The crackle of fire split the charred wood in half, sending embers spiraling into the mid-day air where soft winds carried them across the cold brush. Here in the Northwestern Freelands of the Doternite Kingdom, far from the ordered Merchant road where knights enforced the Queen's rule—the wild grew unchecked and dangerous. Within the burning flame, what remained of a man's corpse collapsed under the heat, bones breaking like dried kindling.

  A rogue stabbed his dagger into the smoldering wood and watched the steel darken. He inspected the blackened tip with a practiced eye, then lowered the heated blade over an open wound upon a crippled leg. His two companions turned away as the smell of burnt flesh assaulted them.

  The tallest of them stood with a grunt, his stomach announcing itself with a rumble. "Makes me wanna eat. I'm checking the traps."

  "Already did." The wounded man wrapped his leg, hands shaking. "Not even a stir."

  "We used our last bits of meat for bait." The third rogue's fingers tightened on his sheathed blade, his knuckles turning white. "Could've made a stew at least!"

  "We had plenty of fresh boar, and I paid for it." The wounded man said, lifting his bloodied bandages.

  The three men exchanged glances, and in that moment, suspicion descended upon them like a cold fog. Each wondered if the others might turn predator when hunger grew desperate enough.

  Snap!

  All heads turned toward the sound as another branch cracked, this time beneath what could only be a light, careful foot.

  "A boy." The wounded man's ears twitched as he listened. "I know the sound of such soft footsteps."

  His companions drew their blades in fluid silence, dropping to a crawl. slipping through the muddied grass into the unkempt greenery; where they became shadows among the eaves. From his place by the campfire, the wounded man tracked their progress by sound, the light rustle of leaves shifted to a violent struggle. His fellows' grunts mixed with kicks and high cries from a youthful voice somewhere beyond his sight. The brush thrashed and shook while the sounds of struggle grew louder, until his companions' heads appeared above the wild green tangle.

  A pair of thrashing legs burst from the undergrowth as the tall rogue wrestled a small blonde boy into the open. His companion stumbled out behind him, clutching his bloodied nose and cursing with abandon. The captured boy released a terrible rooster-like crow that brought an unexpected chuckle from the wounded man.

  "What is all this?" He watched his companions struggle with the wild child, who wore hardened light leather that slipped through their grasp.

  With a snarl of frustration, the tall man threw the boy onto the muddied ground and wound up his boot. The kick landed hard in the child's stomach, and those comical crows fell silent as the boy curled in pain.

  The bloodied man's face split into a fierce smile as he pulled his knife free. "I want to bleed him. I'm so hungry."

  "Hold it now." The wounded one shifted back against a tree. "I ain't about to partake in the meat of men. Not again..."

  "We can't do nothing here." The tall man pressed his hand on the bloodied one's shoulder, pushing the blade down. "Look at him, doubt he was alone. We need to make distance between us and here. Kill him, then eat him."

  As if in answer, another sharp crow erupted from the distant brush.

  "Damn the boy, let's just go!" The bloodied man turned toward the undergrowth, knife still in hand.

  "Don't just leave me!" The wounded man began a desperate crawl after his retreating fellows, dragging his bandaged leg through the mud.

  Another crow sounded, deeper and mature. Then another crow, and another, young voices mixing with old as the crows encircled them and cut off any hope of retreat.

  "What is all this?" The tall man squinted toward the darkened green where two eyes glared back at him. "It's a boy?"

  A sharpened rock exploded against his skull with a crack. His cry triggered an assault from all directions, rocks, twigs, and mud balls flying through the air in a savage barrage. The rogues cowered behind their thick leathers and heavy pouches while their flesh grew bloodied and bruised under the endless stoning. Through the chaos, two tiny figures entered with round shields held above their heads, leading a third toward the wounded boy. They pulled him from danger with practiced efficiency, and as suddenly as it had begun, the hail of stones ceased. Making way for arrows.

  From afar, behind a torn and moss-covered stump, curious ears twitched at the sounds of unfolding savagery. Two cold eyes witnessed the savagery, a crouched hooded traveler hid behind the stump, breath held. She crawled from her hiding spot, keeping low to the ground and using the overgrowth for cover as she moved away from men's painful death throes. Finding refuge within thick vines that had cocooned themselves into a mass-like bush. Here, beneath the shadowed canopy, ancient trees rose to magnificent heights with trunks thick as houses.

  The traveler pulled back her hood to reveal herself, a woman whose filth-covered face bore the marks of disease. Green, exhausted eyes gazed down at torn and blackened foot wrappings while long hair, tangled into knots of clotted mud, fell forward to hide the strange growth that swirled across her face in rotting scab-like patterns. Her mind drifted then, away from the pain of the lands of light and the terrible judgment that had been passed upon her. A dark certainty echoed through her heart—this deathly place would claim her among its ilk, and the wild green would consume her where ever that final resting place may be.

  Her mind drifted to dark places, replaying tragedies past and shifting her sleeping form where she lay. The sound of shuffling feet roused her from half-sleep, and her eyes snapped open to peer past her hidden legs. Along the path she'd created, smudged shadows of hurried feet past, dozens of them. Each figure releasing strange animalistic sounds as their heavy breaths carried them onward. She remained perfectly still while her thin eyes counted. Twenty-four in total. These wild lands had been claimed by something.

  She closed her eyes again and resigned herself to whatever rest might come. Yet as the forest's greens turned to bright evening white, sleep continued to escape her. In the darkness behind her enclosed eyes, she became aware of far-off drums and light vibrations traveling through the ground. An unfamiliar curiosity stirred in her heart while a faint whisper entered her mind. It felt as if a strange hand pressed upon her chest, and when her eyes opened again, the world had become a blur, everything distant and vague. She kicked away the brush and rose to her feet. With mouth agape and eyes unfocused, she began walking through the thick forest, following those heavy drums. The white evening light grew blinding while somewhere ahead, bright flames danced between breaking branches.

  Her foot plunged into mud, the ground becoming a sinking gradient where each step took her deeper. The mud loosened and grabbed at her as she continued her mindless march. The thumping drums mixed with breaking twigs and the return of those youthful cries, that same curious crow that had spelled doom for the rogues. Yet the drumming only grew louder, drowning out the various boys' voices that now surrounded her. Young hands grasped at her arms, trying to force her back, coaxing her body to fight against them with desperate strength.

  What had been whispers transformed into loud chanting, in rhythm with the drums. The ever increasing chanting sent a sharp ring through her ear, irritating her. She felt constriction then, though the sensation seemed far away. Her mind caught sight of the surrounding world, boys in light leather armor wrapping wild vines around her flailing form, working together to bind her. They tugged and began carrying her away from the swamp. As they did, those drowning drums and unknown whispers began to fade, and the dreamlike trance finally released her into true sleep.

  When consciousness returned, her heavy eyes forced themselves open to find herself being dragged through tall wild grass, still bound in constricting vines. Boys sang silly songs and chanted childish rhymes around her, their voices drowning out the faint drumming that still echoed at the back of her mind.

  "Where... Am... I?" The words rasped from her dry throat.

  A small boy walking beside her turned with a kind, cheerful smile. "You got lucky."

  "She's awake?" A mature voice asked.

  She turned her head to see an older boy whose face bore the hardened look of someone who had killed. No innocence remained in those eyes.

  "She looks like they had her mind," he observed. "Master will have to cleanse her of the wicked one's sickness."

  His final words began to blur into meaningless sound as what little energy she'd gained drained away. Sleep reclaimed her, and all light disappeared behind merciful darkness.

  When those heavy eyes lifted, she found herself beneath warm blankets with cloth restraints binding her to a wooden bed. Above stretched a thatched roof, and in the corner of the darkened room sat a cloaked figure of an aged man waiting in patient silence.

  "Who are you?" The words emerged as a dry cough.

  "I am father to some, enemy to others, ally to most. You're within the territory of the Roosters. I'm sure you heard our crow. Now, who dares trespass?" The old man asked.

  "I don't trespass. I'm merely a traveler through these lands," she answered.

  Hearing the parch in her voice, he produced a waterskin and brought it toward her lips, she turned her head away in refusal.

  "I need not your sympathy, old man." she said.

  He lowered the skin without protest. "Very well. So who are you, and where do you go, dear traveler?"

  "Far away. And I am nobody." The words came swiftly.

  "Nobody?" His voice carried gentle amusement. "We don't permit such travelers through the place of grand trees...that's where the wicked tribal men of the deep wood reside. You were in their grasp, you know. Now you're in ours."

  "Set me loose." Despite her exhaustion, her gaze remained steady and defiant.

  "I'm afraid not. While you rested, we applied moist herbs that have sunk their medicine into your flesh." He confessed.

  "Why?" She asked.

  "You're ill with Dark Thought, a supernatural sickness that claims minds. We'll cleanse you, and when you've regained your strength, we'll guide you far from here, somewhere the dark thought cannot overtake you." He said. "At least not for long, few things survive within the green alone."

  "Why?" she asked again.

  "It's simply who we are. Rest if you can." He rose from his chair and moved toward the exit, the heavy wooden door releasing a clunk as it closed behind him.

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  She turned toward the window where greenery among the light revealed another day had arrived. With no time to waste, she stretched her fingers into her sleeve cuff until warm metal touched her fingertips. Drawing out a small pin-like blade, she began the slow work of cutting through her restraints. Through the thin walls came the sounds of the world outside, boys at play and rough fighting, dozens of them by the sound of it. Once her left hand came free, she used it to untie her right, then freed her legs and placed her feet on the wooden floor. Creeping towards the window, she peeked outside.

  Beyond lay the familiar wild green and a large courtyard clearing where giant logs stood vertical like ancient standing stones. Lines of boys watched as their older companions practiced martial skills, cheered and mocked in turn as they succeeded or failed. She placed her palm against the window and tugged, trying to loosen its bindings, but the stubborn frame refused to yield. That's when she noticed something wrong, the cold glass felt strangely distant beneath her fingers, numbness had crept into her hand. She pulled back to examine her fingertips, pressing them together. Nothing. No sensation at all.

  The door creaked open behind her. The same old man stood in the doorway, and in the better light she could see him properly, a strong build despite his age, but with eyes hidden behind a thin sash. The man was blind.

  "Can you hear them yet?" he asked.

  As if his words were prophecy, the far-off drumming returned to her, and that faint whisper crept back into her mind.

  "What is it?" she replied.

  "It's the sickness. Return to bed, your bindings protect all parties."

  His words carried a strange authority that she found herself unable to resist. Marcy's feet carried her back to the bed of their own accord, and as she moved, the whispering in her mind faded, driven back by the memory of his voice.

  "And you?" she sat on the bed's edge. "Who are you really?"

  "Many questions, that's understandable. I was once a warrior, protector of these lands and villages. Alone I could only do so much. As my eyes faded, I found my first student." He returned to his chair while one of the boys closed the door behind him. "You're safe here. We only seek to protect our own."

  "You kidnap these kids?" Even as she spoke, she found herself lying back and pulling the blankets over herself, feeling oddly safe in this stranger's presence.

  "They're orphans," he explained as her eyes grew heavy once more. "The sole survivors of families long gone, raids long forgotten."

  She tried to raise herself but found her body unwilling to cooperate.

  "Marcy..." The name escaped her lips in a whisper. "My name is Marcy." She offered it as a token of thanks, a gesture of truth in return for his honesty.

  He approached once more with the water skin, tilting it toward her. Her tired body accepted the gift, the cool water soothing a parched throat.

  "I am Rutger," he said as she drank, "and these boys are the Roosters, the Orphan Army of these Freelands."

  TO BE CONTINUED...

  STRANGER IN A GREEN LAND: PART 2

  A soaked cloth seeped moisture into the skin of an ill women, catching the scent of herbal tea.

  "This should cleanse your mind, protect you for a short while from their grasp." Rutger's aged voice rasped like dried leaves. "I’m sure you have many questions, there will be answers, later."

  Time shifted as her consciousness flickered in and out like a dying flame. Deep blackness consumed her thoughts, wrapping Marcy in a warming bubble where foreign whispers were grasped by the herbs sinking into her, wrestling with the sickness the darkened chants of wildmen seeded within her. Distant footsteps echoed, pulling the ill women toward the surrounding world.

  "Marcy." Rutger's voice drifted far away. "You're safe. We need to be safe as well."

  Cold metal latched around her wrists and ankles with a decisive click. The numbness spread from the restraints upon her limbs.

  "Rest, there is much we must discuss." Rutger said.

  She carried his words deep into her subconscious where they became lost within the forest of her mind, that place where wild memories roamed and predatory past lurked. From the shadowed overgrowth, the image of her betrayal took beastly form. A long-fanged monster reeking of dung released a growl that shattered the surrounding trees, clearing a path towards her paralyzed form.

  The bipedal beast lurched forward, its tall, hanging ears bleeding dark yellow pus accented with sins from her past. Guttural heaves escaped its throat as wide steps brought its heavy, goat-like hooves upon soft green earth. Her eyes darted away from its terrible visage, searching for an escape she so desperately wished to run. Her legs had turned to stone, Marcy strained with all her will to lift them, nothing.

  The stench of its breath met her as its heaving drew near. An unnatural shadow escaped the beast and stretched over Marcy like the gaping jaws of a sea monster eager to swallow her whole. The ground beneath gave way. Her immovable body sank through nothing while the world parted around her. The jaws of that shadowed beast began consumption as darkness encompassed Marcy. Yet from that world above, the monstrous hands of the dung-ridden beast reached down. Coarse white fur wrapped around the falling women, and a strange feeling of desolate comfort encompassed her. The creature rocked her within its terrible embrace.

  Marcy’s eyes—the only things under her control, shifted and parted in every direction, desperate for escape. Summoning all her strength, she clenched them shut and focused on the hate, the guilt, those haunting memories of betrayal. The face of a pale blind woman and her scarred husband raced forward.

  "I'm sorry." The words emerged as that wild fur touched her lips.

  She shifted her head and reached outward, trying to release a cry of sorrow. Her voice would not lift, muffled by the unknown. With a rogue's defiance, she refused this fate and challenged her paralysis, roaring as loud as her whisper could carry. The pleased grunt of the beast shot a challenging jolt through her heart, forcing her eyes open to the world above. Surrounding light and familiar walls met her vision. She raised herself in panic and released a mournful cry. Outside, children of all ages came to a standstill, turning toward the anguish drenching the air. A door boomed open, Rutger marched across wooden floors with two strong boys behind him.

  Her senses rushed back in a flood. Burnt candles filled her nostrils, herbs coated her tongue, and fresh sweat stung her eyes.

  "Where am I?" she blinked the moisture away. The answer came with her conscious thoughts rushing the present forward. "You... Rutger."

  He nodded, holding a familiar yet unfortunate satchel. Her two assassin's blades hung loose from their sheaths.

  "I may be blind, but I know the weapons of an assassin." Rutger grunted as he sat.

  The cold steel rings around her feet made themselves known as she tried to pull herself up. "I am your prisoner?" The words scraped from her dry throat.

  Placing the blades beside himself, Rutger lifted a waterskin to her welcoming lips. "We seek to protect ourselves. The medicine is working well, but we must determine who you are and what your place is among our green."

  "I don't wish to be among your green." Droplets of water spotted the soft fabric of her bed as she spoke. "I am an outcast. I seek only to seclude myself among the Freelands."

  "A bandit-to-be?" Rutger asked.

  "I am no bandit." Her eyes moved to the boys watching from the doorway. "Your warriors are young."

  "Trained to replace me, they successfully have. Their skill outpaces their age. That does not answer, who are you?" The old man pondered.

  "I told you." She turned her head away. "I am an outcast."

  "What kind of outcast?" Rutger asked.

  "Nobody." Her soft lips formed the word as that strange stench of the beast flared from within, assaulting her senses. "I was nobody."

  "Nobody with blades." His fingers traced the weapons' hilts. "These lands are under our protection. We don't need a bandit-to-be nesting among the elder green."

  "What's out there?" She shifted. "In the green, what are they really?"

  "Truthfully? I do not know...They were not always so hostile. They have strange chants that echo through the dark. Those will be your neighbors within the shadows of the wild." The blind man answered. "Have you killed many?"

  "Yes." The word came swift, carrying no weight.

  "Among the darkness of foliage, one can sense the wild spirit of evil that permeates the EverGreen. You are sick with it, in your mind but not your heart. I can smell the stench of your regret."

  Marcy's head lifted from the soft pillow. "What did you say?"

  "I need not eyes to know the sight of a wrestling heart." His frail hands reached for the satchel of blades. "You fear these, don't you?"

  "They... they cost me everything."

  He lifted them to his chest and stretched them toward her.

  She turned away, voice quivering. "Please don't."

  "This is a place of lost children, those with no home. You are lost, and your heart is tired. I cannot rid you of your guilt, but I sense there may be a place for you here, instead of among the dark wild." Rutger said.

  "Why?"she asked.

  "The green brought you here." Rutger leaned forward, one hand fishing in his pocket to retrieve a small rusted key. "The shackles were for our protection from the symptoms of what you suffered. That time has passed."

  Relief flooded through Marcy as the metal fell from her wrist with a soft clink. "Do you have food?" Her mind pondered his words while her heart remained set on leaving, after a good meal.

  He smiled. "You will need soup for now." Looking toward the door where a small head peeked from the doorway, he commanded, "Come forth."

  A small child approached with a rudimentary carved bowl, squeaking with each step. Hot steam and the smell of fresh soup filled the room. Marcy's belly growled its approval, forcing her to sit up in bed.

  "This is Cole, one of our many young prospects." Rutger retrieved the bowl from the boy's hands. "Now eat."

  With an amused glare, she accepted the dish, her eyes never leaving his form as she sipped away.

  Rutger looked toward his boys. A single head gesture sent their heavy footsteps retreating.

  "I can't stay here." Marcy confessed.

  "You have been alone. No one was meant to be." he said.

  "All lands are cruel." She muttered.

  "Yet we don't have to be, no matter how grand the influence." He shuffled to his feet with a grunt that spoke of many years lived. "Once, long ago, a village stood on this very land." His soft steps dragged him near the window where warming rays pierced the room. "It was home. I was sent off to find myself among the green. Upon my return, bandits and rogue mercenary bands had murdered all, burnt their many homes to sunder ."

  She took another sip, soup warming her weary bones. "That's why you do this?"

  "No.” He said, “my village was but one of many to see the hand of greed and destruction fall upon them. Each boy here was left to die among the wild, each one a heart of hatred and vengeance. Just like I was before them." Though blind, he turned his head toward Marcy. She felt a gaze of righteous danger fall upon her. "We train them to overcome that hate, to wield that vengeance against not only the foes of their fury, but every soul that dares lift a hand against the poor farmers and abandoned ones among these so-called Freelands. You were brought here, taken at the edges of the far-off dark where you should have been consumed. I will not stop you from your folly, but the green shifted the winds of fate for you once. It will not do so again. If you leave here, you will fall trap to the ancient dark."

  His words fell upon her like embers of truth, scorching her sensibilities and rendering her heart captive . "I don't think I'm hungry anymore."

  "My apologies." Without another word, the old man moved toward the door where young Cole's hand opened it upon his arrival. "There is no lock on this door. You may meet us when you're ready."

  The door's creaky hinges latched shut. She sank into her bedding as that dark, ominous feeling, the stench of guilt and a foreign entity within her mind, raced through her body. It met a strange sensation within Marcy’s heart that assaulted her thoughts: hope.

  Her breathing softened as rest began to embrace Marcy, yet as her worried mind found itself within the dark reaches of that far-off forest, the beast of guilt rushed forth. Its hideous snarling, twisted and broken face raced to the forefront of her thoughts, reaching out with gnarled claws.

  She gasped for breath and jumped upward. The loosened shackles clattered to the floor. "No!" Her shaking hands pressed against the bedding as Marcy lifted herself from her place of rest. "I can't..."

  Helplessness was foreign to her, the old man had left the blades of her hatred by her side, yet gazing at them, she saw only torment. "Damn." A single tear traced down her scorned

  His aura permeated his sitting place. The darkness within, that beast, it faded as she touched the very wood of his chair. With feet upon the ground, she walked to the window and looked outward toward that far-off green. Past the cleared hedges and terraformed land covered in wooden obstacles and training dummies, where light broke upon the large and looming leaves of the forest, there between the foliage, she could feel its gaze upon her, something dark lurked.

  She placed her hand upon the wooden rafters and leaned forward, gazing into the in-between where shadow hides under leaves. Its view stretched far and blocked, from its forefront stood a wall of clearing. Within the light, young boys and men-to-be trained. The shadowed form drowned beneath sounds of laughter and grunts of courage and pain. The toil of sweat and beating hearts of youthful survivors, those who had escaped its clutches.

  "I'm sorry." she muttered.

  A beckoning pulled her attention over her shoulder toward the door where that aura of hope grew stronger. From the pits of blackness arose contorting disagreement, a fleeting feeling reshackling her, hinting at escape with weapons in hand into the EverGreen. Whispered words of helplessness, vulnerability, and reliance hid behind that door. The need for to believe and find reality beyond that untouchable, invisible aura. She looked at her legs, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. One long step forward—her foot found soft wood beneath. The pull of a lifetime of pain and regret echoed with raging resentment. She lifted her other foot in surrender.

  The wooden handle filled her palm just as the beast within reached forth to steal her breath. Pressure pressed against her hand from the other side, and light broke through the creaking door. Fear, hate, anger, self-pity, and loathing rushed to her back, forcing two heavy steps away from the opening door.

  From the other side, Cole's youthful face wreathed in curiosity.

  Soft words escaped his cracked lips. "Are you done?"

  Confusion crossed Marcy's face.

  "The food, are you done?" His words squeaked like a chick's chirp.

  Her cheeks flushed red as his innocence challenged her. "Yes... I think I am."

  From the corner of her eye, she spotted that old man leaning against a post within the widened building.

  With a gentle smile, Cole reached toward her. She felt his beckoning and her callused hands moved toward the warmth of his palm.

  "No, the bowl!" He chuckled, forcing an innocent laugh from Marcy.

  Looking toward the bed, she marched over and handed him the half-empty bowl.

  "Thank you." He turned, then halted. "Are you going to join us for second dinner?" Another chuckle escaped her at his earnest question.

  With a crooked smile breaking across her face, she said, "I think I might."

  TO BE CONTINUED...