This stretch of woods always brought back fond memories, despite the dark and unnatural nature of the foliage. Deadwood was a place very few ventured, the black twisted trees reaching bare, pleading claws up towards the clouded sky. The ground was rocky and uneven. The people of the Red Mountains considered it cursed. Maybe that was why Mara felt so at home. That and the years she had spent learning the wisdom of the woods from Aamu. 

The old woman was the finest trapper within the bounds of Sjaligr’s domain, one of the only people who had looked at Mara with some measure of approval. It was no charity: Aamu expected the girl to keep up, to help empty and place traps, to carry the dead animals, to split and carry wood, to help fletch arrows and braid bowstrings out of sinew. Aamu had no patience for people who couldn’t pull their own weight, which she said often was why she made her home away from the city. 

Mara smiled faintly as she passed the standing stones where Aamu first showed her how to make fire with flint and steel. It was exhausting, time consuming, and anything but easy. These days she was an expert and knew to carry char cloth, but at first it had been a good many sparks and no flame. 

Why don’t you just use magic? I know you can, the girl had asked the first time Aamu had shown her the trick.

Can and should ain’t the same, my girl. All power comes at a price. Best not to use it when your head and hands do just as well.

This path took her close to Kalevi’s home, but it also took her to Aamu’s cairn. Whenever she was in this part of the woods, Mara made certain to stop near it. No one was immortal, not even a woman as cantankerous as Aamu. She had died in the winter, taken in her sleep by a fever. Few mourned her after a life lived separately from Sjaligr and all its people, as she was just the stranger of the woods who brought the finest furs to trade every now and again. 

Mara stopped before a pile of stones waist-high, stacked six feet in length and three feet wide. Time’s hands softened the edges of the stones and moss grew on most of them. Little, pale blue wildflowers bloomed around the base where the shaking hands of a teenage girl had planted them so Aamu would be surrounded in the beauty of the woods that she had so admired in life. 

A large standing stone, about three feet in height, marked the north end of the mound as a headstone, carved with stone-cutter’s tools stolen and then returned with no one the wiser. Aamu Frost-Weaver. Gone from us full of wisdom, full of grace. The huntress knelt by the headstone and placed one hand on it, leaning into it. Her forehead touched the cold stone. “I miss you,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by.” 

She gave no sign when she heard a twig snap behind her. It was a quiet, barely there sound, but it was enough to tell her that she was not alone. Mara contemplated her options. Her shield and wrapped bow were still across her back, but she could easily draw her sword. The person behind her was approaching slowly, but she heard the shifting in the fallen leaves and the movement of armor. 

Mara turned and drew as she stood, facing the stranger with a bare blade. The man was as tall as her father, but much broader in the chest, a bull of a man wielding a spear and shield. Mara almost winced at that sight. His much longer reach would be a problem if this came to blows. He was also better armored, wearing a mail hauberk and a rounded cap helm with a spectacle guard shielding his cheeks and around his eyes. The symbol of Valkaldr was stamped into the metal of his brow. 

“I don’t want any trouble,” Mara said as she shrugged off her satchel slowly. She made no move to unsling her shield, not yet. “We have no quarrel.” 

“I know blades such as yours. Only Sjaligr has midwinter steel,” the man said, his tone hard. “You have come to these woods seeking Kalevi.” 

“I’m just a hunter,” Mara said. “I wander these woods often.” 

“Geared for war?” His sneer of disbelief was almost audible. “I was warned that Fire-Bringer would send a spy. I will burn you with flames worthy of your master, sow.” 

He raised a hand, barking a short incantation to summon flames. Nothing happened. 

Mara wasted no time. She charged him as his eyes widened in horror. “Spellbreaker!” he shouted, trying to bring his spear to bear. 

Gods, but she hated that name.

Her sprint got her inside the reach of his spear with ease. Mara was not the strongest combatant, but she was one of the fastest in Sjaligr and more than quick enough to close distance. He knocked her blade away from his body with the edge of his shield, then dropped his spear and reached for the falchion at his side. Mara stepped across him, slamming her shoulder into him as she caught the edge of his shield and pulled. Her momentum and pivot sent him sprawling. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold him down, so she shrugged off her shield and gripped it tightly as she thrust down at his throat. 

The man swung to hit her in the side of the knee with his falchion, a blow that would have crippled her for life. She had to almost dive to get out of reach of the strike, turning and taking third guard, shield forward with her blade angled back over her left shoulder, prepped for a cut.  She was always conscious of her footing and the leaves were wet enough to be slippery, so she took a more cautious stance. She also made certain she was between him and his spear. Now his blade was shorter than hers, bringing their reach closer to even with his longer arms. 

He scrambled to his feet, pale as fresh snow. “I have heard of you, demon,” he said, a tremor in his voice. “You poison the very weave of existence around you, locking it away from us.” 

Mara measured her options as he spoke. She was more of an unknown to him than she was to her own people. She steeled herself and prayed to any god that might take pity on her that her next ploy would work. “I can do worse to you than that,” Mara said, pitching her voice lower for as much menacing effect as she could get. “Perhaps you’ll kill me, but if I so much as scratch you, your spirit will be forever severed. How will you enter Heaven’s gates without your gods-given soul?” 

“You lie,” he spat, lifting his blade. She saw a hint of more tremor to his hands. 

“Do I?” Mara challenged, tapping into the well of anger that simmered perpetually under her skin.  “You’ve seen what I can do to your magic without even batting an eye. What do you think would happen if I turned my will to it?” 

The man took a step back and Mara advanced with a measured, purposeful stride. “Stay back!’ he shouted. 

“Flee or have your soul ripped out. I don’t care either way,” Mara said, grinning ferociously at him. “Though I might enjoy it if you’re fool enough to stay.”

The man retreated into the wood line, never turning his back to Mara until he was certain she was a distance away and no longer following. He sprinted south, no doubt back to the safety of whatever camp he had made in the area. 

Mara exhaled in a shaky breath and lowered her sword once the danger was past. She didn’t enjoy leveraging her cursed nature, but it had its uses. She realized she was sweating despite the autumn chill in the air and sheathed her sword. Gaius had trained her how to fight and fight well, perhaps better than even Viljami or her father if they could not draw upon their magic, but she hated it. She had too many memories of boots grinding her bare face into the dirt. 

She went over to her satchel and picked it up again, stopping only long enough to drink water. “I’m sorry, Aamu,” she told the cairn. “I know you didn’t like me fighting. I’ll come back again soon.” 

With that said, she started on her way again. She couldn’t afford to hesitate when she knew for certain now that there were men of Valkaldr in the woods as well. She could frighten one, but if there were more, she would have a problem. Numbers could overwhelm even the best warrior, and she was not the best. She shrugged her shield back onto her back, grateful that she wore no emblem of her home on her person, not even painted on her shield. Without her sword drawn, perhaps she could lie her way through her next encounter more smoothly. 

After another hour’s walk, she found what she had come seeking.

Kalevi’s home was at the center of Deadwood, a large, ramshackle construction built against a cliff. Stories said that there was a deep cave in the stone, the opening covered by the hut, where the oracle worked his magic. The scent of rotting meat drifted on the wind and Mara caught sight of several savaged deer carcasses outside the hut, mostly bone and offal. Either Kalevi had a large and dangerous pet or the old man really was a troll. 

Mara felt her nerves redouble. She had to hope that either way, he wouldn’t object to her affliction as much as everyone else did. The huntress steeled herself and approached, stopping a few yards from the door when it creaked open on its own, revealing a yawning dark hall behind it. She offered up a prayer again, though she didn’t expect it to be answered. 

Gods had no interest in those without a soul. 

“Hello?” Mara called as she approached the threshold. There was no answer, the air coming from the open door cold as a cave and moist. Inside was dark, but she had no way of conjuring a light other than making a torch, which people seldom appreciated in their homes. She sighed and stepped across the threshold, foot sending a bone scattering. 

With Aamu, Mara had learned what the bones of every animal in the area looked like, what they could be used for, their strengths and weaknesses. That femur belonged to no beast. 

Troll, Mara thought with a grimace. 

“Come,” a deep, rumbling voice ordered, distorted by the echoing depths of the house. 

Mara placed her hand on the wall and walked carefully, shuffling her feet so she wouldn’t trip over any other human remains. She walked and walked for what felt like forever before she saw firelight ahead. The wood of the wall gave way to raw, uncut stone. Apparently the stories about the cave were true. She tried to ignore the fact that her stomach was one huge knot of fear and her hands were shaking like leaves in a gale. It was probably the same level of terror that she’d put into the warrior. 

“Your approach is timely, Empty One,” the sonorous voice boomed, even more imposing up close. She rounded the corner in the cave to see a large fire and walls covered in ochre cave paintings, but her attention couldn’t fix on them long. Even the nauseating smell of death and filth couldn't distract her from the owner of this wretched hole. 

Kalevi was a towering figure, probably ten feet tall when he stood, but for now he was seated cross-legged on the stone with the fire between him and Mara. A long, white beard yellowed by tobacco spilled down from his chin beneath a maw of large, razor sharp teeth bared in a grin. His eyes were milky, not completely blind from cataracts, but probably close. He almost blended into the stone, skin rough and grey like the rock he leaned against. A long clay pipe with a bowl the size of a soup-bowl rested in one clawed paw-like hand. His other hand rested on a large, polished orb of onyx. His broad chest and bulging belly stood out in contrast to limbs that seemed thin, almost spindly for his size. 

It was not a picture that instilled any comfort in Mara. There was something altogether too hungry in that grotesque smile. 

“You are fortunate I have already eaten,” Kalevi said, stirring the remnants of a mail hauberk with one clawed foot. The chain mail was shredded, links broken from being pulled apart. “I have things that I could say to you, Empty One. What do you have for me?” 

Mara knew Kalevi had no interest in wealth or even gifts of food or drink. The stories of what the seer found an acceptable gift varied wildly and frequently ended in the phrase ‘and we never saw that person again’. “I have no riches to offer you, nothing that can equal your gift,” Mara said carefully. “But I can walk beneath the sun. Maybe I can do you a favor.” 

The troll’s smile widened, something Mara hadn’t thought was possible. “A favor?” A thunderous sound rolled out of his chest, equal parts growl and laughter. 

“If that is not to your liking, I can leave,” Mara said cautiously, ready to retreat. She was very conscious to stay out of the troll’s reach. 

“I will take your offer,” the troll said. “You will repay the service at a time of my choosing. When I ask a task of you, you will fulfill it.” He leaned closer, reeking of blood and offal. “Without question.” 

Mara’s skin crawled at the idea of what the troll would ask, but she knew her options were limited. “What do you know?” 

The lids on Kalevi’s clouded eyes drooped almost as if he was about to sleep. “For your people, Empty One, I see only ruin. I see the clash of chieftains, the shattering of shields, the earth turning to mud from spilled blood. More than that, I see Void. It will devour the Red Mountains and all the gifts of Creation. Its tide cannot be turned back. There, seated silver in darkness, a demon prince bids his kith forth. In their wake, nothing will remain except fire, death, and salt.” 

Mara shuddered. There was a gravity to Kalevi’s words, a deep piercing certainty that shook the rest of the world on its foundations. 

Kalevi turned to look fully at her with his clouded eyes. “But your path is not the same as your people’s, Empty One. I see the weave of your fate entangled with a tortured beast’s, maddened by agony and a terrible rage inflicted by the gods themselves. There is destruction, death, pain, and sorrow, but also hope. Even a curse can be a blessing to some.” 

“Is there anything that can be done to fight Void?” Mara asked. 

Kalevi’s laugh shook the cave, deafening and terrible, bitter and sour. “Void cannot be bargained with, cannot be fought, cannot be turned from its purpose. It will not be satisfied with anything but wiping all traces of your people from this earth. In its fire, all who stand will be consumed. Even I will not escape its horrors.” 

Mara took a deep, shaky breath, but before she could ask her next question, the troll raised his clawed hand. “I will not speak more of Void,” he said. “I will not call its attention.” 

She nodded, putting a hand on the wall to steady herself after that dark oracle. “You said my fate is bound to a beast’s?”

Kalevi grinned. “Yes,” he said with a sudden sort of gleam to his eyes. “A soul shredded by madness and fury, a being with two faces, a prisoner of the flesh who knows only agony. Treasure your time with the beast, Empty One. It will not last forever. Nothing lasts forever.” 

“Where can I find this beast?” Mara asked. She wasn’t certain if she wanted to with the description the troll gave, but if it was part of her fate, there was no sense in running from it. Such things always caught up to mortals. 

“At the eye of the storm,” Kalevi said. The troll stretched and let a clawed hand rest meaningfully on his belly. “Your questions are tiresome. Run away, Mara Spell-Breaker. I hunger again and I would have you live to perform for me that favor.” 

Mara didn’t hesitate for a split second. She turned and ran for the door, tripping and sliding over the bones strewn in the hall. She ran faster and faster, putting as much distance between her and Kalevi as possible. 

Sunlight seared her eyes as she reached it, but it was a merciful relief knowing that Kalevi wouldn’t be able to pursue until sunset. She didn’t stop running as she headed back towards Sjaligr. Her father was not going to like Kalevi’s dire prophecy, but she would have to give it anyway. She found the description of her own fate equally unsettling. 

Only time would make it clearer, however, and so she ran.