Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Two nights later, I stood beside Yaran, staring at the dense patch in front of me. I had reached the actual line of the Bramble Fel Forest and the difference was palpable. As the snow drifted down, clinging to my cloak, I stared at the threshold into the dark woodland. The path I had been on split into a fork. To the left and right, the trail walked the boundaries of the Bramble Fel, but directly ahead, it plunged into the stands of fel wood—the ancient groves that had stood over the land for eons. While it looked the same, everything was different.

The trees soared into the sky. The moss and lichen thickened, visible even beneath the blanket of snow. But mostly, it was a feeling—a sentience that whispered the forest watched and waited, keenly aware of anyone who walked beneath its canopy. The air seemed to thicken, weighing down like a yoke on the shoulders. Instinctively, I knew better than drink its water, and was grateful I'd filled up my water flasks at the last stream.

"Great poison fills this woodland," I whispered. "And creatures…" Instinctively, I reached to reassure myself that my bow and sword were mere inches away. "Do you mind if I ride beneath your watchful eyes?" I asked, my heart pounding.

There was no answer, only a soft hush that sounded like the forest exhaling. The snow swirled around me, biting at my face even through the hood of my cloak. I was bone-tired. Sleeping on the ground, in the cold beneath the shelter of a large tree was exhausting. I had used my tarp as a lean-to, but even between that and my fire bucket, the cold had seeped in.

"I can't imagine doing this for days," I said, staring at the forest ahead. "What the hell am I going to do?" Yaran let out a snort, brushing his head against my cheek. "Thank you," I whispered. "I know you need more food, as well. I couldn't carry grain and the grass is covered."

I hadn't let the thought that I actually might die creep into my mind, but now it was there, circling the edge of my thoughts. And there was no one to notice, or care. Sanya might worry about me, but it wasn't like she could follow me or check on me. That part of my life was forever closed unless I was willing to return and accept my punishment, which Garimorn would extend given the fact that I'd run away. No, this was my life now—days and nights spent in solitude, relying only on myself.

Yaran whinnied and nudged me forward. I gave him a long look.

"You think we should go on?"

He whinnied again, tossing his mane.

"All right, then. If you're willing to stick by me, then…let's go." Licking the snow off my lips, I caught hold of his mane and swung up again onto his back. "Let's go meet our future, come what may."

And so Yaran began to move forward, and we entered Bramble Fel Forest.

The eyes of the forest were on me. I could feel them, thick as flies around a honey jar. These were no creatures of the forest, looking for their next meal. No, the minds behind these watchers were intelligent. The gleam of their red eyes followed me through the darkness as we broke ground through the snow.

I kept one hand on the reins, and with the other, I held my short sword. In the darkness, bow and arrow would be of little use, but the sword, I could swing. Yaran was on high alert, as well. I knew him well enough to know when he was nervous, and while he wasn't shying, he walked solidly, his eyes flickering to the left and right.

"If you were a man instead of a horse, you'd be my perfect match," I said, trying to calm my nerves.

While I'd often taken two or three day hunting trips into the forest, I had never been in Bramble Fel before, nor had I faced a future without looking at returning home to my father and mother. I'd just have to get used to it. If I were to settle somewhere deep in the forest to live out my life, this was how it would be. Isolated and living in silence. It had never occurred to me how lonely it might get. I was an introvert by nature, but now, devoid of companionship other than a horse, with no one to care whether I lived or died, I realized how much my few connections meant to me. I might have to move south of the Leanderial line after all, just to keep my sanity.

Early afternoon on the seventh day since I'd left Renmark, I decided to stop, build a little fire, and warm some water for tea. I scraped snow away from an area near a fallen log.

The old tree trunk lay hidden beneath the shadow of a massive spruce. I stripped some of the bark—which was still dry thanks to the boughs above it, and below the bark I found a wealth of pitch. Perfect! Pitch caught fire easily. I not only scraped enough off for a campfire, but plenty of extra that I tucked away for when fire was hard to come by.

Then I gathered what dry twigs and leaves I could find, built them into a pyramid, set up a tent of sticks around it, and—smearing the pitch over the twigs and the kindling—I brought out one of the embers from my fire bucket.

Every time I made a fire, I made sure to keep a few of the smoldering embers for the next one. I slid the hot coal into the kindling and within a few moments, a blaze sprang up and I began feeding the flames more wood, taking care not to smother them.

With the fire blazing strong, I spread out the tarp on the ground so I could have something dry to sit on. I slid the metal pot onto the edge of the flames, filling it with snow. While the water heated, I found a patch of tall grass and scraped away the snow, giving Yaran room to graze. I knew he needed more food.

"I guess it's time to head south," I said, staring at the horse. "You think so too, don't you? We'll have to go in a roundabout direction so nobody from Renmark stumbles over us, but once we get there, you'll have plenty of grain and hay, and I'll find a job." It struck me maybe the nice innkeeper would be able to hire me. I could help Jet in the stables, or help around the inn. It was a far cry from my old life, but I was strong and a hard worker.

My tea was ready and I filled a mug, then stuck a chunk of cheese onto a stick, holding it over the fire until it bubbled around the edges, melting enough for me to spread across a piece of bread. The bread was stale, but the chill in the air had kept it from molding.

As I bit into my monotonous, if filling, meal, I studied the sky. The clouds had socked in, so ominous and silver that they almost blinded me with their reflected light. It was going to storm, and storm hard. And if I was caught out in it, I could freeze to death. Winter was settling in for real, and it wasn't gearing up to be gentle.

I finished my cheese and bread, trying to decide whether to veer south from here—there was a fork in the road up ahead—or to find a place to weather the coming squall. But as I contemplated my choices, a noise in the woods to the east startled me.

I froze, straining to discern what I was hearing.

The sound of voices wafted by on the breeze. Crap. I jumped up, dousing the fire with the rest of the water. A cloud of steam went up and I cursed.

Way to go in showing them you're here, you idiot.

I tried to scout out a hiding place but I didn't have time to pack up my things, and the voices were growing louder. I took hold of Yaran's reins, trying to squeeze into a niche between a thick clump of spruce trees. I had just managed to hide when two riders broke into the clearing. I caught my breath. I recognized them as scouts from the village guard.

What the hell was I going to do? I wasn't about to let them drag me back. I'd been gone long enough that Garimorn's anger and humiliation would be fierce. Then it hit me—I was going to have to kill these men. There was no chance they wouldn't find me in the next few minutes, and I couldn't allow them to return back to Renmark with news that I was still alive. All of a sudden, the stakes of my escape escalated.

I reached back, feeling on Yaran's side for my bow and quiver. The riders still hadn't noticed me yet and so I quietly nocked an arrow, drawing the string back as I took aim for the larger one. I'd have one—maybe two—shots before they caught me. I had to do as much damage as possible.

Holding my breath, I waited for just the right angle. My hands trembled. I'd brought down deer and elk before, and squirrels, rabbits—even a few ducks. My father had trained me well. But I'd never targeted a person before, and now the very act of aiming an arrow at someone's chest made me so heartsore that I almost broke. Was my life worth it? Was my freedom worth the life of another?

But images of Garimorn flooded my mind. I knew what he'd do to me, and I saw my life under his thumb stretch out before me—years of beatings and rape, possibly bearing his children, serving him and his wife, being at their mercy…

No, I can't do it, I thought. I can't live like that. And so, I steadied my aim and let the arrow fly. It spun through the air, firmly planting into the back of the larger man. He let out a shout and froze, then slowly toppled to the ground. I reached for a second arrow as his partner turned around, eyes wide.

I fit the arrow to my bow, but the man began to run towards the opposite area of the clearing. He was aiming for his horse, and I sent the arrow flying, but it missed by a fraction of an inch. The second scout pulled out a wicked looking sword. I dropped my bow and arrow, wresting out my sword as he raced toward my position. There was no time for another shot.

He was bearing down on me and I brought up my short sword.

At that moment, another scrabble of voices filled the area and I stumbled out of hiding, staring at the figures racing from behind a large stand of fir. They weren't from my village, that was the first thing I noticed, and there must have been twenty of them. They surrounded us.

"Weapons down!" One of the men shouted. He was talking to the scout and to me. "Now, before we kill you both."

I held out my hands, wondering what I'd gotten myself into now. Opening my fist, I dropped my sword to the snow below. But the scout wasn't paying attention. Instead he turned toward me and raced, sword poised, aiming directly at me.

The man who had ordered us to stand down sprang into action. He was tall, with flowing black hair. Even though he wore a blue cloak trimmed with white fur, that fluttered in the wake of his movements, I could tell he was muscled. He had a well-trimmed beard, and the look in his frosty grey eyes was so fierce it made me cringe.

He was carrying a curved sword that gleamed in the diffused afternoon light, and it made contact with the scout's sword. To my surprise, the scout's blade shattered on contact, and that was enough to stop him. He stared at the shards of metal on the ground, then at the hilt still remaining in his hand.

"Who are you?" he asked, his breath ragged.

The mountain of a man stared down at him. He had to be a good six-three. "You do not have leave to ask questions." He nodded at his troop. "Bind them both. The storm's coming and we need to take shelter before it gets here. It's driven by the Snow Witch, and she's out for blood."

Snow Witch? I'd only heard faint rumors of the Snow Witch, and I'd thought her a legend.

"You mean she's real?" The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

The man glanced at me. His eyes were so feral that I shuddered, pulling back. And yet…there was something about him that forced me to meet his stare. We locked gazes, and I lost all sense of fight. I just stood there as one of his men tied my hands in front of me, leaving a section of rope hanging to use as a leash. I barely noticed what he was doing.

"Unfortunately, the Snow Witch is all too real. You do not want to mess with her, and her storms are famous in this woodland," he said, his voice softening. "We must get back to camp, and I can't very well leave you out here or the storms will finish you off." He glanced at the scout. "Him, as well. Neither of you seem fit to survive the incoming winds."

He was quiet enough that I decided to chance another question. "My horse—Yaran. I can't leave him."

"We'll bring him," the man said. He paused, then motioned for his man to back away. He was obviously the leader of the group. He walked up to where I was standing—I knew better than try to run—and stood beside me, staring down at me. He reached out and touched my hair.

"Your hair…it's like spun copper," he said.

I started to shy away, but he removed his hand from my pony tail that was hanging down to my waist. "It is, yes. My mother was copper-towed as well."

"Was?" Again, he gazed deep into my eyes and I felt like I had to answer him.

"She died several months ago," I whispered, unable to wrench my eyes away. I motioned to the scout with my head. "He came after me. The sheriff of my village ordered me into servitude, and I know what happens to the women he indentures." I couldn't lie. There was something about this man's demeanor that demanded honesty.

"You may call me Bran," he said. "What's your name?"

"Asajia Wildwalker," I said.

"So, you are on the run and—" he indicated the corpse of the other scout.

"Those two came looking for me." I stared at the body. Trying to hide the facts was useless. The scout would tell him that I was a fugitive, so I might as well be upfront and give this man my side of the story first. "I had no choice, if I didn't want to be dragged back to the village. And I'd rather face the monsters and storms of this forest than go back to spend a life in servitude, especially to the sheriff who runs our village." I straightened my back, wondering if he was going to let the scout go free.

"What did you do, and what was your punishment?"

"Five years servitude to the sheriff." I shuddered. "I was late on my taxes. Life spent in servitude to the Garimorn means more than cleaning his house," I added, feeling bleak.

Bran considered what I had told him, then said, "I don't blame you." His voice was gruff, but I saw no duplicity in his face. He gestured toward the corpse. "Bury that."

"You can't just—" the other scout began, but Bran silenced him.

"You have a choice. Come with us quietly, or join your companion in a common grave. The choice is yours. Choose wisely." Then, with one last look at me, Bran headed toward his horse. "Let her ride on her horse, but keep the reins in hand. As for the horses ridden by the men, they're ours. Get your asses moving. The storms are coming in fast."

Within minutes, the men had dug a shallow grave and tumbled the other scout into it, covering him up swiftly. By then, the clouds had socked in so securely that not an inch of open sky showed, and their deep silver glistened so bright that it made my eyes hurt to look at it.

I glanced toward the ground, wincing.

One of the men noticed. "When the Snow Witch sends her tendrils, everything in the forest takes shelter. Don't look too long at the clouds. They've been enchanted and they can burn your eyes as badly as the sun." He began to lift me onto Yaran's back, sidesaddle.

"I can believe it," I said. "Can you hold me steady while I swing my leg over? I don't ride sidesaddle and it's uncomfortable sitting this way."

With a startled look, the guard held me upright while I swung my left leg over Yaran's back. He took up the reins and, with Bran leading us, we headed deeper into the woods.