chapter four #2
“I . . .” I don’t know what I was thinking.
I’ve been so fixated on reaching that goal that whatever came after was a problem for the future.
Except now that future is here. But to risk my life by leaving?
That’s not what I want. What I want is to be free to make my own choices.
Use my spare coin to find housing, find some decent work, or live off the grid.
I’m decent at both foraging and setting up snares—one of the few useful things I learned at the orphanage.
Evan, the old groundskeeper, used to sneak us into the woods when the matron weren’t looking, teaching us a few “useful skills,” as he called them.
I shake my head, ridding myself of the hopeless dreams of a peaceful, quiet future where I’m never bothered again.
“And where do you propose we go, precisely?” It’s well-known that leaving Bronich is a near-impossible feat unless one has a death wish.
“We will traverse the pass.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. The way he says it, you would believe people were running through there on a daily basis.
“But . . . I mean . . . The pass?” My eyes search his stoic features for any hint of jest, but he looks deadly serious.
He doesn’t even blink. “And you think we’ll be safe on the other side?
” I furrow my brow. “What about the East?” I sign.
“I’ve heard there are other towns like Bronich behind the mountains, on the Eastern Plains.
Isn’t that where you were all those weeks? ”
There’s something about the idea of moving deeper into the plains that gives me pause—a lingering unease, as if the path to the east is cloaked in an even deeper darkness than the one I’m currently in.
“Trust me, La?na. That is not somewhere you want to go,” he says, confirming my suspicion, his voice grim.
I purse my lips behind the veil. “But the other side of the pass . . . Isn’t that where all evil resides?” I sign, quoting the minister. “Are you sure that’s a better option than staying here?”
He huffs. “You still believe the minister?”
Do I? I stare at the cracks in the stone behind him, barely visible in the dim light.
He has a valid point. “No.” I shake my head.
Llyr’s warnings aside, the minister’s involvement with the shadow creature has made his untrustworthiness obvious.
“But I’ve noticed you don’t deny the danger of the pass itself. ”
“That would be futile. It is a risk. I cannot deny that.”
“Then you can go on your own,” I sign. “Give me the freedom you promised me, and I will be out of your way.” A thought occurs to me. “Unless you plan to buy me and force me to come with you?”
I can practically feel the tension in the air as he considers his options, his jaw working.
“No,” he finally says.
“So, you’re planning to steal me?” I sign, sharp and angry. “Do I have to remind you it’s impossible for me to go very far as long as I’m wearing the brace?” I wave my arm in front of his face. “Or do you have some other great plan?” I arch an eyebrow.
My aggressive behavior is wildly inappropriate, yet I can’t help it. Despite having learned the cost of misbehaving early on, my insides constantly want to rebel. Now my years of practice is the only thing that keeps me appropriately submissive. Most of the time. This is not one of those.
Llyr growls. “You shouldn’t be anyone’s property—that is what I plan. No one should.”
I blink. “How about this?” I sign. “You secure my freedom, and I choose if I want to go with you. As a free person.”
He rubs his brow as if he wants to ward off a headache. “Yes, let us do it that way.”
“Really?” My heart rate picks up.
“I would much prefer you come willingly”—he holds my gaze firmly—“so can you at least promise me you will consider it?” There’s a desperation in his voice I haven’t heard before.
“I promise,” I sign. Although I have no desire to leave, especially not by traversing the mountain pass—I will not gain my freedom only to die—I will give it some thought, if only to please him.
“I’m not playing games with you, La?na. Times are changing, and not in our favor.
” The unexpected weight of a firm hand on my shoulder jolts me, and I have to fight the instinct to pull away.
It’s not often people touch me—and even rarer that the touch is kind.
“Come by here tomorrow at first light.” He lets out a heavy sigh.
“And if Mah wills, you will have changed your mind.”
IT IS LATE IN THE day by the time I reach the woods.
At least First Day means I don’t have to serve.
I slow my pace and gaze up at the tall pine trees.
They resemble a cluster of guardians with their towering treetops reaching toward the heavens.
The forest is my sanctuary. It feels like .
. . home. There’s a kinship with the trees that I’ve yet to experience with any human, as if their roots are entwined with my own.
Walking amongst the towering trees, I relish the soft scent of pine needles and the earthy aroma of damp soil.
It stirs something deep within, like fragments of a forgotten dream.
I grasp for the memory, eager to bring it to the surface, but I may as well try grasping air.
Pausing, I gaze up between the tall trees, their tops vanishing into the thick blanket of gray clouds.
How would it feel to never walk through this forest again?
To start over somewhere new? Would I even survive the journey?
I purse my lips, considering the options.
Although Bronich is miserable, these woods are not, and I don’t want to risk my life for a place I have no knowledge about.
After inhaling another deep breath, I let out a sigh of contentment.
Soon, I spot the old pine I use as my hiding place.
Its long branches brush the ground like a wide skirt, hiding the large roots covering the ground beneath it.
I duck under the branches and retrieve my satchel from where I hid it.
And although I don’t really believe the tree can hear me, I whisper a quiet thank-you.
My most precious possessions are nestled within the worn-out satchel: a leather-bound journal, its pages filled with stories and sketches of possible futures; a piece of coal to write with; flint for fire; my coin purse; and a couple spare snares.
I add my black dagger to the collection, then let my fingers trace the smooth cover of the journal.
Even now, several years later, the gift given to me by Llyr evokes a deep sense of gratitude whenever I bring it out—although I know he only gave me the gift to inspire more stories for himself.
Considering my dreams are coming true, I’m pondering the idea of gifting the old man the whole collection.
The thought of freedom elicits a rush of butterflies, but I push them back down.
I don’t want to get my hopes up before the brace is officially off.
Counting the iron pennies, I drop them back into the small purse one by one.
I guess I don’t have to spend any of them now that Llyr has agreed to secure my freedom.
I could find some cheap housing, offering to help out, or, with summer approaching, I could live out here in the woods, far away from people.
Noticing the characteristic footprints of a hare in the thin layer of snow, I throw the satchel across my shoulder and follow the trail deeper into the woods, praying it ends at one of my snares.
It doesn’t take long before the burn of the brace becomes noticeable.
Grinding my teeth, I deepen my breathing as I push forward, determined to make it to my snares, cursing the restrictions of my brace with every step farther into the woods.
The first trap comes into view through a pain-blurred haze, but it doesn’t stop my heart from making a leap of joy when I see the hare captured there.
I snap the hare’s neck with a practiced movement that would make Evan proud and place it into my satchel.
I’d skin it now if I had time—Mr. Harrow at the tannery pays better for clean pelts—but I’m loosing light fast, and fresh hare like this will still fetch a decent price.
Father knows I’m not supposed to be trapping, but at least Mr. Harrow keeps his mouth shut as long as I accept whatever he offers.
Pushing the limits of my brace twice in the same number of days has left my body slow and unresponsive, and by the time I’ve stopped by all five snares, two of them containing grouse, the sky is darkening. I swear. Losing track of time is not a valid excuse for staying out after dark.
I tuck the satchel beneath my cloak and set off at a brisk pace.
The grouse I'll leave with the Widow Marsh on my way back. She has three mouths to feed and nothing but scraps, and winter’s been cruel this year.
As I walk, I risk a glance up toward the pass, its entrance clearly visible from this side of town.
Why would Llyr want to risk his life like that?
He makes a good living here in Bronich; he’s respected.
Did the information about the minister’s infanticide rattle him that much?
Because I’m pretty certain he’s not risking his life for me.
A cluster of elwia flowers—their bright pink bells nodding in the breeze—catches my attention, and despite being pressed for time, I stop to harvest some of the versatile medicinal plant.
Of course, it would be nice to leave. To find somewhere less populated, farther from people.
I’m well aware of the state of the city, after all.
All anyone cares about is finding the next scapegoat to burn, praying it won’t be them.
Together with the rapid growth of famine, crime, and disease, it’s left Bronich with a staggering daily death toll.
But still—I inhale the sweet scent of the elwia flowers—even Bronich has its beauty.
Besides, would it be any better elsewhere? If there’s one thing my life has shown me, it’s that things can always get worse.
Making sure to get the roots of the flower—chewing on them is an excellent pain reliever—I place a handful in my satchel.
Llyr is different, though, so maybe I should trust his judgment. Yet, if I am to finally be free, I’d greatly prefer to live out my life here in Bronich rather than fleeing toward an ensured death.
I shake my head at his ridiculous suggestion. I’ll tell him as much when I see him.
BY THE TIME I’VE LEFT the grouse at Widow Marsh’s doorstep, dusk is creeping in.
And although it’s not yet fourth bell, thick wet mist already swirls around my dress as I make my way through town.
Watching the darkness engulf the city, I can feel its tangible heaviness settling upon me, filling me with unease.
With the light almost gone, there are few people outside, and I curse myself for not keeping better track of the time. Weaving my way across town, I debate whether to risk the shortcut through the slums. It’s far from safe, but it’s late, and I need to get back home.
Darting down one of the narrow alleyways, I send rats scurrying in all directions.
The odor of sewage and animal waste in this part of town is overwhelming, and the stench of tanning doesn’t make it any better.
Pressing a hand over my nose and mouth—grateful for my veil for once—I move as close to a jog as is appropriate, weaving through the maze of narrow alleyways.
Rounding the corner, I find the road in front of me seems darker than normal.
I take a couple steps down the alley, squinting in the dim light.
Is someone there? I let out a scream as a rat the size of a well-fed cat runs across my feet, then reprimand myself for being so skittish.
Get a grip, La?na. It was just a rat. Relax. Move.
I’m halfway down the street to Mr. Harrow’s tannery when the unnerving silence strikes me—a heavy, suffocating quiet that presses down on me.
Then I notice a deeper shade of black in the dark.
Less than ten feet away, with its back toward me, the umbra’s tall shadowy frame is unmistakable.
Did it hear me? Holding my breath, I inch backward, careful not to make any sudden movements.
I curse as my heel connects with a tin can, the jarring clang of metal on rough stone echoing through the oppressive silence.
The creature’s head whips around, its gaze locking on to mine.
Burn me. Ignoring the sinking feeling in my stomach, I dare a glance toward the passage to my left.
It’s several feet in front of me, which means I’ll have to move toward the creature first. I swallow.
Having seen its speed, I don’t think I’ll stand a chance if I try to run back down the way I came, but if I reach the passage, there’s a chance I can lose it in the maze of twists and turns.
The umbra cocks its head but doesn’t advance.
Keeping one eye on the umbra, I force myself to ignore the disturbing way its tall form disappears and reappears within the darkness and dart forward toward the passage.
Before I’ve taken two strides, the umbra looms before me, close enough for me to smell its breath if it possessed one—which, I realize, it does not.
“You.” The single word emanating from the depths of its pitch-black hood is enough to make my insides drop.
Its proximity forces me to crane my head upward, and I take a couple steps back, adamant to gain some distance from the creature.
What does it want from me? It glides closer yet again, and I continue to walk backward.
It reeks of decay—a pungent odor of rotting flesh overlaid with an oddly sweet, almost fruity scent. I suppress the sudden urge to gag.
It hisses at me, then glides forward again. “The night of the moon,” it says, voice twisted. “Where did you go?”
I frown. “What moon?” I sign before I can think better of it.
The creature hisses again.
“I don’t know what you mean.” My hands are shaking. “I am no one—human, nothing special.” What do I have to say for it to leave me alone? “I’m property—not even my own master . . .” I gesture toward my veiled face and raise my braced arm, desperate to show I’m worthless, beneath its notice.
“Lies!” it hisses so menacingly that I jump back, icy chills covering my body.
“I’m sorry. You must mistake me for someone else,” I sign.
“Unfortunately, I have to leave. My master is waiting.” I glance to my right and notice I’ve backed so far down the street that I’m right next to a crossroad.
Should I chance it? Deciding I’ll be as dead if I stay as if I try to escape, I gather my skirts and race down the misty alley, away from the shadow creature.