Traverse

Chapter 3: Strangers in the Forest

Eimear stood in the middle of an empty road, surrounded by silence, with a dense forest stretching out endlessly beside her. The stillness was unsettling, as if the world itself had paused.

"Malorie?" she called out, her voice breaking through the eerie quiet.

There was no response.

"Malorie!" she shouted again, louder this time. Her voice echoed faintly before being swallowed by the oppressive silence.

Panic began to creep in. Where was she? How had she ended up here? Frustrated and anxious, Eimear looked down and realized she was clutching something in her hand. It was the necklace.

Her brows furrowed as she examined it. The once-broken trinket was now pristine, its gemstones gleaming as if kissed by sunlight. It looked brand new, almost otherworldly.

"What is happening?" she whispered, her fingers tightening around the chain.

Then she remembered her phone. Frantically, she patted her pockets until she found it. Relief washed over her as she pulled it out and checked what else she had on her: a wallet, a pistol, earphones, a pack of band-aids, and spare magazines for the gun.

She dialed Malorie's number immediately, pressing the phone to her ear.

Sorry, the number you have dialed is out of coverage area. Please leave a message after the beep.

The automated voice was like a slap in the face. She lowered the phone, staring at it in disbelief. 

"Out of coverage area?" she murmured. Her hands began to tremble slightly as she looked around at the unfamiliar landscape.

Her eyes fell back on the necklace, its glow seemingly mocking her confusion. She hesitated before slipping it around her neck, tucking it beneath her sweatshirt as if to hide its strange power.

"Hang on, Malorie," she whispered. "I'll find you."

With no clear direction, Eimear began to walk, her sneakers crunching against the gravel road. ---Hours later, exhaustion weighed heavily on her legs. Just when she thought she might collapse from hunger and thirst, the sound of approaching hooves reached her ears. Her head shot up, and relief surged through her chest.

Horses.

She ran to the center of the road, waving her arms desperately to catch their attention. "Stop! Please, stop!" she called.

The riders—five soldiers clad in armor that gleamed under the sun—pulled their reins sharply, their horses halting just feet from her.

"Have you lost your senses, woman?" one of the soldiers barked in Italian, his voice dripping with annoyance.

Eimear blinked at them, momentarily stunned by their appearance. They looked like they'd stepped out of a history book.

"Uh... no, I'm not mad," she stammered. "I just need help. Have you seen a girl about this tall?" She raised her hand to roughly match Malorie's height.

The soldiers exchanged confused glances, their brows furrowing. One of them, who seemed to be their leader, leaned forward in his saddle.

"State your name, woman," he demanded, his voice sharp. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at her chest.

Eimear took a step back, her hands raised in disbelief. "Whoa, okay, calm down with the fake sword. You don't have to stay in character just because I stopped you!"

The guards glanced at each other, clearly not understanding her words.

"Where have you come from?" the leader pressed, his tone growing more impatient.

"For real?" Eimear asked, her frustration bubbling over. She gestured to their armor and horses. 

"What is this, a Renaissance fair? You guys really went all out with the costumes, huh?"

The leader's face darkened as he brought the tip of his sword closer to her neck.

Eimear froze, her eyes widening. That's when she realized the blade wasn't fake.

"Okay, okay! No need to get stabby," she said quickly, her hands shooting up higher in surrender. 

"I'm just... lost, okay? I don't know where I am. I'm looking for my sister, Malorie. That's it. No witchcraft, no curses—just a confused woman trying to find her way home."

The soldiers didn't lower their weapons. One of them stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as they fell on the chain of the necklace peeking out from under her sweatshirt.

"Where did you get the necklace of Lady Vanessa?" he asked sharply.

Eimear blinked. "Lady who? I don't know any Vanessa. This is mine—it was a gift!" It was a lie, of course, but what else could she say?

The soldier's expression hardened. Without warning, he grabbed her arm and barked, "You're coming with us. Milord Portner will decide your fate... witch!"

"Witch?!" Eimear tried to yank her arm free, but his grip was like iron. "Let me go! I'm not a witch!"

The other soldiers laughed as they tied her wrists with rough rope, fastening her to the saddle of one of their horses like a prisoner.

---Night fell as the group journeyed deeper into the forest. Exhaustion weighed heavily on Eimear, and hunger gnawed at her stomach. When they finally stopped to set up camp, she gathered the last shreds of her pride and spoke up.

"Pardon me," she said, her voice dry. "May I please have some water?"

The leader chuckled darkly, his voice carrying a mocking edge. "A witch begging for water? How amusing."

He grabbed a jug and held it out as if to offer it to her. Just as her fingers reached for it, he tipped it over, spilling its contents onto the ground.

"Lick the earth's skin if you're so thirsty," he sneered.

The others roared with laughter, their jeers echoing in the cold night air. Eimear glared at the ground, swallowing her humiliation. She said nothing, her anger simmering beneath her exhaustion as she drifted into restless sleep.

---The next morning, sunlight pierced through the canopy of trees, waking her. The ropes around her wrists were as tight as ever, biting into her skin. Across the campsite, the leader of the guards was watching her intently.

"Why struggle, witch?" he asked as he approached. His tone was casual, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Do you fear men?"

Eimear backed away, her body pressing against the rough bark of a tree. She said nothing, glaring at him.

He smirked. "You're a strange one. Even witches have a sense of modesty, yet here you are, dressed like... this." He gestured vaguely at her sweatshirt and shorts.

She didn't dignify his comment with a response.

The guard tossed a small piece of bread and some cheese at her feet. "Eat. We can't have you dying before Milord Portner gets his answers."

Eimear hesitated before grabbing the food and devouring it. Her pride stung, but survival was more important.

Afterward, they led her to a river to wash. The cold water was a small mercy, refreshing her just enough to make her realize how dire her situation was.

As they continued their journey, Eimear's heart sank when a massive castle came into view. Its towering walls loomed in the distance, casting long shadows under the noon sun. "Where am I?" she whispered, fear twisting in her gut as they marched closer.