Whisper of the Wilding Woods: Chapter 7
Whisper of the Wilding Woods: Chapter 7
Foraging. Kaeleth strings his father's bow. A moment's respite by the fire.
Chapter 7
Kaeleth scanned the forest, searching for familiar landmarks. It had been ages since he’d been beyond the steep cliff face, and his father had always led the way before. He knew it was largely a matter of following the river, but the land above the cliffs swept upwards, gaining elevation and becoming difficult to navigate. This place was called the Devil’s Claw, so named for the steep-walled river canyons that appeared to have been scratched into the ground by some long-forgotten demon god. It was these steep ravines and rocky canyons that gave Kaeleth confidence that their pursuers would not be able to follow. The Devil’s Claw was a maze of uncrossable rivers and canyons that terminated in cascading waterfalls that would further delay the soldiers by forcing them to travel downstream and away from the cliffs just to find safe crossings before locating another place to scale the cliff to the upper forest.
After winding their own way around a particularly large ravine, the bottom of which was a choked mass of deadfall and swift-moving water, Kaeleth was fairly certain they were nearing the campsite he’d been searching for. He’d been favoring quick and easy movement over attempts to obscure their tracks, and it paid off when they emerged onto a rocky outcrop with daylight to spare. The campsite consisted of three large boulders that would serve as both windscreen and barrier to mask the light of their fire. Though there was certainly no chance of the soldiers spotting their fire, Kaeleth was still keen to avoid the attention of those few hunters who ranged into this treacherous region in search of elusive cobbrets whose highly-prized fur fetched large sums in the distant markets of Aerdholm and Inverburie. Judging by how thoroughly the stone fire ring had been washed clean of ash and soot by summer rain, the campsite hadn’t been used in some time. Kaeleth self-consciously adjusted his father’s bow while trying to determine the best use of their time before night fell. They had a good hour or two yet, but there was much to do.
“Have you any knowledge of herblore?” he asked the girl.
She stared at him blankly before shaking her head.
“Fishing?” he asked.
“I have a notion of how it might be accomplished,” she replied. “Though no experience beyond reading about it in books.”
Which was no help at all. They couldn’t afford to lose any of their few hooks, or worse, damage Kaeleth’s delicate horsehair line beyond repair. The girl seemed utterly unfamiliar with the wilderness. Though Kaeleth wasn’t sure what else he’d expected of what had most likely been a pampered upbringing in some city house. She’d probably had servants to do every little thing for her. Still, there had to be something she could do to help without Kaeleth having to hold her hand the entire time.
“You remember what sorelberries look like?” he asked. “Pick as many as you can, then gather wood for a fire. There’s a creek for water. I’ll show you where it is before I go.”
“You’re leaving?” Her brows arched upwards in confusion.
“To hunt,” he said. “I may be gone until after dark. Don’t stray too far from camp.”
The girl seemed to want to say something, but blessedly, she held her tongue. Kaeleth was in no mood to coddle her any more than he already had. The climb up the cliff face had been exhausting, and this campsite brought back too many reminders of his father who would never again sit by the fire and share tales of the hunt or impart some bit of wisdom he’d gleaned over the years. Kaeleth was on his own now. Worse, he had to look after this silly girl. It would take every bit of his energy and attention to keep himself alive in the coming days, never mind ensuring she didn’t kill herself by eating the wrong berries or blundering off the edge of the river canyon when the urge to piss overtook her in the night.
Wordlessly, they made their way to a small, yet swift little creek that fed into the larger river. The bottoms of the sorelberry bushes had been stripped clean by animals, but there were enough to be found on the upper branches. It was close enough to the campsite that the girl would have no trouble finding her way back, so Kaeleth drank his fill and set off into the woods. After a half hour of walking, he unslung his father’s bow from his back and knelt beside a brocket trail. Unwrapping the bow with great solemnity, he ran his fingers along the smooth yew wood. He could not remember how or when his father had acquired the bow. It was older than Kaeleth’s earliest memories. Old enough that it should have been retired long ago. His father had taken great pains to care for it, religiously rubbing it down with a paste of linseed oil and beeswax before and after each summer hunting season. It was a plain bow, unadorned but for a simple leather wrap in the center grip. It had become fashionable to paint or lightly etch runes on bows to provide luck during a hunt, but his father had eschewed what he believed foolish superstition.
Besides, his father had said after Kaeleth had once asked about painting his own small bow, what sort of man would ask the gods to do his work for him when he is perfectly capable of doing it himself?
Kaeleth smiled at this memory as he unfurled a bowstring and set about attaching it to the bow. It took every bit of strength he had to affix the string, and when he drew it experimentally, he was dismayed to discover he could not pull it halfway to its full draw length. Even releasing it slowly from this distance was so difficult, the string nearly slipped from Kaeleth’s fingers, and he narrowly avoided dry loosing. His father’s voice chastising him for potentially damaging the bow through inattention rang in his head as he retrieved one of his precious few arrows. At full draw, the bow could propel an arrow clean through a brocket’s neck from a hundred yards. Though he hated to even consider it, Kaeleth knew he really only needed a fraction of that force to wound the animal badly enough for him to stalk and kill it with subsequent shots. Provided, of course, he could land enough on target without losing or breaking any arrows. It was bad craft to make an animal suffer so, but Kaeleth wasn’t able to hunt, he wasn’t sure how long they’d survive on berries and whatever other plant forage could be found this late in the season.
First, he had to find something to shoot at. Since the Devil’s Claw was rarely visited by men, wild game was abundant and considerably less wary than animals who lived nearer the more populated areas down below. Luck was on his side, for the brocket run showed signs of recent use. Thin stems of leaves bent out of place. Hoof prints, still distinct at the edges. A precariously snagged clump of brocket hair that hadn’t yet blown away with the first stiff wind. At least one animal had passed this way recently. If Kaeleth remembered well, and he wasn’t as sure of it as he’d liked to have been, there was a meandering stream somewhere in this direction. Animals would come to drink in the high heat of the afternoon, making them an easy target. His father would have disdained the act of hunting an animal while it drank, but these were not ordinary times. Kaeleth hunted not for skins to sell at market, but for survival. He would do whatever it took to put meat in his belly. A man could not survive on berries alone.
It was comfortingly easy to slip back into the habit of creeping stealthily through the forest. Kaeleth did his best to parallel the brocket run without losing sight of it and was after a time able to move with confidence, given the lay of the land and the knowledge of how brocket tended to travel through the forest. His father had taught him to think and move like his quarry, and it was almost more natural than walking normally. Tired as he was, it felt good to have something to focus on. Something he could control. Kaeleth did his best to forget about the girl back at the campsite and the ridiculous situation she’d gotten him into. He slipped into his role of hunter like an old cloak, wrapping it around himself and giving himself over to the hunt.
Before long he found himself approaching a stream. It was smaller than he remembered, but then again he’d been smaller the last time he was here. The sun glinted off the surface, making it too difficult to see if any fish lurked in the current. If hunting with the bow was a failure, Kaeleth would attempt to fish the twilight hour when fish were most apt to bite, but he preferred to catch larger game that he could prepare and carry for the days ahead. Especially since he didn’t know if he’d have another opportunity to hunt in the coming days.
Sinking to his haunches with his back to a tree and a squat bush in front of him to mask his outline, Kaeleth settled in to wait. Birds that had scattered at his approach returned, warbling gaily while the shadows slowly shifted. Sitting idle for so long might have driven anyone else mad, but such calm concentration on the forest brought Kaeleth much peace. The forest breathed a steady rhythm if one knew how to listen. Leaves rustled in the wind. A tree creaked somewhere in the distance. Rodents scurried through the underbrush. Kaeleth had spent so much of his life sitting among the trees in just this way, that he could almost believe his father would step out of the trees at any moment, a ten-horned stag draped over his broad shoulders. Almost. The weight of the bow in his hands was a constant reminder to the contrary.
Doubt clouded Kaeleth’s thoughts. It had been foolish to take his father’s bow instead of his own. As much as he valued the only remaining link to his father, what use was a bow he couldn’t properly draw? Had he brought his own bow, or even thought to carry both, he could easily have hunted and survived in the wilderness until the winter snows came. Even then, with enough fur and a safe place to build a shelter, the snow would pose little threat. But survival in those conditions depended on animals too large to trap by other means. A snared rabbit would provide food for a day or two, but he could not line a shelter or easily make a heavy cloak from their fur. Foraging plants would keep the bloodgum disease at bay, but do little enough to sustain him. And he wasn’t alone. There was the girl to consider, not to mention the men hunting her. In order to remain agile, Kaeleth had to use this time to hunt. It was only with a supply of meat that they’d be able to keep their feet in the days ahead.
The faintest rustle of leaves drew Kaeleth’s attention back to reality. He squinted into the flat evening light, wondering when had it become so late without him noticing. Had he drifted off to sleep? Angry with himself for his inattentiveness, he scanned the trees for whatever had made the sound. It didn’t take long for him to spot the twitch of a small brown ear, followed shortly thereafter by the godsent sight of a small brocket stepping carefully toward the water where it lowered its head to drink.
Knowing he’d have only seconds to make his shot, Kaeleth nocked an arrow and raised it with deliberate slowness so as not to give himself away. Fingertips on the bowstring, he inhaled deeply, then let his breath flow out in a long and steady exhalation. Kaeleth pulled back on the bowstring, but it would not yield more than two handspans — a third of its draw distance. The cords on his neck bulged from the strain, and Kaeleth felt his aim wobble as he fought to gain another handspan. The brocket was only thirty paces from Kaeleth’s position, and at his current level of draw the arrow would fall to the ground barely halfway across that distance.
Even this effort was too much to hold steady enough to aim, so Kaeleth eased pressure off the string and tried to catch his breath and calm his furiously beating heart. The brocket seemed content to sip water, its stubby tail flicking back and forth in blissful ignorance of the threat to its life. Though in his current condition, Kaeleth could hardly be considered a real threat. Rested and at full strength, Kaeleth could not have drawn the bow back to its proper position, but it might have been enough to make this shot. Now, having walked for the better part of three straight days with little water and nearly no food, it was unthinkable.
Still, he had to try.
Once again, Kaeleth raised the bow and sighted down the arrow. “Please, father,” he murmured, ashamed at the tears burning in the corners of his eyes, “lend me strength.”
Kaeleth pulled as hard as he could, but the bow refused to yield. If anything, it was more difficult than his first effort. The muscles of his arms had been tested to their absolute limit, and now protested further attempts that might tear and snap them from Kaeleth’s bones. After once again easing the bowstring back to neutral, Kaeleth wiped tears from his cheeks with the back of a hand as he watched the brocket lift its head and spring off into the trees. A perfect opportunity gone to waste. The sun had sunk low, tinging a few fluffy clouds high in the sky a vibrant orange. The rest of the forest was bathed in the shadow of oncoming night. In a matter of minutes, it would be too dark to fish, and even more difficult to find his way back to camp. There would be no meat tonight. Nor the next if Kaeleth continued to weaken.
Steeling himself for the embarrassment of having to explain his failure to the girl, Kaeleth unstrung his father’s bow, wrapped it along with the arrows, and began the trek back to camp. He considered setting a few traps for smaller game that might blunder into them in the night, but it would take hours to identify a good run and build snares or deadfall traps from scavenged materials. The fishing line would double as a snare line if he was desperate, but it was too risky. Snares were tricky enough business, and in his current state, he was worried a mistake would result in the loss of the line altogether.
Full dark had settled in by the time Kaeleth reached the edge of camp. The sheltered area behind the boulders was unlit by fire, and he approached cautiously in case someone else had discovered the girl and lay in wait. It was only when he peered around the edge of a rock to see the girl huddled in her cloak in the lee of the largest boulder that he called out a warning and stepped into the open where the moonlight illuminated him.
“There’s no meat,” he said, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice. “But I’ll make us a fire. I scavenged some idrus flowers, though, and I’ll make us a tea to stave off the hunger.”
“I’ve collected wood,” the girl said. She straightened and gestured to a sizable pile of stacked sticks and branches, some as thick as Kaeleth’s arm. “I didn’t know what was best, so I brought as much as I could. I also gathered some green boughs to serve as bedding.”
“That was well done,” Kaeleth said as he unslung his father’s bow and laid it to the side. He then collected a bundle of the smallest twigs and set about arranging them in the fire. When he was satisfied with his construction, he placed a small pinch of the waxed yarn fuzz in the center and struck the back of his knife against the sparksteel until the yarn caught a spark. Careful not to overdo it, Kaeleth blew on the spark until it became a flame that jumped easily to the kindling. In a matter of minutes, he had a small yet cheery fire that would last the night if they continued to feed it with the fuel the girl had gathered.
“There are berries,” the girl said. “I also found some mushrooms and these roots that may be edible? I saw a rodent nibbling them and thought it best to harvest some just in case.”
Kaeleth moved to the girl’s side of the fire and inspected her foraged goods. She’d collected enough berries to fend off starvation for one more night, and she’d been wise to pluck the willowherb with the roots intact.
“Did you eat any of these mushrooms?” he asked.
The girl shook her head.
“These are ladies of the grave,” Kaeleth explained. He used the tip of his knife to point out the soft skirt flowing out from beneath the cap. “A single one of these in a pot of stew will kill everyone who eats it.”
The girl’s eyes widened and she shrunk back as though merely sitting in close proximity to them would have the same effect. “I had no idea. I only wanted to help.”
“You did well with the berries and willowherb. Tomorrow I’ll show you which mushrooms are safe and which to avoid. We’ll have to forage as much as possible if we’re to keep our strength up. Let’s go to the creek now. Best if you wash your hands after touching those mushrooms.”
After a short walk to the creek to wash and fill Kaeleth’s cup with water, they returned to the fire where Kaeleth set the tin cup over some coals. He sprinkled the idrus flowers into the water to steep, then showed the girl how to split the willowherb and scrape out the edible center. Each willowherb stem provided only a little sustenance, but the tender inner shoots would balance the effects of eating too many berries. It was no use filling your belly if you were just going to shit yourself to death a few days later. Berries were fine in small quantities, but without something like willowherb or edible mushrooms to balance them in the stomach, they could be as dangerous as eating a lady of the grave.
When the tea reached a boil, Kaeleth used a stick to drag it from the coals so it would cool enough to pick up. He had many questions for the girl, but couldn’t find his tongue long enough to ask even one. Instead, he sat silently by the fire, trying to make sense of the mysterious stranger who’d landed in his care. Beneath the tangled knots and leaves in her hair and the purple and green of her swollen jaw and eye, there was an air of haughtiness he couldn’t quite understand. Shabbily dressed in his old clothes, she should have looked like an urchin who was lucky to make her bed in the corner of a barn when she wasn’t curling up in the shelter of a doorway. A hardness in her eyes belied the outwardly haggard appearance. Imperiousness roiled just below the surface, as though she refused to accept her current circumstances. She always sat primly with legs to the side as girls did when wearing skirts, and her back was straight and tall. Her shoulders were square and high, not slumped like Kaeleth felt his own. When he looked at her, he felt very much beneath her station. Even injured as she was, she used his knife deftly and precisely, scraping each willowherb clean before rolling the shoots into a small bundle which she placed into her mouth with thumb and forefinger as though it were a delicate morsel prepared in the King’s own kitchen.
Aline. The name was as foreign as her accent. What was the girl been doing so far from home? If not for the small company of rough men in her service, Kaeleth would have thought her to be of noble blood. But no one of elevated station would travel with so little accompaniment, would they? Kaeleth had to admit he knew little of the nobility except that they rarely ventured far from their stately homes and protected hunting reserves. The only time he’d ever seen a noble was during Kilkinnikin festival days, and even then they’d had their own galleries and parties that were guarded against riffraff like Kaeleth and his father.
A merchant’s daughter after all, Kaeleth decided as he passed the cup to her after taking a sip of his own. Perhaps one who served nobility? Kaeleth could imagine the daughter of such a man taking on airs. Though, to be fair, she had yet to boss Kaeleth around. Not that he would stand for it. He almost laughed at the idea of her trying to order him to do something for her. If she dared try it, she’d quickly learn that survival could become much more difficult than it already was without his freely given aid.
“The tea does help the hunger,” she said after passing the cup back. Then she surprised him by smiling. “And the willowherb is surprisingly delicious. Though I’d not turn down a crust of bread were I offered. And cakes for after.”
Kaeleth couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Bread and cakes? He wondered if the girl had ever spent more than a few hours away from a hearth in her life. Kaeleth couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a sweetcake. Winter solstice most likely. There weren’t many occasions when Miss Clayre turned her efforts to baking cookies and cakes.
“It’s going to be lean days for a while, I’m afraid,” he said. “Best get used to the idea. Thinking about the food you can’t have will only make it worse.”
Slight as it had been, the smile fell from Aline’s face. She nodded in understanding and somehow managed to make Kaeleth feel like a cad for depriving her of her small moment of happiness.
“How’s your arm?” Kaeleth asked quickly, softening the words with genuine concern.
Aline grimaced. “Itchy. And dreadfully sore after all that climbing. It is not entirely unbearable, though.”
Kaeleth was tired. He wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep until the sun rose, when their host of problems could not be ignored any longer. Instead, he urged the girl to swallow the last sip of idrus tea, then told her he’d return in a moment. Cup in hand, he went to the creek to retrieve more water which he brought back and set near enough to the fire that it would warm without coming to a boil.
“I’m going to change the bandage on your arm,” he informed the girl. “You’ll need to… um. Your shirt, that is…”
She looked at him uncomprehendingly, then the realization of what he was asking dawned on her. Even in the firelight, Kaeleth saw her blush from her neck to the roots of her hair. But she didn’t protest. Seeming to understand the necessity of the action, she unfastened her cloak and let it fall behind her. She then motioned for Kaeleth to turn around, and after much grunting, some whimpering, and at least one unladylike utterance, cleared her throat and said, “You may look now.”
Kaeleth turned, and his breath caught in his throat. He had little experience with women aside from swimming naked together when he’d been young enough that boys and girls looked altogether the same from the waist up. Seeing Aline in the firelight, shirt clutched to her chest, he felt suddenly lightheaded and unable to remember exactly what it was he’d been about to do. The skin on her neck was pale and smooth, curving gently into breasts that looked all the more appealing for being covered by the bunched up fabric of her shirt. His shirt, he reminded himself. With her face as battered and bruised as it was, and dressed in over-large trousers and a cloak, it had been easy to ignore her femininity. Now it was unthinkable that he should notice anything else.
“My back is rather chilly,” she said. “Might we hurry this along?”
Kaeleth muttered an apology and then crouched beside her. The bandage on her arm was crusty with blood, and she winced at each unwinding of the wrap when it peeled free of the surrounding skin. Kaeleth hastily cut free the clean sections of the bandage, which he bundled together and dipped into the now hot water in order that he might clean her wound. The girl wept as he worked, but she did so quietly, at least.
“It’s difficult to tell in the firelight, but it doesn’t look infected,” he told her.
“Have you much physicking experience?”
Precious little fresh bandage remained, so Kaeleth allowed the wound to air dry a moment before rewrapping it. In the meantime, he placed the cloak over Aline’s shoulders, sitting close and holding the fabric away from her injury. She shivered, and Kaeleth noticed beads of sweat on her brow. Without thinking, he placed the back of his hand on her forehead to check her temperature. She flinched back, then seemed to realize that he’d meant no harm.
“Nothing as formal as what you might be used to,” he said. “But my father taught me how to care for many types of injury. Daurendale has only the one physicker, more of a healer, really. When we hunt, we’re often days away from the village. I’ve had my share of cuts and bruises over the years. Once I saw a man with an axe wound in his shin that went sour. The healer had to amputate. It stank horribly and oozed pus as yellow as maggots. I thought it was actually them that were inside his leg at first. Until my father explained about the pus.”
Kaeleth looked up from the girl’s wound and saw the look of horror on her face. He cursed inwardly. What kind of fool spoke of such things to a merchant girl? She’d probably never seen more than a sewing injury in her entire sheltered life. The wilderness was no place for someone like her. He wanted to tell her she should be counting her blessings from whatever goddess she worshipped and that she would more than likely be able to keep her arm since the bleeding had stopped and the fluid weeping from it was clear, but it didn’t seem worth it. Fragile as she was, he worried it would only further agitate her.
“It’s dry enough to bandage again,” was what he actually said.
Ideally, he’d have made a cataplasm and packed the wound before bandaging it again, but he had neither the light nor time to make even the simplest of poultices. This would have to do for now. Lifting the girl’s elbow outward, he began wrapping the bandage around her arm. While he worked to ensure it was tight enough without cutting off circulation, his eyes drifted to the soft curve at her side where her shirt had slipped down a little. Heat flushed to his cheeks, and he returned his attention to the bandage, worried he’d over-wrapped it in his distraction.
“All done,” he said. “Ideally I’d clean it again tomorrow, but there are only enough bandages for one more dressing. It’ll have to wait a day or two longer.”
“Fine by me if it means you won’t be poking at it with a hot cloth.” Aline looked down at her shirt, then at her arm. “Could you help me, please? I don’t think I can manage it a second time.”
“Of course.”
Kaeleth removed the cloak from her shoulders, then did his best to help her shrug back into the shirt without letting his gaze drop below the top of her head. It was sorely tempting, but his father had lectured him on the appropriate way to behave around women. As much as he might like to sneak a peek at a pair of breasts that didn’t belong to the shamefully immodest butcher’s wife—who was twice Kaeleth’s age and then some—who liked to bathe herself out back of their shop where curious enough village boys could catch a glimpse whenever they so chose, Kaeleth could not in good conscience bring himself to break the unspoken trust Aline had placed in him when she’d asked for his help.
“I’ve a bit more acorus bark in my pouch,” he said when she was once again dressed. “To ease your fever. I can steep it in tea if you prefer. It will be weaker, but you should drink as much as you can.”
“I am feeling quite weak. Perhaps the tea would be best. Then I’d like to sleep a while if that’s alright? May we keep the fire through the night?”
Kaeleth picked up the cup and tossed aside the remains of the water he’d used to clean her arm. What he wouldn’t give for a waterskin to save him trekking back and forth from the creek every time one of them wanted a drink.
“I’ll ensure it doesn’t go out,” he said. “If you need to, uh, piss in the night, don’t stray far from camp.”
Aline nodded, and as Kaeleth left the circle of firelight, he heard her get up and go in the opposite direction. It was a good sign that she’d been drinking enough water. He stopped to relieve himself on a tree, then continued to the creek. He would have to wake throughout the night to feed the fire, but it was far preferable to enduring the night’s chill without one. Tomorrow he’d face the day’s challenges, but tonight he would get what sleep he could, secure in the knowledge that the men with swords were still somewhere far below with no easy way of ascending to the upper forest.
