by Alex Aguilar
“Now… I would advise that you get up. We’ve wasted plenty of time as it is,” he said, with a tone that appeared to be growing more and more unfriendly by the second. “I’ve kept an eye on your bow. I’ll show you to it, we’ll get you some water, and then it’s back to Elbon with you.”
My bow…? Elbon…? How did you…
Then it hit her.
Her shoulders dropped, her breathing slowed, and there was even the hint of a smile in the corner of her lips. She knew she had noticed something rather familiar in the crow. The way he moved, the sharpness of his talons, the ruffled feathers, and the odd scar on his socket where his left eye used to be…
“It’s you,” she said. “You’re Mister Beckwit’s crow, aren’t you?!”
“Call me Nyx,” the one-eyed crow replied.
“Robyn… Robyn Huxley,” she smiled.
“I know.”
“Right… Of course you do!”
As she sat up, the sickness in her gut began to crawl back down.
“Did the nymphs hurt your hearing, girl? I said it’s time to go,” Nyx said, flapping away and landing on the nearest tree branch.
“W-Wait!” Robyn leapt to her feet enthusiastically. “You’re… What are you?”
“Plenty of time for that later,” Nyx said. “For now, we should focus on getting out of here.”
He flew towards another branch. She followed him.
“I said wait, you!” she shouted. By then, she had forgotten all about the pain in her ankle. She found herself sprinting to catch up. “What are you doing here?!”
“Lower your voice, girl!” Nyx hissed at her. “Bloody hells, you really are clueless, aren’t you?! And in response to your question, it would appear that Lord Beckwit cares more about you than you would think.”
“He sent you…?”
“More like ordered me, really. Now come, before the nymphs return.”
“Hang on,” she said, coming to a sudden realization. “My pony!”
“I’m afraid the nymphs ate the poor thing.”
“What? Seriously?!”
“No,” Nyx chuckled. “He was startled and his rope snapped. Not sure where he’s run off to. Anyhow, that ought to teach you to be more prepared next time. Now for the bloody last time, let’s go!”
Robyn sighed. She had found herself filled with a peculiar joy, a joy to have encountered someone familiar, regardless of whether or not he was human. But the strangeness of the situation was still hard for her mind to grasp.
Could I still be dreaming? She wondered.
Did I die and just don’t know it yet?
Or is this really happening? Is it perhaps the magic in the Woodlands giving the crow his voice?
A million questions raced through her mind and yet she struggled to find the courage to ask any of them. There was only one thing she was certain of. And it was the one thing she felt she had enough courage to say out loud.
“I’m not leaving…”
The crow craned his neck back at her in an almost intimidating way. “What did you say?”
“I’m not,” she said sternly. “I came here to help my brother and I plan to follow through with that.”
“Help him?” Nyx scoffed. He kept his beak aimed back at her as his body shifted in the branch in a most eerie manner. “I mean no disrespect but I don’t see how allowing yourself to be eaten by tree nymphs is considered helping.”
“I’m alive, aren’t I?”
“Because I saved you, you ungrateful girl! You’d be dead if I hadn’t interfered!”
“Then come with me…”
There was a silence. Had Nyx’s beak allowed him to, he would have scowled.
“Perhaps you did hit your head harder than anticipated,” he mocked her.
“Mister Beckwit sent you to protect me, did he not?”
“He sent me to fetch you, girl. A most noteworthy difference.”
“Well…” Robyn paused, searching for the right words to say. “I guess… you’ll just have to return to him and tell him you failed.”
“Don’t underestimate me, girl,” he said, attempting to intimidate her. “You may look at me and see only a crow, but you haven’t the slightest idea…”
“That so…? Prove it.”
Nyx flew back down and landed on a branch that was just at Robyn’s eye-level, and he stared at her with his single eye. The girl did not appear willing to yield, however. If anything, her stare became even more firm.
“Listen to me carefully,” Nyx said. “There are dangers in these woods far greater than you know. You want to brave? You want to prove yourself to the world? Fine… You’ve done it, girl. You’ve more spirit than any person I’ve ever met, your brother included. Is that what you wanted to hear? Now, please… Stop being a reckless thing and go home…”
She thought about it for a moment.
She thought about her mother, about how much hurt she had probably caused her.
She thought about the twins, about what John asked of her when he left.
She felt the impulse to give in…
She would have, had it not been for the shrieks and howls in the distance that woke her up again.
There are dangers here, all right, she thought. And my brother’s here, facing them on his own…
“For your own sake,” Nyx spoke again with a sigh. “And the sake of everyone that cares for you, just… do the right thing.”
Robyn’s eyes moved towards the ground. She hadn’t noticed she was now standing right by the willow tree where she had dug herself a bed of leaves. And there, just where she’d left it, was her bow Spirit, resting against the tree’s trunk next to her quiver of arrows.
She leaned in, picked up the bow, and strapped the quiver to her back.
Then she gave Nyx one last glance.
“I am,” she said.
And with that, she walked away, heading downhill in the direction where the bright glow had once been, now merely a trail of smoke heading for the stars. Nyx observed her for a moment. His impulses were killing him and yet neither his claws nor his wings would move. He realized perhaps his prior judgments might not have been entirely reasonable.
To risk your life for yourself was one thing…
But to risk it for someone else… that was something Nyx could not wrap his mind around.
He raised his beak. By then, Robyn was but a mere shadow drifting away into the darkness in the same direction the nymphs had gone. And he sighed one last time, shaking his head as if disapproving of what he was about to do.
“Gods forgive me,” he whispered frustratingly, before flying off the branch and following after the girl’s footsteps.
* * *
Viktor Crowley tugged on the reins of his horse and came to a halt, what was left of his company emerging behind him. They had ridden for a mile or two, or so it seemed, without hearing the thundering shrieks of the tree creatures. But it wasn’t enough to calm any of them. Cedric was shivering as he held onto Thaddeus’s calico shirt and Wyll Davenport nearly stumbled off his horse.
“Did we leave them behind?” Jossiah Biggs asked; he could have been referring to the creatures or the missing members of the company, but even he wasn’t sure.
There was no answer from the golden knight. He only looked back into the darkness, seeing nothing in particular aside from a few owls amid the fog.
Wyll Davenport jumped off his horse at once and walked up to Viktor’s horse, his eyes swollen red with tears. “We must go back!” he shouted, his voice breaking. “Martyn’s back there!”
Viktor sighed and allowed for a moment of silence before saying, “Martyn’s gone, Wyll…”
“You don’t know that!” Wyll shouted. “Please...”
“Viktor’s right, Wyll,” Thaddeus said. “There were too many of them. They dragged ‘im off his horse, I saw it… There’s no way he could have made it out alive.”
“No…” Wyll protested. “No, he’s out there! Please, he’s my brother!�
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“I’m sorry, son…” Viktor said.
“No… NO!” he kicked the dirt and fell to his knees.
No one said a word. Wyll released a powerful cry, loud enough to cause an echo, as he dug his hands into the dirt and trembled with anger and sorrow, mourning his fallen brother. The black sky was by then a dark shade of blue, signaling the approaching daylight, which meant they were safe from the nymphs for the time being.
Viktor closed his eyes and sighed…
It had been a disastrous start, that much was evident. Perhaps the plan was damned to begin with. After all, who was to say the princess would even be there when they arrived at Drahkmere? And if she was, who was to say she was even alive still?
All that Viktor had was the word of a simple farmer.
And yet something in him wouldn’t let go of that trust.
They had slept only for a few hours, but they couldn’t let a single minute go to waste. So long as they kept the horses and journeyed through the day, they would be in civilized grounds within two or three sunsets… They had to continue.
Wyll Davenport remained on his knees, shaking and panting, coming to terms with the situation. And then a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
“Let’s go lad,” Thaddeus Rexx said, giving in to the paternal instinct he often took with Cedric. “We must keep moving.” But Wyll would not move. His tears dried up, leaving sticky smears on his face.
“We lost Huxley back there,” Jossiah said to Viktor. “The thief and the witch, too…”
Viktor took a moment to catch his breath, the sweat dripping from his brow.
“I gotta ask, old boy,” Jossiah went on. “Is this even worth finishing…?”
“Yes…”
“And if they’re dead…?”
“Then we’re gonna need a new plan…”
* * *
Searching for a safe place was like searching for a single word in a book written in an unknown language. The orcess Aevastra ran across the pasture among the hills, trying to blend with the shadows of the night. She heard angry shouts in the distance behind her that caused her a rush of panic.
“Find ‘er, ye bleedin’ idiot!” one of them said.
“I’ll take this hill, you look south!” said another.
Aevastra found a place underneath a wisteria tree, which had long leafy vines hanging like curtains. She sat and held her crying child against her chest, sheltering it from the chilly midnight wind.
“Shh, ya… ya,” she whispered gently, rocking the babe back and forth, a tear escaping her eyes. “Aestas salvu, min queridu neno… ya… calmaedo…”
The child’s whimpering diminished and for the first time in a long time she looked at him with hope. The orcess had been doing nothing but running for nearly a month now, and she was exhausted from it, so much so that she felt afraid to close her eyes, thinking her body would give up if she did. The child’s bright yellow eyes glistened against its smooth olive skin and his cheeks bent in the form of a smile as he looked up at his mother. Aevastra nearly felt the impulse to smile along with him.
It was a feeling that she wished would last forever.
And yet it lasted only a mere moment, broken by the sound of boots splashing on mud piles followed by a croaky grunt.
Her heart raced…
Like an impulse, she hid her child within her shawl and pressed him against her chest. A tall figure stood nearby, just behind the hanging vines. Her poor attempt at hiding was of no use. Gruul squatted down and glared at her, his mouth exhaling puffs of fog as he spoke.
“What d’you think you’re doin’, you stupid wench?” he asked bitterly.
She said nothing, only trembled and struggled to hold on to her composure.
“Where will you go?” he asked her, spitting on the dirt between them. “To the humans? You gone stupid from the thirst, have you?”
She felt her shivers getting worse. Her babe was whimpering again, hardly able to breathe within the bundle of cloths.
“What was your name?” Gruul asked her.
She breathed heavily, eyes glowering and chin held up high.
“Aevastra,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time.
Once, she had a clan… A family… A place to call home…
Now, she had nothing… Nothing except for her name, if that.
“Aevastra,” Gruul repeated after her, his voice now soft and almost merciful. He leaned in closer. “D’you even know where you are? D’you know what the humans would do to you ‘n’ your child? Our kind is not welcome here, Aevastra… They’ll hang ya ‘n’ feed your child to the dogs. Is that what you want…?”
In the distance, Okvar’s shouts echoed, calling for Gruul and Murzol to regroup.
Gruul did not move, however. In fact, the orc appeared to be glancing in the opposite direction every few seconds. “There’s no point in fightin’ it,” he spoke again. “D’you even know how to fight? Or hunt? You won’t survive a day out there… You need me…”
The orcess considered it for a moment. Not for herself, but for her child.
Gruul was right. She wouldn’t survive.
“Come,” the orc held a hand out. “It’s over.”
She hesitated. Her mind was telling her no but her hand began to move closer to his.
And it wasn’t until her child gave a loud cry that she came back to her senses.
“N-No,” she said. “No… Y-You’re a monster…”
“Aye,” Gruul spit again. “But there’s more than one kind of monster, you dumb bitch. If you ever live to meet a human, you’ll see for yourself…”
The orc then snatched her by the arm and hoisted her to her feet violently.
“L-Let me go!” she shouted, her voice deepening almost like a growl.
“Shut it or I’ll have your tongue!”
She struggled. Her baby cried and cried. She realized they were walking away from the shouts of the other two orcs. And she understood that Gruul meant to steal her… She pulled harder away, and it only appeared to be angering him.
“I think it’s time we teach you a lesson,” he growled.
“You won’t hurt me!”
“Aye, I won’t,” he said. “So long as you don’t resist.”
He shook her aggressively and threw her onto the muddy grass. She felt the bones in her waist crack as she fell harshly, her arms occupied gripping her baby. Gruul threw his axe on the mud and unbuckled his dagger from his weapons belt.
Aevastra crawled back. “Stay away!” she shouted. “Leave us alone!”
But then a heavy slap silenced her.
“No one can hear you,” Gruul said. “And those that can won’t care.”
He began tugging at the cloths. “Give me that child!” he growled.
She did not give in. The baby’s cries grew so loud they must have hurt his young lungs. Aevastra felt a cold tear escape her eyes. A cold angry tear in between her grunts.
“W-What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna kill the littl’ bastard… ‘n’ if I’m not satisfied, you can join him!”
This was it, she thought… She was defenseless…
It was either this or dying alone in a land unknown to her. She felt her grip loosen and her shivering diminish. And the orc noticed it and grinned.
Just then, however, the echoing shouts in the distance returned, this time far closer than before. Gruul glanced up suddenly, exposing his fleshy green neck to the orcess. His eyes were wide and vigilant, his ears high and attentive.
Gruul and Aevastra noticed two tiny black shadows approaching them in the distance.
There was no time to waste… The time to act was now…
Aevastra swung her arm at Gruul’s neck.
One single jab was all it took… A half-second, in and out, and Gruul’s neck began leaking red… His eyes widened as he felt his breath escape his mouth, replaced by the taste of his own blood.
Aevastra crawled back and rushed to her feet.
Gruul dropped to his knees, gripping his throat with both hands as blood gushed out, painting the grass red. He looked up… His eyes returned to that shade of fiery red, only this time he was suffocating and not shouting…
Aevastra glowered down at him. There was no more fear in her eyes. In one hand she held her child and in the other she held the small knife that Okvar had left for her to cut the raw ox meat. Gruul felt his life escaping him. He gave into it, fell forward and slammed his face against the mud as a puddle of red began to form all around him.
The orcess took a moment to ease her breathing. She’d nearly forgotten about the other two orcs. She hid the knife within her cloths again and caressed her baby’s cheek so as to quiet him down.
“Shhh,” she said softly. “Ya, min queridu… Vos aestar salvu…”
She turned and ran towards the hills, heading north again, unwilling to stop until she found the first sign of life. If it was human life she found, then she would figure out what to do then… For now, she ran, like a fearless lioness protecting her cub.
Okvar and Murzol noticed the body from afar and ran towards it. They found their comrade dead with an oozing hole in his neck. Okvar instantly turned in every direction, searching for any form of movement, as Murzol vomited into a bush.
“Dumb bastard,” Murzol said, wiping the thick slobber from his lips. “You warned ‘im, now he’s been killed by the human scum. The wench must be dead somewhere too.”
Okvar got down on one knee and picked up a torn piece of cloth from the grass. It was wet with Gruul’s blood but the cloth hadn’t belonged to him. It was soft and grey and similar to that of the orcess’s robes. “No,” he said, his lips curling into a subtle grin as he realized she must have used his tooth knife to defend herself.
“No…?”
“She’s alive,” Okvar said as he took a whiff of the cloth and tucked it into his pocket. “She must’ve run off. See?” he pointed at a trace of hurried footsteps on the mud leading north.
“What do we do?” Murzol asked.
Okvar spit on the dirt. “How many arrows are left in that satchel there?”
“Four. But one of ‘em’s broke.”
“Bring ‘em,” he said as he began following the footsteps. “We’re goin’ on a hunt.”