Chapter 6 - Survivor.
The next four days, Ockhaven lived to the rhythm of ceaseless motion.
Aren and Leo helped Elara at the Eastern Market, setting out vials of tinctures and calling to passersby, and sometimes crossed over to Erik Ricks's stall, which smelled of salt and dried fish from Rallis. The city glowed with lights, traveling performers took the squares, and laughter spilled from the taverns loud enough to drown out the rattle of carts.
At dawn on the second day of the Hunt, a watchman's shout rang out at the Southern Gate.
A lone rider appeared in the dust of the plain.
He rode at a walk, leading a second horse by the reins, a massive White-Stone Boar's head lashed to its saddle, the hide textured like limestone, its mineralized tusks catching the sun.
Townsfolk and the Green Order's guards greeted the warrior with applause, though the joy was restrained, since everyone understood that a boar was only a minor prize beside what Waldruhm's knights could bring back.
But after that moment, no more victors passed through Ockhaven's gates.
The third day passed in tense waiting.
The fourth day, the final deadline the Watch officer had set, was drawing to a close.
The sun sank slowly toward the horizon, staining the city's white walls crimson. A huge crowd had gathered in the square before the gates.
Elara stood beside Aren, her fingers nervously working the fabric of her dress, while Selma had come out of the tavern and gone still at the wooden barrier, her eyes fixed on the empty road.
Usually, by this hour, more than half the participants would have returned to the city, with trophies and stories of their deeds, but now the plain remained empty.
Not a single suit of armor caught the light of the sunset, not a single horn sounded a return.
Silence settled over the crowd, broken only by heavy breathing and scattered whispers.
Erik came up to them with a deep sigh, glancing at Selma, then at Aren and Bernard.
"Nothing like this has ever happened, not in my memory," he said, lowering his voice.
"More than two dozen people went out. One came back. And they're about to shut the gates."
The gate guards exchanged uncertain glances, then turned to the Watch officer, who, with a short sigh and lips pressed tight, nodded the order to close the gates.
The screech of metal on stone carried over the hushed square as Ockhaven's heavy gate doors began to swing shut.
The Watch officer turned to face the people, his back to the plain, his shoulders sagging.
Selma, standing right at the barrier, gripped the wood hard, her eyes never leaving the narrowing strip of horizon.
"Look!" A shout from the crowd made everyone flinch.
The officer spun around sharply.
Far off, in dust reddened by the light of sunset, a single point was moving.
He threw up a hand to halt the gate's closing, and the guards heaved against the levers, the doors freezing in place, while the rider drew closer in jolting bursts.
Aren had expected a man with trophies, but when the rider reached the gates it was a young woman.
She wore a torn foreign uniform, nothing like the clothing of Waldruhm's people.
She wasn't sitting so much as lying flat against the horse's neck, her fingers clenched in its mane.
The guards caught the reins of the terrified animal as the girl slid to the ground, unable to hold herself in the saddle.
Deep gashes on her shoulders and side were still bleeding, leaving dark stains on the white stone of the road, while her frightened eyes darted about and her breath came ragged and hoarse.
"The horse..." Selma whispered, taking a step forward.
She recognized the horse her son had ridden out of the city four days before. On its flank still hung the empty strap for the supply pouches she had given Elen before he left.
The unknown girl barely moved her lips, trying to say something, but her eyelids were growing heavy.
Suddenly Magister Kyle broke from the crowd, his guards with him.
"Make way! Clear a path!" the Magister shouted, striding toward the wounded girl.
The Magister quickly rolled up the sleeves of his dark robes, dropped to his knees, lifted the girl's head and pressed his palm firmly to her chest, over her heart.
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He let his eyes fall shut and focused completely, and a moment later a green glow enveloped his hand, like a luminous stream of energy.
The glow shifted and shimmered smoothly, seeping through her clothing and into her body.
Gradually the same light shone from the injured girl's eyes, until her whole body glowed from within with a rhythmic green pulse.
Within seconds, Magister Kyle trembled faintly, his face going pale, blood starting to run from his nose. His guards moved anxiously to intervene, but Kyle didn't pull his hand away until the pulsing light reached its peak.
Finally he released the girl abruptly and reeled back.
For a moment nothing seemed to have changed, but the next instant the girl drew a sudden, deep breath that made the crowd flinch.
Magister Kyle breathed heavily, pressing a hand to his nose, dark blood trickling from it onto the paving stones.
At that moment the crowd stirred and parted rapidly, as Queen Edith Valdrich approached the scene, escorted by four Green Order knights.
Edith stopped three paces from the Magister and looked down at him, her back straight, her face cold.
"Explain yourself, Kyle. What is happening here?"
Magister Kyle wiped his face with his sleeve, staining the expensive fabric with blood. He rose slowly and leaned on his guard's shoulder.
"Your Majesty, this is Aris, one of my assistants who gathers rare components... A team of researchers was in the forest's border zone searching for medicinal mosses needed for our shared purposes."
The Queen narrowed her eyes and turned to Aris, who sat on the ground, gasping for air, her fingers digging into the cold stone.
"Why did the Forest Watch not report this to me? Who gave you the right to approach the forest without my consent?" Edith asked, her eyes still on the exhausted girl.
"My Queen, I—"
"Enough," the Queen cut in, without looking at the Magister.
"Sir Alistair, take Magister Kyle and his people into custody," Edith ordered, stepping toward the injured Aris.
The Order's knights immediately surrounded the Magister, seizing him roughly by the shoulders and hauling him up.
"Look at me," the Queen commanded the survivor.
Aris lifted her head and looked at the Queen, the sunset light caught in her contracted pupils, which betrayed the horror of what she had survived.
Edith's brows drew down a little, then she lowered herself to one knee to examine the girl.
The wounds had already stopped bleeding thanks to the Magister's magic, and the Queen tilted her head slightly to one side, looking back into Aris's face.
"What happened to you?" the Queen asked, softening her tone.
Aris's lips trembled, her face streaked with dirt and blood, and no answer came.
"Answer the Queen!" one of the Order's knights barked, but a silent gesture of Edith's hand instantly silenced him.
"You're in no danger here, and it seems Magister Kyle saved your life. Try to focus on me and answer just a couple of questions... I promise, nothing will happen to you," the Queen said, and did not blink or look away.
"E-Everyone... is dead. I-It... it came out of the shadows..." Aris forced out, hoarse and halting.
The girl trembled harder, covering her face with her hands.
"It tore them apart... The warriors tried... they fought back... but... the steel... it just snapped... I barely made it... the horse... was at the edge of camp... he... was kind... he shoved me... and I... I... just ran..."
The girl's breathing turned feverish and broken, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly, her eyes darting side to side.
Edith reacted at once, touching two fingertips to Aris's neck, and the girl went still and lost consciousness.
An anxious murmur went through the crowd as Edith rose slowly to her feet and turned to the head of the knightly order.
"Carry the girl to the castle infirmary. See that she has a full guard. No one but the Archiater is to go near her. Magister Kyle — to the North Tower, until the circumstances of his research are established."
The knights lifted Aris's unconscious body and were already preparing to carry her toward the Upper City when Selma stepped out of the crowd, ignored the guards' orders and made her way toward the horse.
"E-Elen... m-my boy... Elen..." Selma said, her voice trembling and hoarse, reaching out hands that shook just as hard toward the horse her son had ridden into the hell Aris had just described.
Edith turned, saw what was happening, and waved the guards back.
Selma barely touched the horse with her fingertips, one hand pressed over her mouth to hold back broken cries. Tears ran down her face and fingers, while her wide-open eyes stayed fixed in place.
"My child... my baby... no... no... no, no, no..." the shocked mother said through her palm, gradually sliding into hysteria.
"Where... WHERE... WHERE IS MY BOY?! GIVE ME BACK MY SON!"
As Selma broke into screams, Bernard rushed to her and tried to hold her back while she strained toward Aris's unconscious body, lying in the arms of one of the knights.
"Selma! Selma, stop!" Bernard shouted, his arms locked around the frantic woman.
Then Selma, her eyes wide with shock and terror, turned toward the open gates, beyond which the giant trees of the Great Forest stood visible in the distance.
She reached out a hand and tried to move toward them, while Bernard still held her firmly in place.
"Elen... sweetheart... Elen, please... come back, sweetheart... Elen... ELEN!"
She screamed again in hysterics, struggling to break free of the blacksmith's iron grip.
"Let go of me! I have to bring him back! I have to bring back my son! Let go of me!" she screamed furiously, beating at him with her hands.
"Selma! Please! Stop! Selma, he's gone, you can't bring him back! Selma!" Bernard shouted back, still fighting to keep hold of her.
He glanced at Elara, standing pale as a sheet, both hands over her mouth, her eyes full of tears, while Aren held Leo close against him.
When Bernard finally managed to still her, her voice already gone hoarse and her strength spent, Selma slowly sank to her knees.
Bernard knelt down beside her.
She dropped her head against his shoulder, too weak to hold it up, sobbing loudly into his leather vest, while he held her tightly in return, eyes shut, jaw clenched.
Aren turned his head away and closed his eyes, pressing his lips together, then looked over at Edith, who was still watching the grieving mother.
Edith's jaw set and her fist closed, as she drew one deep breath and let it out.
She turned to Magister Kyle, unhurried, and found him watching Selma.
"Pray it does not turn out that this is all your fault," Edith said.
Kyle didn't turn at the Queen's words, and did not look away from Selma, his brows drawn together, until the guards yanked him sharply aside and hauled him after the Queen as she made for the royal castle.
The crowd's murmur grew into a mutter of panic, while Bernard let out a heavy breath through his nose and looked over Aren, Leo, and Elara, then down at Selma, weeping and held close against him.
The festival in Ockhaven fell still that evening, and the setting sun sank below the horizon, draping the city's white walls in long shadows.
When they returned to the Merry Ploughman, Bernard carefully handed Selma into Elara's care, while a dead silence hung over the tavern's common room.
People sat at the tables, but no one drank or ate.
All eyes were on the empty counter, where that very morning a mother waiting for her son had bustled about.
Aren went up to his room, sat on the edge of the bed and felt the old mattress sag beneath him.
Almost no sound rose from below, since the tavern's common room, filled with shouts and laughter only the day before, now felt like a tomb.
He looked at the stone wall, his hands hanging between his knees, remembering Selma's face as she knelt against Bernard.
Aren drew a deep breath, let it out, then fell back onto the bed and stared up at the wooden ceiling instead, thinking about the wounded girl's words, about the creature she had described that had carried out the slaughter.
He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of what he'd seen, but images of the panic at the gates and the bloody gashes in the foreigner's uniform kept flashing before his mind's eye, while the city lay still, waiting for a dawn that promised to be cold.