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“I have to go.”
She said this reverently, with a hint of regret, as if apologizing to him. Ivan only looked back at her blankly, as if these words were in a different language.
“Go? When will you return?”
“I will not return.”
They looked at each other, each expecting the other to speak. Val broke the silence first.
“There was only one reason I came here. Now, I believe it to have failed. So, I am going.”
She didn’t know particularly why she had been so nervous. They’d almost become friends throughout their time there. And, she knew that if he were to stay, it would be a difficult and potentially short life. He had watched her and learned the ways of the Glade - but only somewhat. He did not have the understanding she did, nor did he have anyone around who could stand by him without feeling the primal urge to either mate with or eat him - although probably both.
“But you live here?” He asked, still confused. She shook her head no.
“I am like you, in a way. This is only a place that hid me away. Once, my prison. For a time, my home. But my true home is not in a place. And that is why I must go.”
“And what of me..? Am I to go too?” This had come as a great shock to Ivan, and it made very little sense to him according to everything he had known about the Witch. Her explanation only raised a myriad of brand-new questions.
But again, she shook her head no.
“You can do as you like. I do not know how to find my way out of the Deep Wood, but twice now, I have found my way here. And I intend to leave twice as well. If you want to risk it, you can come with me, and we will part once we are out.”
“So… you’re freeing me?” He asked.
He was sitting on the small chair by the table. He was eating butterscotch-dipped apples, something that had truly not helped his increasing weight gain. Even seated, the blond man was still taller than Val. To ask such a question was comical under these circumstances.
And this time, it was Val who was completely puzzled.
“From what?”
Again, the both of them stared at each other. This had surpassed any awkward conversation they had ever had, especially because more often than not only Ivan had been the awkward one.
“I am… your prisoner?” He asked, his words coming out as a question felt unnatural.
Her brows drew together for a second, and then Val laughed heartily. She laughed so hard that her entire body shook.
This had entirely terrified Ivan, as he had never seen the woman do so to any capacity. He did not dare to move in case his words had reminded her that he was indeed under her command.
“Prisoner?” She squeaked out between fits of laughter. “All these months? A prisoner?”
The very idea was so absurd. He’d been twice her size, a farm boy raised and soldier by occupation. Images of herself being the Hag’s prisoner flashed across her mind and the comparison of what he thought to be captivity sent her again into giggles. He’d been fed well and roamed the grounds this entire time, doing as he wished, and he had been thinking himself a prisoner.
“So…”
“By gods, you have always been free to do as you wish.” She told him, a wide smile still on her face. “It’s just that I had no way to get you out.”
Suddenly, very embarrassed, Ivan’s face reddened.
“This is by far the worst misunderstanding I have ever been a part of.” He muttered, more to himself than her.
“So, I suppose you will have to come with me.” She said, her blood calming, the very act of laughing feeling strange to her - forgotten.
“I suppose so.” He said hesitantly.
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It was agreed upon that they would leave in three days.
The preparations began right away. Val gathered all the herbs she could carry and sorted them by type and use. All the concoctions and elixirs she had made were stored in small compact flasks and wrapped in whatever change of clothes she had to spare.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
She pulled the travel pack out from under the bed. She’d had it ever since… a long time ago. In it was a small tent, a skin for water, a bedroll, and her favored hunter’s knife. Upon seeing the weapon, Ivan paused, his face astonished.
“That is a hunter’s knife.” He said, but it was both a statement and a question.
“It is.” She nodded, gingerly holding it in her hands.
“Where did you get it?” He asked, stepping forward to look at it.
This was not an ordinary weapon, and it was not commonly used. They were unique in that the short sword was crafted with two metals - both steel and copper. The steel had made it hardy, but the copper bent easily and left some give to the blade itself.
A notch in the blade near the handle was designed so that any blood that ended up upon it would drip off before it could get on its wielder - in case of its toxicity. It had been just that - a knife meant for a hunter who did not hunt the usual game. They had been pricey, not for any other reason but that mostly nobility provided the demand.
The mystery of this woman only grew and became more complicated with that revelation.
However, somewhere inside, Ivan still suspected that she had eaten its owner rather than buying it herself.
“Never mind that.” She shut it down.
Val took the Cloth of Plenty and cut it into two. It was still very large and bulky to carry, but she took a half and gave the other half to Ivan - it would prove invaluable on the road. One of the last things she had done was clean the ash out of the stove and hang up abnormally large bouquets of herbs on every hook along the hut. They would not last forever, but they would ensure the hut was fed as long as possible.
When they were ready to set out, Val told him to remain indoors for a bit longer. She went outside and sat on the porch until Sirin appeared.
“It is a bad idea.” She said instead of a hello.
“It is my purpose,” Val answered. “I am certain in this.”
“You chase the dead.” Sirin shook her head. “There are plenty of those around here.”
Val only smiled, but there was no joy in that smile.
“I’m going to miss you, you know.” She told the bird woman.
“Of course you are.”
“Will you take care of the Glade?” Val found the words leaving her mouth before her thoughts caught up, and she was surprised to hear them. She realized how fond she had grown of this place, how many horrible memories were replaced with ones that brought her peace. “And the hut?”
Sirin shifted uncomfortably, and there was a look on her feathered face that Val could not figure out.
“A word of advice. Do not go east.” Sirin finally said. “It is where the sun sets in the Glade. The sprites trick you into thinking it is not.”
“What is east?” Val asked.
“The Wound,” Sirin answered simply.
Val had nearly forgotten that the Deep Wood had housed a Wound. And the bird-woman’s words chilled her.
“Where is it?” She inquired, fully prepared for the bird-woman to say something patronizing or downright mean, but Sirin looked slightly puzzled.
“What do you mean?” She cocked her head, her eyebrows furrowing. “Right here. You truly do not pay attention.”
Val looked at her with disbelief.
“But I’ve heard that the Wound is a tree…” She whispered, her eyes scanning beyond Sirin.
“It is.” The bird-woman confirmed. “And the Glade sits atop its root.”
She turned and bobbed her head toward the hut.
“And there, beyond, where the trees meet the sky, is the oak. And frankly, that you have never noticed this does nothing for my opinion of you.”
Val stared behind the hut on the hill, where giant, thick trees rose up a mountain, their roots latched onto the rocks, the bark growing around them and encompassing them. She had never thought to go there; the mountain had been too steep. She always figured that was where the forest had gotten thicker - impenetrable even, and she had no wish to get lost or stuck.
“You’ve got to be kidding…” Her eyes upward, Val thought of the corruption she had felt in the River Cities where a Wound had been housed in a canyon underneath the town, now here, with nearly twenty years spent so nearby.
It was no wonder Sirin had said what she had about being Nothing-touched.
No wonder the Hag had held so much power in the Glade.
“I tire of having to explain each little thing to you.” Sirin sighed. “And I will find peace when you are gone.”
Despite the words having meant to sting, Val smiled. She saw the bird-woman shift foot to foot with hesitancy. In their years of friendship, Val had never so much as touched Sirin, but now she reached out a hand - Sirin turning toward it with the corners of her mouth pointed down - and she ran it along the feathers on the bird-woman’s shoulders. When the creature did not recoil, she stepped forward and pulled Sirin into a hug.
Sirin sat still and did not make a motion to return the affection, but neither did she fight it. And when Val let go, she did not comment on it with anger.
A noise disturbed them, and both looked to the hut. The door opened slowly, and Ivan’s hand appeared, pushing a travel pack outside. Then, he stood in the doorway, looking at Sirin with a dumbfounded expression.
“I did not hear that you were still around…” He said carefully. “I apologize.”
Sirin looked him up and down. This had been the first time she had seen Ivan up close since their initial encounter.
She shook her head.
“He smells.” She said, “But he is appealing to the gaze. If I were you, I would stop looking for ghosts and start looking for the living.”
“No sense in waiting, then; you are already here.” Val said to Ivan, “Let us go.”
As they both began their descent down the hill, Sirin called out to Val from atop the fencepost by the porch.
“If you find your killer, just remember, despite what their people might believe - the Nothing, we were here first.”
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