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Aein held Cook Bolstad's book and ran her hand across its cover. She opened it, and the paper released the smells of the kitchen, the smell of him. Fry oils and old onions and hearth smoke, scents that couldn't wash off in a basin. Cook Bolstad had flipped through each loved page. She could even see places where his fingers left a smudge or a stain. She had no idea what the book said, but it was too precious to lose. It was the only thing she had of his, this man who raised her. She wrapped it in one of Finn's less stained shirts, and tucked it into the crook of a tree for safe keeping. As soon as she found someone who could read, she would make that person go through it with her page-by-page and explain every wavy, black line and picture.
Aein tucked her blonde hair into the back of her shirt and went off to find Finn. There was a half-moon on the rise and it lit the land just enough to see. Finn was kneeling on the planked road, smearing mud from the bog all over himself. There were enough frogs singing that Aein knew they could speak in hushed tones without being overheard, but Finn said nothing when she sat next to him. He just lifted a handful of the sludge and wiped it over her hair and skin. Wordlessly, he slid a silver dagger over to her, keeping the sword for himself.
And then he pushed himself up from the road with his knuckles and ran.
On tiptoe, he tore off down the pier, keeping his body in a half-crouch. Aein chased after him, her lungs burning. She dare not breathe heavily. She prayed she would not trip on the planks. She just kept her eyes on Finn and tried to keep up.
He held up his fist and slowed to a creep.
The swamp was directly ahead of them. The branches of the sunken trees looked like claws. The bog had given way to the algae covered water.
But coming out of the swamp was the sound of clashing metal and terrified cries. Aein gulped, wondering what had attacked and who was on the defensive. But Finn did not stop. Instead, he watched the entrance to the swamp intently as he lowered himself off the side of the road. He did not look back to see if Aein followed. Either she was there or she was not. Aein quietly sat and put her feet in. The water was warm and it felt like bathing in old stew. She tried not to flinch as something brushed past her leg, telling herself it was just a branch, knowing full well that it was not. The water came up to her chest before her feet touched the bottom.
They waded forward, trying to move without disturbing the surface. Aein silently scooped away the algae as it piled against her. As they approached the finger-like roots of the mangroves, the noise of the battle became louder and it continued to grow the deeper they went into the swamp.
Aein was grateful that Finn kept the wooden path within sight of the road, but even more grateful that they had not taken it. Through the branches, Aein saw five soldiers illuminated by torchlight. They were waving the fire at a monster with six legs who stood at least ten-feet tall. Aein froze in fear. His torso was that of a man, his body that of a scorpion. His name was something told late at night around the hearth to scare small children - a girtablilu. Aein remembered the folk stories. This creature was said to open the doors to the land of darkness. Aein tried to remember how he could be defeated when, with his great pincer claw, the girtablilu cut one of the men in half.
Finn wrapped his hand over her mouth, smothering the scream in her throat. The urge to attack the monster blinded her, tearing through her mind as the most important thing to do. But Finn held her there in silence. He whispered in her ear, "They are distracted. This is what we need to free Lars."
She breathed, forcing herself to think through the primitive battle-lust. It would get her killed. She needed to hold on to it and use it for Lars. She nodded her head in agreement and he slowly removed his hand.
Quietly, they continued on, following the planked road but staying in the dark shadows. Firelight flickered in front of them once again and Aein was horrified to see where it was coming from.
"They are in the clearing," she hissed. "How could Lars have led them to the clearing?"
Through the trees, she could see Lars staked in the center of the camp like a guard dog outside a shop. He wore the silver harness and his skin wept from bloody welts beneath it. His great head rested between his paws; his eyes were faded and glassy.
"Lars!" breathed Aein, hoping no one else would hear them. But in the heat of the battle going on, she thought they were safe.
His ears pricked up, as if unable to believe they had heard the sound they just heard.
"LARS!" she whispered louder.
He stood up, staring at them intently.
"Don't give us away, you fool!" hissed Finn.
Lars immediately lay down again. The only sign that something was going on was the tenseness in his body and the way his wolfish eyebrows flickered this way and that.
Aein and Finn crawled out of the water and into the clearing. Aein wanted to cry. The place was ruined. The grass was trampled to mud. Waste was thrown around the edges. The peace that had inhabited it seemed chased away. She cast her eyes towards the bush, unsure if the branches were withered or if it was just that it was still out of season. Surely after all this time there should have been a leaf or a bit of new growth.
Lars could not help his head popping up the moment he saw them. His body vibrated with excitement. Finn rushed over to free him from the silver harness while Aein ran over to the bush to see if it had been damaged. What if their decision to save Finn had led to the destruction of the only cure? What if Lars's feelings for her and his fear for her safety, what if his willingness to do anything to keep her safe, cost everyone their future?
Finn cursed. "Why won't this harness let me unbuckle you?"
Suddenly, a panting man raced into the clearing. Aein spun around, knife drawn and ready to throw.
Standing there, naked sword in hand, was Lord Arnkell. His eyes were wild and his face was white as a sheet. He stared at Aein in disbelief.
"Are you a trick of the fog?" he asked.