Mistress Of The Marsh

Declan’s heart pounded in his chest as he raced through the woods. It didn’t seem possible, but he was catching up to the buck. He’d missed his shot, but he was gaining on the animal and moving back into range. Maybe it was desperation driving him on, allowing him to run faster than he ever had in his life.

It was foolish to chase a deer in the woods. So many things could go wrong. You could step on a rock and twist your ankle. You could land in another hunter’s trap. You could ascend a rise, not realizing it had a steep drop-off and tumble down the other side into trees or worse. The creatures of the forest always had the advantage. They knew the terrain and had better reflexes than you.

But Declan was hungry. So eager for this quest to be over. And against all odds, he was gaining on the beast. Deer were fast, but they didn’t have great endurance. If you could run long distances, it was possible to chase one down. It was the foliage, rocks and trees that were your real enemy. They concealed your prey and made it difficult to get off a good shot. Unless...

Declan’s eyes went wide as he saw ribbons of pale light in the distance. A clearing! If the beast was foolish enough to cross it, he would have a second shot. A difficult shot with a moving target, but a shot nonetheless. Declan readied his bow and poured on the speed, even as his legs screamed at him to rest. Sure enough, the sprinting beast hopped past the tree line into the pasture that waited on the other side.

’YES!’

He breached the tree line and reached for an arrow. His enthusiasm faded as he scanned the area. The beast was gone. Vanished completely. It must have turned and doubled back into the forest. On top of that, there was no pasture. Declan found himself at the edge of a swamp.

“DAMMIT!!!”

He was about to throw his bow into the ground with every bit of force he could muster, but stopped himself just in time. If he broke it, he’d have bigger problems than the withering hunger pangs in his stomach. Instead, he leaned down and rested his hands on his knees as his ragged breathing slowed and his heartbeat returned to normal.

Once he’d caught his breath, Declan rose back to his full height. He put his hands on his hips and examined the misty bog that stretched on for leagues. There wasn’t much to see and there was no quarry to be found out there. He was about to turn and head back into the woods when his ears twitched in disbelief.

“Declan...” A woman’s lilting voice called through the mist.

The young man’s brow furrowed. He reached back and pulled an arrow from his quiver. He nocked it into the string as he raised his bow defensively. Who out there could possibly know his name?

“Declan...”

“HELLO?” he asked in response, his voice cracking.

There was no answer. Not at first. To his astonishment, a figure appeared in the depths of the mist a few moments later. It wasn’t a body. Only a face. Declan aimed at it, but even from a great distance, he could tell it was ethereal. The unusual visage grew closer, floating slowly through the fog.

It was a woman’s face. Her skin was the most flawless, pale white he’d ever seen. Her eyes remained closed, with two webs of beautiful, dark lashes in repose. Her lips were painted a light shade of purple. Her thin eyebrows were the same charcoal color as the liner around her eyes.

“Declan...” the voice came again, echoing in his mind. The lips on the approaching face didn’t move.

“STAY BACK!” he called out as the haunting image grew closer. He wasn’t sure what to do in the face of this witchcraft. His weapon quivered in his hands as his anxiety grew.

“DECLAN!” the voice came loudly from behind him as a hand grabbed his shoulder.

The young man jumped. Fear coursed through his spine and drained into his limbs as he turned to see the interloper. It was the same face that approached him from the front, but attached to a tall, curvy form. The woman stood a foot taller than him, her body half-covered in twisted, black armor.

Her glowing, pink eyes had slits of midnight black at their center. They bore into him with the strength of a thousand suns. Her lips spoke mere inches from his face.

“COME TO ME!”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Declan’s body spasmed and his limbs flailed. His eyes shot open and he found himself back in more familiar settings. He sat beside the campfire he’d built to stay warm overnight. All that remained of it was a pile of ashes and a few fizzling embers.

“Owww...”

He rubbed the back of his head, realizing he’d just pounded his own skull into the tree he’d been resting against. He glanced from side to side, finding he’d just knocked over his pack and bow. His hand flew to his side and found his trusty knife sitting in its holster. Thankfully, nothing was missing or damaged. He let out a sigh of relief as the tension drained from his body.

’Just a dream.’

His limbs creaked as he rose from his resting spot. The air was crisp and full of early morning birdsong. Declan gathered some kindling and dumped it in the fire pit. He knelt down and blew on the embers until he had a small morning fire crackling away. His stomach gurgled and whined with hunger.

If he was lucky, one of his traps had caught a critter he could roast for breakfast. If he was really lucky, he’d find some edible berries or mushrooms while he checked on them. Anything he could scrounge up would be a blessing as he began the fourth day of his hunt. He warmed himself by the fire as he considered his situation.

Rabbits and even smaller game were all he’d managed so far. Nothing big enough to take home. ’Don’t come back until you can feed the family!’ his father had said. That was the right of passage all men in their village underwent when they came of age. Some guys got lucky and came back the same day. Others might be gone days or weeks. Occasionally, a poor soul would never return.

There were beasts big enough to be a danger in these woods, but they usually avoided you unless they felt threatened or were desperately hungry. Declan had encountered bears and wolves with his father and lived to tell the tale. He’d even killed a boar, once. Wild animals weren’t what worried Declan’s mother. ’Be wary of spirits and witchcraft!’ she’d warned him. He hadn’t taken them seriously, at the time, but now, in the wake of his dream, they felt like words of wisdom.

The young man scanned the woodland depths. The forest echoed with tweeting birds, the knocks of woodpeckers and the chirps of insects and amphibians. This was as deep as he’d ever gone into the wild. It seemed he would go even further, today, in search of his quarry. Declan would be silent as the grave and watchful as an owl as he sought to bring this test to an end.

It was late afternoon and Declan was exhausted. He leaned against a large, mossy rock and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. He was stressed and voraciously hungry. His meager breakfast hadn’t sated him for long. Declan’s stomach had been whining and groaning for the last several miles. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was scaring away the deer.

On the other hand, what deer? He’d found a few tracks and a pile of droppings, but nothing recent. They were all old. His predicament was growing stark as the fourth day dragged on. He would need to eat again soon. Otherwise, it was questionable how long he’d be able to continue. If he didn’t find a promising lead in the next hour, it was back to foraging and preparing small traps.

After a brief rest, he launched himself off the rock and continued his advance into the lonely wilderness. He was quietly plodding along when an intense feeling of deja vu overtook him. Ribbons of pale light appeared between the trees ahead. It seemed he was at the forest’s end.

’A clearing... ‘

He proceeded through the final expanse of woodland greenery with trepidation. Declan stepped into the dim light and sure enough, he was at the edge of the very same bog he’d visited in his dream.

’This is too weird ... I’m not hanging around to be charmed by some witch. Mother was right.’

He was already headed back to the edge of the woods when his nose wrinkled and he stopped in his tracks. There was a scent on the breeze. A smell he would recognize anywhere. Stew. Someone was making stew not far away. And it was coming from...

He whirled around and looked back at out at the marsh. The wind was coming in from the bog. On top of that, a thin trail of smoke presented itself, rising above the mist and floating up into the overcast sky. Its source didn’t appear to be too far away.

Forage? Or reach out and hope it was someone friendly? Neither option was particularly appealing, but making allies was part of survival in the wild. Besides, a bowl of stew and whatever might come with it would last a lot longer than another fire-cooked squirrel or handful of berries.

After a few moments of deliberation, Declan sighed. He slung his bow over his shoulder and reluctantly trekked into the marsh.

It wasn’t long before he spotted a faint, colorful glow in the mist. The young hunter advanced slowly, watching his footsteps and remaining as quiet as possible. The sounds of peepers, wetland birds and other swamp creatures helped mask his approach. They croaked and chirped away, their steady noise filling the air of early evening. The smell of hot stew grew stronger the closer he got, sending his stomach into painful, groaning knots.

A small encampment came into focus. To Declan’s surprise, it looked unoccupied. Empty of humans, but not of food. He could see a giant kettle sitting over a fire at the center of the camp. There was other food and drink nearby as well. Had a party just finished their evening meal and headed out on a hunt? What would they even be hunting in a swamp?

Regardless, it seemed like it might be Declan’s lucky day. He could eat and be gone before they returned. He studied the camp carefully as he entered the perimeter, being mindful to check for traps. Finding none, he strolled in like he owned the place.

A feast! His heart leapt as a cornucopia of food awaited him at a small table near the fireplace. Not only was there stew in the kettle, there was bread, fruit and cheese! Skins of fresh water and a half-full flask of wine!

He felt some measure of guilt as he approached the table and eyed its bounty covetously. This was someone else’s food, after all, and he hadn’t been invited. But his ravenous hunger overrode all other considerations. He grabbed a small loaf of bread and bit into it without delay. He picked up a branch of grapes and began gobbling them off the vine in rapid succession.

Once he had enough in his stomach to bring the wincing to an end, he procured himself a wooden bowl and spoon before making his way to the stew. He lifted the lid, took up the hanging ladle and guided heaping mounds of hot meat, vegetables and delicious looking broth into the light brown dish.

When it was full, he sat on one of the large logs adjacent to the fire where makeshift seating had been carved out of its bark. He sat down and began eating, murmuring in satisfaction as each warm, delicious mouthful slid down his throat and eased his lingering hunger. In between hasty gulps and chews, he looked around and listened for any approaching sounds. Were anyone to return, he would make a hasty exit.

Thankfully, no one did. As soon as he was done with his first bowl, Declan helped himself to another serving. He raised the cauldron lid again and looked down at the simmering feast with relish.

“Hello there, young man.”

CLANG

Declan dropped the lid, tossed the bowl aside and whirled around, his hand flying to his knife. His nerves crackled and his heart rate spiked from the sudden intrusion. Not far away stood the woman from his dream, a demonic looking figure of snow white skin and black carapace armor. It somehow molded perfectly to her body, covering half of her pale, curvy form. She had long pink hair that matched the color of her eyes and supple, purple lips.

Atop her head sat an intimidating dual-horn helmet. Three gems were faceted into it. One at the base of both black horns and the third centered over her forehead. The fixtures were sculpted to look like a trio of extra eyes, giving the headpiece a sinister look that was equal parts twisted and arcane. The leathery black and purple garb that draped from her arms looked almost like a pair of wings.

She stood thirty feet away in a haughty pose of poise and confidence. The woman maintained a thin smile as she studied him curiously. If her demeanor was any indication, a young man with a knife and bow didn’t register as any kind of threat.

Declan decided not to mince words. “I saw you in my dream. Are you a witch?”

“A witch?” she replied with a laugh. “Has someone been scaring you with bedtime stories?”

He drew his knife and pointed it at her. “You look enough like a witch to me.”

“I have no use for goat’s blood or jars of toads, I assure you.”

“A wizard then.”

“Sorceress” she corrected him. Her smile faded into an annoyed glower.

“Right, so a witch.”

“You can put that away. If I meant you harm, I would’ve poisoned the food.”

Declan lowered the weapon slowly. “This is your camp?”

“That’s right. You look like you’re still hungry.” She motioned to the simmering pot beside him. “Please, help yourself to more.”

He hilted the weapon at his side with a sturdy shove. “I will, thanks. But keep your distance, witch.”

“My name is Daemiel. What’s yours, young one?”

“Declan” he answered. “Though, I suspect you already knew that.”

Daemiel uttered an amused chuckle. She watched as the hunter circled back around the fire and picked up his bowl. Declan was careful to keep the woman in sight at all times. He lifted the lid and began serving himself another helping.