“This prophecy is the word of a god enraged by the presence of a soulless abomination at a sacred site!” Gareth shouted.

Mara watched her father’s eyes. He didn’t even spare her a glance where she stood holding her jaw cupped in both hands, flesh already bruising from Gareth’s fury. Instead, his glare focused on his brother. “Kalevi’s hut is not what I would call a sacred site,” he said with a sharpness to his tone that meant his own anger was present, if kept leashed. Luukas Fire-Bringer had a fury worthy of legend, but it was not easily roused and the offense he took was more about Gareth publicly denouncing his decision than the assault on Mara.

“You should have sent me,” Gareth snarled. “Or Viljami. Anything but that.” The last word was spat at Mara more than her father. 

Mara tried to ignore the blood welling from her split lip even as she cupped her hand to stop it from splashing down onto her shirt or the floor. The taste of copper always made her sick to her stomach, more an association with shame and humiliation than any objection to the flavor itself.

“If the gods are angry, Gareth, I trust they would have more reason than a single blighted branch.” 

“It should have been exposed at birth! But your wife—” 

The chieftain rose to his feet, towering in his rage. “Mind your words!” he thundered, hand falling to the hilt of his sword. “Brother or not, I will cut you to pieces for slandering my wife!” 

Mara felt a stab of bone deep pain in the darkest part of her heart. She slunk back towards the edge of the great hall as the warriors of her city parted to give their chieftain space.

“Blights spread,” Gareth said more quietly, spreading his hands in a placating gesture and taking a step back. “That is why they are cut away. Yet this one remains and has brought doom upon us all. Something must be done.” 

“Kalevi said nothing of the source except Void,” her father said, tone still hard as stone. “That means demons. Whatever you say of the spell-breaker, surely you have shed enough blood to know the weakness of the cursed flesh, not the unfeeling power of sorcery.” 

“It is still a creature of that power. What else but the taint of Void could make a body without a soul?” her uncle said. His body was still rigid. 

“Spell-Breaker, leave us,” the chieftain said bluntly. “Your presence offends Gareth to the point of losing his senses and I would have him with his wits if we are to face off against the greatest of evils.” 

Mara bowed, still cradling her jaw. She hurried out of the hall, out of her father’s house. She still had all of her gear waiting at the wall around Gaius’s home from the trip. There was no reason for her to stay in Sjaligr with her uncle on the warpath. She hadn’t seen Viljami, but he had spent his whole life under her uncle’s tutelage and was always inclined to take his side. 

The bleeding stopped by the time she made it to the fence. She stopped long enough to rinse her hands in the water trough, more interested in getting blood off her hands than anything more civilized. She slung her shield and belted on her sword, grabbing the pack empty of rations except for a full water-skin. 

Gaius called her name from his doorway, but Mara made no attempt to listen. Instead, she ran without thinking of anything but being away. The ache was a shock through her face with every impact of her foot against the earth, but the physical pain was always easiest to deal with. She knew distantly that her mother would worry, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

Her pain pushed her further and faster than her usual jaunts out into the woods went. She barely slept on the path, letting her feet carry her north and higher in elevation, back towards the Sylfr River. She waded across it ready for any beast that might come her way, careful to carry her sword in its scabbard and her shield over her head. She didn’t have her bow to hunt with, but she could always fish or make snares.

It was hard to even think of that, though. Her stomach was too knotted with sickening emotions to welcome food. Her sleep was impossible, thoughts lodged again on what had happened with Kalevi. His vision for her, the favor she owed him, the evils that carrying his message had brought into her life. By  the time she returned, there was probably a decent chance a pyre would be waiting for her with no expectation that she would be dead before they burned her on it.

Mara sat down hard on the stone where Aallotar had tended her wounds, trying to deal with the ache in her chest that was so much worse than her face. The argument between her father and Gareth was full of things that made her regret surviving Kalevi’s presence. Being devoured by a troll would be horrible, but at least it would be an end to the otherwise inescapable misery of Sjaligr. Better a monster than a kinsman, if she could call them that. She had no soul, so could she ever be kin to anything?

Mara blinked back a few tears, too stubborn to let them fall. It shouldn’t have hurt, really. No shame there was new, no neglect unknown. Gareth’s venom towards the rotten fruit of his family tree was famous, as was his emphatic assertion that she should have been destroyed as an infant, before the taint had a chance to grow. 

Then again, that wasn’t what hurt the most. 

Absence did not make the heart grow fonder, not when it was a yawning void between two people in the same room. Her father didn’t care what happened to her. If Kalevi had devoured her, she doubt he would have noticed except his task going undone. Perhaps that would lift the pall of shame from his family line, to have the soulless child cut away like the blighted branch he’d called her. 

It hurt because she knew he could be a good father. He heaped praises on Viljami, treated Sabine like his princess, and indulged every request of Ritva’s inquiring mind. He had the capacity to love...just not her.

She wished she hadn’t run. She wanted to scream in his face, pound her fists against his chest, force him to at least look at her. He would never acknowledge her, not as his, but Mara had learned that hatred was a great deal easier to deal with than being treated as dust in the wind unless he devised a use for her for a few moments. Then she was a tool, ascribed all the thought and feeling of a pair of tongs or a hammer. 

Mara sucked in a deep breath, even the barest hint of tears fading. She realized the sting in her hands and unclenched them to reveal her nails had cut into her palms. 

“You are hurt,” a voice observed, the words accented and stilted. 

There wasn’t enough energy in Mara left to jump in alarm. Instead, she turned slightly to face the voice, suddenly aware of exhaustion in every fiber of her being. Her emotions had pushed her so far, so hard, that she had little left. “Aallotar,” she greeted, unable to make herself smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring a gift.” 

The wildling approached cautiously, as if she was expecting Mara to do something dangerous. It was probably a fair assumption given the shield and sword instead of a bow. Aallotar looked the same as at her first appearance, painted in woad and clothed in furs with some leather mixed in. It was more eclectic clothing than Mara had first realized, pieces tied together rather than stitched, almost scraps. 

Mara stayed still, at least until she saw Aallotar’s hand dip towards her satchel of healing remedies. “I’m fine,” Mara said flatly. She didn’t want pity, though she knew better than to say so. 

“I do not think so,” Aallotar said, finishing her approach. The wildling crouched in front of Mara, taking in the sight of the blow’s impact. “This is worse.” 

“I’m fine.” The same stubbornness that could hold even her mother at bay now reared its ugly head. “I don’t need anything.” 

Aallotar was quiet for a moment before speaking, her tone of voice soft almost to the point of pleading. “Please,” she said gently. “Let me tend this. It is not equal to the gift of your presence, but it is only right.” 

Mara laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. Her mirthless smile pulled at her abused lip and made her jaw ache. “My presence is a curse. Ask any and they will shout it to the heavens.” 

The wildling shook her head. “You are kind, Mara,” she said quietly. “You bring peace to this place.” She hesitated before saying, “Such that I have never seen before. Please let me tend your wounds. That is all I wish.” The golden eyes that looked up at Mara seemed so hopeful that Mara wasn’t certain she had it in herself to crush their ambition. 

Something was strange about Aallotar’s answer. The woods were a place she always associated with peace. Occasionally there was trouble, but for the most part, it was far, far more pleasant and serene than anything that happened in Sjaligr. “What is so dangerous about these woods?” 

Aallotar’s gaze dropped to her satchel. “Dangerous creatures dwell in these woods, things of tempest and savagery,” she explained, though Mara suspected a great deal was being left out. “They rage forever.” She looked up again at the huntress. “You are not that. You are the lull amidst their howling winds, their cracking thunder.” 

The eye of the storm, Kalevi’s voice echoed in the back of  her mind. The realization hit Mara like a punch to her already twisted gut. 

“A seer told me to find such a beast,” Mara said. Saying why right now was probably not the most prudent course of action, not when Aallotar was omitting things that were likely very important.

Aallotar shook her head. “It is not safe,” she said. “Please let me tend your wounds, Mara.” 

Something about the stilted emphasis on her name was hard to refuse. As much as Mara wanted to stay stubborn, she couldn’t escape the fact that her jaw hurt badly and she was being foolish by refusing the rarest of souls, one who would willingly offer her aid. Her shoulders slumped slightly, the last of the defiance fading. “Fine,” she said. She fixed Aallotar with a gimlet glare. “No magic.” 

“Nothing if you do not wish it,” the wildling promised, opening up the satchel. She set to work, mixing again the green rinse she used to clean off Mara’s face. 

The touch of the brush and the cold rinse again tingled and stung, but pain was not new to Mara and she knew it wouldn’t last long. Aallotar knelt closer to work, against Mara’s own knees. The healer was most careful around her torn lip, gently rinsing it a few times. The sting made Mara’s eyes water slightly. 

“What did this?” Aallotar asked softly once she was finished with the rinse, all the dried blood removed from Mara’s face. 

Thanks to the punishment for snitching, Mara always favored evasiveness. But who would Aallotar tell who could enact retribution on her? “Gareth Earth-Cleaver, brother to my father.”

“Why?” Aallotar asked with genuine confusion.

“Because I’m a monster,” Mara said bitterly. “A cursed, soulless, empty shell of a person.”

“They are blind,” Aallotar said bluntly, with such certainty that it took Mara aback. “I know monsters. You are not that.”

“You barely know me,” Mara said in an effort to brush off those words. A tremor was growing in her chest at their impact, a hint of tears building. Her mother saw goodness in her, Gaius saw goodness in her, but they had to. Her mother was her mother. They saddled Gaius with training her most of her life. For a stranger without those ties to see something good in her was unheard of.

Her interaction with the warrior in the woods was how those meetings invariably ended. Someone crossed her path, realized what she was, and tried to fix her family’s mistake.

“I know enough,” Aallotar said with the same forcefulness, setting aside her brush for a moment so she could look straight into Mara’s eyes, showing no insincerity or uncertainty. “You carry a thorn in your side like none I know, but you have soul. I feel it in the air around you. It makes me calm.”

Mara pulled in a deep breath before turning her gaze away. It was hard to meet Aallotar’s eyes. Their golden color was enough to get lost in. “Thank you,” she murmured. She had no other words. This wasn’t exactly a situation she had prepared for. Her doubts remained, however. Once Aallotar learned what she was, she could expect the same. 

In a few moments, fingertips lightly touched her chin, turning her head back. Aallotar had another brush in hand, covered in the rust-colored balm that she’d used last time. Fortunately, now the wildling was focused on her injuries, lips pressed into a thin line. “He is fortunate he does not know the way to these woods.” 

“Gareth?” Mara said, a stab of anxiety in her stomach at even the thought of him meeting Aallotar. “He’s a powerful eldritch knight. I can’t recommend confronting him.” 

“I do not fear mennskr,” Aallotar said. Her tone was firm, but not prideful. “Their bones litter this place, though few come since ancient days. Most know better.” She eyed Mara for a moment, expression betraying a hint of amusement. “Most.” 

“If there’s one thing I will never learn, Aallotar, it’s what’s good for me,” Mara said, a hint of smile finally appearing. It stung as it pulled at her lip, at least until the brush dabbed at her wound, soothing it. “You must be quite the warrior.” 

“Enough to end those across my path,” Aallotar said with a sudden edge of discomfort. “I do not love might or its uses.” 

“Fair enough,” Mara said gently. “But sometimes we do what we have to.” 

Aallotar nodded solemnly before finishing her work carefully. Again, she checked it carefully, turning Mara’s chin with a featherlight touch to examine all the covered bruising. “Leave on for a day at least,” she instructed. 

“That’s what I did last time. It works incredibly well,” Mara said. She flashed Aallotar a smile. “You’re a fine healer.” 

“Fine enough,” Aallotar said with distinct embarrassment over what she seemed to think was flattery. 

“Skill thoughtfully applied should always be praised,” Mara said. “That’s what Gaius says, anyway. He’s all about doing things with intent.” 

“I have little practice in that,” Aallotar admitted, shifting back on her knees as she packed away her satchel. She wrapped each jar carefully. “I should return this to my home.” She hesitated a long moment, looking into the woods before looking back at Mara. “It would be safer for you if you came. Safer yet if you cross the river.” 

“I’ll go with you.” Mara rose to her feet with ease and then held her hand out to Aallotar when the healer was ready to stand. “Do I need to worry about more of your people at your home?” 

The wildling shook her head. “We do not live close together. This part is mine.” 

“That must get lonely.” Then again, Mara appreciated the idea of a life away from others.

Aallotar shrugged. “Some meet often. Not I. I do not wish to fight.” She turned a somber expression towards Mara. “We are not like mennskr. Our way is...conflicted.” 

“Well, thank you for breaking your solitude for me,” Mara said, adjusting her shield over her shoulder and tightening her sword belt. “Lead the way.” 

Aallotar took her on a turning, twisting path that seemed to double back on itself numerous times. It was confusing, which was probably the point. Clearly the wildling didn’t want Mara to know the direct way to her home, which the huntress thought was reasonable. They didn’t know each other well.

Mara had expected a cabin in the woods, but instead they stopped at the mouth of a cave, mostly overgrown. The earth at the entrance was packed down, a sign of frequent travel in and out, a passage narrow through rock and leaves. “A cave?” Mara said with a touch of surprise. Before Aallotar could take offense, Mara continued, “They do stay about the same temperature all year, so I can see why that would be good for herb storage.” 

“It is,” Aallotar said, blinking in surprise. Apparently that wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting. She brushed some ivy aside and gestured for Mara to follow. “Come in.” 

Mara glanced down as she stepped in and almost stopped dead in her tracks. There were prints in the earth, faint because of the hard packing, but definitely there. They looked almost like giant wolf tracks at first inspection, but the front set of the prints looked very, very strange. A chill ran down Mara’s spine. There were claws, certainly, but the pads were longer and jointed. They looked almost like…

Hands. 

She tucked that thought back in her head, making a mental note to ask Aallotar about her animal companion. It was hard not to think of the beast that had watched her from the shores of the river. The tracks were the right size for it. 

It was dark in the cave,  lit by a soft green-blue phosphorescence from some fungi growing on the walls. Mara let her eyes adjust and then her heart twisted at how bare the place was. There were stone outcroppings used as shelves for various herbs and a number of mismatched clay pots. A large pile of furs lay in one corner, which was probably Aallotar’s bed, and a small pile of flint sat opposite to it, clearly in the process of knapping. There was a stack of branches, but no sign of a fire at all.

It was cool in the cave, which made Mara grateful she was at least dressed for the autumn weather, not much warmer outside than in here. 

Aallotar set her bag down beside the herbs, then turned and watched carefully as Mara stepped in. “It is different than you are used to,” the wildling observed. 

“Don’t you get cold without a fire?” Mara asked curiously. 

“My blood runs hot,” Aallotar said with a shrug. 

“What about your furry friend?” 

Aallotar went rigid. “I want no thought of the beast,” she said, voice a combination of pain and anger. “Not now.”

Mara held up both hands placatingly. “Alright,” she said gently, trying to think of a topic that was safe. She would have to coax the story about the beast out of Aallotar at another time. “Why don’t you tell me about the herbs you just put all over my face? I have to admit, I’m curious about how it works so well without magic.” 

The wildling relaxed slowly, accepting the change in subject. “It would only be fair,” she said more softly. “They are an old secret with a long, tedious story.” 

“I’ve got the time,” Mara said with a smile. “Let’s hear the story.”