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Overwhelming dread spread through Marat as he walked the rows of men that remained in battle formation. A ripple of almost indistinguishable talk came across them. In their words, he heard the King’s name.
Something wasn’t right. He hurried toward the back where the royal guard had been.
As he pushed through the men who were tightly gathered around, he saw why.
Dimos was lowered to the ground on a thick blanket, his face pale. Although broken off, an arrow still stuck out just below his chest. He was unconscious.
Typhonos knelt beside him, his large hand propping the boy’s head above the rolled-up tunic supporting it.
“I’ve called for a physician…” He muttered, sensing the man’s arrival. “It came from the trees as Korschey’s fog overtook us. They came for only him. They all aimed for him.”
Marat was silent as he knelt on the other side of the young man.
“He is breathing…” He said quietly. “Perhaps I can–”
Typhonos held up his hand, shaking his head.
“You are named for the life of men, not the life of gods. We keep going. We will take my son with us to the capital, and I will set up camp back from the others. We will treat him there. For now, we must keep moving.”
Marat’s eyes lingered on Typhonos. Anger, regret, and fear played across the King’s face. But there was more. There was understanding.
No one entered the woods, not even in the day. The sight of the Nothing-touched giant had turned the fear of the forest into incapacitating fright within them, and even those who once hunted in the Deep Wood refused to return. They traveled slower, the scouts riding out far ahead. There was no sign of Korschey or his men, promising that the city would be greatly fortified upon arrival.
Prince Dimos woke up briefly but hardly spoke, and even then, only to his father. The physicians were not hopeful, although not even they would speak to Marat.
The news spread fast and significantly affected the morale of the Western troops.
Marat took the southern berserkers ahead with him. They rode faster, and Batyr had been right - each one was worth four men on the battlefield. If another ambush were coming for them through the Deep Wood, he would know.
Korschey would send messengers to return the horde to the capital. But knowing when the Northern King learned about the Deep Wood parting was impossible. They could have a week, a month, or only days.
That was not long enough for a siege.
Even with the West’s armies, the horde would be bigger when it arrived. They had to get to Korschey as soon as he knew Val had the golden egg with the needle inside.
At least, he hoped that she would find it.
Three days, she said. Two weeks to travel across the Deep Wood for them both, three days to find Korschey’s death.
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Val could see.
It was not clear. The world lost its color and the Nothing-touched trees blurred lightly as if a shadow crawled across them where there was none. When she looked at Ivan, she could swear that his image pulsed with the beat of his heart. When they lit a small lantern to get through the thicker parts of the woods, the light burned Val’s eyes, and she was unable to look directly at it.
They followed the path that the Soloveyka showed them. Once Val could see the Great Oak below, she let go of the bird, allowing it to fly free.
An inkling told her that Sirin would not be pleased with that.
But the Soloveyka healed Ivan. He walked with renewed determination, the color back to his cheeks and vigor in every step. He walked ahead of Val and cut down the especially thick shrubbery. He helped her across small creeks and especially difficult places where roots of great trees wound up from the ground.
Sirin did not appear again, even though twice Val tried to call on her.
And, she could not reach out for the threads anylonger. Every tree lashed out in anger when she tried, each of them a screech that vibrated through her bones. They were stronger here. And they hated her for what she had done.
She wondered, had they also hated the Hag? Had they retreated from the Glade on purpose?
The two of them had one night and one day left to get there. Both were exhausted, and a growing feeling of uneasiness overtook their conversations, forcing silence. The Western Wound had made even Marat sick with corruption, and they had no idea what to expect at the Great Oak.
Val had no idea what would happen to Ivan there, but she did not intend to find out.
When the time came, she would approach alone.
A thick fog set in among the trees. It was a dirty pale yellow as if someone kicked up fine sand and it suspended in the air. It made breathing hard, and both had to tie pieces of cloth across their noses and mouths to protect their lungs.
They set up camp, huddling close together by a small fire that burned the foulness away. Ivan dared not make one so large that it would disturb the forest around them. At least Val had been right. When the creatures sensed her, they did not approach.
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But her presence there did not stop the loud crashing of footsteps from approaching them by nighttime.
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Ivan put out the fire immediately, Kladenets in his hands. He ushered the Witch to conceal herself among thick trunks behind them, and retreated into the dark.
Light flickered ahead of the rustling and snapping of branches. There were at least three.
They were men. Likely the king's guard he saw deployed in search of the Witch.
Stepping gingerly, especially for his size, Ivan made his way around the trees to get a better look. The men did not seem aware that they were closing in on them.
He looked to the ground, taking a deep breath. Three men.
And a Nothing-touched sword that had never seen battle in his hands against mortal souls.
Ivan lunged as soon as he could see the lantern light dance on the gray wool of their traveling cloaks. He was one, but the element of surprise was still on his side. Better then, than have the three return to catch them in the night.
Kladenets. The life of a man with just one strike.
It struck the man below the shoulder blades at his back. A wet sound like splashing water followed the blow, but Ivan did not stop to see why.
The other two seemed to disappear, and he retreated, listening.
The sharp whistle of an arrow, and he felt the ripple where it flew just past his ear.
It was too close of a miss, and the other man waited to release while the first reloaded, giving Ivan no opportunity to go forward.
“All-Father’s mercy… Fuck…”
He dashed to the next tree, and the second arrow struck the bark, sending pieces raining about.
He heard the draw of steel; it came from his right. There was no pause, no thought; he came around the tree and was met with the sword of the king's guard. They locked, each man trying to overpower the other, but Ivan’s drive won in the end, his sword sliding forward horizonally and cutting the man across the bridge of his nose. The very second Kladenets touched upon flesh, the man’s mouth parted, and a gush of blood and gore came splashing over Ivan’s cheek, neck, and clothes. The man crumpled, the liquid flowing freely, coloring the man’s eyes, and trying to escape as if alive. The sight of it was gruesome; the man’s insides liquified.
One man remained, but the forest was quiet. He was concealed there, among the trees, somewhere Ivan couldn’t see.
He steadied his breath, pressing against the trunk, listening. He heard the rustle of leaves and dashed toward them - but only a bird took off out of the brush.
The arrow pierced his side from behind, cold, knocking the breath out of him –he spun.
He closed the distance between him and the archer as the man nocked the next arrow. Kladenets glided through his chest in the next heartbeat.
The same, a fountain of blood as the man folded over and fell to the ground. His body convulsed as the blood rushed out.
Ivan stood breathing heavily, cringing as he moved his arm and tried to twist to see where the arrow struck. He heard the Witch rush to him.
“Hold still!” She commanded, her voice shaking.
Every breath caught on another; he grunted but did not move as she put her hands on him.
“It was barbed…” He managed to squeeze out.
“Hold still!” She repeated louder, running to her pack tucked in the bushes. “It could have been worse, I have things… I just hope it didn’t get something vital…”
He turned to look at the dead man in front of him. He’d seen enough death, but this man. The blood, bile, and fluids that should have never left the body were soaking into the ground. They left his skin sagging and depleted.
He held the sword up to examine it.
“This is not a weapon a man should yield…” He said quietly, his eyes running over the barely marred steel as if seeing it for the first time. “This is a cruelty.”
“A cruelty that kept us both alive, Ivan.” The Witch shooshed him as she lifted his shirt - without gentleness - and wiped the blood - quickly pressing green paste into the wound, which had thankfully not been close enough to anything of importance. He grunted, grinding his teeth. “This is not the time to be valiant.”
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Even bandaged, Ivan walked with a slight limp, careful to step lightly as the wound shifted with his hips. All things considered, he had gotten off fairly easy.
Val led the way now, her face colored with concern.
“I feel it…” She told him as they stopped to catch their breath.
“Hm?”
She placed a hand on a birch's soft bark and closed her eyes.
“There is a drum, like a heartbeat, here. But it is not them. It’s coming from somewhere ahead. They are just… echoing it.”
“This sounds ominous…” Ivan muttered as she started walking again.
“You may not be able to approach with me.” She said, tilting her head back toward him. “I do not know what this Wound is like. But… if Korschey trusted that this golden egg would never be found, I think it must not be approachable by man.”
“I don’t know about that, Val…”
“I do.”
“I made a promise. I made a promise to you, and I made a promise to the Em… Marat.” He shook his head.
“To die at the hand of corruption is not the fulfillment of an oath.” She sighed. “We have been through a lot, Ivan. And twice you have seen me close a Wound. I need you to trust me to do so again.”
The air began smelling damp like the decay of wood and stagnant water. They were nearing the swamps hidden underneath the forest floor. Here, the animals and insects that lurked were not put off by Val - they were not of the Nothing, and the large bugs and endless mosquitos assaulted them.
Ivan led the way, feeling out each step before putting his weight on it. If either was to fall in, it could prove impossible to get out.
“I can feel them here; they hide under the waters, but they watch us,” Val said quietly, looking around. Her vision came and went in how much clarity it allowed. She wondered if this was what it was like for all the creatures she encountered. “There are many, and I can’t tell what they are.”
“Not a very comforting thought,” Ivan muttered.
The moss hung off of branches as if torn cloth on drying lines. Everything was covered in a thin layer of slime, and small holes littered what was visible of the ground.
On several occasions, Val caught herself in a slip, and Ivan steadied her. It became that she did not let go of his arm as they made their way forward. It was hours before the ground began to solidify again.
Exhausted, they both collapsed on the ground, their muscles begging to relax even for a moment.
Val sat up suddenly, and Ivan opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a finger.
“They’re all whispering.” She said quietly. “They are all whispering a warning to it.”
As she stood, he followed, but not fast enough as she took off.
It only took a few minutes—a few minutes of running through the woods. A few minutes that neither realized would be the last they would feel at peace for a long, long time.
As Val burst through the trees and into the clearing, she stooped, her head snapping upward.
There, before them, stood an oak taller than anything either of them had ever seen. It was taller than the Obsidian Tower. It was taller than the Cathedral. It was taller than the tallest wall surrounding a White City. Each one of the leaves upon it was silver, and the evening light reflecting from them was nearly blinding. Its roots spread, winding and arching above the ground, taking up nearly the entirety of the clearing before it, and many ran into the woods themselves.
“It is the same one…” Val whispered. “It is the same place I spent my first three nights in the Deep Wood…”
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