No matter how independent I am, I always listened to her. Always asked for her advice and always relied on her. I can’t even imagine a life without her.
What now? What am I supposed to do now?
My chest tightens. Each breath is a struggle, as if the air around me is filled with sorrow. Hot tears stream down my cold skin, and I bury my head in my hands, my body shaking with the effort to keep my cries muted. Each sob is like a scream into the void, a scream into a world that has turned its back on me. The grief feels unbearable, and I find myself gasping for air, the sound of my uneven breaths the only noise in the heavy silence.
I pull the handkerchief from my pocket. My mother’s scent still clings to it. It’s faint, but enough to make my chest hurt even more. My hands tremble as I press the fabric to my face, inhalingdeeply. I want to bring her back, even if only for a moment. More tears spill down my cheeks, and I rub the handkerchief against my skin.
“Mother . . .” The word is barely a whisper.
After sobbing for what seems like forever, I wipe away my last tears. I must focus on what I need to do next. Hunger overwhelms me.
As I walk through the forest, I find edible berries and apples. My military training has honed my survival skills, so I know how to find nonpoisonous foods in the wild. However, there are many I’ve never seen before. So, for now, I’ll enjoy the juicy fruits and berries I know. Luckily, I stumble upon a patch of peppermint leaves. Their aroma lifts my spirits as I chew, freshening my breath and calming my nerves.
With a full stomach, I turn my attention to protecting myself. I find a sturdy branch. Without a sword, I won’t stand the smallest chance against a vólkin, even against an animal, but I need to at least know that I tried.
I pull the crystal from my pocket in hopes that it might help me carve the wood. But when I glide it over the end of the branch, my hand slips. The crystal is too small to be effective, and instead of carving the wood, it slices into my finger, leaving a shallow cut. I hiss, the pain sharp and stinging. More tears begin to fall. They blend with the blood from my finger, and the cut burns. Shit.
The frustration, the fear, the overwhelming grief, it all pours out in my tears, and I feel miserable. How did it come to this? How did I end up here, alone in the dark, without my mother?
I find a rock with a bladelike edge and use it to finish the tiny spear. My knuckles turn white around the branch as the image of my mother fills my mind. Her smile, her long hair, our breakfasts before I left home. I tighten my grip until my fingersache and more blood drips from my cut. But I don’t stop. I don’t care. The pain drives me forward.
“Mother, I swear to the goddesses,” I growl through clenched teeth, “whoever did this to you, I will rip their spine out with my bare hands.”
They will pay.
When the spear is finally complete, I feel accomplished despite it all. It reminds me of my mother’s strength and the spirit that burns in me.
I pace under the trees, my grip tightening on the spear. She was distant with everyone, always kept us at a safe distance from the rest of the village. I used to think it was because of me, or maybe because she just didn’t like anyone.
She said it was to protect us, but from what? From whom?
She never answered my questions.
A sense of betrayal lingers in the back of my mind, though I shove it down. I know she was hiding something, something that was probably too much for me to handle, but what? Did she know this was coming? Is that why she kept me at arm’s length all these years?
Her voice, soft and calm, but always with steel beneath, as if she was speaking through a veil of secrets. She never let anyone get close, never involved herself in the gossip and petty dramas that consumed the village. She stayed aloof, above it all. But that only makes it worse. There was no one who hated her. No one who had a reason to kill her.
So why?
I wipe my tears. Enough.
My questions will not be answered now either.
I need to cleanse my body. I hope to find a stream that will ease my soul. Mother always believed in the purifying power of water, a belief she passed on to me.
With my spear in hand and my mind strengthened, I venture through the trees, ready to face whatever comes my way. The night is dark and full of dangers, but I am not the same woman who was taken from her village. I am stronger now.
I have no choice but to be stronger.
6
THROUGH THE FOREST, INTO FATE
“The wild does not beg to be tamed. It calls, and only those strong enough to answer will find their fate within it.”
— Vládan of Ávera, Warlord and Mate to Ánya
Theron
