Calanthe

Chapter XXIII

Calanthe

The next day Calanthe woke to the smell of cooking or rather: burning. Stretching her unused muscles she squinted around the tent. The opening was slightly parted and the morning light shone inside, leaving a golden beam on the floor and illuminating the tent. She was by herself. Ranvir had gotten up at the first light of dawn.

Making her way outside she had to raise her hand to shield her eyes. Despite the chilled air, the sun was warm on her skin.

On a spit was a rabbit. Herlief was trying in vain to save it from the hungry flames while Onara scolded him, smiling all the while. Calanthe was surprised at how relaxed they appeared. Ranvir, Bjorn and Zetta sat with them, accompanied by Ingmar.

"I must say, those clothes suit you better." Said Ingmar smiling innocently at her. Ranvir scowled into the fire, stabbing it with a stick.

Calanthe looked down at her dress, self conscious that she had slept in it. She lightly ran her hands across it, trying to smooth it out. Her loose hair falling forwards.

"I thought I told you to stay in the tent yesterday." Ranvir spoke, not looking away from the flames.

Calanthe was hit with a wave of guilt, remembering the gruesome events of the night prior. Her eyes flicked between Ingmar and Ranvir. She guessed Ingmar had told Ranvir of her appearance last night. She couldn't help herself, "How could they kill that man so barbarically?"

Everyone stopped and stared at her. Ranvir stood up quickly and pulled Calanthe to the side. "I told you to stay in the tent. We cannot discuss this now." He whispered harshly. Then he abruptly stormed away.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Ingmar cheerfully announced, "I heard that we hole up here for winter before continuing the campaign. That'll leave me enough time to finally grow out my beard," he grinned around the circle, "waist length perhaps?" He stroked his chin for emphasis.

"Pfft waist length! Good luck with that!" Bjorn roared followed by small huffs of surpressed laughter around the fire. Ingmar glanced up at Calanthe in mirth. She smiled and looked away shyly. Her eyes met with Ranvir who was sitting outside the tent watching her. He stared at her strangely, his brows furrowed.

"Calanthe will you join me in collecting herbs from the forest?" Zetta asked gently.

"Oh, of course!" The blonde girl replied quickly.

"Unless you'd rather be made a whore or work in some other way to make yourself useful." Zetta said.

Taken aback by her abrupt words, Calanthe blinked in surprise. Nevertheless she quickly followed the girl. They walked into the forest, although the trees were spaced, their leaves met to make a thick canopy above, blocking the light. The forest smelled old and musty. Centuries of trees twisting their way higher and higher. Finally Zetta stopped and turned "You can't disobey my brother like that."

"I meant no offence." Calanthe stared back at her. She was sick of being a helpless girl. Without Hilda and Even's friendship she felt off.

Zetta's eyes appeared black. In some sort of trance she spoke "You are a free woman now."

Calanthe eyed her like a cautious sparrow, "If I'm a free woman will you let me leave?" Zetta stayed silent and Calanthe snorted "Didn't think so."

"You should marry my brother." Zetta's voice held a tone of certainty, one that could not be challenged. It was Calanthe's turn to stay silent.

"I belong with someone of my own kind." Calanthe whispered.

"You are one of our kind." Zetta spoke with furrowed brows. The willowy girl stepped back, blinking hard as though something was irritating her eyes.

Calanthe felt uneasy. "What do you want me to look for?" Gesturing at the ground, she quickly changed topic.

After an hour of fruitless searching both the girls gave up. Holding a handful of pitiful twigs, they walked back in the direction of camp. Noticing something, Calanthe stopped and walked over to a rotting log. She peered closely before exclaiming "Mushrooms!" Collecting as many as she could, Calanthe looked back up towards Zetta, except she had disappeared. "Zetta?" She called out hesitantly. She waited several moments, waiting for a response. Then she called out again louder.

"Guess I'll have to find my own way back." She muttered in irritation. At a quick pace she walked back in the direction of camp. Her thoughts were consumed in the conversation with Zetta. What did she mean "You are one of our kind."

After a couple hours Calanthe was on edge. She was lost. This part of the forest was darker and thicker. It didn't smell old and musty. It smelled damp. The trees were different here. They were smaller and denser. A trickle of fear dropped down her spine. Being lost is a much different experience to being captured. She seemed to have controlled and yet no power at the same time. Attempting to find the right way was useless. Each turn made it trickier until she couldn't take it anymore. She collapsed to her knees in defeat. Her arms and legs were scratched, her hair knotted and the dress had dirt and leaves stuck to it. Then she wept. The weeping turned into a cry.

Calanthe enjoyed the crying. She felt purged of her worries as if each one dripped from her eyes.

Once her tears ran dry she heard it. A trickle of water. The sky was darkened, the sun releasing its final hours of light. She followed the sound until she came across a small stream. Remembering something she was told, she followed the stream. "Water always leads to civilisation." She chanted to herself. Eventually, it did. To her luck, Calanthe came across the very camp she had left in the morning. Despite her joy and how tired she was, she decided to sneak up on the camp. Peering from behind her tent she looked at the group gathered around the fire. A distraught Zetta was being comforted by Bjorn. Herlief and Onara could be heard arguing from their tent. Calanthe stood back. Was no one looking for her? Or had they given up already?

She stepped back and was enveloped in a crushing hug. "Calanthe, my pretty flower."