Grimenna Read online

  “They kill Folka and eat them, they don’t bother using them for Pardons. That’s why they’re so mad,” Ginver interjected. Renn’s face grew hard as stone as he listened to their protests.

  “Listen to me, for what it’s worth,” he exclaimed, silencing them again. “You are all as cursed as I now. Do anyone of you truly believe that if you were to bring a Folka head back now you would be pardoned? Do you think that Ceitra would be the one to forgive you? You will hunt in vain, for there will be no pardons for any one of you. You will be sent back here until you are dead; she would not let you have your happiness back. You will never see your families again, you will never have homes again.”

  “Neither if we go to the Vale,” Ennig spat.

  “You don’t know that,” Renn said, and then he looked to Paiva. “I will not let the world stand like this.”

  He said it simply and plainly, but his words carried a firmness that struck into the men’s hearts. They looked to Renn in obvious disbelief.

  “What say you?” Ennig asked for them all.

  “There is no hope for any of us,” Renn said. “Not here. It is in Morinvere. I go to take Varloga’s head, and the lot of you can take it from my bloody hands and have your pardons.”

  Renn seemed to hold sway over them. His eyes were hard as steel as he swung them around the room and looked at each man, willing them the confidence he felt at his decision. Paiva realized he was a force to be reckoned with. He had spoken hardly more than a handful of words but they carried more intent and meaning then Ulrig’s, Yulin’s, or hers because they had come from him. It made her wonder who he really was, aside from a Virtue, a Wilderman, or an outcast Lord. Who truly was the stern man standing there beneath those tattered rags whose presence had such influence over the others? She realized in that moment he was more than what she had at first discerned. He had earned his own respect in these woods; he was an unassuming leader. Ulrig knew this, and she watched Yulin’s face for the recognition of his qualities that soon came. She saw a flash of dreamlike hope that passed over Yulin’s eyes and she knew he was thinking of the possibilities of what it would be like to have Renn restored to the Lowlands as a true lord. She saw it herself for a brief moment, before the image was collapsed by the Wildermen’s arguing.

  “It’s an empty promise,” Ennig said.

  “You are being a Vex,” Ulrig spluttered. “It is a true promise. The only thing empty is your future if you do not listen to me. The Forest will plunge into darkness if we do nothing. Winters will be starving as you have never known, the Folka will drive the game out as they have done so in the past. They will come in the long nights, they will swallow us and drive us mad with terror. And when they are done with us, how long do you think before they will cross the river? How long do you think it will take them to reach the lowlands, and swallow it up like they did all the settlements here? We did not listen! We did not listen to the old people who remembered these things, we did not heed their warnings! So listen to me now! Listen that this girl has the blood of myth in her and she is the daughter of Hope. He will not fail us.” Ulrig struck his fist angrily into the table, sending his mug of Cures All flying. Paiva remembered how Ceitra had said her light would cast long shadows — that the Good Spirits had made the mistake of using fear to keep men from straying into darkness. Ulrig spoke of terrible fears, and it was not fear that she wanted to use to propel these men towards Morinvere.

  “I am tired of being hated,” a melodious voice spoke out and Paiva turned her eyes to Ginver. He was looking at the brand in his palm, studying it in the low light as if it had a message to decipher. “I am tired of being afraid,” he said. He looked up to Paiva. “I am with you. The world needs to change.”

  “I am as well,” the red bearded Lorik said, looking to his son. “I would break the world for my child. I’ll not damn my son because I was too afraid to rise up.” One by one the Wilderman conceded and Ulrig sat back down in relief. He looked to Ennig for his say.

  “Oh, I’m a-coming with you. For no other reason than that I want to see this slip of a girl convince Maggra to help us,” Ennig smiled dully. The men began to talk amongst each other in hushed tones as Renn took his seat. Paiva watched him, trying to discern the thoughts beneath his dark brow. She felt a tightness in her chest, a flutter of wings that beat against her ribs with a strange warm happiness. The feeling washed over her, lifting her soul and making her smile. It was Hope.

  Chapter 14

  Paiva had found her usual spot to sleep before the fire. Yulin and Renn both lay alongside her to separate her from the rest of the slumbering men. At first she had felt very uncomfortable and out of place amongst them, but she eased herself into sleep by imagining she was sleeping amongst her flock of sheep and not a gang of outcast criminals. Indeed some of the bodily noises that escaped them were remarkably beastly.

  They were up the next morning at the crack of dawn as a cold high wind swept down from the north. Jorn, who was unable to go with them much to his contempt, stormed about the cave in a vengeance.

  “I’m coming with you, Renn!” he howled angrily as he prepared his meagre belongings for the journey.

  “No, Jorn, you stay put. You’re lame. You know as well as I you have little chance of making it as far as Maggra’s in your health.”

  “I’m coming, Renn.”

  “You should have taken the head of the beast that lamed you. You would have been pardoned and out of my hair,” Renn snapped in exasperation.

  “I wouldn’t take another man’s pardon, you know that. I said myself that I’d help to fix this. I am coming.”

  “Stay here,” Ulrig urged. “Keep the camp safe. When we return you will claim a part of the pardon.”

  “And what if you should not return?”

  “It’s not a choice, Jorn, we will not have you with us. You’re lame.”

  “I’m still able.”

  “However able you are, use it to keep the camp from being raided. If we fail then we will still need a safe place to return to.”

  Jorn argued and blundered about the cave like a raging bull until Renn neatly went and knocked the crutch from under his arm. Without it he staggered and fell heavily into the wall for support, whilst snapping his teeth at Renn for the insult.

  “If you can make it out of this cave and atop your horse without this crutch, or any help, you can come,” Renn said, tossing the wooden implement aside. Jorn’s rage was quieted as he reached and grasped his pained leg, pain taking the place of pride.

  “Damn you,” he muttered.

  “You will still claim a part of the pardon, either way,” Renn said. “At least if you stay here you will have a chance to claim it. You won’t cause your own death or the death of any others trying to help you.”

  “Agh,” he grunted and then hopped on one leg to a chair where he sat in his formidable shape before the dying embers of the hearth and grumbled to himself. Renn left to attend to the others while Ulrig hurried after him. It was Paiva who retrieved the crutch and returned it to Jorn.

  “I want you to stay here,” she said. “I want you to be able to see your family again one day. I want you to be able to hitch King and plow your fields.”

  He looked up at her sharply before a sad smile pulled at his mouth. “You remember,” he said.

  She smiled at him and then turned to make her way to the others down by the horses.

  “May all the shining stars light your way little shepherdess,” he said. “My prayers are with you.” He bent his head back to stare at the ash streaks in the hearth.

  — «» —

  Ulrig sat atop Felder and behind him he towed a Berg laden high with the bundles of furs, leathers, and the sweet wine he was hoping to seduce Maggra with. The other men followed behind on their own horses, each armed to the teeth with bows, rusted swords, wooden lances, stone daggers and the like. Paiva sat astride Jakbu
r wrapped in Crowbill’s fur while Renn and Runa led them onwards. Ulrig gave her a pitted iron dagger she hung at her hip, which Ennig said would be better suited to picking teeth. Yulin followed up behind on his own wily Berg he kept arguing with while Ulrig took the lead and headed them down the mountain.

  Ennig took up the rear, chewing a grass stalk and twirling it between his yellow teeth. The air about him seemed to ripple with malice. Paiva could feel his eyes raking over her and it sent goosebumps puckering across her skin. She looked back up to the cave and found Jorn standing atop it, leaning on his crutch. She thought he truly did have the heart of a bear, thinking of him returning to his loved ones gave her the extra gumption she needed to swallow the last of her doubts. He waved them off, then disappeared.

  It was different from travelling with the score of rangers from Birchloam. The Bergs were constantly biting and kicking at each other, which issued curses from the Wildermen who struggled to keep their seats. They had to avoid being rubbed against trees, or have their legs thrown in the way of a backwards kick. The Bergs didn’t care if they were halfway down a slope when suddenly prompted to lunge at their neighbors with bared teeth and pinned back ears, forgetting their riders that grappled for hold of their manes to keep from plunging off. There was much cursing, readjusting of bodies and laughing when someone did slide down their horse’s neck. The men jeered and jested at each other, unlike the rangers who had been grave in their silence.

  When the Bergs finally settled and they had descended into the valley north of Far Reach Camp, Ginver began singing and was soon joined in by the others.

  ‘I am a Wilderman,

  I’ve been outcast to the woods,

  A brand burnt in my hand,

  To keep me from trading goods.

  A man is made of what he owns

  A man is only worth his name

  But a cursed brand upon his hand

  takes from him everything but shame

  The only way to be set free

  Is to be good and dead

  Unless he brings the Lord

  A Folka’s filthy head.’

  — «» —

  They travelled hard their first day, making it to the bottom of the Far Reach valley by nightfall where they set up camp in a copse of red oak. Paiva again found a sleeping spot separate from the others and Yulin and Renn both lay down on either side of her. Paiva felt danger lurking all around her. Wolves howled eerily in the distance, things moved and crashed through the trees in the shadows. Ennig’s eyes trailed over her and lingered. She could find no true comfort for she felt naked and exposed and terribly afraid. Every sound made her flinch, every pop and hiss of the fire made her envision the snarling face of Varloga.

  Renn leaned back into the moss beside her, keeping her between him and the width of a tree. He pulled his oilskin over himself and crossed his arms, then tilted his head back and peered at the stars that soaked through the canopy of branches above him. There was a heavy silence that hung through the camp, the men made no noise except to scratch at themselves and sharpen their knives.

  “Ginver,” Ulrig called out. “In the song about the Hidden Rock, is it that the Wilderman shoots a hawk from the sky or a heron?”

  “I can’t remember…” Ginver said, so he put down his knife he was sharpening and cleared his throat and began to sing about a man who was cast away to the woods to become a Wilderman. His wife, unable to be parted from him, went in search of him. When they found each other after her great long searching, the other Wilderman tried to steal her away. He found a rock cave to hide her in while he went away hunting for their food. It was so well hidden that her husband could not find her on his return, and he wandered about in search of her while she remained hidden and waiting.

  The song spoke of this woman praying for her husband to remember the meadow from which he had braided her a wreath of lilies, then from there to remember the hawk he had shot from the sky that flew above the mountains shaped like her tears. They found each other eventually, and kept their love hidden under the hidden rock.

  Ulrig knew that in all Wildermen songs the hawk always flew west, the heron east, the crow north, and the geese south. He simply wanted to hear Ginver sing, and they all felt better as the timbre of his melodious voice resonated through the creeping shadows.

  — «» —

  The next morning they headed west into a valley that continued to gradually slope downwards. Within a few hours of trekking, the cool air of the woods suddenly became hot and damp. There came the strong, sulphurous smell of swamp and soon the ground beneath their feet began to soften and grow thick with bracken and webs of moss. They came to a marsh where it seemed all the water that ran from the hills collected in a dead pool that drowned the trees and rotted the earth. Great skeletal trees reached into the sky, bleached gray by the sun and by death, their branches snapped from their bodies. Some were fallen over, their roots lifted from the earth and half-submerged in the black water of the marsh. These great masses of broken roots made Paiva think of giant bird’s nest that had fallen from the sky. Despite the dead trees and the dead looking black water, the swamp teemed with life. There were masses of flowering lily pads upon which insects hummed and frogs perched. Rushes filled with darting, peeping birds tending to nests in their stalks. There were grasses and snaking vines that grew from the dead stumps of trees and in the hollows of chalky roots. The swamp was narrow but not crossable. It seemed to stretch on forever, and Ulrig found a game trail to follow along its perimeter to guide them around it.

  At one point they dismounted their horses and led them by hand, for the ground was wet and the path narrow. She removed her fur and stowed it atop Jakbur, then tied her skirt up above her knees to make it easier to move. She did not have a hard time keeping up for they moved slow as they battled their way through clouds of rushes and snagging deadwood. The underbrush was flowing with plants and flowers she did not recognize and she could not help but to pluck at pretty flowers as they made their way. She absently thought to keep them for her father, thinking he would marvel at them and find a place in his books for them. But she remembered his books were burned, her home was taken from her, and her father was still unfound. Realizing this, and that the flowers would be safer in the swamp then coming with her, she let them be. The ones she had already taken were knotted into a spray and tied into her hair, for the simple sake that they smelled better than she did. She had noticed the Wildermen used a plant called horsemint to disguise their odors as well. They chewed on it after they ate and rubbed the oils from the leaves on themselves and their horses. At first it had been too pungent for her to find pleasant, but it had grown familiar to her and she began to find comfort in it.

  They were making headway along the swamp when a stinging began in her legs. She looked down to inspect them. Her skin was beginning to redden and at first she dismissed it and continued on, but it was not long before the stinging became painful. She cried out to Ulrig in complaint. Bluish veins began rising in her ankles and an angry rash began to break out, burning her like a red-hot iron. Ulrig left Felder to crop at the greenery and came to inspect.

  “What’s this now?” he muttered as he bent to look at her shins. “By my beard! Spiteweed!” He doubled back to Felder hurriedly and began tearing into his saddlebags.

  “Renn!” he exclaimed. “Water!” A second later Renn materialized at her side, glanced at the rash, then scooped Paiva up in his arms and dashed towards the water.

  “I’m alright!” she cried out at his urgent reaction. Renn ignored her and carried her waist deep into the black water, his steps sinking deep into the muck and slime of the bottom. She recoiled in disgust of the weeds and filth about her, thankful to be held aloft until he plunged her lower half in. The water was surprisingly cool and soothed her burning skin. A moment later Ulrig was hurriedly splashing in after them, a small leather pouch in hand. When he reached her he g
rabbed a fistful of its contents, a white powder that she thought might have been some of his tanning salt, and began to scour her legs mercilessly. She clung to Renn and tried to keep from crying out as the pain intensified and she began to think Ulrig was skinning her.

  “I know it hurts,” he muttered, “but much less than if I didn’t.”

  “What is Spiteweed?” she asked worriedly as she looked up to the other Wildermen who gathered to watch amusedly at the edge of the water.

  “A mean little shrub that grows anywhere wet. It causes very bad burns, can even make a man blind if he gets it in his eyes the first time he touches it. Don’t worry — as long as we wash the oils off before they set you will be fine. The next time you run into Spiteweed it might not even bother you again.”

  When Ulrig was content with his scrubbing, Renn carried Paiva back to the bank where he set her down swiftly and began plucking at leeches that had latched onto his cloak and boots. She inspected her legs again and though they were painfully red and raw, it was not worse than could be tolerated.

  “Thank you Ulrig,” she said as he waded back to them. He sat down with a huff and pulled his boots off to tug at leeches between his toes. Realizing they were hungrily latched on, he sprinkled a small amount of the salt over them and waited for them to shrivel up before plucking them off and throwing them into the grasses. He then tipped his boots to drain them of water.

  “No fret, my lady,” he said. “We’ve all had our run-ins with Spiteweed. It only spites you once, like Crowbill swill. You develop a tolerance after some time. Lucky it was that and not Bruisewort.”

  “What is Bruisewort?” she asked naively.

  “Stains your skin blue like a bruise, and if it gets into your blood you’d be delirious for days. Feed a man Bruisewort berries and his guts will bleed out. It used to happen to cows and horses in the lowlands before they eradicated the weed altogether. Has not found its way back across the river yet.”