Hemlock

by N. J. Layouni

  Finally admitting defeat, she clambered her weary way back to the top of the river bank and cast herself down on the prickly grass. What the hell was she going to do now? The sun took pity on her, sliding out from a thick cloud and bathing her in its warming rays. Martha exhaled. It was so peaceful here. A gentle wind stirred the dry stalks of grass, rustling them as it passed. In the distance, a curlew’s lonely song echoed her feelings of utter isolation.

  She tilted her head back. Even the sky looked different here, strangely unblemished by humankind. No vapor trails scarred the shards of pale blue patchwork. Not a solitary machine disturbed the silence. She strained her ears, listening. Even in the most isolated spot, the omnipresent rumblings of traffic and aircraft were usually present. Not here though. It was almost as if the modern world had packed up and moved on without bothering to tell her.

  A cold lump formed in her stomach. This couldn’t really be another world. Could it? She slumped forward, holding her head in her hands. No way. Stuff like that only happened in films and books. Didn’t it?

  Maybe leaving the sanctuary of the cave hadn’t been the wisest course of action. What would it be like out here at night, with no fire or shelter—and with no kindly madman to defend her? With a shudder, she recalled those awful howls. What about the wolves? If this really was a different world, maybe they existed after all.

  Oh, bugger!

  As the sweat cooled on her skin, the wind felt less gentle than before. Shivering, she huddled deeper in her coat and zipped it up to her neck. The half-digested Snickers bar churned uneasily in her stomach.

  Such a forbidding landscape. There wasn’t a sign of habitation anywhere. Well, apart from the occasional rabbit hole she’d blundered into. It was a stark, cold land, empty of human life, and dominated by the dark soaring peaks of distant mountains.

  As she miserably contemplated her own insignificance, she noticed a bird, a hawk of some kind, hovering over a patch of red bracken. It glided this way and that, battling to remain stationary in the wind. At least someone around here would be eating today.

  She sucked in her lower lip. Maybe she should turn back? Vadim was a little weird, but he hadn’t harmed her. Now she thought about it, he’d probably saved her life yesterday. Would he come looking for her? He’d know she was gone by now. Then again, why would he bother? She hadn’t so much as thanked him for rescuing her from the river. She sighed. No. Wherever she was, she was on her own.

  While she was dithering, trying to decide what to do, a sharp whistle drew her attention—a very human whistle. She got up quickly, swearing as her knee gave way and forced her to cling to her walking stick like an old woman. Stomach fizzing, she looked around.

  There, only a couple of hundred feet away, was a man. But it wasn’t Vadim. This one was on horseback. “Oh, thank God!” Stick in hand, she set off across the moorland at a brisk limp, all thoughts of returning to the cave gone. “Wait!”

  The hawk she’d been watching for the past few minutes landed elegantly on the glove of the man’s outstretched hand, flapping until it settled itself.

  Martha quickened her pace, afraid he would ride off before she reached him. “Please wait!” she cried again, waving madly as she ran.

  Head turned in her direction, the man sat back in his saddle and watched her stumbling through the heather towards him.

  “Hello!” She reached him at last, panting but smiling. “For a moment there, I thought you hadn’t seen me.”

  But there was no answering smile. The rider looked down his long nose, regarding her with obvious disdain. “Madam, no one could be so blind and deaf,” he said in a smooth and cultured voice. “You have quite scared away my prey!”

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose up like hackles. This stranger was even weirder than the last one she’d encountered.

  Like Vadim, he wore a cloak, but his was a rich purple in color. The fine gold thread of its stitching perfectly matched the color of his shoulder-length hair. The man flung back his cloak, and the action sent the beautiful bird on his arm into a flapping, jingling panic. He placed a small burgundy hood over the bird’s head which immediately calmed it.

  “Well?” The man fixed her with a cold, blue stare. “Speak.”

  She gulped and took a step backward. His long, plum-colored tunic and fine linen shirt definitely weren’t modern day. Neither were the exquisitely crafted over-the-knee leather boots he wore. Another re-enactor? What were the chances?

  “Did you actually want something, woman? Or was your sole purpose to disturb my hunt?”

  As he reached for the oversized cow-horn hanging by his side, his fingers glanced over the ornate and bejewelled hilt of a sword. Her stomach lurched. Another sword?

  “I sincerely hope, for your sake, that is not the case. I warn you now, my men are close by. I need only blow this to summon them.” He raised the horn to his lips.

  She believed him. This wasn’t a game. It was real. “I…I’m sorry.” She took another hesitant step backward, away from the impatient hooves of his snorting grey horse. “I’m lost. I j-just needed directions to t-town.”

  One thing was for sure, she wouldn’t be asking this guy for a lift there. Something about him made her blood run cold. He had serial-killer eyes, glacial and devoid of emotion. She felt more threatened by him than she ever had by Vadim.

  “Town?” The rider’s expression relaxed, even his voice lightened. “Oh. I suppose you are looking to join the house of Mrs. Wilkes.” He looked her over in such a lewd way she felt like punching him. “Not bad, I suppose,” he said, tilting his golden head to one side. “You might be desirable enough if you ever troubled to wash the filth from your person, and bothered to wear a dress. Men’s clothing hardly flatters your figure.”

  Her cheeks flushed with a combination of anger and humiliation. Who the hell was he?

  “You have quite a way to go yet. Edgeway lies ten leagues over yonder,” the rider continued, waving his hand in the general direction. “But you might make the hamlet of Darumvale before dark if you march quickly enough.”

  What the hell is a league? “Thank you.” Martha said through a gritted smile, biting back some of her choicest words. “You’ve been most…helpful.” Wolves or not, she wanted to be alone again. For all the man’s veneer of refinement, every fiber of her being urged her to run in the opposite direction from him.

  A soft whooshing sound overhead had Martha and the man looking up in unison, scanning the sky for its source. There was a gentle thud in the vicinity of the horseman’s saddle. A quivering arrow was embedded in the high back of the elaborate leather seat. The grey horse reared, almost unbalancing its rider. The man cursed, and the hawk flapped and screeched on his arm, bells jangling.

  “Accursed outlaw!” The man sawed on the reins, fighting to regain control of his frightened mount.

  Martha stumbled backward, away from the horse’s wildly flailing hooves. She looked around to see who the rider was shouting at. A gasp caught in her throat, and a surge of unexpected joy filled her heart.

  He’s come for me!

  There, striding through the bracken toward them, longbow in hand—looking just like Robin Hood—was Vadim. Despite the hood and cloak, and the face mask covering the lower half of his face, she knew it was him.

  The rider brought the huge horn to his lips.

  Before he could blow on it, Vadim nocked and loosed another arrow. It whooshed through the air, splitting the rider’s horn in two.

  The huntsman threw down his ruined horn, almost hitting Martha. “I shall hunt you down for this outrage, you pustulent dog!” Spittle sprayed from his mouth with the force of his fury. Gathering his reins, he brutally jerked the horse’s head around and kicked the unfortunate animal into a canter. Without a backward glance, he left Martha to face her fate.

  “Thanks a lot,” she called at his fast-departing back. “You’re a real gent.” The hawk’s outraged shrieks were her only answer.

  Vadim approached, hi
s long legs cruising through the heather, but Martha made no move to meet him. Watching and waiting, she put away her smile and forced her expression into neutral, to disguise her relief. It wouldn’t do for him to get the wrong idea.

  “You little fool!” Apparently Vadim had no such reservations about sharing his feelings with her. Casting his bow carelessly onto a cloud of heather, he stalked towards her, black eyes glowering. “What did you think you were doing?” He seized her arms, his fingers digging painfully into her soft flesh. “Do you know who that was? Do you?” He actually shook her.

  A pulse of white hot rage ripped through her, evaporating every happy feeling. “Get off me, you bastard!” Wriggling madly, she battled for freedom. “Let me go!” The vice on her arms loosened, enabling her to lash out at him with the walking stick she still held in her hand. It connected with his shin bone with a satisfying clunk.

  He released her, cursing violently as he did so. Although she didn’t understand the words he used, she knew he was swearing. The venom in his words was clear. But her victory was short-lived. Grabbing hold of her walking stick, Vadim yanked it from her hand and pitched it violently into the air.

  Martha watched it spinning away into the distance. “You great gobshite! I was using that.” She turned on him, her legendary Anglo-Irish temper finally unleashed. “Who the feck do you think you are?”

  “What did you tell him?” Vadim’s voice was as cold as the horseman’s eyes. He would’ve grabbed her again if she hadn’t dodged out of his reach. “What were you saying to him?”

  “Nothing!” she yelled. “He was giving me directions, that’s all.”

  He snorted. “And you expect me to believe that?” Breathing hard, he ripped off his mask, wringing it through his hands as though he wished it were her neck, his dark eyes glittering with almost murderous intent. “Do not take me for a fool, m’lady!”

  “I don’t give a shit what you think, you…you…medieval caveman!”

  He frowned. “A what?”

  But Martha was in no mood to explain. Her blood boiled too fiercely. “What the hell is wrong with you people?” she demanded, hands on hips. “This, my friend, is supposed to be the twenty-first century. What sick fantasy are you living out here? And what’s with the swords and daggers and stuff? Don’t you and your colorful friend know it’s illegal to carry lethal weapons—especially when you’re both certifiably insane?” She actually screeched the last word at him, sounding much like the recently departed hawk.

  She took a shuddering breath to calm herself. “Either I’ve got a brain tumor, or I really have fallen into a world of crazy people. Every ounce of logic I possess tells me you aren’t real. You can’t be real.” She limped over and prodded at his leather-clad chest with her finger. “But you are. And none of this…” She waved her other hand at the surrounding hills, “…should exist either. The problem is, it does.” Her voice softened as her rage tank flashed on empty. “It feels so real.” Stepping closer, she stared up into his eyes, her hand still resting on his chest. “Is it me? Am I the crazy one around here? I don’t know what to think any more.”

  The crushing weight of fear became suddenly unbearable. Stifling a sob, she turned away. There was nothing familiar to cling to. She was adrift in an alien sea. No one was coming to save her. This was it. Home might be gone forever. At that moment, all her anger melted away, and a great, walloping sense of bereavement took its place.

  ***

  His temper cooled the moment he saw the defeated slump of her shoulders. “Martha?” Circling around, he found himself looking down on her tousled head. Was she weeping? He could not see her face; a tangled curtain of chestnut waves hid it from him. “Martha, look at me.” He spoke with the same gentle tone he used to calm frightened horses, hoping it would have a similar effect on her.

  “Go…away!”

  Not precisely the result he had hoped for, but there was no real poison in her words. Vadim experienced a slight twinge of remorse. Perhaps he had been too harsh. But if she only knew how close she had come to… He shuddered. The mere thought of what might have happened sent a chill rippling through his blood.

  Her strange words still rang in his ears. For both their sakes, he wished he could provide her with the answers she sought. The longer he spent in her company, the more outlandish she seemed.

  Vadim laid his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. At once, Martha circled her shoulder and shrugged it off. Undeterred, he tried again, this time running his hands lightly up her arms. She pulled away, muttering another of her strange profanities.

  Through the parted veil of her hair, he managed to glimpse her face. Martha’s lower lip trembled with the effort of keeping her tears in check. With a heavy sigh, Vadim reached for her again, and this time she made no attempt to escape. In a gesture of surrender, she slumped forward, resting her forehead against his chest. while her body quaked with silent tears.

  Throughout the storm, Vadim held her quaking body, crooning soft words of nonsense against her hair. She did not wail, but her soundless misery cut him to the quick, all the same. He had never been able to tolerate a woman’s misery. It had always been so. His guilt burned even brighter.

  At last, the torrent abated.

  “Thank you.” Martha raised her head to look at him, managing a shaky smile. White runnels scored through the grime on her face, marking the tracks of her tears. “Sorry about that. This hasn’t been one of my better days.” Her voice was husky, still raw with sorrow.

  “So it would seem.” Vadim sighed, and wiped away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “As much as I wish to, I cannot give you the answers you seek. Those I do have will give you little comfort.” He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and stared into her glistening eyes. “As I told you yester-eve, this land is part of the Norlands. But there are other places on Erde. Many strange lands that lie across the great seas, countries where people speak differently.”

  Her mouth formed a silent “Oh”.

  It was a vain hope, but he felt compelled to ask, “Could you have crossed the seas, Martha? Might that be why you…why this place is so strange to you?”

  Martha shook her head. “I don’t think so, no. I’ve never heard of Erde, not before you mentioned it.” She slipped out from beneath his hands, and began rummaging the pocket of her peculiar jerkin. Her brief search yielded a square of white cloth, with which she dabbed at her eyes.

  Guilt still needled Vadim’s heart. “I did not intend to handle you so roughly, my lady. But when I saw you with him…” He shook his head, quite unable to continue. Instead, he went to retrieve his bow from where he had dropped it.

  “Is that your version of an apology?”

  He looked up from the task of unstringing his bow. Martha was smiling again. The clouds in her eyes had cleared.

  “In that case,” she said, “I’m sorry for whacking you so hard with my walking stick. I do wish you hadn’t thrown it away, though.”

  If she was angling for an apology for that, she would be waiting a long time. His shin still throbbed from the blow she had struck. Meek and mild Martha most certainly was not. “Come,” he said. “We must not linger here, lest your new friend returns with reinforcements. Take my arm.”

  To his surprise, Martha obeyed. Without hesitation, her little hand slipped through the crook of his arm. The lightness of her touch made him tense.

  “He did say that his men were close by.” As she looked up at him, a frown marred the smoothness of her brow. “Who is that awful man, Vadim?” she asked. “Why did you shoot at him?”

  “There will be time for talk later,” he said. “For now, I suggest you save your breath for walking.”

  With that, she would have to be content. Martha had already inconvenienced him enough this day, and the encounter with the Earl had, as always, soured his stomach. Relating the history of their long-standing feud would only increase his malady. Its roots were too deeply buried in the past, a place he no longer vi
sited. Not if he could avoid it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  On the way back to the cave, Martha cast many side-long glances at her silent companion. Not that Vadim noticed. He was too occupied with looking over his shoulder, and everywhere else, for that matter. Everywhere but at her.

  It was fascinating really, seeing him in hyper-alert mode. He reminded her of a meerkat on sentry duty, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon—not that Vadim was in any way cute and cuddly. A tad paranoid, maybe, but this was his playground, not hers.

  As the gradient steepened, Vadim took her hand, all but pulling her up the most difficult parts. She was glad of his help. The pounding in her knee was fast becoming unbearable. It felt like she had a football slowly inflating beneath the material of her trousers.

  A bird hurtled from the undergrowth, twittering madly. Vadim froze and held up his hand.

  Oh, not again. Martha stood still, stifling a sigh. He’d only give her “the glare” if she voiced her irritation. But this was the fifth time they’d stopped, for God’s sake.

  “What exactly are you look—”

  “Shh!” Eyes narrowed, he studied the skyline and the surrounding hills, scenting the air like a dark wolf.

  Was that what he was looking for? Wolves? Did they hunt in the daytime?

  Suddenly, on the path ahead, something heavy crashed out of the undergrowth, moving at tremendous speed. She gasped, her heart slamming hard against her ribcage. Vadim swiftly drew his sword and shoved her behind him at the same time. Martha clutched the back of his cloak, peering at the creature from the safety of his body.

  What the hell was that thing? It looked like a huge hairy boulder with legs. Then she saw two evil-looking yellow tusks pointing out of the creature’s mouth, and the glint of a mean piggy eye. A wild boar? Now there’s something you don’t see…ever.