Hrafn fell to his knees at the exact moment the branches ceased. For an instant, the world seemed to shrink until it fit into only two things, the sound of his own breathing echoing inside the helm and the cry of a child, sharp and disturbing, coming from some point in the woods. His mind was exhausted and his body, even worse. He ended up falling back onto the damp earth, looking at the treetops while he raised his hands to the helmet and removed it with great difficulty.
The cold air of the woods entered his lungs better and right after that he spat blood, his ribs seemed to have broken even more during the effort of resisting for so long. With luck there would not be a punctured lung. He then reached for the gauntlet and tore it off with the help of his teeth, trying to free himself of every weight he could. Then he turned his body to the side, braced himself on his arm and began to drag backward, until he managed to lean his back against a tree.
Only then did he let his eyes wander across the field around him.
Much of the roots that broke through the ground and the branches that fell from above had died along with the mandrakes. The woods seemed suddenly sickened, everything around had taken on an aspect of rot. A strong, damp and pungent smell filled his nostrils. Hrafn coughed two more times, each of them worse than the last, he ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes for an instant, his head throbbed.
He tried to force the blessing back inside himself, as much as he could, closing the megin, muffling his own perception and seeking some peace. He did not manage much, his gifts remained active in their most passive state, and that was enough to make everything worse.
He could still hear and he could still feel.
"It... it hurts." The girl's voice reached him.
"Stupid girl," Dagny replied.
Hrafn opened his eyes, The mercenary had knelt beside Liv and was reaching a hand toward one of the branches that pierced the young woman's body when she cried out.
"No!" The agony in that single word was enough to stop the woman. "Please..."
Dagny pulled her hand back immediately, beside her, an older man with long white hair, looked at her with sorrow and slowly shook his head. There was nothing to be done, the two of them knew it, everyone knew it.
"Why did you come back, girl?" Dagny asked, and there was anger in her voice, but the kind of anger that only exists when grief has not yet found a better way to come out. "We would have managed."
Liv tried to laugh and the effort drew blood from her mouth before anything else.
"Because... it is what a hero would do."
Dagny lowered her head a little.
"You really are quite something, child."
It was the first time Hrafn heard the woman's voice lose its firmness.
"Remember..." Liv tried to say, but the cough cut her off.
"Speak, girl. I am listening to you." Dagny held her hand more tightly. "I am listening."
Liv breathed with difficulty before managing to continue:
"Remember when I went to you with a few coins? Begging for training... and you..."
"I said it was foolishness," Dagny completed, without taking her eyes off her. "That a skinny girl would not make a good warrior." Her voice broke. "But I was wrong, child. I was wrong."
Liv remained silent for a few seconds, her eyes already less steady, her face growing paler and paler.
"I'm scared, Dagny," she said finally, in a weak breath.. "I'm cold."
"You are going to be fine, girl," the leader lied, moving closer and caressing her hair with a gentleness that did not seem to belong to that woman. "You are going to be fine..."
Liv made one last effort to turn her head in her direction. The light in her eyes was already fading. "Thank you, Dagny."
Dagny began to tremble, she made no scene nor cried loudly, she only trembled, holding the girl's body more tightly, her blood staining her clothes. Hrafn felt that process in several ways at once. The blood running through the grass seemed to run inside him, he could feel heat leaving the young woman's body, cooling, dying little by little.
The feeling that came next was worse, then came guilt, one he had never had before, the responsibility of having led someone to death. Perhaps if he had gone back, if he had gone to the Hird. The girl, little more than a year older than him, would still be alive. Perhaps she would remain alive for a long time, becoming the heroine she had always wanted to be.
But then the mandrake would have kept growing. The mine post might have been attacked and others would die.
That was the way of it.
In this world, there was almost never a clean way out. There was almost never a choice that did not demand blood somewhere, always the price that is paid. today it had been Liv's life so that it would not be many others tomorrow.
"So, boy." Dagny's voice tore him from his own thoughts, she was before him now, with Liv in her arms. "We are going, hm?"
The last part came out like a short hiss, twisted by anger and grief, reminding him exactly of what he had said when he decided to enter the woods. The memory made him feel even worse than he already did. Even so, Hrafn said nothing and Dagny did not insist either. Despite the loss, she seemed to understand the hard reality of that work, of that world. After a moment watching him, she only said to her men:
"Take the boy back."
Hrafn let out groans of pain while the warriors began to remove his armor. The metal was far too heavy for them to carry it together with him inside it, and the abrupt movements worsened the state of his ribs even more.
Trying not to think about his own pain, he let his eyes run across the forest again, passing over the great tree or what remained of it. The wood was darkened, almost black, and the stench of rot that came from there was so strong that it reached even him. Even so... there was something wrong. Hrafn could feel life there, the tree itself was doomed. But there was some other thing at its foot, something too small to be perceived by common eyes and too alive to be ignored by him.
"Take me to the tree," he said.
The men looked at one another for an instant. Then they shrugged, like men who had already seen too much that day to find one more thing strange, and dragged him there. The closer he got, the clearer it became, at the foot of the tree, in a small hole among the dead roots, there was something.
"Lower me." he asked.
Hrafn pushed the roots aside with his bare hand and thrust more than half his arm into the hole. His fingers felt through damp earth until they found something hard and small. When he pulled his hand back, he held a seed between his fingers. There was more vital energy in it than any seed had the right to possess. The thing pulsed discreetly, as if a tiny and stubborn will lived inside there. Hrafn observed it for an instant and then put it away in the pocket on his chest.
Before he could be lifted again, before he said anything else, his eyes grew heavy the megin, at last, was beginning to quiet down. The adrenaline went away all at once, and the emptiness it left was immediately occupied by exhaustion. There was no more strength left in him to sustain consciousness.
The woods darkened around him.
And Hrafn fainted.