Chapter 18 A Deal in the Darkness
A DEAL IN THE DARKNESS
“Don’t worry about me, brother. I’ll be just fine. As long as I wear this necklace, the gods will keep me safe.”
—Linnéa Fenrówe, the night before Gregor left for Tárnov
Gregor
The morning light is my only hope that I’ll get out of here.
Out of this chaos I got myself into. I walk along the dusty road, my legs aching.
For some reason, I couldn’t find the carriage Arnold and I left by the edge of the forest. And no sign of the horses either.
I’ve been walking for hours, driven by fear and a desperate need to find my way back to Tárnov.
I’ve never been anywhere near here. Where do I even go?
The events of yesterday play over and over in my mind: Arnold’s violent end, those inhuman beings, and the terrifying power of the vólkin. I shiver despite walking so much and sweating like a tired dog.
I knew that dealing with Noel would end up a mess.
She always comes out on top, is always a few steps ahead of anyone I know.
The moment Arnold told me there was a job, I jumped at the opportunity.
It was good pay for something so easy. Little did I know we were going to smuggle Noel out of the village and leave her to the vólkins.
All Arnold told me was that we were delivering something outside of Tárnov, and he needed someone with him in case we had to spend the night in the forest. Arnold was one of my friends.
Well . . . I don’t know what friends are, really.
Would someone who bullies you for months but is nice sometimes be considered a friend?
I don’t know. Arnold always berated me, always looked down on me . . .
He also helped me many times. But still.
Funny how life works. Arnold was the one to die at a vólkin’s hand instead of Noel.
I sigh deeply. Why am I always involved in these sorts of things? One day, I’ll end up dead for my stupidity, just like Arnold.
The road is quiet, the usual sounds of the forest behind me replaced by the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant sounds of crows. I try to stay alert, but exhaustion clouds my thoughts. I need to find help, but who can I ask? Everyone I know is either dead or too far away to reach.
I don’t even know how to survive out here. I joined the military a mere few months ago. I’m so tired. My feet hurt like shit. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten well for so long. On the way to find Noel, we had only dry bread, and Arnold found some berries and apples in the forest.
Joining the army was supposed to be my way out of poverty, a chance to escape my starving village for Tárnov, a place full of opportunities and dreams. Instead, it’s been one hardship after another.
The endless problems, the constant fear of doing something wrong and getting punished.
I’m not cut out for this life, but there’s no turning back now.
In Tárnov, rank is everything. The officers, born into privilege, look down on recruits like me, their eyes full of disdain as they bark orders.
We were all the same in the barracks—desperate and replaceable.
The cold stone walls and thin blankets did little to chase away the chill that settled deep in my marrow each night.
They said Tárnov was built on the bones of giants, that its foundations were laid in blood. We were nothing but the latest in a long line of sacrifices to keep the village strong.
It wasn’t much different from Róstan, really, except that in Róstan, the chains were invisible but just as heavy.
The poverty there was crushing, fields barren, bellies empty, hope in short supply.
My parents had worked themselves to their deaths trying to scratch out a living from the unforgiving earth, but it was never enough.
I’d gone to sleep more nights than I could count with nothing in my stomach but a constant hunger that kept me awake till dawn.
Róstan’s winters were the worst. The cold bit into our skin, leaving us numb.
The coughs that echoed through the thin walls of our home, the endless rationing of what little food we had.
I joined the military because it was the only way to survive.
But here, in the unforgiving world of Tárnov, I wonder if all I did was trade one nightmare for another.
I’ve been walking all day, and my throat is as dry as the bread in our cafeteria.
As the sky darkens, I catch a flicker of light down the road.
A spark of hope pushes my legs forward, and I quicken my pace toward the glow.
As I get closer, I see a wagon, its lanterns shining in the fading light.
Someone sits at the front, holding the reins of two horses, and they look up as I approach.
The smile that spreads across his face is a little too slow to reach his eyes, but his voice is smooth and inviting when he says, “Well, well, what do we have here? You look like you’ve had a rough day, my friend.”
I hesitate, every instinct screaming at me to be cautious. Something in the way he’s looking at me, too intent, like he’s inspecting each crease on my face, makes my skin prickle. But I am too tired to care. “Please,” I say, my voice trembling. “I need help. I . . . I don’t know where I am.”
The person gestures to the back of the wagon. “Hop in. You look like you could use a ride and a good meal.”
My mouth waters at his words. A hot meal would be amazing.
I climb into the wagon, my legs barely holding me up.
The warmth of the blankets inside is a welcome relief, and the smell of food makes my stomach growl even louder.
I settle onto the seat. This wagon isn’t the rickety, worn-out kind I’m used to seeing back in Tárnov.
The wood looks polished, the seats lined with clean fabric.
The stranger follows and carefully ladles stew from a small pot into a bowl. I’m so hungry.
My hands shake as I take the bowl from him, and its heat seeps into my fingers. When I look up, his eyes are fixed on me, unblinking, as I lift the bowl to my lips. He probably made it himself, since he’s so eager to see my reaction.
The first sip is rich and savory, and I can’t stop myself from drinking more. The soft potatoes melt on my tongue, and I think I’m tasting beans. They’re different from the ones we have in the cafeteria. This stranger must be wealthy.
His gaze remains on me. I should express my gratitude.
“Thank you, it’s delicious,” I say, feeling a bit more at ease with each gulp of the stew. “I . . . I was with my friend, but we got separated. There was a vólkin and . . . and something terrible happened.”
The person’s left eye twitches. “A vólkin, you say? Fascinating creatures.” He watches me intently. “Tell me more. What happened?”
He’s talkative too. That’s a relief. I can finally talk about everything with someone. I tell the stranger about Arnold, Noel, and everything that happened. He nods as I speak, makes me feel comfortable. I should ask for his name.
When I finish, he leans back, his eyes narrowing as if he’s considering what I’ve said. If I heard so much nonsense, I wouldn’t believe it either.
His voice is almost sympathetic when he finally says, “It sounds like you’ve been through quite an ordeal. You must be careful, my friend.” But his tone changes from one second to the next. “There are dangerous people out there. People who wouldn’t hesitate to use someone like you.”
Fear twists in my gut. “Who . . . who are you?”
The stranger’s smile turns sharp and rigid, as though carved from stone. “Let’s just say, I’m someone who keeps an eye on interesting events. And you, dear Gregor, are now part of something much larger than you could ever imagine.”
I stiffen. I never told him my name.
“What do you want from me?” Each word tastes bitter in my mouth.
“I want you to continue on your journey,” he says, his smile frozen. “Keep doing as you’re told, and everything will be fine. But if you think of running or betraying us, well . . .” He leans in. “We have ways of making sure you stay on the right path.”
What in the . . . ? He changed so suddenly. How does he know my name!
“No! You know nothing about me!” I shout, louder than intended.
He watches me, expression unchanged, calm, as though amused. “Linnéa . . . still wears that yellow ribbon in her hair, doesn’t she?”
At the mention of my sister, my heart clenches painfully. Her face flashes before my eyes. The one person I couldn’t bear to lose. I nod quickly, sweat dripping down my forehead, my mouth dry. “I understand.”
“Good,” the stranger says, leaning on the wall. “Now, rest. You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.”
With shaky hands, I stare at him.
“GO!” he shouts through the window, and the wagon jolts forward.
My heart drops. There are more outside?
The stranger’s words echo in my mind, each one sealing my fate. There is no turning back now. I am trapped. With a heavy heart, I lie down among the blankets. My choices are no longer my own.