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Marat sat beside her like a sentinel for the rest of the night. No words were exchanged. Val would cry softly off and on, only stopping when she’d exhausted herself - then starting anew.
When morning came, Marat got up and limped to gather their bags. Erlan’s was gone, as well as his bedroll. Val remained curled on the ground, staring ahead, oblivious to Marat’s activities. Finally, he’d walked over, dropping a prairie turnip next to her.
“Eat, girl. We’ll fish on the other side of the bridges. The water is less rocky there, and the fish will gather at the last tower in droves.”
She looked up at him as if startled but said nothing. However, sat up and picked up the turnip, examining it in her hands. Seeing this, Marat sighed heavily in frustration, lowering himself down by her. She quickly scooted away.
“Look, girl, no one is going to hurt you now. I need you to be a big girl with your big girl boots.” He said, putting a hand on her shoulder - at which she flinched visibly. “I’m injured. There are two of us now. You’ll have to carry some of the equipment on your own.”
She nodded, fidgeting with the turnip.
“Should we come upon trouble, I am afraid you’ll have to hide - or run. If I do not walk away from it alive, you will have to follow the road to the city on your own.” He explained.
Something ran across her blank expression.
“Limp.”
“What?”
“Should you not limp away from it alive.” She repeated.
A chuckle broke his hardened face.
“You’re right.” He stood, relieved that the girl’s spirit was not entirely broken. He dreaded that it may turn out he would have to carry both of them the remaining distance. “Now let’s go. It will not be far until we can stop again and get some proper breakfast. If we are lucky, there will be plenty of pikes there. They grow large, and only a single fortunate catch will last us days.”
They crossed the first bridge, Val stopping at its highest point - she’d never seen a river so large and so violent in its flow. Their pace was slow, and she could see that Marat struggled to place his weight on the ankle.
“Is it broken?” She asked when a particularly painful step reflected on his face.
“No.” He answered. But, the pain had worsened, with parts of it numb now. The rock sliced right through the soft part of his boot and pierced the skin. That was a secondary concern for a while.
When he checked the bandages the evening before, he saw how bruised it was underneath and all around. But there was no point in scaring the girl, no advantage to telling her the truth.
The uphill walk had winded them both, the second bridge being the tallest of the three. In the middle of the river, Marat asked to stop for a break.
Val saw how hurt the man had been. Some part of her was grateful to him, and she felt pity, although his words and motivations had proved to be deceptive and terrifying. She did not have time to process them…
They sat against the balustrade, listening to the water rage against the stone columns supporting the giant structure.
“Where has he gone?” She finally asked.
It was not that she had cared for Erlan’s fate now but feared that he was still nearby. She did not think that she could sleep a moment if she were to know he could come upon them at any time.
Marat remained silent for a minute, again weighing whether telling her the truth would accomplish anything.
“He is half a day ahead.” He said eventually. “Where his packs had been, the earth had been dusted with dirt carried by the wind. He would have left right when…”
He saw the look on her face and dropped his words, returning to silence. After some time, he struggled to his feet.
“Let’s go, we already move too slowly. Each notch on the signposts will add a day and a half to our journey.”
They saw the curve of the third bridge. The Insipid Flatlands did not cross the river. On the other side were hills and valleys, greener grasses and narrow channels running through the cliffs.
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Although still far away, there was someone standing at the base of the bridge.
Val’s stomach twisted at the thought that it was Erlan.
She stopped, but Marat continued. She looked again, squinting. It was not big enough to be Erlan. It was a thin shape. She caught up to the limping man, but a couple of dozen steps further, he stopped, carefully looking at the figure.
Val did a double take - the shape was more visible here as they’d reached the bridge's highest point. From here, she could see that it was a thin woman who seemed to be struggling to walk. She relied on a walking stick held in her hand. She was dressed in old, faded, and wrinkled clothes. She looked like a beggar, her face hidden by a hood.
She was getting closer. Her shape was so visibly frail.
Val looked to Marat, whose contemplative expression did not change.
The skinny woman stumbled, saving herself from the fall only by the walking stick, too weak to pull herself up.
Val lunged forward to help the enfeebled woman, but Marat put an arm up, stopping her from going forward.
“No.” He said quietly. “Do not move. Do not look at her. Avert your eyes.”
Val saw he was not looking at the woman but at his own feet.
She glanced again; the woman steadied herself and pressed on slowly toward them. Val looked only briefly before she felt Marat’s hand grab hers forcibly.
“Do. Not. Look. At. Her.” He said under his breath. “Do not speak to her. Do not acknowledge her.”
His voice was strained, and Val heard an undertone of fear - for the second time now. But his hand gripped hers tight, and she fixed her eyes on it. He felt her shaking in panic.
They could hear her approaching now. Each step was slow, almost as if she was dragging her feet. Although, Val realized it was one foot that she had used to step - the walking stick compensating for the other.
They heard rasping breaths. The woman struggled, her shuffle becoming more and more distinct.
Neither of them moved, although both felt the other’s hand tighten and arm stiffen. Marat’s warning had sunk in.
Val felt an unnatural breeze caress her from somewhere ahead. It brought with it the smell of mothballs and dust and something else, like wet ground - but not the pleasant smell after a rain. More like disturbed earth had been where one had dug up moisture from below. It smelled of rot and mold.
The wheezing neared. Were she to walk completely straight ahead she would pass less than a step away from Val.
It felt like they had stood there for an eternity, listening to the stumble and tow of the approaching steps. They were so near now, the smell of old decrepit cellars so distinct. Val had remembered that smell from an abandoned meat cellar at a ruined home - it had stood empty since a fire claimed its walls.
And then-
She stopped.
She was so near that out of her peripheral, Val could see the hem of the destitute rags the woman had worn for her dress. She could not help but glance just for half a heartbeat at it. It rested just above a sandaled foot, its skin grayed and callused, toenails long, yellow, and cracking.
Val focused harder on her hand inside Marat’s. Trembling, she had to grind her teeth not to allow panicked breaths to escape her chest.
The woman stood still as if catching her breath. She was only a step away from Val. She seemed to be resting, unmoving. And then she took a step forward. As she did, Val glanced again - seeing that the woman dragged her other foot - rotten and skin peeling from it - it was shredded where it had been lugged across the paved bridge. It was the source of the smell.
Val gasped.
The woman stopped again, and both heard her turn around.
Marat was fast to react. The hand that held Val’s had swung the girl behind him - he faced the woman - his blade in hand.
Val saw her up close. Unbelievably thin and rather tall, she’d been draped in old dirty rags. The hood revealed her face - her eyes.
But no, not her eyes.
In the place where they would have been, they were sewed shut.
Val heard the loud wheeze again, as the woman did not move, leaning on her stick and facing Marat.
She heard feet approaching from the same direction as the woman had come from. Someone was running up the bridge. But she could not tear her eyes off of the gray figure standing nearly chest to chest with Marat.
It happened so quickly that Val did not even see the woman move.
She lept at him –no, on him, grabbing by the neck, her feet wrapped around his chest. Where he still had hold of Val’s hand, the grip broke. He stumbled forward on his bad leg, trying to pry the woman off. But as if she was made of tar, she stuck to him - her long arms and bony hands grabbing at whatever she could catch - his hair, nose, and shirt's neck.
She hung on despite his vigorous attempts to throw her off. She clawed at his eyes.
Val had tried to help, but the tangle of the two amid the struggle knocked her to the side. Marat bent and fell instead, the woman gaining an advantage. She caught his throat, still atop his neck, and choked him with all her might.
The clank of boots on stone echoed, and past her flew Erlan - seizing hold of the skinny woman and ripping her off Marat. They struggled as she gripped onto his chest - then his back. He’d come armed, and as he slashed, he got her on the shoulder. Twisting again, he got her hip. He stepped back and to the side, her still gripping and clawing at his face.
He misstepped and got thrown off balance, stumbling back against the stone railing. It happened so fast that Val could not comprehend the events. Erlan bent back - in a last desperate effort to get her to release - and toppled right over the short wall into the river more than a hundred feet below. He took the woman with him - still clinging to his back.
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