A Mark of Metal

⊱༻⸸☽︎𓅇☾⸸༺⊰

Pain drags me back to consciousness.

A dull ache pulses at the base of my skull, spreading through my arms, curling into my ribs, then dragging its way down the length of my legs. I groan at the encompassing soreness, aching throughout my body. I wearily blink open my eyes, the sun searing them from the canopy. Adjusting my sight, I’m met with a sky awash with hues of amber and purple. I lay still on the ground, confused for a moment. What happened?

Scanning my surroundings, I am drawn back to reality by the eerie silence.

How long was I out for? Seeing nobody in sight, my nerves kick in. Am I…alone?

They must not have found me yet.

I steadily push myself away from the ground, hoping to hear my name being called by search parties—

“Tst!” I hiss, glancing down to see a scatter of thorn nicks and scratches. Shit. It looks like I’ve been dragged through barbed wire. Blood slowly oozes out from some of the deeper gashes, and I hold back a whimper of tears. Ouch, fuck!

Is this what I get for frolicking in the woods? God forbid a woman have fucking hobbies

Swallowing back the pain, I urge myself up into a seated position, wincing as my body protests. I look around once more, my confusion doubling.

“E-Ellie?...Guys?”

Something’s different.

The forest feels denser now, heavier somehow. The trees look older… almost ancient, their bark seemingly thicker and darker. They wind themselves in a dance with one another, twisting elegantly over every branch that it almost looks…unnatural?

I blink, unsure if what I’m seeing is real.

What the hell…?

A strange, blue hue settles in the air, casting a soft, bioluminescent glow over the surrounding greenery. White specs of dancing lights float through the space, moving as I do. They seem to hover around my wounded arms, as if trying to heal them, though nothing changes. I draw in a breath and gently wave my hand, the lights following, trailing in delicate patterns. They’re beautiful… I become mesmerised by the strangeness of it all. The sting in my body fades, briefly forgotten in the distraction. Okay, so I have hit my head…a little badly.

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. I need to find my friends. I can only imagine what they’re thinking…

How long has it even been? It has to have been hours by now. Grief, Ellie is gonna be distraught when I find her; she’s probably blaming herself for what’s happened. I put my big girl pants on, and I force myself to stand, wobbling as I do so. I need to get back to familiar ground.

The pond.

They’re bound to be searching for me around there. I brush the dirt and leaves from my skirt and scan the slope I fell from. The steepness of it makes me take a gulp. Nope. Turning around, I scour the thick foliage around me, searching for some kind of opening.

Nothing.

Oh, my phone! I reach for my—I left it in my bag…

Okay. That’s okay.

I know these woods. I know these paths…I think? My heart drops, and anxiety sets in.

I don’t know this place…at all.

I weave myself through tight passes between the trees, ducking under low-hanging branches, and trudge through the undergrowth, which starts to seem like an endless endeavour. I’m going round in circles.

That tree? Have I seen that tree before?

No? I scratch my head.

God, a forest has lots of trees. My hope dies as I peer down the bark. Dammit. I sigh, thinking to myself. It is the same one… I mean, how many trees look like they have a phallus?

Exhaling a long breath, I lean my head against the very male-looking tree. Oh, yes, officer, that’s me, Genevieve Woodsman. How did I get lost? Oh, just having a water fight with my adult, employed friends.

Oh, and the weird lights? Do you see them too? Or am I having a concussion?

An ominous feeling quickly replaces my irritated thoughts. In the distance, rhythmic clanking and heavy footsteps echo through the trees, sending a chill up my spine. My instincts make me freeze, my breath caught in a thoughtless static.

My mind tells me it’s a search party sent to help. But my heart is torn, beating quickly for me to run.

The noise gets closer.

I suck in a harsh breath, gripping the side of the tree. My thoughts urge me to move, to see if it’s help—

A sudden, high-pitched whistle slices through the air.

Before I can react, a hand clamps over my mouth, and my body is yanked back against a solid chest. I barely have enough time to struggle before something cold and sharp presses against my throat.

“Keep still,” a voice, low and dangerous, breathes in my ear. “Move an inch, and I’ll cut you down.”

The man’s words sound unfamiliar at first, foreign even, but then my brain clicks to the words as he speaks.

I go still, terror locking my body in place. My heart pounds in my chest, and a cold sweat forms along my back.

The knife at my throat doesn’t falter either, the man’s grip tight and unrelenting.

He pushes me forward, forcing me toward the source of the noise. My thoughts spiral into a stunned silence as I try to process the reality that this man might actually kill me.

We emerge from the treeline, and I see…them.

I stare, wide-eyed, at the long line of men. Some sit stiffly on horseback, others slump in wagons or march wearily on foot. The sight is grim. Their faces are long and hollow, worn down by something brutal and relentless. I don’t know who they are or what they’ve seen, but war clings to them. It brings to mind the pictures that surfaced from the First World War.

The men look as though they have clawed their way through a merciless hell and have been drenched in its aftermath. The view in its entirety is so bizarrely out of place that I can’t even attempt to utter a word of my presence or even question what I’m seeing. My twentieth-century mind has no framework to make sense of it. The stench alone, thick with sweat, blood, and the grime of battle, is too strong to even compare to any smell I have come across in my life. Their looks of grief, stained by combat and bloodshed, are too surreal to even counter with a modern explanation.

There was no way these men had come from a movie set, some sort of real-life roleplay of fantasy characters, or even a possible reenactment. No, these men have truly faced the horrors of war, and their blank stares attest to that fact.

“It’s a woman!” The man holding me shouts to the troop.

Keeping my mouth clamped shut, fearing for what trouble my words might cause me, I watch as the men look at each other as if to decide the proper course of action. A man wearing an outfit similar to a Teutonic knight comes forth, leaping down from his horse, holding the hilt of his sword steady as if prepared for an unexpected attack. He grabs my arms and looks at the scratches.

“Just a woman, she is of no use to us.” The knight speaks from his helmet as he looks at the man holding me, then proceeds to squint in thought. “Yet alone in the sacred forest. Strange… Bring her, His Grace will have questions.”

“I’m not goin—”

“You dare defy a knight? I shall behead you where you stand, insolent woman!” The man pulls the knife close to my neck, reeling it back to get a clean kill.

“Archer! I said bring her.” The knight turns and swings back onto his horse.

The man pushes me towards a wagon filled with men. Grasping my waist, he hoists me up onto the edge of it, as if I weighed less than a bag of rice to him. I don’t fight back, fearing I’d get myself killed if I do. He extends his hands, silently asking for my wrists. With no room to protest and too shocked to think, I offer them, and he fastens them tightly with a coarse rope.

Perched on the edge of the wagon, the archer gestures for me to move down, directing me to sit beside the other tied-up, shifty-looking men. I scoot in cautiously, keeping my distance from the untrustworthy man beside me. The wagon is then sealed shut behind us, trapping us all inside.

Stunned and with no way out, I turn my eyes to the sky.

What just happened…?

He was actually going to kill me…

His knife felt so real! Like he was really going to kill me!

I must still be knocked out. Yeah, I must be dreaming or something. Yet, the feeling of the blade to my throat was too vivid. Too real to deny. This place isn’t normal. At least not my normal.

I stare blankly at the night clouds, frustration bubbling at my complete lack of willpower. Dream you, is so weak! You stood there like a child. Like a damn scolded child caught red-handed. Jesus, you were too stunned to even speak! We got kidnapped because you couldn’t say anything. Next time, we should dream up a gun or something. Irritated, I clutch my head with bound hands, trying to collect my thoughts and make sense of the absurdity surrounding me.

Defy a knight? No. Defy a man.

I knew what he meant in his entirety. A woman has no voice, no authority, and no control. And if my history has any semblance to this dream, then…I have no power here. Not only being powerless due to my dick-less gender, but also being an outsider.

And if my lessons on strong women have taught me anything, it’s that women who fight against the rules don’t always live long enough to tell the tale.

If I want to survive this dream, I’ll have to quiet my protests. Play along, just until I figure out what the hell this place is. That is… if this isn’t all some weird-ass lucid dream.

Should I test it?

What’s something a person can do that they’d only get away with in a dream?

A deep voice suddenly interrupts my train of thought, snapping me back to whatever reality I’ve gotten myself stuck in.

“ꕍꕊꔇꖣꖕꕊꕪ ꔁꔷ ꘖꕊ彡ꖒꖻ ꗤꕍꖒ ꔅꗤ!” The man next to me laughs, causing the other men on the wagon to glance over at me and stifle a chuckle.

A large man in the far corner of the wagon tilts his head toward the shifty-looking man beside me, adding his own comment. “ꔅ ꖼꕊꘖ ꕊꔇꗫꖒꕊꖻꕪ ꔅꖡꕊꗴꔅꘖꖒ ꖕꕍꕊꔁ’ꗤ ꖎꘖꖻꖒꗫꘖꖒꕊꔁꕍ.” He sneers, his gaze shifting to my exposed calves. I follow his eyes, then quickly tug my skirt down to cover them. Laughter erupts from the others.

A soldier riding alongside the wagon reaches over and smacks the crooked man beside me on the head.

“Silence, you Eivan criminal. Or you’ll be walking the length to Arrton.” The assault causes the creep to scowl. He then turns his head and spits out of the wagon, a clear show of disrespect to the soldier.

I hope I haven’t died and this is hell.

cxxx{}::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>

The low drone of silence hangs over the men in the troop as they gaze out at the imposing landscape, our destination still unknown. Though it doesn’t last long, the quiet is broken by the arrival of a chainmail-clad soldier atop an auburn horse, prompting the procession to halt. He rides up to the knight leading our expedition to deliver a message.

“Sir, we have set up camp on the great plains before Arrton. The marker is etched onto a large slanted stone.”

Arrton? Why does that name sound so familiar?

The well-dressed knight nods and waves him off.

“Eiman, relay the message.” The knight bellows down the company of men.

“Yes, Sir!” A soldier calls out, turning his horse to ride back the way we came.

There’s more of them? I glance behind, trying to catch a glimpse of another troop. But nothing appears in the distance.

Letting out a low breath, I turn back to the sky, resting my eyes and praying for this long, jolting journey to end soon.

An unknown amount of time passes, and upon opening my eyes again, I was hoping to be greeted by the sight of at least a humble camping setup of a few tents and possibly a fire. But, instead, I am met with the incredulous scenery of…nothing? Just the boundless landscape of sweeping long grass and blissful silence within the starlit night. My confusion doubles.

We shuffle past the aforementioned slanted stone, and as we do, the men in the wagon jolt, as if struck by lightning. That’s weird… I turn my head back to the front—What the fuckkk…?

I blink and rub my eyes.

A second ago, there was nothing, and I mean nothing, and… and now, a massive, bustling camp stretches before us, teeming with life. Soldiers roam the grounds, at least a few thousand of them.

I just blinked?!

How the hell did I miss this?!

I close my unhinged jaw when I see the men’s nonchalant acceptance of the situation, as if the sudden change is completely normal. I scan the camp, noticing makeshift horse stables, blacksmiths, leather workers, and rows of bell tents.

Three massive tents stand out, larger and bolder than the rest, obviously signifying importance within this place. If I am to have any hope or chance to negotiate my freedom or at least get some answers to this weird, medieval dystopian nightmare, it has to be in those tents…

“Sir Leiman, I will tell ‘His Grace’ of your arrival.” A young lad says to the knight in charge of our troop. The knight responds by taking off his helmet and handing it to the lad, scruffing his hair in appreciation. With his helmet off, I can finally see the profile of the knight in charge of the troop. He has blonde hair shaped into a French crop, a trimmed short beard, and sharp features.

“No need, the reconnaissance mission was successful. I will present to His Grace myself and update him with the intelligence gathered.” He turns to the wagon with a scrutinising glare.

“Archer, collect them.” The archer walks over to us, unlatches the wagon, and ushers me to come. Scooting to the end, he helps me off the cart by grabbing my waist and hoisting me to the floor, a move similar to when he stuck me on the damn thing. This man is way too handsy. I think to myself, but in a state of fear, I won’t dare to complain. I stand to the side and watch as the men on the wagon stand and jump off, following the orders given to them by the archer and the other soldiers.

Once we are all milling around, the soldier ties us all together on a single long rope, berating and beating the men who do not comply promptly enough.

Now I’m glad I didn’t complain…