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Marvik
Iwake in the morning to the sounds of wood being carved. Dura must already be up and working on the smokehouse. In the last week she finished the stone floor, cementing river-smooth stones from the creek with clay, and now the walls need to go up. The light coming into the cave is thin and pale, and cold air drifts in from the cracks in the wooden wall at the mouth of the cave, showing that it is still early morning. How long has she already been awake? I feel a brush of concern, a shadow of how I felt last night. After our talk about mates she acted strange, sleeping with her back toward me. It feels like we have taken a step backwards and I don’t know why.
I roll onto my back and stare at the smooth rock ceiling, so different from the craggy stalactite-ridden surface of the cave in the Deep Wood. I should be getting up, going to make breakfast or starting my foraging, but my mind is full of the information I received last night. In my mind’s eye I can see Dura in the red light of the fire, telling me the story of her parents and the significance of matehood.
Surprisingly, as she spoke I didn’t feel hesitation or fear, but longing. Longing for the kind of relationship she spoke of between her parents, longing to be that close with someone. No, that’s not right. Not that close with just anyone, but with Dura. The more time I spend with her, the more I am drawn to her. My need for her is not decreasing, but increasing at a rate that would be alarming if it didn’t feel so right. Can humans feel this Recognition too, just at a slower pace? Not an instant knowing, but a gentle, relentless pull to the other? That’s what it feels like to me. Like I am being carried to her by Fate and there is no fighting it. Not that I want to fight it any longer.
The irony is, now that I am feeling more sure of her, Dura is pulling away from me. I suppose that it makes sense, after she spoke of the wasting sickness and the failed matings of some orcs. But I don’t think that would be us. For one thing,Iam chasingDuranow, not the other way around. If only I could find a way to get her to trust me, to know that I am sincere. I think back on her story, on the Exchanging. I could give her a gift, a tangible something to show her that I am ready to commit to her. Except I have nothing to give. Everything that I have now in the world is already hers. I’ve never had much in the way of meaningful objects in any case. My sword, I suppose, but that is long lost now. Probably still laying on the battlements of Fort Attis. I think of the Grimble Family jewels that I would have presented to my future wife, but that thought is met with distaste. All of those jewels at one point would have been worn by my mother. The same mother who would have been horrified that I was considering marrying an orcress. I wouldn’t want those ornate monstrosities to so much as touch Dura’s skin.
That thought leads to another; jewelry that I have gifted others in the past. Usually with my lovers they were naught but parting gifts, expensive enough to mollify feelings, but once I gave Adalind a necklace for her birthday. It was made from a small piece of amethyst that I found in these very woods. Further in, definitely across the Barakrini border, there is a small, lone mountain, called the Fang, where the creek that runs through the Thicket originates. It’s not much of a mountain, barely jutting above the treetops of the thicket. More like a craggy, rocky hill. I followed the creek to its source once as a boy and found a bevy of rough amethyst at the foot of The Fang. I took one back and held onto it, finally having it made into a piece for Adalind when I was older. It was modest by the standards of court, but special because I found the stone myself. I’m certain that Yorian hated it, both because it was small, therefore making him look poor, and because it wasn't presented to Adalind by himself, therefore being something he didn’t control. I never saw it again after I gifted it to her and often wondered if Yorian took itaway. If Adalind had been able to have her way, she would have worn it, I’m sure.
Still, thinking of that special present, it gives me the idea of finding another stone for Dura. I have no way of fashioning it into jewelry for her, no way to polish or set it. But perhaps the act of finding it and picking it out, taken from a place special to me as a boy, would be enough to satisfy the terms of the Exchanging. I hope so; it’s all I have.
With that thought, I rise from my bedroll, mission in mind. It’ll be a long hike to the mountain, especially if I want to make it back by sunset, when we usually meet and share our evening meal together. I don’t want her to think that I have left her. I know that is something that she worries about, a deep-seated fear that stems from our early days together. It is one of the things I hope to assuage by beginning the elvish mating rituals.
I prepare for the day, getting ready as I would for a foraging trip. I don’t need to worry about water, as I will be following the creek and the water there is clean and fresh. I briefly consider taking more supplies, just in case I don’t make it back by tonight, but dismiss the idea. If I can hike out of the Deep Wood in one night, I can walk through a much easier and safer wood in a day. Besides, if I take more supplies, Dura will be suspicious that today’s foraging trip is different than usual and I want the gift to be a surprise. With everything ready for my mission, I exit the cave.
Dura is working hard and doesn’t notice that I’ve arisen. She is absorbed in carving notches into the end of the smokehouse branches. I suppose that the notches will let her stack the branches together into a wall. In order for it to work as a smokehouse, however, she'll need more mortar to seal the cracks between the branches. But I’m sure she’s already thought of that, as she is more of an expert than I am. As I exit, I see she has already made breakfast, a hash of leftover rabbit organ meat mixed with greens and mushrooms that I found the other day in the skillet at the edge of the fire. Half of the mixture is already gone, the otherhalf obviously left for me. I smile at the thoughtful gesture.
“Good morning,” I greet, before crouching down to break my fast.
Dura looks up from her task, looking a little startled. “Oh,” she says, “you’re awake.”
I take my first bite of the hash. It’s good, though the spices are applied with a heavier hand than I would use. Dura likes a healthy helping of salt and dried garlic on everything. Still, it’s edible and I take another bite.
“Just got up,” I respond after I swallow. “Thanks for letting me sleep in.” These words are said a little sardonically, as it is still very early and Dura very obviously got up before first light.
The orcress obviously gets my teasing, but only shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep.”
This is concerning, seeing as we retired early because she said she was tired. I want to ask again if she is feeling ill, but I get the feeling that it is not a physical malady that is worrying her. Something about our conversation last night is troubling her. I can guess what it is: she still doesn’t trust me, is still worried that I will leave and abandon her, that she’ll be all alone. I’d hoped we’d moved beyond that in the last week, but it’ll take more effort on my part to prove myself to her. I’m more convinced than ever about the necessity of my quest for the amethyst.
Finishing breakfast, I say, “I’ll be foraging again today. There are some more wild chokecherry trees further into the woods that may still have fruit, so I’ll be going farther than normal. So don’t worry if you don’t see me all day. I should be back before supper.” There, that should explain my absence. And I’m not lying; there are chokecherry trees that I can stop at on my way back and fill my knapsack.
Dura nods, going back to her carving. “Safe travels, then.”
I stand and walk over to her, taking her chin in my hands. She stops carving again, looking up questioningly and I steal a kiss, short and sweet. Her eyes are soft when I pull away, a little hazywith confused pleasure and I’m pleased to have distracted her, at least for a moment, from whatever is troubling her.
“I’ll see you later,” I promise, before shouldering my empty knapsack and heading into the woods.
???
I set a brutal pace on my way to the mountain, traveling along the edge of the creek. I don’t even stop to rest and am glad that I have regained much of my strength through working and traveling these last weeks. I pass the grove of chokecherry trees that I mentioned to Dura, still there from when I was a boy. The harvest is rather sad, the fruit having been picked over by birds and other animals. It is rather late in the season, after all. But I think there is enough between all the trees to fill my sack when I come back. I also note some patches of wild carrot and dandelion. I’ll stop there as well to harvest. Apparently I should have been venturing further into the Thicket this whole time to get its bounty. I mentally file away the information for future foraging expeditions. Though, this late in the season there won’t be a call for foraging much longer. Soon it will be winter and Dura and I will have to tough it out in the cave. The thought is not pleasant. I hope the first frost isn’t for at least another few weeks, though that could be optimistic.
Speaking of optimistic, it’s well after noon before I finally arrive at the Fang. I overestimated my speed. Perhaps it has been too long since I was here as a boy and I misremembered how far the journey was. If I am to be back by supper and still harvest the chokecherries I need to find the amethysts quickly. I go where I think they were located, but it has been many years since I was here and thingslook a little different than I remember them. I dig through the rocks at the foot of the mountain, but am out of luck. Frustrated, I move to another spot, then another, but still no amethysts. I am about to give up when my digging finds an almost perfectly round stone the size of my fist. I think suddenly of a book of geology I read as a boy that diagramed such a round stone that was filled with crystals. I heft the stone and it does feel lighter than one would expect such a stone to be. I wish that I had a hammer and chisel to open it prettily like the illustration I remember on the vellum pages. But there is more than one way to crush a rock.
Standing up, I draw back my arm and, with as much strength as I possess, I throw the rock into the side of a large boulder. With a harsh cracking sound, the stone bursts open, breaking into many pieces that fling this way and that. Eagerly, I reach down and pick up some of the pieces and am gratified to be greeted with purple crystals jutting from a base of stone. They are clear and bright, prettier than the amethyst I found all those years ago. They must have been protected within the hollow stone. I am pleased with my find and pick up a few pieces of gem. There’s no use in taking all of them, so I carefully sift through them until I find a piece that is about the size of a gold coin that is mostly crystal, only a slim bit of stone at the bottom. Three little peaks of crystal jut upward and are dark purple at the tip, fading to white the closer they get to the stone. It is the loveliest piece of all the various fragments in my hands. I can see it in my mind’s eye hanging from a leather cord on Dura’s neck. Though she does already have a necklace. Maybe my crystal could be a charm hanging from one of her dagger sheaths.Perfect. I stow the piece in my trouser pocket and let the others fall to the ground. Let some other young intrepid adventurer find them someday.
I am just finishing up when I hear a twig snap behind me. Whirling around, my heart stops as I see two hooded and black-cloaked figures moving toward me in a pincer maneuver. Theirbearing is hostile, having obviously been trying to take me unawares, and I lose no time by trying to talk to them. I rush the one in front of me, charging his middle. The move takes him by surprise and knocks him off his feet, but then the other figure is there, faster than is human, swinging a sword at me. Instinctually, I duck and sweep out my leg, catching him on his knee and he takes a few steps back to recover his balance. I turn to flee, knowing there is no way that I can best two attackers without a weapon, but my way is blocked. The first figure is already back on his feet and with a growl unsheathes his own sword, coming at me. I spy a gnarled branch on the ground behind him and dodge his incoming swing, somersaulting on the ground to get by him and hastily scrabble for the branch. It’s thick, knotty wood, a serviceable club, and the closest thing to a weapon I’m going to get out here.
I twist around with my improvised weapon and barely block two attacks at once. The blades do some damage to my stick, but it holds and I am able to knock their swords away. One thrusts while the other slashes and I parry the thrust while barely dodging the slash. This is bad. Very, very bad.
We trade blows for a bit, me on the defensive, while the two hooded figures get closer and closer. The first one slashes savagely and takes off a good hands-length of my branch. The length is now unwieldy, just shorter than a short sword, and unlikely to stop more blows. So I throw the rest of it, nailing my attacker in the head. It knocks his hood back and pale skin appears in the late afternoon light. Within seconds it reddens and sizzles, the figure howling and working to pull his hood back up.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.Vampires. What I was always warned was in these woods, but never believed and now here they are, trying very hard to kill me. I turn to run again, but with a blur of movement too quick for my eyes to catch, the second figure is in front of me. I pause for a moment, but the moment is too long. Something very heavy and forceful comes down on the back of my head and I know no more.
Chapter 20
Dura
