She had no idea how long the journey through the woods had taken them. At first, the dark brown, linen bag had hindered her quite a lot. It felt as if she was being throttled slowly, her breaths quick and shallow. She had to force the panic down again and again, pushing it back down her throat. The faint scent of onions lingered in her nostrils and had her lingering on the edge of sneezing the entire journey. As she grew accustomed to the bag, the panic faded and she finally became mistress over her own mind again.
The stealth with which her saviors moved through the woods struck her. It almost felt as if she was the only one present, blundering through the thicket, as she did. Yet, there was always a hand, preventing her to walk into a low branch or guiding her around a gnarly root. With the initial adrenaline now faded, she felt exhaustion claiming her body, her muscles stiff and sore.
They didn’t speak. She had heard tales about these woodsmen though, with their black-fletched arrows. They were Ravens. The city folk of Guldenbrandt had a lot of sayings about these men, and none of these were particularly friendly. “A Raven carries the storm on its wings”, or, “There’s only darkness in a Raven’s eyes.” They were outlaws, poachers, smugglers and thieves, loyal to King nor law. If you wanted to disappear or were hunted by the law, the Ravens was were you went to start anew. Each year, at the beginning of spring and the end of summer, a large detachment of soldiers was sent into the Blackwoods to hunt down these outlaws. Many did not return though, as the Ravens were rumored to be master woodsmen, hiding in the shadows in a forest they knew inside out. Their arrows rarely missed and did not care whether you were deer or a knight of the King’s Lance. These were her saviors, although she wasn’t sure if that was the word to use. She had no idea where she was being taken or whom this Wolf character was they spoke about. A name, she decided, that did not bode well.
As their journey continued, she was overcome by the strange trance the fixed pace and timelessness had brought. One foot in front of the other, repeated endlessly. Had they walked all night? She honestly could not say. A sudden, short whistle pulled her from her trance. Somewhere, to the left, in front of them, someone whistled an answer. For the first time, the silence was broken, as she heard a chuckle. A raspy voice she had not heard before, clearly grinning, greeted them. “A strange catch you bring us tonight, Greybeard...not a lot of meat on that one, if you ask me. At best some ribs to munch on.” Now several of the men around her laughed. “Better hunt your own then, Ratter!”, the voice she recognized as Dermott’s riposted, his hand still on her shoulder. She heard a soft thud, as if someone landed on the forest floor, sliding down from a branch overhead. “Well, well, well, what have we here then? Our little whelp is showing his teeth…maybe I should pull them, before he learns to bite. “ She felt how Dermott’s fingers tightened their grip on her shoulder. The man they had called Greybeard grunted. “Enough, you blabbering bunch of idiots…is Wolf in?”
The rasping voice of the first man let out another chuckle. “Oh, he’s in alright and in a mood as pleasant as a bear’s you woke from hibernation. Good luck with him, you’ll need it.”
The hand on her shoulder pushed her gently into motion again and the group found their previous pace once again within seconds. She felt Dermott clearly bump into something as they did, catching her off balance a single moment. “Whoreson”, she heard the boy muttering under his breath as they walked on. The stealth was now broken though and she could hear the men around her joke and talk. Now and then, she could hear their footfall and she smelled the scent of sweet tobacco on the air. Voices in the night greeted them as they continued and she could hear how a fire crackled under a gust of wind.
Dermott’s hand slowly coerced her into a halt. “I’d close my eyes, if I were you”, he advised as he removed the bag from her head, just a tad late. Ione blinked against the sudden burst of light, squinting as the radiance of several fire pits in the night greeted her. Gradually, the vague silhouettes around her became clear, as her eyes grew accustomed to the light again. She noticed the shadowy contours of several huts, tucked in amongst the trees. Hides and pelts were stretched on racks to dry and cure, and even though the night was clearly old already, there was still a lot of movement in the campsite. “Welcome to Cárfenn”, Dermott grinned, “although I guess you folk would call it the Raven’s Nest.” Ione smiled faintly, ignoring the young outlaw, as she wondered how deep they had entered the Blackwoods. No wonder the knights of the King’s Lance had trouble finding these outlaws, she thought. She scanned the faces of the men and women around her. Almost everyone wore the distinctive greens and greys she had seen on her escort. A bit further on, she recognized the large shape of the one they called Greybeard, caught in a hushed conversation with another man. She felt their occasional glances rest on her and shivered, wondering what their attention could mean. “Cold?”, Dermott asked. “Why don’t you sit down at a fire?” She shook her head, but stepped closer to the nearest fire pit nevertheless. She extended her hands towards it’s warmth and slowly massaged life back into her cold fingers.
The tall, wiry man Greybeard had been talking to, touched the giant outlaw on the shoulder once in a amical gesture, before striding off into the shadows of the nocturnal forest. Greybeard turned his gaze upon Ione and walked up to them. For the first time, she noticed the sheer size of the man. He towered head and shoulder above most here, somewhat resembling an erect bear, as he stood before her. In the light of the fire, she could now see the grey patches running through his otherwise dark beard that had given him his nickname.
“Dermott…”, he spoke with a deep, dark voice, “…find our guest something to eat and show her where she van freshen up, should she desire so. It has been a long trek and the night isn’t over just yet.” The young outlaw jumped up, willingly and eager, like a young buck, smiling at her. “Come, I’ll show you..”, he said, offering a hand. She smiled, but was all too aware of Greybeard’s eyes resting upon her. Meekly, she followed her eager chaperone deeper into the camp.
Elongated, wooden cabins, recessed several feet into the forest floor, offered enough space to house a family, and made up the bulk of the structures in Cárfenn. The tilted roofs were covered in a thick layer of moss and plant life, acting as a natural barrier against the cold. Most cabins had a single room, the beds embedded into the wooden walls to save up on space. The beds were covered in pelts and furs, for comfort and warmth. In the middle, you would find a fire pit, for both heat and cooking. You would often find strips of venison hanging from the ceiling, smoked and dried for winter. In a small pot or cauldron, a stew would be slowly simmering, often made with venison, boar or pheasant, all of it poached, since it was forbidden to hunt in the Blackwoods. A right reserved for the King and his guests, Ione remembered. Everything the woods offered, was used in Cárfenn, and nothing was wasted.
Dermott pulled her into one of the cabins, still holding her hand. She was greeted by scents unknown to her. A short, plump man hobbled in between several cauldrons, beads of sweat running down his forehead. Vapors and steam danced and swirled into the air and the heat of the room wafted into her face as she entered. Barrels were lined against the walls, some opened, others carefully sealed for storage. Several makeshift bouquets of plants and herbs she did not know the names of were hanging from the ceiling, slowly waltzing in the rising heat, drying as they did. Next to them, caught in the same dance, there were hams and haunches, smoked and cured to last the winter.
The little man looked up as they entered and started shaking his head, frantically wielding a wooden ladle, as if it was a knightly longsword. “No! no! no!, Dermott…thrice no! I will not serve you or any of your little hunting party anything anymore tonight. It’s far too late…no and no again…now get lost.” He poked the ladle into Ione’s direction. “That means you too, missy…”, he nearly squealed in a high-pitched voice, as if he was close to breaking down. Ione could not help but smile and the appearance of this strange little man, and even Dermott watched the entire spectacle with a wide grin on his face. “Can’t say I’ll be bothered by your bedtime, Toad, Greybeard’s orders…so you better conjure me and this lovely lady here a hot meal quickly. The night’s cold out there.”
The little man Dermott had called Toad snorted indignantly. “Fetch this, Toad, prepare that…all night long. Gluttons! The lot of you! But woe me if there isn’t anything left for breakfast come dawn, I wouldn’t hear the last of it.” Toad started lifted several lids, inspecting the contents of cauldrons and pots alike, muttering to himself the whole time. “All’s gone, eaten already…I haven’t got anything to serve you two…well, maybe some soup…and some bread to go with that. That’s all!
I might still have some cheese left as well, maybe paired with a handful of nuts?
As Toad hobbled through the pantry, a meal grew with every barrel, pot and sack he inspected. Dermott winked at Ione and before long, Toad served them a surprisingly rich meal.
“Now get out of my kitchen, slavers, the lot of you!”. He ushered them towards the door, still wildly gesturing with his wooden ladle, sending drops of soup and stock flying through the room.
“The Five be damned, worse than a plague of locusts, you all are!”. Dermott and Ione fled outside, laughing heartily at Toad’s antics. They found a quiet spot between two fire pits and inspected their bounty. The sight and scents of the fresh food suddenly reminded Ione how long it had been since she had a proper meal. Without speaking, they gorged themselves on smoked venison, pasty, grass cheese and dark, crumbly rye bread. Ione opened a sealed jug and sniffed it. To her own surprise, she identified the sweat, sticky scent of fresh mead. They might live in the woods, but Ravens sure ate well, she thought. She drank deep, giving into the warm sensation slowly spreading inside her body.
“What kind of name is Toad anyway?”, she mused. Dermott shrugged. “Men that come here are not asked for their names. Most of them have more than one reason not to give it anyway. That’s why they are given a new name, like Greybeard, Toad or Wolf. Nicknames really”
She tilted her head and looked at him. “But you’re just Dermott? That’s hardly a nickname, is it?”
The boy flashed his trademark grin. “Born and raised in Cárfenn, that’s me. I never really had another name.” He took a generous swig of the mead. “We do not call ourselves Ravens neither”, he continued, happily chatting away, oblivious of her careful and calculated demeanor. “We are the Alvai. Greybeard once told me it means ‘equals’ in the old tongue.” He grabbed a twig and started poking in between his teeth, getting on his feet again. “Come, I’ll show you where you can freshen up. After that, I’ll take you to the Wolf.” Ione’s muscles protested when she tried to stand again, her ribs still sore. The mention of this Wolf did not fill her with joy and she swallowed down a growing lump of mead and anxiety as Dermott helped her up. Oblivious to her predicament, he trailed her to a small, fast-flowing river, roaring happily in the otherwise silent night.
Ione sought a spot where the river bank was accessible and kneeled with some difficulty. She extended her arms forward and pierced the water surface with both hands, cupping the ice-cold water, splashing it in her face. The cold bite forced her out of her sudden depression and with quick, calculated gestures, she washed the mud from her hair. With wet hands, she repeatedly rubbed her face in an attempt to clear off most of the muck. She swatted the now dried mud from her clothing, adjusting her outfit to the best of her ability. She rose again and nodded to Dermott.
“I am ready.”
“Let’s go then!”, he beamed as he started leading her through the camp. They navigated past the fire pits and small groups of men and women, high on brandy wine and laughter, towards the northern end of the encampment. There were few fires here and the cabins rose up as large shadows, looming in the calm and moonlight. With each step that lead them into the dark and away from the fire and laughter, Ione found it harder to force herself to walk on. Encountering this Wolf was not something she was keen on and a shiver ran along her spine as she imagined the hundreds of little eyes, watching her from the undergrowth. Dermott didn’t seem to notice her fear and pushed on into the near dark, until he was halted by the looming, shadowy form of an isolated cabin. Somewhere , deep in the woods, the haunting cry of a hunting owl echoed through the night. A dark cloud slowly obscured the moon. Hesitatingly, she reached for the door.
The fact Dermott grinned and whispered “best of luck”, did not help.