What she knew now, she could never possibly have known back then. She had thought her father was just sending her away from danger, but in actual fact, he was directing her into protective and loving arms. He had always known that Clover would protect his daughter, Vivian realised now, and he hadn’t been wrong.

  As a matter of fact, the way their fates had panned out, even Clover’s only son had died to protect Vivian. They had never had to take her in. Red had never had to go with her to Virtus. But they still had done.

  This time, when the young, terrified and defenceless Vivian tore down towards the iron gates, fleeing towards the Redwoods, the older, wiser, more powerful Vivian, did not follow. Instead, she did what she had not had the courage to do all those years ago.

  An arrow sunk into her father’s shoulder and he cried out in pain, casting yet another spell against his encroaching enemies, burning them terribly, but by now he was too weak to fend them off much longer. One man roared in victory and plunged his sword through Dorian Featherstone’s heaving chest, shattering his ribcage and spurting blood from Vivian’s father’s mouth.

  Dorian swung his heavy sword one last time, but his efforts were futile, and three more blades were rammed through his torso. He jerked violently in denial for but a few seconds, before falling lifelessly to the stone floor, his enemy Greystones surrounding his blood red carcass and cheering in exultation.

  Vivian watched the spectacle emotionlessly, her devolution into revenge taking an enormous step.

  There was one man who was not cheering. His expression was stony and unchanging, sombre and grave, and in fact matched Vivian’s own almost perfectly.

  “AFTER THE GIRL!” The man roared, his aged face creasing in frustration. “WE CAN’T LOSE HER!”

  The sound of those words rang over the forests and yet again reached the ears of the younger Vivian Featherstone, fleeing in the darkness.

  His underlings charged immediately out of the main door and in pursuit of Vivian’s younger self. She knew the rest of that story. She had lived it. She didn’t feel any need to follow them.

  Instead she stayed where she was, finding herself in the entrance hallway to her old home: a place to which she had always wished she could return. And now she had done, in a manner of speaking.

  Soon enough the charging hordes of Greystones had left, fanning out and disappearing into the treeline to search for the young girl. Shouts and cries could be heard through the darkness, but before long the echoing sounds faded away, and all that remained was heavy silence, the scent of fresh blood and death hanging in the air.

  The three of them were left stood in the entrance to the grand Featherstone Keep: Vivian, still holding the elder Grey her captive, and his younger self.

  He looked entirely unchanged, although he was six years younger, and Vivian levelled her gaze upon the familiar stranger intently, and with an intensity that was impossible to ignore, revealing herself to him for the first time. He stared back disbelievingly, seeing both himself, and somehow also, unbelievably, the young girl who had just escaped him, though now she was not so young.

  Confused and bewildered, his expression shifted through a bizarre range of emotions, from shock and disbelief, to recognition and determination, and finally to acceptance, for the look on Vivian’s older face told him exactly was she was here to do.

  She burned her eyes into his soul with a steadfast resolution that would be near impossible to match, though there have been perhaps a few brave and burdened souls, somewhere, who have done so.

  25

  “How can you be here?” The younger Grey asked, glancing back and forth between the slightly older version of himself and Vivian. “It’s not possible.”

  “Believe it.” Vivian ground between her clenched teeth, rage building in her voice all too clearly.

  “Now Vivian…” The younger Grey began, raising his hands defensively and taking a step or two backwards, knowing without any doubt that if she had the power to bring herself here, then there would be absolutely nothing he could do to stop her from killing him.

  “Shut it!” She barked back, cutting him off.

  The older Grey, her captive still, sighed heavily.

  “It’s no use. You won’t talk her round.” He said, his tone deflated and his chest heaving with his deep sigh. “She’s going to kill us. She’s had a taste of blood, and now she likes it.”

  “You too!” Vivian snapped, whipping her lethal gaze onto her captive. “All you wanted was to kill me and my family! And now you’ve done it! You’ve killed them all!” Vivian screamed at them both, tears streaming openly down her face now.

  “Have we?” The younger Grey asked then, and Vivian’s captive nodded. It was when the responding smile of satisfaction spread across the younger Grey’s face that Vivian completely lost it.

  “I HATE YOU!” She screeched, her eyes darting madly between the two Greys. “YOU’VE KILLED EVERYONE I EVER LOVED!!” Managing to catch her breath for a moment, regaining at least a little control, Vivian steadied herself and her words, though they were no less threatening. “And now your plague is going to infect the rest of the world too!!”

  “The plague worked?” The younger Grey asked his older self then, again ignoring Vivian’s anger almost completely, and his face lighting even further with a smile.

  “Remarkably well actually…” The older Grey began to reply, grinning also.

  But beyond that, not another word was said. Vivian didn’t give them the chance. She was too enraged to even consider that what she was doing might not work, which is probably exactly the reason why there was no chance it could fail.

  Forgetting her sorcery, guided only by her animalistic and rage-filled instincts, she darted towards the younger Grey, stooping and grabbing an already bloodied knife from the floor as she lunged forward.

  The man, the memory, whatever he was, Vivian didn’t care at that point, didn’t have time to react. All he could do was fill with terrible dread for that split second before Vivian plunged the dagger deep into his throat.

  Hot, steaming blood sprayed out in all directions, soaking Vivian crimson red as her victim choked and splutter
ed and gagged. But that was not enough for her. Even as his life drained slowly and agonisingly away in her grasp, Vivian pulled the blade free from his neck and stabbed him again, this time in the chest.

  And again, and again, and again.

  She worked to a frantic rhythm, growing ever faster and gaining more and more ferocity as she rammed the knife through his ribs a dozen times and more, not once ceasing. And finally, when there was no life left in her enemy, and his body collapsed and fell limply to the floor, just as her father’s had done, she brought her hand down one more time.

  She buried the cold, harsh metal deep in his skull, right up to the hilt.

  Vivian felt the weight of his head caught on her blade and snapped the handle of the knife off at the hilt, letting him fall. His head cracked gruesomely against the stone floor, surrounded by an enormous puddle of blood, spreading wider and wider by the second.

  The young woman stood over him, his murderer.

  She relished in the sight, and was soaked from head to toe in her enemy’s blood. And she felt better for it. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, and she loved it.

  Her breathing was fast and sharp and her exultation was like nothing she had ever experienced.

  An evil smile spread broadly across her face.

  But then, sadly, all too soon, the rush of adrenaline began to fade, and her feeling of joy and success began to diminish, leaving behind it a gaping chasm: daunting and unfillable. The feeling overwhelmed Vivian wholly, and she too crumpled to her knees, looking upon her work in disgust. The broken remains of what was once a human being lay before her, and she had destroyed it, demolished it beyond even the point of recognition.

  Looking around cautiously, she saw that the older Grey was gone.

  It had worked. She had won. Her power had been so vast, so immense, that she had actually been able to reach out into her past and alter the course of events as she pleased.

  But what had she lost in the process?

  Somehow she even sensed that, back with her real body, where Red lay defeated, the blackness had receded. The plague too had been quelled, for now, for she had killed its creator before he had managed to bring it to life, and she hoped desperately that it would be as if it had never existed.

  That brought a flicker of optimism back to Vivian’s heart. The notion that perhaps her family, or at least Red and Clover, would be returned to her. For now perhaps, just perhaps, if it had never been created, Clover would never have been taken by the blackness in the first place.

  She looked then across from her lake of blood and death to the main entrance, and cast her eyes upon the remains of her mother and father. Scrambling suddenly to her feet, Vivian rushed over to them, praying frantically that there was still at least a flicker of life within them, and that she would be able to save them.

  But there was nothing. Their wounds had been too great and too numerous, and they had succumbed easily to death.

  She felt pain then. Not the pain of injury, but instead the pain of loss. It surprised her a little, for this pain she had wallowed in a thousand times over, every day since their murder. But now that she cradled their lifeless heads in her arms, it was intensified to an almost unbearable point, and not for the first time in her short lifetime Vivian’s world seemed to fade and crumble and collapse all around her.

  She held as strong as she could, fighting the pain of loss and death with all her might. It was perhaps the greatest battle she had ever faced, even considering all those so recent.

  Tearing herself finally from them, Vivian left her parents behind her for the last time, and returned to her body in Virtus, and in the future. Casting her thoughts yet again across the great voids of time and space, she returned to the dreadful reality of the present.

  But as soon as she did so, she immediately wished that she hadn’t.

  All hope she had clung to, even the tiniest thread, vanished entirely in that moment. The Grey was gone, as she had expected - she had won a great victory.

  But at the same time, she had lost a terrible war.

  Red’s body still remained lifeless and soaked in blood, just as she was. Vivian fell to her knees yet again, this time bawling her heart out in agony and denial, screaming at the top of her lungs. The townsfolk heard her cries of pain for many leagues all around, and knew the sound of unimaginable pain and loss and suffering when they heard it.

  She dragged her drained body to her dear Red and collapsed into the soft fur of his neck, cold and sticky with blood. She didn’t care. She cradled against him, burying her face deep into his neck, and shouted and screeched until her throat was raw and painful.

  Then, when there was no more sound to be had, and seemingly no more pain that she could possibly endure, Vivian grabbed thick handfuls of Red’s fur, clinging to him desperately, buried her head even deeper into his side, and wept hysterically.

  She cried and sobbed until her eyes ran dry, before, after what felt like forever, she finally blacked out from exhaustion.

  26

  It was many hours later when Vivian finally awoke. In fact it was dark. She had slept for the rest of the day and through into the night. The damp straw mattress on which she lay was uncomfortable, and she shifted her painful, aching body until she was half sitting, propped up on her shaky arms.

  She looked around for a moment, her gaze unsteady and blurred, taking in what little she could see. There were rough bales of straw piled behind her and to her side. The floor beneath them was cold stone, and above her head was a rickety looking thatched roof.

  “Are you ok?” A quiet voice asked, and Vivian’s eyes slowly focused in on a silhouette in the dim light.

  “I’m alive.” Was her reply, though by no means did that answer the question she was being asked.

  Her body felt hollow, as if it were empty and void of any feeling, but even still there wasn’t room for emotion.

  “What happened?” The young, tortured Featherstone finally asked.

  “We heard the fighting.” The voice began to explain, and the shadow moved closer through the darkness, coming to sit down beside Vivian. The young woman appeared no older than twenty, though she was very thin and petite.

  “There was a lot of fighting.” Vivian replied, nodding in agreement, remembering everything that had happened.

  “Then everything went silent.” The woman continued. “We didn’t hear anything for hours.”

  “Was that how long I was gone?” Vivian asked. Though, as soon as the words escaped her lips, she knew they would not be understood.

  “Gone where?” The woman questioned, confused.

  “Never mind.” Vivian said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. Then what happened?”

  “Then we heard screaming.” She explained. “We came to help, and we found you asleep on that great bear, covered in blood. We brought you here. We cleaned you up and let you rest. No one else was alive. All the Greystones were dead, and their leader was gone.”

  Vivian nodded firmly and her meaning was immediately understood.

  “He is gone.” She confirmed. “Forever.”

  The young woman said not another word then, but instead she flung her arms around Vivian’s neck and held her closely. Vivian embraced her back. It was the first affection a human had shown her in years, and it was strange and awkward. She might even have gone as far as to reject it, but that didn’t seem appropriate right then, regardless of the fact that she felt nothing inside.

  She simply returned the gesture as sincerely as she could manage.

  “What’s your name?” Vivian eventually whispered.

  “Clara.” The young woman replied, loosening her grasp and wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Well, Clara…” Vivian said with a smile, though admittedly a very forced one. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness now and she knew Clara could see her face. “Don’t you worry. Things are going to get better now. I’m here now, and I’m here to stay.”

  And indeed, just as Vivian had
said, things did improve. Vivian kept her word to the letter, and set to work immediately that next morning, rising to her task along with the sun itself. Her work was surely to be long and hard, as she had many years of the Greystones’ terror to undo.

  She began with perhaps the simplest things, but also some of the most important. She took time to meet her people and get to know them as individually as she could manage. She visited each and every family in Virtus, rebuilding their homes right before their very eyes, and in turn restoring their faith in sorcery and in leadership.

  But even though she rebuilt what they had lost, she did not give them everything. She knew that would not bring her success. Her life with the great red bears had taught her well.

  Vivian gave the people work, assigning each person she met a job. To begin with many of those tasks were to work the fields. Once dead, now rejuvenated, Vivian fertilised the abandoned soils, and they were planted and harvested from then on, year after year. Many different seeds were sewn and each in turn the fields were left to lie fallow to rest them.

  She knew she would not be able to do everything herself, and in fact that would have been harmful. People need work. They need direction. They need purpose. And she certainly wasn’t about to take that from them in their time of greatest need.

  Vivian immediately put a stop to poaching, for she felt rather strongly about that particular activity, and put the poachers to work in the fields also. Once there was food enough for all, and the forests and rivers and lakes and fields were at least somewhat replenished, and homes too were plenty, she set about assigning the task of building for her subjects, creating food storage ready for the colder winter months.

  Their days were long and their work was endless, but for the first time in many years, the people of Virtus were now living in a well-deserved peace, with a Featherstone rightly ruling over them once more. As Vivian grew and gained the trust of her people, so too did they, and they earned her trust in return, eventually allowing her to leave some of the tasks and decisions to them to make, and thus, over time, a council was formed.