by L. P. Dover
Somewhere in the forest, a wolf howled. The sound was eerie, causing the horses to spook, the wagon to jerk even more. I clung to the thick bar, letting my scraped cheek rest against my hand.
“The Ardus is three days by foot.”
The voice startled me, and I clasped the wood as I sat up, my eyes on the torchlight now visible outside the wall I leaned against. In the space provided, I could make out the dark-haired young soldier's face, made eerie by the night and the flickering flames. He was a handsome man, rugged with a small scar along his temple.
Another wolf howled, and the soldier pulled his horse away briefly, calming him before coming close again.
“Who are you?” I asked.
My voice cracked. My throat hurt, and my head throbbed almost as painfully as my arm. The boy watched me a moment before inclining his head.
“Kye,” he answered.
He looked away then, his eyes searching the torches up ahead. I studied him, my thoughts a chaotic, grieving mess.
“The Ardus?” I asked finally.
His gaze didn't return to mine. He sat up straight in his saddle, his expression even. He was one of the king's soldiers. He was risking his life talking to me, and I was having a hard time understanding why.
He knew I knew what the Ardus was. It was the desert between Medeisia and Sadeemia, visible from my bedroom window at Forticry. It was a beautiful sight in its starkness, a little over a day's walk from my father's manor. It was also deadly.
“There is sanctuary in Sadeemia for those who survive the crossing,” Kye replied, his gaze flicking to mine before moving away again.
I let my cheek rest once more against my hand.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
Kye didn't answer. He kicked his horse instead, turning his steed so that he rode once more behind the wagon. The torchlight moved away from me, highlighting the boards at the cart's rear. I could still see the young soldier as he waved his light back and forth, searching the woods before signaling the guards ahead. All was clear.
I hugged my marked arm more tightly against me. The throbbing in my wrist was wave-like, the pain receding and then returning. My jaw was beginning to hurt as I clenched it against the ache in my arm. The sharp stinging sensation radiated down into my fingers and back up into my shoulder. And yet, the pain must be nothing compared to the agony Aigneis had experienced on the pyre.
I closed my eyes against the screams echoing in my head.
“We will camp in a few hours. The lock on the back of this wagon has always been faulty.”
Kye's soft voice swept over me, but I kept my eyes closed against the memories, against the stinging pressure in my arm. The mark branded more than my skin. It branded my soul.
“My father.”
I hadn't realized I'd said the words aloud until a hand suddenly touched mine on the bar. When I opened my eyes, Kye's face was close enough to be frightening rather than intimate. When I gasped, he pulled his horse away.
“Your father is too important to the king.”
It was all Kye said, and then he was gone again. Somehow, I knew he wouldn't be back this time.
Ardus. A faulty lock. The soldier was giving me a chance to escape. I would die in the capital. I knew it. The final look in Aigneis' eyes told me she had known it too. Maybe she had had hope for me and for her at the beginning of this journey, but it was a futile hope. I saw that now, but it had still been hope.
My father was a powerful man, and one of the few men who knew both the Sadeemian language and politics well enough to be useful to King Raemon. I was his illegitimate daughter. I had practiced the work of scribes for years, and the scribes had just been royally disbanded. I was the perfect political example. It would show the people that rank and birth mattered little to the king. Anyone with magic or knowledge would die marked. The thought made me angry.
Once more a wolf howled, and I heard Aigneis' scream in the sound. I saw the burning pyre, saw Aigneis' face as she looked at me, her eyes wide with concern. Listen to the forest.
The wolf howled again followed by a faint kek, kek in the skies above.
“Run, run,” the animals screamed.
I would not be Raemon's example. I would not be the political tool used to scare his own people into subservience. I'd be damned if I would die without killing the king first.
My eyes moved to the back of the wagon, to the light on the wood as Kye guarded the back of the procession. The flickering torchlight danced on the dry, cracked remains of leaves and broken pottery, and I let my gaze travel from the floor to the door, my eyes finding the iron lock as the flames from the torch illuminated the metal before going dull.
Ardus. A faulty lock.
Chapter 5
I was curled up on the wagon floor, my eyes on the space between the wooden bars when the carriages finally stopped. People called out to each other as horses were unsaddled and small campfires lit. The smell of food wafted through the modest cart, and I brought my knees in closer to my chest as nausea overcame me.
“Wretched business this,” a servant said in hushed tones as she walked by.
There were other voices then. Mareth's laughter and Taran's lilting speech. And still I lay, unblinking at times, my wrist raw, my chest tight with anger and grief. There were eyes outside the spaces, brief moments when someone would glance in at me. Even Mareth stopped once, but I was unseeing, my chest hollow. I think I kept expecting my father to find a way to save me, but the mark on my wrist said it all. Garod could do nothing now. I was branded.
“Food?” a voice asked.
These eyes I knew. I didn't answer.
“You should eat,” Kye tried again.
I let my gaze move to his eyes beyond the bars. The dark made everything eerie, made the visible parts of his face look severe, pale, and dangerous. Only his voice saved him, made him different.
“No food,” I managed.
The words were barely audible, my voice so hoarse I could barely speak, but Kye walked away as if he'd understood.
I went back to staring, watching as the shadows from the fires outside played wicked tricks on the wagon's wooden beams. So many shadows, so many stories told by spectres of the night. I saw Aigneis in the shadows, and I stared as I heard the forest around me whisper its own language—bugs trilling, a falcon's call, distant howling from preying wolves.
It seemed like hours before dirt was kicked onto smoldering fires. The voices outside grew quieter, less merry. Still, I stared. I stared until there was only silence, until every light source had been extinguished, leaving me in a darkness plagued with nightmares.
And then I moved. A faulty lock, he'd said.
My left wrist protested—the skin tender and tight where blood had dried against the design—as I inched my way silently across the cart. The distance from the bars where I lay and the door wasn't far, but I stopped often, my body noisy against the debris littered across the wagon. Even my breath sounded loud, the noise of my skirts deafening.
I was on edge, my grief still too raw, and my fear overwhelming when my right hand finally fell against the brass latch on the cart's wooden door. It was cold against my palm, comforting, terrifying. A faulty lock, he'd said.
I ran my fingers over the metal, my eyes blind in the darkness until I felt the latch's release. I jiggled it carefully, pausing when it came open, the clinking sound making me hold my breath, my head spinning. A horse whinnied nearby, and there was a rustling noise among the brush, but no one approached the cart.
I was faint by the time I exhaled, my trembling fingers clinging to the door. The lock wasn't faulty. The door had been left unbolted.
Gratitude flooded me as I pushed the door open slowly, carefully lowering myself to the ground before stepping away. My legs and feet tingled as I moved toward the trees. I was afraid I wouldn't make it far in the dark, but I had to try. For Aigneis, I had to try.
I was just inside the tree line when a hand closed over my mouth.
My eyes widened, my heart beating furiously, and I twisted in an attempt to break myself free. An arm went around my waist, tightening cautiously.
“Whoa there! No harm done. Three days to the Ardus, I said, but you won't make it far without food or water.”
Kye's voice was harsh in my ears, and I shivered as his arm fell away. A parcel was forced into my right hand, and a water skin was forced into the other. I took them, my eyes battling the shadows. I felt the boy behind me, but I could barely see him.
“Why?” I whispered even as he pushed me forward, away from him.
“Don't stay to the trails. They'll look for you there. Just keep traveling in this direction,” Kye said as he turned me gently, his hands on my shoulders for only a brief moment before they fell away again. “Walk, sleep, and eat facing this direction. Understand? This forest is a confusing place, a dangerous one. Sleep high if you can. Go.”
I didn't turn to look at him. I was afraid it would confuse me if I did. I faced the dark forest instead.
“Why?” I asked again.
Silence and then, “Because death comes too easy for our king. We suffer.”
I didn't have to look behind me to know he was gone as fast as he had come. Kye, a soldier I'd never forgive because the same men he fought with killed Aigneis. A soldier I'd never forgive because he had helped hold me down while another man branded me. A soldier I'd never forgive because he was giving me freedom marred now by terrible images. I cradled my parcel and water in the crook of one arm.
“Walk, sleep, and eat facing this direction,” I told myself as I stumbled forward, my free hand out in front of me.
The dark was a barrier I did not know how to overcome. It was full of insects and spider webs. Trees and thorns. Each step I took had my heart in my throat.
I felt the ground carefully with my thinly slippered feet, the damp seeping into the soles. The air was not cold, it was sticky and cool. Flies buzzed past my head, and I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out as more wolves howled. They sounded closer to me, but I was afraid to stop, afraid to find a high place to sleep that faced the direction I needed to go.
Fear was a new ally of mine. It painted pictures in the gloom that weren't really there, created sounds I wasn't sure were real. I could hear the captain's voice. I even thought I saw him once, and I stopped in my tracks, my pulse a beating drum in my neck.
“Not real,” I told myself as I moved forward, leaves breaking apart beneath my feet. Something slithered next to me, but I refused to look down and I didn't stop again. I was afraid if I stopped, I wouldn't continue forward.
The brush was getting thicker as I moved, and I batted at a large bug as I pushed my way through the dense foliage. I kept waiting for something to bite through my slippers, but my feet met only brambles. They dug into my soles, and I winced.
“Step lightly, child. They follow.”
The voice made me stumble, and I reached out blindly, my hand grasping the sturdy trunk of a nearby tree. Rough bark scraped my palms.
“Who are you?” I breathed.
The voice was crude . . . abrasive, almost like listening to wood being rubbed against wood. I wanted to flinch at the sound, but I didn't.
“You recognize us not, child? How disappointing.”
I started to answer, but something slapped me from behind, sending me hurtling forward, and I cried out.
“No time, child. No time. Men follow you. Run.”
It was then I heard the shouts from behind me, and I lifted my skirts, the darkness suddenly less terrifying than the men following me. I'd watched Aigneis burn. I wanted to be as brave as she was when they led her away, but I'd also heard her screams. They echoed in my head as I ran. Fire. Pain. Death.
“Run. We will not let you fall.”
The rough voice was insistent, and I picked up speed, the blurry, ebony shapes of trees and branches closing in around me, pushing against me, lifting me, even carrying me. It was then, as coarse, almost brutal hands seemed to grab me in the darkness, propelling me ever forward that I recognized the voice. Listen to the forest, Aigneis had said.
“The trees!” I gasped.
Laughter suddenly surrounded me, raspy chuckles that sent chills down my spine.
“You acknowledge us now, child.”
The voice sounded proud, smug. I should have been disturbed by the realization. I should have been afraid of the branches that still brushed me, thrusting me onward. I should have been confused by the way they protected me. But I wasn't. I wasn't afraid because Aigneis had prepared me for this.
While running through a dark forest being chased by the men who had murdered Aigneis, I had come into my magic. And the only thing that managed to cross my weary mind was one thought,
“They've given me the wrong mark. I carry the mark of the scribe.”
Chapter 6
Sometime during the night I must have stopped. And once I stopped, I must have slept. Light woke me. Greenish, white light fragmented by a canopy of varying leaves above my head. I was on a bed of grass, surprisingly soft and dry. I smelled damp earth and wood.
A drop of dew slid down a leaf, dripping first onto my nose before sliding slowly down the side of my face. The water was soothing against chapped, raw skin.
I stared up into the trees above me, my head fuzzy. Brown and grey muted birds hopped from limb to limb while a squirrel ran along a branch, chittered, and then disappeared. Life.
“Aigneis,” I whispered, images bombarding me as I tried to sit up. My father. The scribes. My stepmother. The king's soldiers. Fire. Kye. Darkness. The trees.
The trees! I sat up abruptly, my eyes searching the canopy.
“Where am I?” I asked.
The leaves above me shook even though there was no breeze.
“You are a little over a day from the forest's edge, child. Men still hunt you, but they will tire soon. You are safe here.”
A little over a day? How long had I walked the night before? How long had I slept? I lifted a hand and placed it tentatively against the nearest tree's trunk. The bark seemed to quiver against my palm.
“Are you many or only one?” I asked.
The strange echoing laughter from the night before surrounded me, and I shivered. I wasn't cold. I wasn't even afraid. No, the sound made me feel . . . happy maybe? No. No, that wasn't right. It made me feel content, calm.
“We are many, but we speak often as one.”
My stomach growled then, and I placed my left hand against my stomach. My wrist protested, and I glanced down at the mark on my skin. The inkwell. The mark of the scribe.
“Your food and water are next to your bed.”
I forced my gaze away from the design on my wrist, glancing now at the water skin and cloth-wrapped parcel Kye had forced into my hands the night before. They were sitting against the bed of grass, still tightly bound. The night had become a blur for me, confusing. It surprised me that I still had the supplies.
I lifted the water skin and drank deeply. The liquid within had a stale taste, but it was still good. Refreshing. The food was poor. There was bread and cheese within the cloth, but the bread was hard and the cheese was moldy. I ate the bread anyway and scraped the mold off the cheese before eating it as well. There was dried meat, but I saved it, wrapping it once more before sliding it into a small pocket in my dress.
I said a quick prayer to Silveet, Goddess of the Forest, before I finally stood. I was dirty, my hair was tangled, and the design on my wrist had a red appearance that alarmed me. The skin was also hot, feverish.
“You will fare well, child, mark our words. You will heal, and you will remain safe within these woods. Do not worry. You already have friends within the forest. No creature of any kind will harm you.”
It was disconcerting having a conversation with someone I could not look in the face.
“How do you know this?” I asked.
Leaves rustled, and a branch swept downward, rubbing gently against my cheek before returning to
its original position.
“Because you are your mother's child, dear one.”
A kek, kek filtered down from the air above, and I searched what sky I could see through the foliage. Ari.
“The falcon claims she is your protector.”
I could not get used to the voice, to the abrasive quality. It made goosebumps pop up along my skin each time the plants spoke to me.
“I saved her as an eyas,” I told the trees.
Leaves rustled once more.
“I think it is deeper than that. Your magic speaks to her. To all of us.”
I shivered. Maybe I was afraid.
“I don't understand,” I whispered.
There was laughter again.
“Ah, child. You will. Your magic can't be taught. It must be understood. Time will teach you much.”
I was definitely afraid. Lonely and afraid.
“She's dead.”
It was the first time I had said the words aloud since I had seen Aigneis burn. She was dead. Dead. Tears welled up in my eyes. They made me angry, and I swiped at my cheeks before they even had a chance to fall.
“Dead,” I repeated.
Why I said the words now when I should be worried about other things was beyond me. But it seemed right. The anger, the pain . . . it felt right.
“Such a funny thing death is for mortals. You cry. You mourn. You grieve. You get angry. But death is not always tragic, dear one. Sometimes death is the ultimate expression of love.”
My hands were over my face, my jaw tight.
“I'm not supposed to be angry?” I asked.
Leaves were touching me again, soft touches that differed from the brutal, urgent motions of the night before.
“No, child. Anger is okay. But think how much more you could accomplish if you fought now out of justice, not anger. Fear makes people run. You could walk a thousand miles, but the only thing you would be left with are blisters and exhaustion. Anger makes people careless. You could turn and face your enemy with nothing more than your bare hands, and the only thing you would be left with is your own death. Love, while beautiful, makes people foolish. Justice, however, is for the sake of many rather than for the vengeance of one.”
