Ten Years Ago...

"Come on, girl," Uncle Marcus said as he swung his canvas sack into the back of the horse-drawn wagon, the bottle inside clanking as the bag hit the weathered wooden planks. His bow and quiver were slung over his shoulder, and he tossed my heavy cloak at me with his other hand. It drifted down onto the grass, the blue edge of it flapping in a patch of mud like the wing of an injured bird.

"Yes, Uncle." I stood from my sun-warmed spot next to the blackberry bush where I'd been watching the spiders, time falling away in the autumn sun. Uncle looked at me with the same expression he often regarded me with – a mixture of confusion, annoyance, disappointment. A touch of anger, disgust. All of it blended to make a weathered, wrinkled mask of perpetual unhappiness. It still didn't stop me from trying to please, however. "Where are we going, Uncle?" I asked as I brushed grass and mud from my cloak and smiled cheerfully.

"Hunting." I took a deep breath and nodded, glancing to the web as the spiders retreated into the shadows of the thicket. I looked back at Uncle Marcus, whose hazy eyes blinked at the web beyond me, his brain not registering what his eyes were surely telling him. Even from that distance of a dozen feet, and even though the veneer of his morning whiskey, he could see what I saw; the shape of a rose woven into the pattern of the web, its bright lace twinkling in the sun. He shook his head as though to clear the image, and I knew it would go to the same place in his mind where all the other peculiarities went to die. I smiled just a little to myself. "Hurry up," he said. "We've got to make it before nightfall."

I grabbed my doll, Mary, from where I'd put her on the half-fallen garden fence to keep her from getting dirty, or at least dirtier. At twelve, I knew I was too old for dolls. I was too old for watching spiders, for climbing trees to call to the golden hawks that crested over the fields of wheat. I was too old to sit near the fox den, waiting for the kits to tumble over each other as they left their secret hideaway to explore the glen in spring. I was too old for all these things, but too delighted by the everyday magic of them to give them up.

I climbed into the wagon and sat next to Uncle Marcus on the bench as he took up the reins and urged Sage forward. The old piebald draft horse compliantly started up the lane and away from our cottage, my uncle turning him left at the end and onto the worn track of the road. We walked on in silence for some time, through our town of Salina, where the squat, pastel little houses were covered in vines and the lazy brook trickled under stone bridges. The residents spared barely a glance in our direction, not wanting to meet Uncle Marcus's eyes.

We passed the farmlands of wheat and pastures where mares stood guard as their foals slept in the sun. We didn't talk until we reached the wall of Antioch, a bustling town about twice the size of Salina where most people didn't know us, or they didn't know enough to care. The city was walled in stone, but the massive wooden doors to the road were open, people coming and going for market day. Sage pulled us past the guards standing at the chambered entrance, their spears pointing to the sky, their swords gleaming at their sides. They were motionless as boulders, except one. His gaze connected with mine. I could see his eyes widen a fraction in the shadow of his helmet. He made no other movement as I hastily looked back to the road.

"Where are we going, Uncle?"

"We're stopping for lunch at the Blackbird Inn."

"And after that?"

"The Twisted Wood." A little gasp left my throat. The Twisted Wood was a thick forest that stretched all the way to the Artaxian Mountains in the distance. Only experienced hunters that knew the tangled mess of centuries-old oaks and thorns went into the Twisted Wood. Even then, some never came back out, and those that did had stories of unnatural things. Frightening things. Some said that shadows walked in the thickets, calling you into the depths of the forest until you lost your way, until you panicked and ran and ran until your heart exploded in your chest like a crushed berry. Some said the animals grew unusually large and powerful from eating the men that came to hunt them. Some even said a sorcerer from the mountains controlled the Wood, casting a spell over all that entered, calling them into the mountains to join a demon tribe.

"But isn't it dangerous? What's worth hunting there that we can't get back home?"

"Hush, girl," he hissed fiercely, pulling up on the reins as we arrived at the Blackbird Inn. I leaned away from him reflexively, half expecting the sting of his palm against my cheek even though I knew he wouldn't dare attract more attention to himself in public. As if reading my mind, he eyed the patrons sitting outside with suspicion. "I've found a prize that will make me rich, rich beyond imagination," he whispered, his gaze snaring mine, his whiskey breath spilling over my reddening cheeks. His eyes were like slicing shards of ice, the clearest I'd seen them since I couldn't remember when. Something that had been absent was suddenly piercing through them. Ambition.

I didn't ask any more questions, not through our lunch of lamb stew and buttered rolls, Uncle Marcus washing his down with two pints of ale. We didn't talk as we left the Inn and untied Sage, rumbling through the rest of the town and continuing west toward the Twisted Wood. Eventually, the ash and maple forest gave way to oaks, the darkness creeping through, sunlight barely touching the ground below.

"We're here," Uncle Marcus said. He turned us down an overgrown lane that led to a small clearing not visible from the main road. He halted Sage and hopped out of the wagon, directing me to help him to remove the heavy leather harness. We gathered a bucket of water from a nearby stream and strung a tie line between two sturdy oaks at the edge of the clearing for Sage, who started to graze seemingly without interest that he was at the edge of a fabled, haunted wood.

"What are we hunting, Uncle?" I asked as he walked back to the wagon, pulling his bag from the back of the wagon with a clunk. His head lowered and he looked around suspiciously at the trees, as if they could eavesdrop. The glint in his grey-blue eyes reappeared. My heart danced against my ribs.

"Rathian."

I gasped, my hand flying up to my mouth. My skin went cold, goosebumps prickling my arms, a rush of fear tightening in my chest. "Rathian? I...I don't understand, Uncle...How?" He smirked triumphantly, as though he'd already killed his quarry. He pulled his bow and quiver across his broad shoulder and started walking to the edge of the meadow where a path cut an opening into the dense forest. Even though he spent most of his time drinking in Salina's single tavern, the Speckled Hen, Uncle's body still held onto a time long ago when he was an ox of a woodsman. Before his life slowly fragmented like the jagged edges of a broken bottle. I looked back to his quiver, noticing he had replaced the fletchings on some of his arrows. I didn't think it would be enough to take down Rathian. "How do you know he's here? Everyone says he lives in the mountains, beyond the fog." He glared at me over his shoulder, and I knew the time for questions was coming to an end.

"Because, girl. I know the look of fear in a man's eyes. Real fear. I saw it in a man that came into the Hen. He looked like he'd just seen a demon. He said he was stopped here at this clearing to rest away from the road when saw it, crouched at the edge of the meadow, almost as big as his horse. A giant tiger. Black with even blacker stripes. Silver eyes that glowed. It turned and stalked into the Wood, but he said he could hear it creeping closer, he could see the eyes in the shadow of the trees." I gave Sage a backward glance as we snaked into the shadows of the path, hoping he would be safe. "The bounty on Rathian will make me a rich man," he said. And then, at just a whisper into the Wood as he led us further into shadow, "a very rich man indeed."

We walked for hours in silence as the afternoon passed into dusk and then night, the temperature steadily dropping. I could see my breath in the flickering light of my torch. We passed hills and creeks, rocks and roots, and twisted trees that looked like people whose bodies had contorted in a vicious wind. Eventually, we descended a hill and came upon a small clearing next to a rocky outcrop. "Good a place as any," Uncle Marcus said, scratching at his beard thoughtfully. He eyed me and shoved his bag into my arms. "Take this and find us a flat spot for the night. I'll get wood to make a fire." I nodded, my eyes heavy, exhaustion seeping into my limbs.

Uncle Marcus came back with an armful of wood and we started a fire, laying two blankets down on the sparse grass to sit on as we ate a ration of cured ham, bread, and cheese. I folded my arms around my legs, keeping my cloak tight against the dark and cold, clutching Mary to my chest. Uncle Marcus started his bottle of whiskey, the only sound between us the popping and crackling of the wood on the fire. Eventually, I laid down with my head on Mary's soft body, trying to remember every detail of my mother's face in the darkness.

It was much later when I awoke to a familiar sound. It was my uncle, his voice bitter as he whispered fiercely to himself. I tried to keep my breathing even as I cracked an eye open and looked over at him. His first whiskey bottle was empty, and he was a quarter through his second. The fear spiked in my chest as he glowered over at me and caught me staring. The gleam of ambition in his eye returned, though now hazed by the whiskey.

"Get up, girl. I know you're awake."

I sat up slowly and pushed the hair out of my face, pulling Mary to my chest. "What is it, Uncle? Have you seen Rathian?"

"No," he hissed, spitting into the dirt next to him. "No, I have not."

"Maybe we should try another day?" I didn't think he could hit a cow at ten feet away with an arrow given how much whiskey he'd had.

"No." He took another long draw from the bottle, a dark look of determination crossing his face. "I'm not going back there without my prize." Uncle set the bottle down, exchanging it for the empty one while standing up. He stretched his back and lurched a drunken step toward me. "I'm not going back to that fucking village with those assholes judging me. Always judging me. No."

"All right, Uncle," I said, as composed as I could, trying to diffuse his simmering anger. I scooted back on my bum, wanting to put distance between us. My heart was clawing its way up my throat. Uncle took another step toward me, then another.

"No. It's not all right. We'll be waiting here on our asses for days at this rate. What we need is to lure him in. What we need is bait." My eyes locked with his for the briefest moment, his pupils constricting, and a breath later he crashed into me. We tumbled and twisted away from the fire as the impact of his body knocked us both through the night air. Landing between a rock and his crushing weight, the bones of my forearm snapped with an audible pop. I screamed and screamed as pain erupted across my left arm. I cried his name just as the bottle connected with my head, and stars exploded across my vision, the edges caving into darkness. "You lay there now," he said close to my face. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek as he pressed my head into the mud. "When Rathian comes, we'll all be free of this miserable life."

Clutching at consciousness, tears streaming down my face, I could hear him lurch away to the edge of the meadow. I held tightly to my upper arm, lying on my right side as my feet thrashed on the ground, desperate to climb out of my pain. I could feel the blood soaking the sleeve of my dress and didn't dare look down, my stomach churning with adrenaline.

I realized then that this hunt was always just for him. He would be rich, not we. He would claim his prize, not ours. "Uncle! Uncle!" I screamed his name through the pain and hurt and betrayal, my heart twisting. I tried to never be a nuisance, to not object when he spoke cruelly to me. I tried not to cry when he struck me, or scream when the leather of his belt connected with my back in a drunken rage. I tried not to feel hurt that he didn't even bother to use my name anymore. I was just Girl, a burden to him. But I had never deserved that pain. And I didn't deserve this.

I don't deserve this.

Left as bait by a monster, for a monster. Left alone in the haunted Wood.

I don't deserve this.

I cried quietly to myself, tears mixing with the blood that started to stream down my face from where he'd hit me with the bottle. My head felt like it was a barrel of water. Everything seemed so heavy. The world seemed to slosh around me. I closed my eyes tightly, my breathing starting to slow as the throbbing in my head and arm took over all my thoughts. It was all I could think about, all I could feel. I turned slowly onto my back, holding my arm to my chest, trying to will the throbbing away as I opened my eyes again and looked at the stars visible above the clearing. My chest heaved as I thought about how truly alone I suddenly was.

I don't deserve this.

Something started pooling inside me, heating up the center of my chest, rising through all the other emotions and through the pain, blotting them out. My breathing sped up. Deep, pumping breaths powered through me, mist billowing from my mouth into the cold night. The heat in my chest spread through my shoulders, into my stomach, down my legs. It spread until it consumed me.

It was rage.

I screamed. I screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. I screamed until my voice cleaved into two voices, a harmony of screams, my own and something lower. Something...otherworldly. My voices screamed and screamed until I suddenly registered something crawling across my face, my eyelid instinctively closing as the whispery tickle of it moved from my cheek toward the cut on my head. I blinked, and in the abrupt quiet in the absence of my screaming I heard a rustling. I turned my head, blinking through my tears.

Spiders.

Hundreds, maybe thousands, crawling toward me from every direction. I didn't move, just watched as they scuttled toward me, over me, some stopping around me to create a swirling mass of black and brown and green bodies framing my own shape on the dirt. A cluster of them gathered on my broken arm and started furiously spinning layers of webs. They were attaching my arm to body, immobilizing it. I watched in fascination, barely moving, until I heard another rustling sound, something larger than before. Tilting my head, I watched as a sleek form twisted toward me through the short grass and wound through the rocks. The viper moved slowly but determinedly toward me as the spiders separated to make room for it to pass. Its tongue flicked, eyes on mine. I couldn't break the sudden, foreign connection of its lidless stare. Its eyes were like chips of amber in the firelight.

Suddenly I saw myself in my mind's eye. The image was overlaid in my thoughts over what my eyes were seeing - the viper gliding toward me across the blood-soaked dirt. Its arrow-shaped head crested over my chest, its muscular blue body coiling on top of mine. It raised its head, staring into me. I saw my own startled eyes and parted lips almost as clearly as I saw the snake's own face in front of me, its eyes boring into my mind.

Still.

It was a sudden whispered word that came with the image in a voice I didn't recognize. A smell accompanied the image and word... like rotting leaves, moist earth. I knew it was not my own voice nor my own thoughts, and I knew it wasn't human. The viper was communicating with me. I was seeing its thoughts.

Still, the voice whispered again.

There was a crashing sound of brush and broken branches, and I heard the uneven steps of my uncle approaching. I tried to tilt my head backward to look at him, but the voice came again.

Still.

"My gods," he said slowly, drawing out the words. He sounded awestruck. The spiders still scurried around me but had moved off my arm, which was now immobilized with webs. The snake stared into my eyes, showing me myself as it swayed gently from side to side. "My gods," he said again. "You will be worth ten times what Rathian is, girl." I blinked in confusion and darted my eyes toward him where he now stood to the left of my head. He carefully took his bow from his shoulder, gripping the limb of it like a club, drawing his arms to one side in preparation to swing. I knew he was going to strike the viper.

A savage hiss erupted from the snake. It coiled and struck before he could bring the bow down, catching my uncle in the hand with a crush of its fangs. My connection with the viper was broken but I didn't move, even as my uncle wailed in pain and shock. He dropped the bow and grasped his hand where two fang marks oozed bloodied poison.

The viper coiled back to my chest and prepared for another strike just as a loud, slick-sounding crunch filled the night air. Something hot sprayed across my face. I turned away on instinct before a gurgling sound drew my terrified gaze back to my uncle. Blood gushed and bubbled from his throat, limbs twitching, his eyes wide with shock, his body lifting off the ground. A set of powerful jaws gripped his neck from behind. The teeth pushed harder into his neck, crushing his throat, his eyes going dim and unseeing.

The jaws of Rathian then let him drop to the ground beside me. The silver eyes of the giant tiger bored into mine and I felt a sudden wave of both satisfaction and disgust.

It tasted like iron and whiskey.