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“How long?”
Marat’s nervous pacing was only interrupted by his incremental rubbing of the bridge of his nose.
“Four weeks, for the bulk of it, at least. I think they’re destroying more of their own cities, going through and eating into their supplies.” Ivan sat on top of a water barrel and leaned forward, his boots still dirty from the road. “He knows what she did and who she is.”
“And how many search parties?”
“Hard to tell. At least five. By the time I encountered one, they were already far down the road. They’ve probably already been outside Midtrade. If she leaves, they’ll follow her.”
“Then she will leave with the entirety of our forces.” Marat ran a hand through his hair and frowned at how gritty it felt.
The scoutmaster had returned only hours prior, briefly saying his hellos and immediately finding Marat. He’d gone North, and the news he brought back soured everyone’s mood.
The horde was moving faster than one of that size should, and Marat knew that their time to prepare was cut significantly shorter. He would have to move them out within days.
Val sat to the left of Ivan, her feet dangling from an identical barrel and hands crossed on her lap.
In the chaos that came after Typhonos’ address, Batyr had all but lost his mind. She heard the screams coming from the great room, although she was not allowed inside. Asim had not abandoned him, but nearly half of his army had. Granted, many of those were already Western soldiers flying his flag, but even the Southern berserkers had split off to follow Marat.
She thought about the Deep Wood for days.
The promise she made left her lips easily. Since returning from the Western Wound, she felt the voices course through her. She heard the trees, too. They whispered, they all whispered.
And in its whisper, she heard their fears.
But she told no one of this. Not even Marat.
As if answers to questions, when she first thought of it, the image of the Hag dancing around the effigy in the Glade crossed her mind. The ritual was meant to take, to borrow power from the Deep Wood itself. The Hag took the power where she was not strong enough to control its thread –using its fear against it.
And now, Val planned to do the same.
The four rode ahead of the armies, although Dimos and Typhonos had remained with them to the point in the Insipid Flatlands where they once brought Val out of captivity. It was the most direct path to the capital.
They stopped when the trees rose ahead in a wall above them.
“We’ll make camp so we can prepare,” Marat said, eyes scanning the treetops. “I’ll have them cut the trees and make it out here - is it close enough?”
Val nodded. She could hear their call, and had she spoken - they would hear her too.
Mother…. Mother…. Mother….
The whispers never stopped now, not even at night.
As the soldiers felled the trees and brought the thick logs to the middle of the field, they built a scaffold that stood taller than ten men. Inside it, from wood, straw, and branches, they constructed a woman - they constructed Val.
She gave them direction, all that she could, at least. Anukk’a’s words echoed in her mind, the secret words spoken before Marat arrived.
In morning's light, a girl of wood, tall as the sky, will chase the darkness of the path away. But it will also take the girl to the most sacred place. Say your goodbyes then because your fate does not bring you home.
She tried to prepare Marat. Prepare to part.
Arachne showed her the pattern of the Rusalka’s binding and where Anukk’a told her Korschey had hidden his death among the Great Oak’s roots.
But, the spider showed Val something else, too. She showed her Val’s own weave.
“May gods forgive me…” She whispered, feeling the heat of the sun on her face.
“Give me tonight.” She asked Marat. “Give me just one night before we begin.”
“I will give you anything you need, Val.” He took her hands and smiled.
Feeling his smile, she smiled back.
They could have ridden for half a day but made camp instead. Neither the King nor Dimos had objected to this, and everyone else seemed relieved. The fear among the men was evident. They were weary of the Deep Wood. The Southerners had grown up thinking that the tales of it were legends, but now, being so near, they knew that they were not. The line of gigantic trees standing just ahead of them, their unnatural darkness chilled their souls.
“S-o what happen-s when we go through there?” Yaro asked.
The four of them sat around a fire. The missing presence of the fifth weighed heavily on the mood, the background to the grief only the darkness of the night.
“It will take a week to get there,” Marat said. “As long as the time shift clears with the trees.”
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He turned to Ivan, “Is there any chance Korschey can know we are coming?”
“No.” Ivan shook his head. “There is only talk that he drove the bulk of the army south down the main road. Those who came from Volkograd spoke of his cold anger. He did not expect her to close the Wound and trap the Legho until she did.”
“Hi-s greate-st weapon,” Yaro said quietly. The red-bearded man had not spoken much since the Battle in the Hills.
The three looked to Val, who sat with a vacant look, her face to the fire.
“Do they say anything of use?” Ivan asked. “The woods?”
“They only whisper pleads and threats.” She shook her head, “they shift constantly, knowing we are out here. They are afraid.”
“Wish we could set fire to the whole thing…” Ivan sighed.
Marat stood, sweeping his eyes over the small gathering and then the many tents beyond then turned to Val.
“We better go.” He said. She took his hand, they bid goodnight to the two men, and retired to their tent.
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“I know something is wrong.”
His arms were wrapped around her, and hers around him. He took in her face by the light of the single candle, both struck by the feeling she brought out in his very being, and mournful of the dulled, veiled eyes - the greens of which he would never look into again. Yet still, she was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen.
“Just give me the night, I do not wish to speak of it.” She said, pulling herself closer to him. “Please.”
“Val.”
“Marat.”
“I’m not naive, Val. I know what you plan to do is not harmless. You closed two Wounds, but they did not span a quarter of the earth. I know you think… you think you’re going to die.”
She sat up, her heart beating faster, but he only squeezed her hand tighter.
“I believe in you. By gods, but I should have believed in you more. I was never good at letting you go, Val.”
“I don’t think I’m going to die…” She said quietly. “I know I won’t. Not here. Marat…”
She tugged at his arm, beckoning him to sit up with her. His eyes fixed on her face, his brows furrowed.
“Anukk’a took me into the desert. She guided me through Arachne’s web. And in it, I saw where I am to go. And it does not end here, not where the trees stand tall.”
“Where then?” His voice was strained.
“I am to find Korschey’s death.” She said, a slight, sad smile on her face. “It is hidden in the Deep Wood Wound. He left it there when he took the Hag, knowing none could ever approach.”
“Then I go with you–”
“No!” She said quickly, “You cannot, Marat. It is not your place, and if you are to come with me, you doom thousands to their deaths. This… this is larger than you and I. You must save men from the monsters that they are. And I must save them from the monsters that are not.”
He did not reply, his eyes desperately trying to read her face.
“Forgive me.” She nearly whispered.
“You mean to leave… after?”
“I do. Dimos knows this.”
“Pigshit.” Marat swore. “I am so sick of the meddling of the gods. He controlled the entirety of this as if it began before he was even born.”
“You cannot control the future.” This time, the smile brightened slightly. “You can only set people on a path, and pray they make the right choices so they may make it where they have to. You and I, we made the right ones. We are where we belong.”
“I have made no choice in my life more right than you, Val.” He leaned his forehead against hers, stroking the fine hairs at her crown with his thumb. He felt his hands trembling. “Every choice I have made was for you. And you ask me to turn away, now.”
“I ask you to be my other half, as we have promised one another. If I retrieve his death and break the promise of his invincibility, you must deliver the killing blow. One of us cannot be in two places at once, but that is why there are two of us. Please,” she leaned forward and kissed him, her hand running across his rough, scarred cheek. “Our hearts belong to each other, but our duties belong to them.”
She felt him nod, it was so slight it was almost imperceptible.
“Tell me one thing, and Val, do not try to spare me - not now. Do not lie.” He said. “Are you going to die there?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know..?” His voice broke, she felt his entire body shake now, and tears came to her eyes.
“In Arachne’s web, the very last thing I saw. I was the thread…” She fought herself; she wanted to lie to him; she wanted to relieve him of the pain, if only just for that moment. But she could not. “A Wound cannot heal if it still bleeds, and I am blood flowing from it.”
“I cannot let you go…”
“There was a time I could not let you go, and we found our way to each other still. Please, Marat, we are two beings without a mortal soul; I do not wish to live forever knowing that we have failed them.”
“You are better than I, Val.” He whispered. “You have always been better than I. And because of this, I will trust you. But do not think that I will not do everything in my power to preserve you. If our choices ultimately decide the future’s path, I will make ones that lead me back to you. I swear it. I swear it, Val.”
Her hands ran through his hair, her body shifting toward him. She leaned away for a moment, her cloudy eyes on him.
“If only you could see yourself in this moment…” Marat whispered to her, his thumb running down the contour of her cheek. “If only you could see what you do to me.”
She smiled against his warm hand, pressing her cheek against his fingers.
“I do not need sight to see you, Marat.” She said. “I have never needed sight to see you.”
He kissed her with the whole passion of his words behind it, with the desperation of having her as close as he could before parting. His hands slid across her back, pulling, pressing her against his body as if trying to hold her from being torn away.
The undress was slow, as if relishing the undoing of every button, strap, and buckle pulled away –a gift to be received. Between pieces of clothing being lost in the tangles of the blankets, their hands traveled over the exposed skin as if not touching would bring devastation.
When nothing was left to remove, skin hot against skin, both fought the need of each other, unwilling to hurry the night, praying that every moment lasted enough to sate a lifetime, until the need became so great that their very blood begged for release.
He breathed a heavy sigh into the curve of her collarbone, pulling her up and against him.
“I love you.” He breathed out, and in the next moment, it was as if the heat of a sun rose inside. Restraining, consuming, it swallowed him whole, and only for a moment did he notice that Val’s skin was so hot that it let off wisps of steam in the cold of the night.
“Had I soul, it would be yours,” she whispered in his ear, her body in motion of waves of a calm sea. “So take what I do have instead.”
He felt the flames that did not burn, originating in her core and spreading across him, washing over him, rendering him unable to let go, even if he intended to do so. And, he felt something within himself awaken, a light flashing across his vision, bright in the darkness of the tent where the candle had gone out. He opened his eyes to look at her and saw the greens of hers. There were tears in them.
“I see you…” she whispered. “You are so bright… it is as if you have cut through my darkness, and I see your face.”
She sobbed, smiling, and her body pressed impossibly closer to his.
“I swear to you, I’ll find you; I will make sure,” His words escaped in gasps as they quickly ran out of breath to speak. “You are mine. Mine to keep, and I will not surrender you.”
She only smiled sadly, falling back as he lowered her against the ground, never breaking contact, never letting go of the searing heat of her. Her body arched against his, his arm wrapped around the curve of her lower back, holding it against himself. They loved every bit of each other –every bit exposed and every bit that wasn’t. It was familiar, comforting, and at the same time still new as if discovering it for the first time.
Heartbeats threatened to burst their chests, and breaths became so short their lungs ached. One of them would slow and be met with the begging pull of the other. They exchanged the deliverance of anguish and need. The ripple of fire and blinding light traveling through them both, intertwining and overtaking until their consciousness seemed to burst into stars, the drops of water from a violent sea crashing onto land, and burning embers that then settled to the ground in peace –only the memory of the raging flames warming them still.
They allowed time to force the night into being a sleepless one - needing, wanting, taking every moment for themselves. And, by the time the sun rose, it felt as if they had lived a thousand years together, wrapped in each other, consumed by each other, each burning - the heat lingering under their skin even after every moment of finding divinity had long passed.
Two hearts burned fierce against death's chill,
Facing the gods' unyielding will,
In desperate touches, their last embrace,
Where first they saw each other’s face,
They found peace in that dark place.
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