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Yaro rode up by Marat.

“Where-s the rabbit-s?”

The men hadn't spoken much since they set off that morning. Row by row, the horses and wagons entered the valley between the trees. The earth there was dead and not yet hardened, making it difficult for the supply carts to get through. The edges were lined with thick woods, growing close together and creating a tall live wall on each side. Each soldier to pass by would eye them warily, looking for signs of movement within.

“Gone,” Marat answered him without turning his head. “They have gone inside the Deep Wood.”

“To the las-t Wound,” Yaro observed, sighing. “S-ound-s right.”

Marat looked to him, expecting questions and reprimands, but he got none.

“How long do we have onc-e we reach the capital?” The red-bearded man asked.

“Three days.”

“A sh-ort s-iege of a major c-ity.” Yaro frowned. “It won’t be unprotected.”

“Korschey is proud. Our chances are good. With Valeria having closed the Western Wound, he would have sent the whole of his forces. The Deep Wood is meant to be impenetrable. Had he cared for his people, he would have repaired the capital’s walls as well - but nothing will stop us from taking Middle District, and then all the supplies are cut off from where the nobles reside. The barracks, too. We will catch them by surprise.” Marat answered.

By gods, he hoped that was the case. He hoped that none of the northern guards sent to find Valeria would see their movement through the forest. He’d sent their own scouts ahead, but if it came to a battle in the valley, they might not fare well with archers in the cursed trees.

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Stepping onto the forest floor of the Deep Wood filled them with a sense of unease, especially after the effigy’s burning. A quiet vibration was in the air, and a heavy fog sat low to the ground, obscuring each new step ahead.

“Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” Ivan said, his eyes scanning for rocks and roots. “Do you need me to help you? Carry you?”

“No!” The Witch laughed, which only received an annoyed look from Ivan in reply. “Truly. I can feel here as surely as if I could see. I am bound to the forest, and its binding is strong. I feel the pulsing of the Nothing in every stone. It will be alright.”

“That sounds like bragging, if I am going to be honest.”

They walked like this until evening. Ivan carried both of their supplies, unable to allow her to handle anything in her delicate state. However, her mood seemed to be upbeat.

“Are we going to encounter those things again, do you think? A birthing ground where they fell from the trees?” He asked. The things were some of the more disgusting he had seen.

“Knockers? I don’t think so… I didn’t know what to look for before.”

“I meaaaaaaaan… are you saying you do now?” He laughed, and catching on to the joke, she did, too.

“Ivan, thank you.” She said, her voice still holding the giggle. “Thank you for not treating me differently. Despite your offer to carry me, that is.”

He shrugged.

“You’ve never truly needed carrying, Valeria. As long as I have known you.” He said.

For a moment, the Witch seemed thoughtful.

“You have always seen me for what I am.” She said slowly. “Even before I knew. You saw the witch in me, and yet you trusted me wholly. I must thank you, up to that point in my life, not many people placed so much trust in me.”

“Love shows itself in different ways, I suppose.” He spoke of Marat but realized only after the words left his mouth that it sounded like he spoke of himself. When she grew quiet, he regretted them. The last thing he needed was to make it awkward now, more than a week ahead of them to get to the Wound alone.

“And do you?” She asked before he could correct himself. “Do you love me?”

For a moment, everything felt slowed. For a few heartbeats, the question said so casually, restricted his chest.

“I always have. I think I always will. But I do not hold out hope still. I need you to know that.” He said, even if his words held a slight tremble.

“I’ve noticed that you and Marat have gotten… close.” She continued, not skipping a beat. He was grateful for that. He nodded, even if she could not know it.

“I was wrong about him and again should have trusted your judgment,” Ivan said thoughtfully. “He is a good man… even if he is no man at all. He never made me feel less, and he could have. He has faith in me, and it does not come with suspicion. It almost feels like… It almost feels like an older brother, I suppose. Strange as that is to say. He is not that much older.”

“I don’t think you realize just how old he… both of us are.” the Witch smiled again. “Time has stopped taking what belongs to it many years ago.”

“Perhaps that is why I will never understand you as well as you understand each other. I have made my peace.”

“Sometimes I wonder what you would have thought of me when I still had a mortal soul.” She mused quietly. “We had much in common, then. I came from a quiet farming community.”

“I’ve never met this person, but I have no doubts she was quite the gal.” His smile faded to a melancholy one. “One that I would have never met, so there is no sense in wondering that.”

As the trees grew thicker, he became slightly worried. Although sure of his direction, these did not look as they did when they left the Glade.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Have the shifts stopped?” He asked her, pausing his stride.

She raised her head towards their tops, listening.

“I’ve commanded it.” She said. “It fears the death I carry for them. Should they get us more lost, that is that much longer that I remain within. They do not wish to lead us astray.”

The light making its way through the canopy was dim, and it was difficult to tell if night was approaching. But he could see she was tiring out.

“I’m fairly spent.” He announced, earning a slight frown as the Witch turned to face him.

“You are not.”

“I’ve been carrying your pack. As well as mine.”

“I can hear it in your breath, Ivan. You are not tired. Don’t spare me. Or we will not get there in time.”

“Fine.” He returned to the slow, deliberate pace ahead. “But when the light disappears, we stop. We set up a wardwright.”

She shot him a habitual look.

“You sound like Marat.”

“I’d like to sleep, Valeria. And so should you.” He sighed. Ivan did not recall her being this difficult when they last traveled together.

“They cannot smell me, I smell no different than they do. We will mask your scent - a little. But they should not approach if they think you my prey.”

“That is infinitely comforting,” Ivan muttered. It was not so long ago that he would have believed that her words were true.

Just as they prepared to make camp, the two broke across a thicket of bushes among the trees - and came face to face with an emormous, shockingly hideous sight.

Stuck at an angle between two thick tree trunks was a skull four times the size of a horse. It was elongated and flat, and its jaw was split in two, each half housing an abundance of long, sharp teeth and frightening fangs.

It was the head of the giant serpent, the same that Ivan had nearly separated from the body at the Western Wound, picked clean by the creatures that inhabited the forest.

“Don’t come closer,” he warned her, stepping toward it.

There was something wrong with it. Where the eyes would have been on a snake skull was what looked to be a split spine. It was no wonder that his blow had been lethal, it rendered the head entirely useless.

He’d never seen the remnants of a creature like that. Most of the ones he encountered disintegrated immediately upon death or melted into a sticky puddle of oily mucus.

Something reflected light from the back of it.

“Cannot be…” He hurried over, and in the next moment he held the heavy Kladenets in his hands. A smile appeared on his face.

“What is it?” Val called.

“Marat’s sword!”

They came across a grove of plum trees, their red casting a pleasant warmth across the grass. It was fragrant, inviting, and entirely suspicious.

“What are plum trees doing in the middle of the Deep Wood?” Ivan asked, reaching up for a beautiful purple-red one weighing down the branch. “These are not in season for months…”

“Best not bite into one…” The Witch warned, her hand running across the leaves until it stopped on a round, plump piece. “Let me, first.”

She brought it to her lip, paused at first, then took a small bite.

He watched her with envy.

“I haven’t seen plums since Al-Jabrahn.” He said, prompting a go-ahead from her.

“They’re just plums, I think.” She said, taking a bigger bite.

They ate several, the richness of the sweet juices filling their mouths and spilling down their throats.

Before they even set up camp for the night, their stomachs cramped from their eagerness to devour the fruit, but this did not sour the mood. The conversation by the campfire was easy, and by the time the moon was high above them, both went to sleep.

Ivan’s dreams were strange, holding no meaning or reason. He tossed quite a bit, and the brief moments he would wake up his eyes fell on the sleeping Witch. A feeling gripped his stomach, and he was not so sure it was the plums.

Sitting up, he scanned the woods. The giants stood far above the fruit-bearing trees, blocking out the sky where the clearing ended. Although it was pitch black, it did not seem to him like anything lurked about.

Marat taught him to concentrate on the aura of the Nothing-touched. To feel them nearby. He thought, was that what the Witch did? But in a way that had connected her to them?

The feeling he got was uncomfortable, foreign. It did not feel of this world. He tried not to do so unless he had to - especially with the Witch and Arachne nearby. He did not like when her presence made him recoil.

How far he had strayed from the person he used to be. Only a few years ago the thought of traveling with the Nothing touched and toward a Wound would have made him laugh.

Ivan wandered a ways into the plum trees, meaning to relieve himself, but just as he stopped, something stirred above.

His hand immediately shot to where his sword would be - but he had left it beside the bedroll next to the Witch.

Even in the dark, he could see the shape that clung to the plum tree’s branches. It was not far above him, but it froze when he looked up.

No more than four feet tall, the little red humanoid was entirely covered with red fur that matched the leaves. Its head was large, far larger than the body should have allowed. Its sticky fingers clung to the branches without disturbing a single leaf.

“All-Father’s… ah shit…” Ivan muttered. These pests inhabited the fig orchards all over his family’s land, and he should have known that a grove of plums so out of place in the Deep Wood would house an infestation.

He dared not look away from the glassy scales that were its eyes. The second he did, the thing would reach down and latch its sucker hands onto him like the disgusting little tree leech that it was.

A careful step back and the long, rubbery arms of the creature reached forward to pull itself onto the next branch.

“Shit…” Ivan repeated. It would not be such a dire situation, but prying the suckers off your skin was a delicate matter. They released a toxin into the blood that would essentially help its digestion of you before it even ate you. It had to be treated quickly once it happened and could very well make him sick for days. It was time they did not have.

Another step back, and with measured movements he lowered down, his hands searching for rocks nearby.

From where he was, the thing looked extra grotesque. The night’s glow reflected from the smooth hairs, making it look like glossy blood covered its entire body. The creature shifted its back legs closer to its palms, prepared to lunge.

His hand came across a rock, albeit one small enough that it was hardly bigger than the size of his palm. Knees straining, he began to stand, which was when it lunged.

Although it was thin and its stature was not great, it hit Ivan with a sizable impact, forcing him to stumble back. It’s sucker hands gripped onto his neck and arm, the legs wrapping around his abdomen.

The rock collided with its head, and the soft skull caved in. It popped, with a forceful gush of reeking blood projecting from its mouth and all over Ivan.

“For fucksake!” He exclaimed, wiping it away from his eyes and mouth, and pushing the body off with his other arm, the suckers on its hands refusing to budge.

“Ivan!” He heard from the camp.

“It’s fine!” He called back, feeling bile rise from the smell of spoiled food coming from its innards.

She appeared beside him.

“What is that smell..?” The Witch gagged, stepping back immediately.

“It’s just a pest, it’s fine.” He slipped off his shirt, wiping the gunk off. “There might be others, though.”

He saw her head turn slightly, her palm raising as if holding something.

To his great dismay, all around him, he heard rustling of the leaves and branches, thuds and then sploshes as bodies hit the ground, dead. There were so many. So many that neither of them saw among the trees. The smell that rose made both of them dry heave.

“I think maybe we continue on a little early…” The Witch said.

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