The Demon in the Wood (2 page)

“They are set in their ways, and you are not only a woman, but”—he cleared his throat—“they fear you are not entirely natural.”

Eryk wasn’t surprised. When other Grisha saw the power that he and his mother possessed, they had only one of two responses: fear or greed. Either they ran from it or they wanted it for themselves.
It’s a balance,
his mother always said.
Fear is a powerful ally, but feed it too often, make it too strong, and it will turn on you.
She had warned him to be cautious when displaying his power, to never show the full extent of what he could do. She certainly never did—she never used the Cut unless the situation was dire.

That wasn’t a problem for him, he thought bitterly. He still hadn’t mastered the Cut. His mother had managed it when she was half his age.

Now she lifted a brow and addressed the
Ulle.
“The first men to see bears thought they were monsters. My power is unfamiliar, not unnatural.”

“A bear is still dangerous,” noted the
Ulle.
“It still has claws and teeth to maul a man.”

“And men have spears and steel,” she said sharply. “Do not play the weak party with me,
Ulle.
”

Eryk saw the flash of anger that moved over the big man’s face at his mother’s disrespectful tone. Then the
Ulle
laughed. “I like your ferocity, Lena. But have a care with the old men.”

Eryk’s mother dipped her head in acknowledgment.

“Now, Eryk,” said the
Ulle,
“do you think you can be comfortable here?” His eyes were merry, and Eryk knew he was expected to smile, so he attempted it.

“
Der git ver rastjel,
” he said, giving the traditional greeting first in Fjerdan, then in Ravkan. “We are grateful guests.”

The
Ulle
looked slightly amused, but he replied in the prescribed fashion. “
Fel holm ve koop djet.
Our home is better for it.”

“Why is there no wall around the camp?” Eryk asked.

“Does that worry you? The villagers barely know we’re here—they certainly don’t know what we are.”

Someone must,
thought Eryk.
That’s how we found you.
That was how they always found Grisha. He and his mother followed legends, whispers, tales of sorcerers and witches, of demons in the forests. Stories like that had led them to a tribe of Squallers camped along the western shore, to Baba Anezka and her cave of mirrors, to Petyr of Brevno and Magda of the black woods.

“My son asks a good question,” said his mother. “I saw no fortifications and only one man on watch.”

“Start building walls, and people begin to wonder what you’re hiding. We keep our buildings low. We don’t raid the villagers’ fields or farms, or empty their forests of game. Better they do not notice us than that they think we have something they want.”

Because you don’t. And you never will.
It was like this wherever they went. Grisha living in camps and broken-down mines, hiding out in tunnels. Eryk had seen the island nation of Kerch, the library at Ketterdam, the grand roads and waterways. He’d seen the temples at Ahmrat Jen, and the great fort at Os Alta, protected by its famous double walls. They felt permanent, solid, a bulwark against the night. But places like this barely felt real, as if they might just slip away into nothing, vanishing without notice or regard.

“You’ll be safe here,” said the
Ulle.
“And if you stay until the spring, we may go to see the white tigers in the permafrost.”

“Tigers?”

“Maybe that will earn me a real smile,” the
Ulle
said with a wink. “My son will tell you all about them.”

Once the
Ulle
had said his goodbyes and departed, Eryk’s mother sat down on the edge of her sleeping pallet. It had been raised off the floor to keep out the cold, and was piled high with blankets and furs—another sign of respect.

“Well?” she asked. “What do you think?”

“Can we stay until spring?” He couldn’t hide his eagerness now. The prospect of tigers had defeated his caution.

“We’ll see. Tell me about the camp.”

Eryk heaved an irritated sigh. “Twelve huts. Eight have working chimneys—”

“Why?”

“Those are the huts for Grisha of greater status.”

“Good. What else?”

“The
Ulle
is rich, but his hands are callused. He does his own work. And he walks with a limp.”

“Old or new injury?”

“Old.”

“Are you guessing?”

Eryk crossed his arms. “The wear on the side of his boot shows he’s been favoring that leg a long while.”

“Go on.”

“He lied about the elders.”

His mother cocked her head to one side, her black eyes glittering. “Did he?”

“None of them voted to have you at the meeting, but the
Ulle
demanded it.”

“How do you know?”

He hesitated, less sure now. “It was the sound of the
Ulle
’s voice, the way the elders stood apart from him as they watched us come down the hill.”

She rose and brushed the hair back from his face. “You read the flow of power the way others chart tides,” she marveled. “It will make you a great leader.” He rolled his eyes at that. “Anything else?” she asked.

“This hut smells terrible.”

She laughed. “It’s animal fat,” she said. “Probably reindeer. The northerners use it in their lamps. It could be worse. Remember the swamp near Koba?”

“I’m pretty sure that was just one smelly Heartrender.”

She gave an exaggerated shudder at the memory. “So do you think you can bear it?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. He could tolerate anything if only they could spend a whole season in one place.

“Good.” She adjusted her silver furs, then pulled a heavy garnet ring from her pack and placed it on her finger. “Wish me luck at the meeting. Will you go exploring?”

He nodded. He didn’t like the surge of nervousness that rose up in him, but there it was.

She gave his chin a quick pinch. “Be careful. Don’t let anyone—”

“I know.” The Cut wasn’t the only secret they kept.

“Just until you’re strong enough,” she cautioned. “Until you learn to defend yourself. And remember you’re—”

“Eryk,” he said. “I know. It’s my own name I’m afraid of forgetting.”

“Your true name is written here,” she said tapping his chest. “Tattooed on your heart. You don’t let just anyone read it.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I know.”

“I know, I know,” she mimicked. “You sound like a crow cawing.” She gave him a little shove. “Be back before dark.”

*   *   *

The world outside seemed too bright after the dim clutch of the hut. Eryk squinted against the glare and watched his mother head toward the long hall, then made his way into the forest. These were the trees he liked best, the kind that never lost their green, that always smelled of sap. In woods like these, it felt like summer was still alive, as if a sun were buried in every rough trunk like a warm, dormant heart.

He walked north of the camp, following the slope of the hill, but as the trees began to thin, he hesitated. He could hear laughter and see a clearing a little farther on. He made himself plunge ahead.

Two girls were playing on the banks of a stream. They both had light hair and blue eyes, the Fjerdan coloring that was common close to the border.

“Careful, Sylvi!” shouted the older girl as the other hopped from rock to rock, giggling. They both fell silent when they noticed Eryk.

“Hello,” he offered, then tried, “
Ajor
” in Fjerdan.

“We speak Ravkan,” said the taller girl, though she had that Fjerdan lilt to her voice. She looked like she was Eryk’s age, maybe a little older. “Sylvi, stop that. Get back here.”

“No!” shrieked the younger girl happily, and launched herself into another hop over the rushing water. “Watch me, Annika!”

Eryk walked a little way upstream to where he could study the water playing in the rapids and sat down on a rock. He picked up a stick and let the tip drift in the water, feeling the tug of the current, waiting. They would approach him. They always did. But he felt more anxious than usual. He’d stopped trying to make friends in the places he and his mother visited—there was no point when they moved on so quickly. Now he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

A few minutes later, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sylvi hopping toward him.

“Are you Lena’s son?”

He nodded.

“You can do that thing? The same thing she can?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see?” Sylvi asked.

They started curious, but they usually ended up afraid.

“Don’t be rude, Sylvi,” chastised Annika.

Sylvi kicked a chunk of earth into the stream. “I want to see.”

“It’s okay,” said Eryk. He might as well get it over with. He lifted his hand and drew a circle of darkness in the air. It twisted and curled, its tendrils tugging at the sunlight before they faded.

“Again,” said Sylvi.

He smiled a little and repeated the gesture. He let the circle roll toward Sylvi. She poked her fingers through it and watched as her fingertips vanished. She shrieked and pulled her hand back.

“Annika, come try!”

“Leave him alone, Sylvi.”

“What’s your name?” Sylvi asked.

“Arkady,” he said. When she frowned, he amended, “Eryk.”

“I don’t like that name.”

“Me neither.”

“Why don’t you change it?”

“Maybe I will.”

“Do the thing again.”

“Stop pestering him, Sylvi.”

He created another circle but this time made it spiral larger. Annika left off any pretense of mucking around in the stream and stared. He fashioned the darkness into a disk that floated beside the rapids like a black door that might lead anywhere. Sylvi stepped toward it.

“Sylvi, don’t!” Annika shouted.

The little girl vanished into the black.

“Sylvi!” cried Annika, running forward.

From the whirling black disk came Sylvi’s laughter. “I can’t see you!” she crowed. “Can you see me?”

“Bring her back,” snarled Annika. She lifted her hands, and the surface of the creek trembled slightly.

“She’s standing right there,” Eryk said, trying to ignore the way her words stung. He should be used to it by now. He gave a flick of his fingers. The black disk vanished, and there was Sylvi, arms held out in front of her.

She scowled. “Why’d you stop?”

Annika grabbed Sylvi in a tight hug. “Are you okay?”

“What’s the matter?” Sylvi asked, struggling to disentangle herself.

Annika’s cheeks reddened. “Nothing. I … Sorry,” she mumbled to Eryk.

He shrugged.

“I’ve just never seen anything like that up close.”

He picked up his stick and dragged it back through the current of the stream.

“Listen,” Annika said, “I’m sorry. I—”

She was interrupted by the sounds of voices. Three boys crashed into the clearing, shoving at one another and laughing. Annika stepped away from Eryk, her shoulders tense.

“Come out to practice, Annika?” asked the tallest of the boys when he saw them. He had the same red-gold hair as the
Ulle.
“You certainly need it.”

Annika took Sylvi’s hand. “We were just leaving, Lev.”

The boy glanced at Eryk. “You’re the other shadow summoner, aren’t you? You came with the Black Witch.”

“Don’t use that word,” Annika snapped.

“What’s the big deal?”

“If you’d seen a
drüskelle
raid, you’d know. Come on, Sylvi, let’s go.”

“I don’t want to,” said Sylvi.

Lev grinned. “Don’t leave on our account.” He twisted his wrists, and two little gusts of air spiraled to life, lifting pine needles off the ground and forming tiny cyclones. They whirred over the creek, gathering water, then bounced free to spin over the forest floor like tops.

Sylvi clapped her hands and chased one down the bank. “You make one, Annika.”

“Yeah, you make one,” said Lev, exchanging a knowing glance with the other boys.

Annika flushed a deeper red. She took a breath and raised her hands. The water swelled from the creek’s surface in a shivering arc. Sylvi gave a triumphant whoop. As Annika twisted her wrists, the water spiraled slowly left, then collapsed in a splash.

The two boys burst out laughing, but Lev just shook his head.

“Weak,” he said, “just like your father. You should spend more time training and less time playing with that runt.”

Sylvi frowned. “What’s a runt?”

Lev bent to look Sylvi in the eye and smiled. His voice was friendly, warm as honey. “
You’re
a runt,
lapushka.
Small and stunted and useless. A little
otkazat’sya
mistake.”

Sylvi’s lip trembled. Eryk stood, unsure of what he meant to do. His mother wouldn’t want him to get involved, particularly in a conflict with the
Ulle
’s son.

But before he could say a word, Annika gave Lev a hard shove. “Leave her alone.”

Lev smirked. “She shouldn’t be here. This is a Grisha camp.”

“Some people don’t show their power until later.”

“She’s
otkazat’sya,
and you know it. One more weakling in a family full of weaklings. She should go. Hell, you should all go. You can’t carry your own weight.”

“That isn’t your decision.”

“No, it’s my father’s decision. Maybe we should just drown the runt now. Put her out of her misery.” He took a step toward Sylvi.

“I said
leave her alone.
”

Annika raised her arms and, maybe because of her anger, the water whipped from the creek surface in a slash of stinging spray. But she was no match for Lev. With the barest wave of his hand, the water dissipated into mist.

“This should be fun,” he said.

He lifted his arms and a gust of air slammed through the woods, knocking Sylvi and Annika to the ground. The wind roared between the trees, snapping branches, sending them hurtling toward the girls. Sylvi screamed.

“Stop!” Eryk shouted, and before he could think better of it, a skein of darkness shot from his hands and wrapped itself around Lev. It circled the boy’s body like a snake and closed over his face.