Maris
If I am nothing else, I am petty, and I’ve come to accept that.
Petty enough to come to the village’s light festival, even when they all hate every breath I take.
Petty enough to use what little flour I have left to bake a loaf of berry bread and bring it to share, even when I know no one will dare touch it; even now, the ladies at the long wooden tables of food scoot the other food away, as if my bread might contaminate it somehow.
I’m surprised they haven’t tossed it on the ground and stomped it yet, honestly.
I'll consider sidelong looks and whispers to be an improvement, actually.
One of the women holding the cups of wine, a wooden tray, balanced on her shoulder, cringes so violently away from me that she nearly drops the tray; the cups, clatter violently, and I snatch one out of the air before it can fall. The liquid within sloshes as I raise it in toast. She blanches.
I take a sip of it, then went, nose, wrinkling.
It's some sort of berry wine, flavored with honey, and too sweet by half.
Or perhaps I'm just unused to anything but water.
Everything I have, I have made with my own two hands, and I don't bother with wine or juice of any kind, not when the berries are better served to fill my belly.
Still, I force myself to drink it all before I return the cup and go in search of something to eat.
The food is the main reason. I'm here in the middle of the festivities when I would far rather be at home.
Everyone here hates me, but they won't turn me away, not when the elders of the church are here for the celebration.
As much as the villagers hate me, they don't dare show it outwardly, not without proof. Then they will have to explain why they have suffered a "witch" to live for so long, that they are too cowardly to face me truly, and would rather sneak their snide comments and jabs at my back.
It is the reality of my life that I am unwelcome here, and yet the scant pile of coins hidden away beneath my bed will never be enough to leave this place.
I eat only enough to live, never spending coins, but it is not enough.
Lest some demon or angel take me away, I am doomed to remain here in this place.
And if that is the case, this village that hates me may as well feed me as well as anyone else at the feast.
I mingle with the crowd, trying to force myself to eat slowly, so as not to overwhelm my stomach, even managing to hide a few rolls and other small bits in the pockets of my dress; my mother and I loved to add pockets to nearly everything we sold, and I send up a silent prayer of thanks as I slip a few strips of dried jerky into my pockets.
I didn't dare steal too much, just in case, but anything is better than what I've been managing of late.
I have no idea how I'm going to get through the winter without my garden, but I've been doing my utmost to put that from my mind. What will be, will be, and I don't have the energy to worry any more than I already am.
Eyes burn into the space between my shoulder blades and I tense, breathing deeply in an attempt to keep my heart rate from rising too much.
If I look guilty, every one of these vultures will sense it, and no amount of polite decorum under the guise of thinly veiled threats will stop them from tearing me apart. I must not show fear.
I turn slowly to face the group, keeping my hands open at my sides to show that I'm not a threat.
The whole area is filled with people, yet this little group is clearly different, standing apart like a bushel of mushrooms in a wheat field.
I would refer to them as a pack, but that is an insult to Gray and her brothers and sisters.
"Arcas. Are you enjoying the festivities?" I ask, doing my utmost to keep my expression placid. I'm doing nothing wrong, not really, at least nothing that will do any harm to anyone else. But that isn't how they'll see it.
Arcas smiles. There's nothing friendly in it, and it doesn't reach his eyes. I've known him too long to believe it for even a moment, but the others will take their cues from him. As long as he doesn't snap, I might still have a chance at getting out of this unscathed.
"Maris. I see you're partaking in the refreshments. Are you enjoying the festivities?"
I can hear the accusation in his tone, the edge to his voice, but it's not an outright accusation. As far as I know, this is the longest conversation we've ever had without an insult or accusation of some kind being hurled by one or both of us, and there is a cautious flutter of hope in my chest.
Perhaps there is progress being made. Perhaps me keeping to myself has made them feel less threatened by me, more secure. Perhaps there is hope yet.
And that is only confirmed when Arcas' smile widens and he takes a step back, his posse shifting as well, then gestures toward the forest.
"A group of us are stepping into the trees to tell stories."
Behind him, a young man shakes a bottle lightly, some sort of amber liquid swirling inside, and my heart leaps.
My excitement isn't about the alcohol; it's about the invitation.
I've grown up with this crowd, and this is the first time they have ever willingly sought me out to do anything other than to threaten or mock me.
A tiny voice in the back of my head warns that I shouldn't get my hopes up, but I can't help it.
I'm so tired of being made to live a solitary life when all I want is to thrive with friendships and companionship. I yearn to feel included.
"Yes! I'd love to join you."
There's a brief moment of silence and I tense, my heart pausing a beat, suddenly terrified that I've mistaken what they mean.
It wouldn't surprise me at all to think that they are simply mocking me somehow, that this is all a ruse to humiliate me.
They will act like they are inviting me to join them, only to say that that isn't what they intended at all, that they won't allow me to ruin their good time.
Then the moment passes, and Arcas smiles cheerfully. It still doesn't reach his eyes, but it's easier to ignore now.
"Of course. Follow us."
Arcas motions for me to follow and I do, trying to ignore my skin crawling from how close the rest of the party is behind us, closing the gap forming up around us like guards around a king.
There’s not much conversation as we head out, the group of us trooping into the forest at the base of the mountain. It’s not far from the festival, but far enough that the sounds of the celebration fade into the background as we walk.
I hadn’t expected to be walking this far, not that it matters; my boots are old, but they’re well worn, and comfortable enough.
Besides, this isn’t the first time I’ve gone marching into the forest in a dress and boots.
This is the most human interaction I’ve had in…
well, I was going to say months, but potentially also the rest of my life combined.
The deeper we go, the more my unease grows.
The men ahead of me move with purpose, their steps sure and steady, as if they know exactly where they're going.
As if this isn't some spontaneous rescue mission born of festival revelry and liquid courage.
When did they have time to scout this far into the woods?
When did they set those traps they mentioned?
"How much further?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
"Not far now," one of them calls back without turning around, and something in his tone makes my skin itch.
The trees press closer here, their branches forming a canopy so thick that the afternoon light struggles to penetrate.
Every shadow could hide a threat, every rustling branch could signal danger.
But not the kind of danger these men are expecting.
My heart pounds as I think of Gray, of her massive form and mismatched eyes. What if she's out here somewhere?
We crest a small hill, and I hear it before I see it – a low, pained whining that makes my blood turn to ice.
"There," someone says with satisfaction, and I push through the group to see what they've found.
The net is crude but effective, thick rope woven tight enough to hold something large. Something that's thrashing weakly against its bonds, silver-gray fur caught in the coarse fibers. My vision tunnels, the world narrowing to that single point of trapped, struggling fur.
No. No, no, no.
"Gray?" The name slips out before I can stop it, barely a whisper, but loud enough in the sudden quiet that several heads turn toward me.
The wolf in the net goes still at the sound of my voice, and for one horrible moment I'm certain it's her. That somehow, impossibly, these men have captured the one creature in this world that has ever shown me kindness. The one being I've come to...
But as the creature shifts, trying to lift its head, I catch a glimpse of its eyes.
Brown, not gold. Smaller build, different markings.
Relief floods through me so suddenly I nearly collapse, followed immediately by shame.
This is still a living creature, still suffering, and I'm relieved simply because it's not the wolf I care about.
"Well, would you look at that," one of the men says, his voice thick with anticipation. "Caught ourselves a big one."
"What are you going to do with it?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
The looks they exchange make my stomach turn. There's something hungry in their expressions, something that has nothing to do with justice or protection and everything to do with violence for its own sake.
"Same thing we do with all monsters," the leader says, and his smile is sharp enough to cut. "Make sure it never threatens good Christian folk again."
I take a step back without thinking, my hand instinctively moving to the small knife at my belt. Not that it would do any good against grown men, but the weight of it is reassuring.
"Maybe we should just drive it off," I say carefully. "It's trapped now. It can't hurt anyone."
"Drive it off so it can come back later?" Arcas shakes his head. "No, witch. This is how we handle things properly."
They're moving toward the trapped wolf now, and I realize with growing horror that they never intended this to be a rescue mission. They wanted an audience. They wanted someone to witness their cruelty, to validate it.
They wanted to make sure I understood what happens to monsters in their world.
And if they ever found out about Gray...
I swallow hard, and my fingers close around the knife. This is stupid, potentially the most foolish thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t sit here and watch them kill an innocent creature. It might not be Gray, but it could have been, and I’m not doing this. I won’t sit back and watch.
“Get away from it. Now.”
Arcas turns slowly and his eyes drop to the knife in my hand. That sneer is back, and this one I believe much more than I did any of the smiles.
“You think you’re going to get any of us with that? We could kill you out here, along with the wolf. After all, we’re just defending ourselves.”
“Maybe so,” I agree. I’m not dumb enough to think that I’m going to come out of this unscathed, but it is what it is. It’s too late to change my mind now, and even if it wasn’t, I stand by that choice. I’m not going to let them hurt this wolf, not when there’s something I can do.
My shaking fingers tighten on the knife and I raise it, pointing it at Arcas. “But I can make sure that you fools regret trying it.”
The sneer on his face tightens, and a flash of movement from the corner of my eye is the only warning I get before they’re all rushing me. I slash viciously and am rewarded with a yelp from at least one, maybe two of them, before they’re all too close.
A hand clamps down on my wrist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and I twist desperately, trying to keep hold of the knife. My elbow connects with something soft – a grunt tells me I've found someone's ribs – but there are too many of them, too many hands grabbing at me.
"Little bitch cut me!"
Blood spatters the forest floor, bright red against the fallen leaves, and I feel a vicious satisfaction even as rough hands seize my arms. I drive my knee upward, aiming for anything vulnerable, and catch one of them somewhere that makes him double over with a strangled curse.
But it's not enough. It was never going to be enough.
My knife clatters to the ground as someone wrenches my arm behind my back, pain shooting up to my shoulder and making my vision waiver.
I bite down on a scream, refusing to give them the satisfaction, but when a second hand joins the first, twisting my other arm back, a choked sound escapes me anyway.
"Hold still, witch!"
The rope is coarse against my wrists, burning as they yank it tight.
I struggle anyway, throwing my weight forward, trying to break free even as my shoulders strain against their sockets.
One of them backhands me – not hard enough to knock me unconscious, but enough to make stars explode behind my eyes.
"None of that now," Arcas sneers, breathing hard. There's a long, shallow cut across his forearm where my blade found its mark, and his eyes burn with fury. "You'll want to save your strength."
They drag me backward until my shoulders hit rough bark. The tree is old and thick, and when they loop more rope around my waist, pinning me to the trunk, I know there's no breaking free. The bark digs through my dress, scratching at my skin, but that's the least of my concerns.
"What do you want?" I demand, though my voice comes out shakier than I'd like.
"The same thing we've always wanted," he says, wiping blood from his arm with a grimace. "To rid this place of monsters. All of them."
He nods toward the trapped wolf, which has been watching our struggle with wide, terrified eyes. "That one's just bait. We know there's something bigger out there. Something that's been protecting you."
My blood turns to ice. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" His smile is all teeth. "Strange how you knew that wolf's name. Strange how you've been living alone in that cottage for months without so much as a scratch on you, when everyone else who ventures too deep into these woods winds up missing or dead."
They know. Somehow, they know.
"You're going to call it," he continues, settling down on a fallen log like he has all the time in the world. "Your monster. And when it comes for you..." He pats the crossbow at his side. "We'll be ready."
The trapped wolf whimpers, a sound that tears at my heart. In the distance, so faint I might be imagining it, I hear something else. A howl, low and mournful.
No. Gray, please. Don't come. Don't come for me.
But I know she will.