Nzarel: The Horned Forest: Chapter 3

Chapter ~ 3 ~ (5359)

Chase had only been walking for a few hours, but already, the Nzera was changing. As she approached the border, the forest would become wilder, more of what the Outsiders would call “creepy.” The trees here were older, or had simply grown more. They were grey and gnarled, with roots that laced along the ground, making her pay more heed to her footfalls. Thick vines draped from the branches and stuck to the trunks like strange cobwebs, and ivy crawled upwards as though it were trying to claim the trees for itself. The undergrowth was thick and unruly, an often thorny, another reason she preferred to wear good, sturdy breeches even in the height of summer.

She knew for a fact that this kind of habitat scared the Outsiders. It was purely untamed, inhospitable woodland, and it preyed on their fears of it. It would grow thicker as it came closer to the border, then it would give way to civilized areas, where the trees had been cleared away to make room for their comfortable dwellings.

As far as Chase could tell, it was the same story around the Nzera's perimeter, though it could very well take a year or more's pilgrimage to find that out for certain. If it was all this kind of environment, it could very well take a decade to make it all the around the border.

She was proud of the forest when she walked through these areas, though. It was as though it was trying to set up a wall, protecting it and its own. It wore its heart, the wild, dangerous, untouchable part of its heart, out on its sleeves in an effort to keep out those who would harm its tender interior.

Chase had been moving since she woke up late morning, moving steadily throughout the day. When she was idling her time, she didn't move in any kind of particular pattern. She would explore aimlessly, stopping to practice shooting or climbing trees, or sometimes just sitting in an interesting spot to take in the view or the feeling of it. If she found a particularly good place, she would set up camp and stay for as long as her makeshift shelters would last, then move on.

Other times, like when she was headed for the border, she moved with a single-minded focus that surprised even her. Even as she meandered around the increasingly uneven terrain, she knew, she knew, for certain that her course was going in a straight line towards the border. She hadn't stopped for more than water, keeping herself going on travel rations made from dried and salted meat or wild grain and preserved berries. They weren't easy to eat and didn't taste anything as good as freshly cooked meat or ripe fruit, but she wasn't in a position to cook the one, and not in a mood to find and pick the other. On the move, her travel rations were exactly what she needed, even if the recipes were sill a work in progress. Even if her feet didn't hurt yet, her jaw sure did.

She had been keeping a hard an vigilant eye on the path ahead of her and the landscape around her, especially as that landscape became more hostile. Even so, a part of her mind had been free to wander for most of the day, and wander it did.

Some of the time she was thinking about Outsiders. She had made a handful of friends among them on previous excursions beyond the Nzera, and with them she was promised a mostly pain-free visit with easy access to needed information and goings-on of the world. Or else, there would be a tavern or alehouse or other low - esteemed place where she knew the drink ran cheap and tongue wagged freely. She didn't think she would be coming out near one of those familiar places this time. She normally didn't, but it was nice when she got the chance to make the whole ordeal easier on herself. She could walk in to a village filled with outright ruffians and have to pull herself out of an interesting but risky mess. That didn't happen very often either, but it had happened more than once and she didn't want to repeat the incident where repetition was unnecessary.

She also spent a lot of time thinking about Redge. In her normal state of being, she didn't get the chance to remember him as much, her mind normally caught up in one thing or another until he snuck in to her train of thought, as he had the night before. But with habit and practice controlling her actions for the most part for such a long period of time, her mind had free reign and leapt directly to him.

Somehow, the two subjects running side by side in her head invariable got her thinking about the Rewnum House. Named after a noble whose full name she couldn't recall, it was a house for orphans and lost mothers, in a city somewhere to the east of the Nzera. Its namesake was its patron, hailed as a hero and philanthropist at the House and raised to a level of devoted reverence normally reserved for saqints.

“Charisse, turn around.”

It was on old building, used when it was reverted and abused by racous children, bent on disobeying for disobedience's sake.

“I said turn around, Charisse. Did you hear me?”

At some point, a garden, well - tended and manicured, had graced the front lawn of the orphanage, filled with flowers and vegetables, shaded by fruit trees. But the garden had fallen in to disarray over the span of a few short years, weeds and wild honeysuckle growing rampant over the d, the grass coming in tall and scraggly wherever its roots found purchase.

“Charisse Adamara, look at me child, before I have to get Master Rithers.”

The inside was as shabby as the garden, stained and cracked and generally worse fo the wear it wuffered from those who considered it home, or the next best thing.

“Honestly, girl! Turn away from that window, and look at me when I'm talking to you.”

The little girl sighed openly and turned, regarding the old woman before her with ill-concealed resentment. Her wild dark hair had been forced back in to a thick horsetail, the result of almost an hour's worth of combing and frustration. She'd also been ordered in to a dress. The workers, Mrs. Dashlom and her underlings, wouldn't tell the children what was going on that required them to be at their best appearance, but it went without the telling. Any of them that had been at the House for any indecent length of time understood, and for some, like Charisse, the drill was simply another piece of the same unchanging background, albeit an irksome and inconvenient piece.

“Don't you dare look at me with that kind of insolence. The Taurame son is coming today with his new bride. I'll bet you didn't know that little tidbit, did you? Oh you did? Well, I expect you didn't predict a nobleman to grace our doorway. In any case, little thing, the idiot married a barren slut of a woman, so they're going to be looking for a baby. I can't have you older lot making a mess of yourselves and scaring them off the grounds. So please, unless you insist on keeping one of the little babes here long enough to turn in to you, behave yourself.”

The little girl scowled, pouting her lower lip in disappointment with the whole situation. Arms crossed firmly across her chest, she marched downstairs, Mrs. Dashlom just behind her, looking smug and self-righteous.

The dining room at the front of the House had been cleared away of most of its furnishings, and the rest of the orphans were crowded together, herded by the nannies, who were using varying amounts of threats, bribes, and gentle coaxing to get them under control. The babes were in cradles on a large table at the center of the room like goods on display, which, at least as far as the Rewnum House was concerned, they were. Some of the new mothers taking shelter in the House tried calming their children with soft, cooing sounds.

Mrs. Dashlom took one look at the room as she entered after Chariesse, and handled the problem in her own charming way. “If you brats don't shut up and get in to line, I'll see to it that the lot of you are adopted by a blacksmith!” A heavy silence fell instantly; even the babes seemed to know enough to remain quiet.

Just in time, for a knock came at the door. The children scurried in to a line behind the table, and the mothers kissed their babes as they laid them back down in their respective cradles, then backed away in to an obscure corner of the room. The runners of the House liked to keep mothers awaywhen prospective parents. Prostpective mothers, it seemed, didn't like to be reminded that the little ebaby they were going to take home already had a mother of his own.

With a pleased smile on her gaunt face, Mrs. Dashlom went to the door. She swung it open, sweeping an arm in to the room as she curtsied low. The nannies all curtsied as well, and the children followed their lead. Charisse didn't keep her gaze down immediately as she was instructed, but stared in waide-eyed awe at the two nobles who stepped in to the shabby room.

They were dressed finer than any of the children had seen before. The fact that they were clean was a shock on it own. Their surrounding wilted in comparisond. Everyone but Mrs. Dashlom was expected to aver their eyes, thye the little dark-haired girlThe face that they were clean as mes was a shock on its own. Their surrounding wilted in passion. Everyong but Mes. Dashlom was pexpected to avert their eyes, but the little for dark haired girl gaped shamelessly at the glimpses of royalty just paces from her.

The lady, Lady Taurame, picked up one of the older babes, boncing her lightly against her chest with a broad, anxious smile on her lips, though for a moment, Charisse could have sworn she looked sad. Her husband beamed behind her, chest puffed out like a bird's.

“Look at this lad, here. Strapping, isn't he?” Lady Taurame set the tiny girl back in her crowded cradle with a tinge of regrest. She turned to see the baby her husband had pointed out, the paused as her gaze fell on an eager young face in the line of children.

Charisse blushed as the warm brown eyes of the Lady fell on hers, and she looked hurriedly at the ground directly in front of her bare toes, though perhaps a moment too late to be helped. The Lady swept across the floor towards her, hand outstretched palm up. “Milord, come see this one. She's beautiful.” Her husband sighed, and stood a few feet in front of her.

“Did not I tell you where I stood on girls? I need an heir, first and foremost.”

“Oh, smooth your hackles down, you rooster. Look at her face. She can't be any older than six, maybe seven years old, but her face is already very refined.” She lifted Charisse's chin up so as to see her face better, tilting her head back and fort with care. Nable to keep her eyes trained on her toes, she risked a look at the Lady's face. It's was so exceptionally beautiful, unlike any countenance she had ever laid eyes on before in her life. “Oh, my! Look at her eyes, milord. They're such a strange color. If I had to identify it, I would name the color hazel, but they're more, oh, I don't know. I'd have to say they're yello. It's quite extraordinary!”

She turned her face hopefully to her husband, who gave in and come face to face with the wsmall girl, kneeling so that their faces met at the same level. He had a strong jaw and proud, kind eyes. Charisse tried desperately not to look at him.

“Look at me, child. Don't be shy.” Ah, well. She didn't dare disobey an order from someone like him. He was hardly Master Rithers. She looked at him full on. “Well, my dear,”he chuckled, eyebrows raised, “you were certainly right about her eyes.”

“You watch; she could grow up to steal the heart of any boy.”

“Yes, dear, I'm sure.” The girl's face was burning, as though she shouldn't be allowed to be in such a poision. “What's your name, child?”

She swallowed hard, and forced herself to answer. “Charisse. Sir.” The words somehow managed to come out without reflecting the shaking in the rest of her.

“Charisse. How do you like it in this place?” She just shook her head silently, letting her hair begin to slip loose from its horsetail.

Mrs. Dashlom stepped forward, a picture of angelic helpfulness. “This girl has linved in the orphanage since she was born. Her mother left soon after giving birth, leaving her in our care. She's a sweet girl, and strong-silled.” Charisse was confused. Why would the mistress want to see her off, adopted and happy? Anywhere that wasn't the House had to be a step up, and she had always been a spiteful woman.

Charisse decided not to argue with good fortune.

“Does the good madam treat you well?” So that was it! Mrs. Dashlom didn't want her to mention the names she'd been called them, so she was acting like nothing was wrong. Suddenly, the knowledge that the woman was hiding something so mean from the Lady and her husband, and that she was helping, burned at her face and ears. She clamped her mouth shut and was about to nod her head when she realized that this would be what Mrs. Dashlom would want her to do. Even nodding `yes' would be lying to them. To the Lady.

Little Charisse looked from one face to another, then decided it would be wrong to lie to the Lady or her husband. Throwing caution and common sense to the everlasting wind, she blurted, “She called you an idiot. Sir.” It fell from her mouth as a jumble of syllables, but he seemed to understand anyways.

One thick eyebrow arched upwards. “Is that so?” They both spared a look at Mrs. Dashlom. She was livid Shocked, but mostly livid. The Lady's husband seemed caught somewhere between offense and amusement. “Did she say anything else to you? “ Charisse tried to bite down on her lip to keep from speaking, but she couldn't stop herself.

“She called her,” she pointed a tiny finger at the Lady, “a… well, I'm not perfectly sure. She called her a baron… baron… slud, I think. Yes, a baron slud.” She knew is wasn't perfectly right, and as the Lady's husband's face glowed bright red, she wanted to take the words back, to shout, “No, it was a mistake, I'm sorry.” He stood up before she could find her tongue again, and looked square at Mrs. Dashlom with icy fire in his expression. She looked as though she'd been found out, and Charisse had the impression that nothing she did would take the words back.

She tried in vain to grab at his sleeve anyways, wanting to fix what she'd said, but he shook her off. She looked at the Lady, who was staring off at a blank spot on the floor, those warm, brown eyes of hers all wet and sad.

Why had she let her tongue run off with her?

The Lady's husband was staring hard at Mrs. Dashlom still, then took his wife's arm, holding her as stared in to space. “I think we'll be leaving, madam,” he said slowly, his voice shaking with rage. He turned sharply and led the Lady towards the door. No! They're leaving! They were going to take me with them! Charisse started to cry out, but was cut off by Mrs. Dashlom, who was calling after them desperately.

“No, no! You misunderstood! Please, come back! I said no such thing. You can't believe that brat, can you? No, please!” She was yelling out the door, where they were probably getting in to their carriage to leave and never return. Charisse felt her eyes prickling with tears, as Mrs. Dashlom stared in slack - jawed horror, watching the Taurames drive off in to the distance. Her arms went slack as it closed the door. For a moment, she looked defeated, and the whole room was silent. The children looked expectantly at her, awaiting her wrath, but she just stood there…

“You…” Her eyes found Charisse, who was crying silently, but in earnest. “You ruined it.” She shook her head fervently. She had only told the truth, she couldn't have lied to them. Her voice faltered, though. Just a few minutes too late.

Mrs. Dashlom crossed the room in a few long strides, murder in her heart. Charisse bolted, running blindly for the back of the House. She heard the mistress screaming behind her in fury, her words wiped out by her own terror. She'd never seen her as angry as this before, and she felt like she was truly fleeing for her young life. Heart racing, she zigzagged through the kitchen, steadying herself on the wooden tables and counters with a single hand as she passed them. There was the door, so close, and Mrs. Dashlom just behind her, screeching like she had never heard her before, and then she was outside, and the air felt full of fire and she was choking on tears and her own breath and her knees were shaking and her heart was pounding.

And there was the woodland behind the House, always warned against, and suddenly it was the most beautiful thing in the world. Charisse dived in, the edges of her dress torn to ribbons in moments. Brush scratched at her bare ankles and face, but she pressed on, and she paused for a moment, turning over one shoulder to look behind her, and Mrs. Dashlom was standing at the edge, full of uncertainty and more rage than one old woman should be able to hold.

Her breath came in great, heaving gasps, but she was safe, for now. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she crumpled on to the leafy ground, hugging a young tree beside her for support as tears streamed down her face.

She sat and watched, and waited for Mrs. Dashlom to go away and forget anything had ever happened. She would wait there for years if she had to.

* * * * * * * * *

Chase walked the entire day, having to pay more and more conscious attention to the path ahead of her as it grew rougher. Thick mosses and vines draped from the treetops, and the ground was rocky and mostly covered with uneven roots clambering over and under one another. Everything seemed as though it was entangled in something else. Small strains of ivy and mistletoe grew on the bushes and shrubs surrounding her. Grass was rarer, but grew in thick, wiry clumps that came up past her knees.

Night found her still working her way through the rough land. She didn't hear running water nearby, but the ground was thick and swampy. Instead of stepping over the tree roots in her way, she did her best to walk on them, keeping her boots out of the stagnant mud. When she did slip a little, it took a lot of effort to pull her foot out of its sucking grasp.

It was hard to find a path to follow in all of the tangle of undergrowth, and Chase could tell that she getting very close to the border. As the sun disappeared, light was getting hard to come by. She considered for a moment pressing on, feeling her way in the dark. It was a simple thing, slow but effective when she didn't want to stop. She could find a walking staff to help. She could keep going all night and reach the border by morning.

She could, if this was normal territory. It was another skill she'd practiced in case of necessity. But this was some of the most dangerous land in the Nzera, unpredictable and risky, even for Nzarel. It didn't escape her notice that she hadn't seen ground tracks for a good deal of the afternoon. As the last pieces of grey light faded, she gathered two large armfuls of pliable, leafy branches from shrubs, and some of the tall grass she had been walking through, and arranged a secure place to bed down for the night, nestled between two high roots right near the base of one of the monster trees. The foliage was patted down on the leaf-ridden dirt so as to keep her out of the muck.

Chase piled some of the leaves on top of herself for a little bit of insulated warmth. The she curled up against the trunk with her carrier under her head and fell asleep in the dark cathedral of the Nzera, surrounded by the eerie, sing-song voices of the night and the never ending whispering of the trees themselves in her appreciative ear.

* * * * * * * * *

She woke with a start the next morning, her skin clammy and covered in goose pimples. She took a moment to adjust before opening her eyes, and looked around with mild surprise.

The world was shrouded in mist.

She couldn't see clearly for more than a handful of paces in any direction, and the canopy above was veiled completely. The spider webs she had missed as the light died were clearly visible, every strand drooping in the weight of dew. Only the vague forms of trees stood out in the grey world, like columns, their rafters hidden almost completely in the fog.

She sat up, her body stiff with the unexpected chill she'd received when the mist rolled in. Her internal time piece told her it was still very early in the morning; just before dawn, by the looks of it. She took a deep breath in, and got a mouthful of water vapor. She could have tried to drink from the air simply be breathing it, it was that damp.

She got her bearings quickly, and headed east as she had been before night interfered. It was harder to find her path than it had been a day before, and now she was dealing with this mist. The cloudiness made her wonder how natural it could be. She certainly hadn't come across anything like it before when getting near the border. It was perfectly plausible that it was just the weather acting peculiar, and she made mental note to be wary of storms later in the day.

But there was something about it that seemed wrong in a way. As likely as it could be her level of inexperience with strange weather speaking its part, it could very well be some spirit. She had a certain level of inexperience with those as well, being fortunate enough to not have any close encounters with their kind. Did they create mists that veiled the world like layers of gossamer sheets? She didn't know, and she made a mental note to be wary of them, as well.

The going was much rougher now. The ground was soggier and more hazardous should her toe slip in to a mud hole, but the roots she tried to find purchase on were slippery with dew and wet moss, which was unstable to begin with. She often found herself running forward just to try and maintain her balance, and she hoped she'd find the border soon, just to be out of this hazardous area.

That wasn't a thing she found herself asking for often. To leave the forest promptly? For a Nzarel, it was actually laughable. She allowed herself a wry smile, pausing on a root, poised with a cat's balance. She remained frozen in that pose for a moment, then the wet moss underneath her feet gave way, and she slipped unceremoniously in to a clump of leaves and low-lying weeds. The incongruity forced a chuckle from her as her grin broadened.

She continued on, still giggling softly. Her clothes were dense and heavy from the fog hanging off of them, and they clung to her cold skin, but she didn't feel cold at all. Or, if she did, it was comfortably cool, like taking a dip in a stream on a hot summer's day. Wasn't it supposed to be a hot summer's day? The thought set up a new set of chortles. She sighed, shaking her head slowly in wonderment at the idea that this should be a summer's day at all when it felt so cool.

Her attention wandered for just a bit, and the toe of her boot jammed its way under a ground level vine, one of the flowering kinds with funnel - shaped blooms all blue violet in hue. Now Chase was laughing out loud. When was the last time she'd tripped on something without going at breakneck speed, and even then? For that matter, when was the last time she'd seen any Nzarel slip up like she just had there? She was acting like a green-footed Outsider, of all things!

She put it off good-naturedly, but then she was truly laughing in earnest. She took another few steps, but tripped once more. This time she fell to the ground, a deep belly laugh forcing her to curl in on herself, her face screwed up in mirth. She steadied herself with one hand on the nearest tree, and let it pour from her.

A mental image came to her of herself, crumpled up like she was, and now she was having fits, struggling to breathe as her other hand reached up to wipe tears from her eyes. Then she snorted, and she was lost, hooting and laughing hysterically at nothing and everything, until her sides burned and it was all she could do to inhale at all. It was all just so damn funny!

It was getting very hard to breathe, and her head was doing funny things to her, getting dizzy and swamped with strange, random thoughts that just made her laugh more. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she went from her knees to rolled up on her side, hugging her belly as she screamed with laughter. She couldn't even open her eyes, and tears streamed down her face. Somewhere in the midst of all of the hilarity, it occurred to her that if this kept up, she was going to pass out, but that just made everything worse, and she gave herself up for lost.

Wouldn't death by laughter be an ironic thing…?

Then the world faded out in an impossibly giddy explosion of sparkles, against a backdrop of growing black.

* * * * * * * * *

Chase came to with a sore head and an ache in her sides that made her wonder if she'd been sliced open when she hadn't been aware. She still wasn't aware, actually. For the second time that day, she woke up to a familiar place she didn't quite recognize, only this time around, it wasn't in such a painless, snap-to fashion. Gingerly, she sat up, pulling her legs underneath her body and leaning on her left hand.

Her right checked herself over, somewhat blindly. There was her carrier, safe and sound on her shoulder. Her belt was still intact, with what seemed to be all her weaponry still firmly in place where it belonged. Her ribs were sore, but from what she could tell, they were intact. Leaves were tangled in her hair, and she busied herself with pulling them out one by one as she found them, as her eyes roved the unfamiliar place.

She was in some kind of grove, surrounded by thicket and close-growing trees. It was still foggy, and now the sight invoked nothing but fear from her, a response she shoved out of the way for the time being. Fear was going to be useless in her condition.

The light had grown stronger, even through the decidedly unnatural mist, but it was impossible to tell what direction it was coming from, or even what direction she was facing, so she couldn't determine what time of day it was.

She was actually off to the side of the grove. In the center was a clear pool, nearly completely motionless. Its surface was as slick as glass, and just as transparent. It went down several feet, becoming nearly black at its center.

Something strange was growing up from the water in the center of the reflecting pool. It was like a tree made from vines, the trunk twisting and entwining straight up in to the canopy, then spreading out in to tendrils across the branches. The ground was swathed in clover, some in bunches that came up to her navel while she was sitting. Her hands all but disappeared in the wet, lush undergrowth, and the sweet smell of its tiny white flowers filled the air.

Chase shivered, not fully understanding what was happening. She couldn't comprehend the image of laughing herself in to a stupor, but her memory showed her the event over and over, as though from a bystander's point of view. She also shivered from being cold. Every inch of skin was damp, and every inch sported prominent goose pimples. If she hadn't thought it cool before, her standpoint had definitely changed. Of course, she didn't think anything about her situation to be very funny, either, and that was the biggest change.

She considered simply standing up and leaving, but she didn't know where she was, and she had the not-so-faint impression that she shouldn't walk away just yet. Well of course not, she thought dimly, her own mental voice coming to her through a fog nearly as thick as the physical one around her. Your ankles are roped down. She wasn't sure how she'd managed to miss that before, but then, she still wasn't thinking clearly.

She settled back against the tree behind her, following the rope on her ankles with her fingers to the upraised root it had been lashed to. She sighed as she looked at the knot. It was s tricky thing; she wouldn't be able to get out of it without cutting it, and as pliable as the material was, the rope was slick and hard. She doubted a knife would quite do the job. Whatever had tied her here knew what it was doing, and the fact that she wasn't dead or dismembered yet lent itself to the assumption that her best bet would be to wait until that thing returned.

She didn't have long to wait.

A few moments later, Chase was partway through readjusting her legs to keep her feet from falling asleep, when the mist began to dissipate all of a sudden. At first she didn't notice, because it was still present around the edges of the grove, but within it became clear. She could see full up to the top of the awkward vine tree. There were glimpses of blue above the canopy, even though the Nzera was cloaked in every direction besides straight up.

She turned to re-examine the tethers put on her, but stopped the movement halfway, her eyes locked forward. Before her was an image she hadn't counted on seeing in her life. It was monstrously huge, with fur the same color as the fog behind it, and twice as insubstantial. It lifted one paw, revealing long, clawed fingers, and smiled. Pearly fangs gleamed in the half-light around them.

“Oh good,” it cooed, twirling its paw in a strange, welcoming wave, then bowed its head. “The little human girl is awake.”