Chapter 12
Guinevere
The first thing I am aware of is the way my body aches and I can barely feel my hands and feet.
I try to sit, but a stabbing pain in my center draws a sharp cry, and I subside into the dirt once more.
A rush of nervous energy shoots through me.
I raise my hand to my throat, expecting to feel my pulse racing, but there is nothing.
I look around me. Alaric is nowhere to be seen. Nor is his horse.
I’m all alone in the Gloamwald.
He may as well have finished the job he started by leaving me here. I think it crueler of him that he did not. But I expect no less from the monster who dragged me from my dying father’s bedside against my will, who forced himself on me and tried to take his pleasure from my body.
I’m sore between my legs as well. The memory of his hard member splitting me open makes me press a hand to where I ache, sucking in a breath at the reminder of the pain.Disturbingly, there’s also a rush of excitement as I think of the look on his face when he couldn’t stay hard. The way he cowed at my insults.
Impossibly, I’m slick between my legs, and I wrinkle my nose, forcing my thoughts away from the disturbing memories.
I cannot lay here in the dirt until a monster decides I’ll make a tasty meal. There’s a chance my father may live still. I must try to make it back to the keep.
Struggling to my feet, I try to tug the torn parts of my clothing back together. It is useless. Alaric took my modesty too.
Cursing him under my breath, I yank the lacing from my ruined corset and discard it.
I have a hundred others in my closet. All I need to do is get home.
Using the tie, I do a makeshift job of lacing up the fabric of my chemise.
Then I do up what buttons remain on my jacket, and I’m covered at least. It feels strange to have so much freedom of movement.
I feel oddly wild without the familiar boning of my corset, conscious of every twist or bend I’m able to make which I would not normally.
I look around, but I cannot make out a path or track.
There’s no indication of the way we came through the forest. The light is dim, but somewhere the sun has risen.
I hope that means the creatures of the forest are sleeping, burrowed deep in whatever foul dens they keep.
With a shudder, I choose a direction and set off.
Any choice is better than waiting here for night to fall again.
For another one of those beasts which attacked me last night to find me.
The woods are eerily quiet. No birdsong to lift my spirits. It is strange to have not a single soul nearby to speak to.
Every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves makes me jump for the first hour or so. I’m on alert, looking around fearfully. But I never see another creature.
Eventually I begin to relax a little. There’s only so many times I can startle at the sound of a snapping branch or wind creaking wood.
I walk for what feels like half a day. I cannot see the sun to tell the hour, but it must be nearing midday. I see no sign of a path or road. Should I turn back? How much longer do I walk in this direction before I accept it is taking me deeper into the forest?
Last night Alaric made me walk behind his horse for hours. Before that he had me over the saddle, so it stands to reason it could take me more than a single day to make my way back, but if I’m going in the wrong direction, I’m only adding to the distance between me and Blackthorn.
I start to worry again about nightfall. I haven’t encountered anything yet, but perhaps I was correct in assuming they would all be nocturnal.
Finally I grow weary. I don’t feel hungry, which is unexpected. It must be long past first-meal. I have no water with me, but my mouth is not dry.
It’s then I hear the chittering noise. It is like no other sound I’ve ever heard before, but it is instantly unsettling. My steps slow on their own. I’m conscious of each tiny sound again.
Something catches my eye in the bare branches of the trees ahead, but I do not register why until I take another step and the silken glimmer of light across a spider’s web reveals just how enormous it is.
The web stretches between two trees, woven in neat strands forming concentric rings and stretching out to the upper branches far above my head.
How could one spider weave so much silk?
And how would it jump so far? The trees are at least the height of my body in distance apart.
What kind of spider made this monstrous web?
The answer sits silently in front of me, watching me with four pairs of pitch-black eyes.
No, not silent. It is the spider making those unsettling chirping sounds I've been hearing.
I’m not the sort to scream if a spider crawls on the wall of my room or if a web brushes my arm, leaving its sticky trail on my skin.
I scream now. I cannot help it.
The creature flicks enormous, jointed fangs on each side of its face and crouches lower. Even so, it is more than half my height; its long fury elbows stick up higher than the rest of its body, higher even than my head.
So much for making it through the day with no monstrous encounters. I may not make it through the next few moments if I do not move quickly.
Skin prickling with fear, I turn and stumble back between the trees as fast as I can go. What hope do I have of outrunning a monster with eight legs? It’s pointless.
But I have no weapon and no training. I have no chance of killing it either.
The only hope I can cling to is that the creature may not be vicious. That it may not actually eat humans. Perhaps it merely means to warn me away from its nest.
One glance behind is enough to squash that hope. The giant spider crawls easily through the undergrowth behind, huge fangs spread wide and venom dripping from its mouth.
Smothering another scream, I push myself to run faster, pulling at my skirts to try to give myself no impediment.
I’m so worried about my skirts I don’t see the rotting log half buried under a pile of fallen leaves.
The toe of my boot catches in the crumbling wood and I trip, stumbling forward, unable to right myself.
The ground is soft and wet when I hit it.
On instinct I twist myself around, but the beast is on me already, fangs dripping onto my skirts, huge fury legs caging me in. I scrabble backward, but it’s useless.
I can’t even get up, let alone run.
My fingers brush something in the leaf litter that feels more solid.
A log. Its rough bark against my fingertips breaks me out of my panic for one single moment as I reach across my body and close both hands around the thick branch.
A little voice whispers that the log is too heavy.
It will make a poor weapon if I can’t even lift it.
Then my fingers close around it, and I shut my eyes and swing. The dull thud of the impact comes with a wet, squelching noise that sends a shudder all the way down my spine.
I drop the log and scramble to my feet when I realize the spider isn’t looming over me anymore. I cannot see it anywhere. Most likely a bigger, more fearsome monster has arrived to steal its dinner.
I do not plan to linger here and find out.
I run for longer than I think is possible. Fear drives me onward. I do not even feel the tightness in my abdomen or the shortness of breath that I expect. I feel nothing but cold fear.
When I finally stop to look around me and reassure myself there’s nothing chasing me, I do not recognize the part of the forest where I’ve ended up.
The trees are even taller here and closer together. A tall-trunked type of evergreen which juts up toward the sky. Somehow the green of their thin needle-like leaves is comforting. A sign of life in an otherwise foreboding place.
A crumbling stone wall peeps out from behind a fallen branch, and I’m drawn closer to look. Who built this wall here so far inside the Gloamwald? Perhaps I’ve come to the edge of the forest after all and am almost home safe.
As I inspect the wall, my eye is drawn along its length to a sturdier section where a fearsome looking gargoyle tops a stone plinth.
The statue has the figure of a man, bent over into a beast-like crouch.
His legs are shaped like a lion’s, with two heavy paws, and he has a leonine tail curling around from behind.
His arms and hands are like a man's though.
His back sprouts two bird-like wings. His face would be handsome save for the scowl fixed permanently on his features. He looks as if he is poised to leap onto intruders the moment they pass. But as I take a hesitant step forward, he remains frozen in place.
Not trusting anything in this wood, I keep my eyes on the gargoyle as I pass, half expecting him to come to life as soon as I look away.
When I finally have no choice, I twist my head to find another stone creature glaring down at me from a new section of wall opposite. I jump, then realize how foolish I am being.
He is of a pair with the other; only the skilled artisan who made them was thoughtful enough to give them different faces. This gargoyle somehow looks softer than his brother, his lips fuller despite their grimace. What a strangely beautiful act.
Under my feet the ground has changed. It feels firmer, and I realize there are stone pavers beneath the leaf litter. This must have been a courtyard once upon a time.
Sure enough, as I explore further I find a stone building almost obscured behind the trees and vines which have taken root.
There’s something reassuring about a building—even a crumbling one. Something that promises a hearth and a fire and a safe place to sleep.
Oddly, I don't feel tired. I cannot remember the last time I slept unless I was unconscious longer than I imagined after Alaric’s attack.
My brow furrows. I don’t have a clear memory of what happened before he abandoned me. I do remember his cold hands on me; the wreck he made of my dress; the searing pain as he pushed into me. But after that…
I thrust the memories aside. It doesn’t matter.
He will pay for his crime. But to make him pay, I must find my way home.
This is as good a place as I think I’ll find to spend the night.
If I had any concept of how to start a fire without a flint, I would try. As it is, I can only find a sturdy corner and some soft leaves and endure the night.
Odd that I do not feel cold.
Perhaps the bitterness has fallen away from the winter nights and we are closer to spring than I thought. True dark is descending on the forest by the time I have settled in my makeshift bed. I feel like a little bird dropped out of the nest, unable to fly home.
Just like that little bird, the whole world is out to get me.
An ache takes root in my chest, and I rub at the skin between my breasts, which feels tender. I’ve never been more vulnerable or alone.
I must stay strong, though. I must not give in. If only I could turn myself into stone as hard as my gargoyle companions. Impenetrable, invulnerable stone.
Then nothing would ever hurt me again.
Of course, that is nonsense. I see how the walls of this once mighty castle have crumbled with my own eyes. Stone may look immortal, but its demise is simply slower. It still surrenders to wind and weather in the end.
And so will Alaric, though he seems so much stronger and more powerful than I am. Though he answers to a queen who has implanted herself on a throne she has no right to.
That throne belongs to me and to my heirs. And once I have it, I'll make certain they both pay for what they've done.
So it’s not stone I’ll transform myself into. No. I must become the wind and the water. I must find a way to wear down what seems impenetrable.
I close my eyes and will myself to dream fierce dreams, but sleep never comes.