by Scott Hale
Vrana shook her head. “Of course not.”
“Where are they sending you?”
Vrana hesitated, and then, after realizing she told the same sensitive information to Aeson, said, “Nachtla, and an island off the coast of the Nameless Forest, in the Widening Gyre.”
“I didn’t know there was an island there,” her mother said, slurring her words, “and I’m sure that’s no accident. Why Nachtla?”
“The Witch had an extended stay in the town. I guess the elders think she may have left something behind.”
Her mother stared off in the distance. She nodded and reached across the table for the snoring R’lyeh’s plate. “Does she still come to you?”
“Sometimes,” Vrana said, “but it’s mostly these scars.” She ran her fingers over the raised flesh that scaled her arms. “I can’t tell if they hurt because they are healing, or if it’s because she’s trying to reach me.”
“Healing, I’d say,” her mother said hopefully, taking her daughter’s arm and rubbing it. “I’ve seen the Sailor’s Bane. It’s very misleading. The current is strong, but sometimes the water hardly moves.”
“Because of the Nameless Forest,” Vrana said, her guess more of a question hoping for an answer.
“Most likely,” her mother said with a sigh as she gathered up the remnants of their meal.
“Have… have you ever been there?”
Vrana’s mother smiled. “Before I met your father…” she paused in search of words suddenly lost. “Before I met your father, I’d made it a goal of mine to go everywhere, see everything. I saved the Nameless Forest for last—you know, just in case the stories turned out to be true and the trees ate me.”
Vrana smirked.
“Being the impulsive girl that I was, I took one look at that horrible stretch of land and said ‘Why not?’ Of course, if someone had been with me, they would have given a day’s worth of reasons to turn away, but I was alone. I did everything alone. I thought I was smarter than everybody else.”
“You probably were,” Vrana said, remembering the state of awe that she would be in when she used to watch her mother mix and brew potions from the unlikeliest of ingredients.
“Probably,” Adelyn said, laughing loud enough to make R’lyeh groan in her sleep. “I’ll never forget it, that Forest; the way the tops of the trees moved in slow waves. And the smell, so thick and rich—a blend of hundreds of species that even I couldn’t name. I remember feeling the wind rushing past me, as though the Forest meant to pull me in, take me in.”
Vrana felt another hunger growing within her. “Did you go in?”
Adelyn shook her head. Her eyes dimmed: The memory had reached its end. “No,” she said, “no, I didn’t. I came close, but I got scared. I saw through the trees and in the grass debris—pieces of wood and stone and tools—and I stopped where I stood. A long time ago, there had been three villages built beside the Nameless Forest, each one meant to harvest what they could from it. The Corrupted were especially interested in the vermillion veins growing on some of the trees. I was, too, for a while.
“The length of time changes depending upon who you ask, but shortly after those towns were built, each one was abandoned.” Adelyn stood up and balanced herself.
“That sounds like Geharra,” Vrana mused. She thought about the veins she’d seen in the city’s fountain and Deimos’ indifference to them.
“A few days later, they found the Corrupted that’d gone missing from those towns. They were strewn across the trees, half-disintegrated, miles of webbing pouring out of each of their mouths. The Corrupted abandoned the project, abandoned the towns; left the fate of the forest to the stories that—” Vrana’s mother yawned, paused, and yawned again. “—that you always hear about.”
“That sounds like Geharra,” Vrana repeated as she, too, yawned.
“That sounds like we need to go to bed,” Adelyn said. “Help me wake the little one up.”
Because it was the very thing she wanted to do more than anything else, Vrana found that she could not fall asleep. The food, drink, and her mother’s anecdote had stirred her thoughts. She lay in her bed, one hand on her nervous stomach, watching the images in her mind on the lids of her eyes. Again, she saw Deimos and Lucan trudging through the waters outside Geharra, giving to the merfolk their masks and the nearing Corrupted a lie. Once more, she watched as Serra retreated underground, tasked to kill what should not have been given a chance to exist. She wondered if the Bat and the Beetle had fallen on the swords of Penance’s soldiers, if the Piranha had become lost to himself in the Crossbreed’s haze.
Vrana turned on her side, opened her eyes, and stared at her mask, the raven’s head. The beak was scuffed, faded, and a few feathers had fallen from the skull. Maybe I am a raven after all, she said to herself. A raven follows Death and revels in its works and keeps the company of violence. A raven gathers secrets like a magpie gathers trinkets. A raven is a shadow, a shade—all those things we tell ourselves we could not ever do and then do anyway.
“At least I’m not a crow,” Vrana said. She stretched out her limbs and then went stiff. “Oh no,” she said, sitting up, “Son of a bitch! I forgot about Blix.”
Without ceremony, she awoke the next day and proceeded to the house of the elders to deliver her decision. She would do what was asked of her; and in her opinion, the sooner the sealing was done, the better it would be for everyone. There was no doubt in her mind that word of the Red Worm had spread across the continent. It would only be a matter of time until armies assembled and politicians postured to make threats and promises they couldn’t see through. The last thing that she needed to worry about were roadblocks and encampments impeding her progress, especially if the story of the Worms was true, and the birth of one would provoke the birth of another.
Of course, Aeson would not take the news lightly, though he would try to appear indifferent. While she would never will it, Vrana often wondered what it would be like for her to take his place, to be the one to watch him walk away under the thought that he may never return.
“He’ll forgive me,” she said to herself as she walked in the alley between two houses. “R’lyeh will, too.”
At that moment, Vrana stopped where she stood, ankle-deep in a fresh puddle of mud. Mag of the Jackal stepped in front of her, a small blade in hand. She looked disheveled, defeated. Her mask, halfway to bone, was dirty, riddled with holes through which her long, dark hair ran. Svaya had warned Vrana about her, and here she was, having tracked her prey at last.
“Running off again?” Mag asked, her torn garments revealing the scar on her chest where her left breast had been.
I should have brought my ax, Vrana thought as she eyed the weapon the Jackal held. “I’m so very sorry for what happened to your children.”
“Are you?” Mag moved to prevent passage. “You didn’t seem to be that night in the Archive. You looked right past us as we suffered.”
“I didn’t know what had happened,” Vrana said, remembering the scene: the children atop the tables, wailing and gripping at their skin as it threatened to fall to the floor.
Mag’s breathing became shallow. “Did you know that she would come?”
Vrana shook her head and gave the woman a sympathetic look, even though she knew Mag could not see it.
“Why did she do it?”
“I don’t know,” Vrana said. “To prove a point, maybe,” she followed-up. “Put that knife away.”
Mag was taken aback by the command. She took a step forward, raised the blade to challenge Vrana. Vrana contemplated and then grabbed the Jackal by the wrist and twisted her hand until the knife fell into the mud. Mag wrenched free of Vrana’s grasp and hissed. The Raven watched as the knife sank into the muck, as surprised as the Jackal by what she had just done.
Mag rubbed at what was likely a sprain. “Is she still with you?” Just like that, her anger was gone.
“Yes,” Vrana said, “but hopefully not for much longer.”
“I just need to find a way to the Witch,” Vrana said. “Spread word of her so that others can be prepared. It’s fear that feeds her.”
“Isn’t it always?” Mag sighed and started to turn away. “I never saw her.”
Vrana cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“I thought I did, but I didn’t.”
Doubting her, Vrana said, “You probably don’t want to remember. My mother described her to me. She was definitely the woman from my dreams.”
Mag shrugged, said something under her breath, and walked away. Vrana stayed in the alley for a moment, the point of the knife pricking her toe. She tried to understand what the Jackal had been getting at in regards to the Witch, but found she could not make sense of the woman. Not only had her mother seen the Maiden of Pain but so, too, had Aeson. Vrana stepped out of the mud and wiped her feet on the foundation of the nearest house. Is that what will become of R’lyeh and me? Hollow women haunting alleyways, looking for someone to hurt with all our hate?
Anguis was exiting the garden when Vrana arrived at the house of the elders. Three black vipers were slithering behind him, baring their hollow fangs at nothing in particular. He nodded at her as he tightened his grip on the stone cupped in his hand.
“It is lively today,” he said, drawing Vrana’s attention to Kistvaen, where rocks and boulders were falling from the cliffs into the morning fog.
“What’s happening?”
“Hmmm.” He knelt down on one knee, allowing a viper to slither up his leg and onto his arm. The stone he carried glinted in the sun; by its texture and color, Vrana could see that it was obsidian. “Have you decided?”
“Is that from the garden?” Vrana pointed at the stone, which seemed to have been chipped away from the much larger boulder at the maze’s center.
“Yes,” the Snake said, “a piece of the mountain.”
Vrana leaned forward, catching in the stone’s surface a reflection that was not of their surroundings. “What’s it for?” Her eyes followed the stone as Anguis stuffed into his pocket, the images of fire she’d seen seared into her mind.
“Have you decided?”
Vrana cleared her throat. “Yes.”
Anguis put his hands on Vrana’s shoulders. “The island is known as Lacuna.”
“How will I get there?” She shrugged off the Snake.
“From Nacthla’s highest tower, go east. Where the land meets the sea, there will be a small dock and your guide.” Anguis stopped speaking as a group of children dashed by. “You will go alone.”
“No,” Vrana said boldly, “give me Blix.”
“Of course,” he said. He whistled a sharp melody that made Vrana’s ears ring.
Her eyes widened as she caught sight of black wings beating against the blue sky. “What did you do to him?”
Like the masks of those accomplished figures in Caldera, bits of bone shone through Blix’s feathers. The crow was thinner than she remembered. Vrana noted how his beak was weathered, chipped away, not unlike the beaks of the birds she’d seen in the Elys. Did the Horror of the Field do this? Or was this the work of the elders?
“What happened to you?” Vrana asked the bird as it landed carefully on her outstretched arm. “What did they do to you?” She ran her fingers across Blix’s neck, down his back.
“Deimos gave him a message, and he delivered it to us. But somewhere in his journey, Blix was delayed.” Anguis clicked his tongue at the vipers coiling around his feet, and they slithered away with purpose.
“What do you mean?” Vrana stepped back with Blix, into the shade cast by the house of the elders. The village was beginning to take notice of the conversation. “Where did he go?”
“Most of the images were lost, but Nuctea was able to retrieve a few,” Anguis said, joining Vrana. “There were flashes of Alluvia and the Heartland and the Elys. And then there was darkness, and pillars, and curtains over glistening pits.”
“You too?” Vrana cried as Blix nipped at her finger lovingly. “The Witch took him into the Void.”
“She took Blix into the Void,” Anguis lowered his voice, “but when he came out, he came out in Nachtla.”
“That’s why you’re sending me there?” Vrana shook her head. “This isn’t a coincidence. She knew you would find the images and tell me.”
Blix screeched in agreement as he clawed his way up to her shoulder.
“It would be wrong of us to expect you to go to Nachtla after seeing to Lacuna. The choice is yours to make. No one will fault you if you do not.”
There is nothing dishonorable in knowing your limits. “Sure,” Vrana said, nodding. “Maybe Deimos and the others will be back by then.”
Anguis gave no response. He tilted his head and dismissed himself into the house of the elders.
CHAPTER XXVII
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” Vrana said to Aeson, pulling his arm tighter around her body.
Nuctea had come to Vrana’s home shortly after her meeting with Anguis and delivered the deadline. She was sure R’lyeh had overheard, for the Octopus locked herself in her room and refused to leave it for the rest of the day.
“It’ll be months before I see you again.” Aeson took her fingers and kissed their tips.
“I’ll be quick.” She reached over with her other hand and flicked his lip. “I promise.”
Aeson sat up, stretched out his legs, and dipped them into the hot spring. “I should come with you. I should know about Lacuna. I should come.”
Vrana bit her lip and also sat up. “You should!”
Aeson stared at Vrana’s rippling reflection in the steaming water. “If only they could be so easily swayed.”
“I’m sorry, Aeson.” She rested her head on his shoulder, her hair sticking to his skin.
“Vrana,” he said and kissed her above the ear, “let’s not have our relationship turn into one of those tortured tales lining the shelves of the Archive. You’ll be back, and I’ll be here, waiting.”
Vrana smiled, touched his chest. “Don’t you dare think of me, boy.”
Aeson laughed. “Hurry up and leave already. My other girlfriends will be here soon.”
“Girlfriends? Not bad, not bad.” She looked into his lying eyes and saw within them her own. “Give me my clothes, sir. I’ve had my fill.”
Aeson looked at her like a deviant and then tossed her belongings across the cave.
In need of her armor and his charming personality, Vrana scoured the village for Bjørn. Eventually, she found him towering over the ten-year-olds in the training yard, orchestrating mock battles with wooden swords and battered shields. He celebrated their yelps of pain and darkening bruises with a squeeze of their shoulders, and then nudged them back into the fray. For those who preferred the bow and its companion, the arrow, the Bear would sneak up on them mid-draw and howl into their ears. Vrana remembered Bjørn had attempted this once when she was younger; and as a result, she turned the bow on the Bear and fired an arrow directly into his chest. Fortunately for him, and her, she’d been a rather weak child; the arrowhead only went in a few centimeters before calling it quits.
Vrana liked to think that this was how they became friends.
“Leaving again?” Bjørn said with his back to Vrana.
“Feel free to go in my place, if you’d like.” Vrana clapped her hand on the Bear’s shoulder. “What are we learning today?”
Bjørn shook his head at a young boy who appeared as though he was going to turn on his grass-stained heels and flee from his partner. “They’re soft,” he remarked as the young boy cowered beneath his shield, hiding as a turtle would in its shell. “Knowledge of the North has made them soft.”
Vrana bit her lip. “You don’t think the fact that they are ten has anything to do with it?”
“You would’ve c
ut a man’s throat at their age if need be,” Bjørn said, still refusing to make eye contact with her.
“I’m not and wasn’t a normal girl,” Vrana admitted. “No child, not even a Corrupted, should be asked to do that.”
“No one is going to ask them.” He shouted at a small girl to watch her footing.
“It’s not as though my class was particularly fierce.” Vrana took her hand off the Bear, punched him in the arm. “Korr became a harvester of all things.”
Bjørn laughed and looked at the ground. “And look what you’ve become.”
“If not for the Witch,” Vrana started, considering her words, “I wouldn’t mind being the elders’ errand girl.”
“Are you sure? I can’t imagine the sight of ten thousand dead sits well with anyone.”
Vrana sighed. “I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of atrocities. I’m not going to break. I know when I need help.”
Bjørn cleared his throat. Finally, he looked at Vrana, the hint of his face deep in his mask, and said, “Anguis is a snake for a reason.” He threw his hands up into the air as a small, brown-eyed girl tripped over her feet and landed teeth first. “See me later for your armor.”
Vrana did as Bjørn commanded. She lay with Aeson again, and both parties pretended afterward as though they were not bothered by their parting. She promised her mother that she would heed her words of safety, and apologized to R’lyeh for leaving her so soon.
“Don’t worry about it,” Adelyn said as the Octopus retreated into her room, leaving Vrana feeling like a selfish asshole.
“Please, take good care of her.”
Vrana’s mother put her finger under her daughter’s chin. “Don’t worry. If you don’t take care of yourself, it won’t matter what I do for her.”
“I mean that much to her, don’t I?”
Adelyn nodded as R’lyeh slammed her door. “More than you’ll ever know.”
She took from the elders a light blue stone the size of her hand, and they told her it would seal the Worm’s chamber. She mounted the horse they’d conjured for her from the fields and waved farewell to those who had gathered to see her off. She tightened her armor, fastened her weapons, and kicked her horse into a sprint.
