Chapter 20: Close

The dark of the night had turned into a bleak day that had changed into darkness again; now the first moments of a hesitant morning hovered just around a corner. The dusky small hours slowly turned gray and the surrounding landscape revealed itself, quietly emerging from the night like from a deep slumber. The shapes of hills and rocks and trees became solid and familiar again, still and silent in the half-asleep world. All seemed to be holding their breath with Snow. It wouldn't be long now – with the coming day they would finally arrive to Moorland, or what was left of the burned village.

Snow had relentlessly pushed them onward, only taking as many breaks to rest as the horses needed. She had even stubbornly left the caves the very night of her visions, not willing to wait for the far-off daybreak. In vain Thomas had argued against venturing into the night, the secret rocky path from the caves through the mountain not the least dangerous part of the journey and a sheer folly to navigate in the dark. To Snow however, the risk of waiting was far greater. Every moment she feared that she would be too late, that Ravenna would change her mind, get bored waiting for Snow to arrive – anything could happen. Snow could not wait.

Luckily Gavin, who knew the terrain better than anyone, with the aid of a lit torch had managed to get them and the horses safely out of the mountain paths. After that the hours and landscapes had blurred together as they furiously rode and stopped for a brief rest, rode and stopped again and again, in a seemingly endless pattern. Now they had stopped for the last time, Thomas insisting that they had to get a little shut-eye, to be better prepared for whatever lay ahead. But Snow wasn't tired; she was too afraid, too tensed up and nervous to succumb to exhaustion. She went over her plan over and over again, thinking of anything that might happen and how she should act in every situation. She would be ready for everything, although there would be depressingly little she could do if her initial plan wouldn't work out the way she had envisioned.

Snow recalled the silent words she had exchanged with Ravenna while being in the skin of a wolf, reassuring herself that the queen wanted her above all else. She would wait for her in the burned village; she would give Eric to her alive, like promised. Anything else was unthinkable. Please, she pleaded, just let him live. I don't ask for anything more – ever again. Just let him live.

Impatient, Snow shifted restlessly on the damp ground. Surely they had rested enough? She cast an eye over her companions, feeling a pang of guilt. Thomas was sitting on a rock, eyes closed but still looking tense and very much aware of his surroundings. Gavin on the other hand lay flat on the ground, having claimed that he couldn't sit another minute. Both men had accompanied her without hesitation, although what she intended to do was crazy at best and suicidal at worst. They were such good friends. If there had been a way to free Eric without endangering them, she would have taken it. But there was no conceivable way for Snow to beat both Ravenna and the six soldiers that were with her, not by herself. And if things didn't go as she had planned…she needed them to take care of Eric, to make sure he got away while she kept her side of the bargain.

Still, there would only be the three of them and an injured Eric against six soldiers and a witch queen who supposedly couldn't be killed. The odds certainly seemed against them. But what else could Snow have done? William and his men hadn't returned; if what Snow had heard in her vision was true, then most of them were dead and William badly hurt. For a while Snow had entertained the hope of meeting the remains of the party on the way to the village, but it had proved to be a wishful notion. As Thomas had said to her, when Snow had expressed her wish, the survivors would know better than to head straight for the mines. They would seek shelter elsewhere, not willing to lead any potential pursuers to the secret hideout. They could not be counted on to magically appear to offer some help. As for the rest of the resistance waiting in the mines – even if they had been ready to accompany Snow to this mad venture, it would have been impossible. William's party had taken most of the horses; only four remained. One horse for each of them, and the last one left behind, in case the folk back in the mines needed to send out a messenger or a scout.

Snow could still see the looks on their faces, full of resignation and sadness, as the three of them had left the mines. She had realized that the people didn't expect them to return, that they thought the whole thing was doomed to fail, that there would be no way for them to succeed. Only Beth had tried to be supportive, telling them not to linger on the way back, as she would only keep the supper ready for them so many days. But as she had kissed Thomas goodbye, Snow had seen how her slight frame had trembled and how her watery smile had started to crumble. The guilt Snow had felt then had been enormous, but still nothing compared to her need to confront Ravenna and save Eric. As they had led the horses away from the clearing, the darkness hadn't been able to conceal the faces of the people bidding them goodbye. They had looked as if they were watching the dead.

Who could blame them? First there were the visions Snow had seen – were they true or nothing more than fanciful dreams concocted by Moira's odd elixirs? Snow knew they were the truth, what had been and what were and what was to come. She knew it in her bones, like one knows that the summer follows the winter and the dawn comes after the night. But she could understand if for others it was harder to believe; they only had her telling of it. And that led to the second, more crucial point: how could they bet their lives, the future of the resistance on the off chance that the visions were not only true but that Snow had interpreted them right? They had all already lost so much in the fight against Ravenna, now Snow was taking the best of their last men to a certain death as well. She felt selfish, for she was willing to accept their sacrifice to prevent her own terrible loss. However, she was fully prepared to sacrifice her own life as well.

That didn't mean she wouldn't fight to the last breath.

Snow drew her long knife from its sheath, the movement feeling now, after endless rehearsals, more natural to her. She remembered how Eric had given her the knife with a dead man's belt and coat, offering the boots as well. It seemed so long ago, but it hadn't even been two months since that day. They had been in a very different place then; they had been strangers to each other. And now…he was everything. Snow examined the blade, the dried reddish-brown blood covering the tip. She had never killed anyone.

As she raised her eyes from the weapon, Snow met Thomas' gaze. He was watching her intently, face grave. He had believed her, had been willing to try. Even now, there was no regret or doubt in his eyes.

"We are close," he said with a steady voice, "an hour of riding at most. Are you ready?"

"I am." She was ready. There was no going back; nothing could have made her turn away from Eric.

"Okay," Gavin sprang to his feet, stretching his limbs, "let's go raise some hell then." He checked his many weapons, as he had done every time they had continued their journey after a brief rest. Thomas was already reading his horse and Snow hurried to follow.

In no time at all they were on their way, riding towards an uncertain fate.

-o-

It was unnerving to enter the ravaged village. They approached its center carefully, and with every step the unease and anticipation grew. The charred remains were uncannily familiar, the faint smell of smoke expected. It was just like it had been in her vision, so much so that for a moment Snow was afraid she had never woken up in the first place. What if this was just another dream?

Snow bit her lip, the sudden pain clearing her head. It wasn't the time to succumb to doubts and fears and tiredness. Eyes fixed ahead, ears straining, her heart picked up its pace with every step she took. She knew what lay ahead of them, in the center of the village; her greatest nightmare and her greatest hope. Snow was so focused on the destination that she almost missed it, when Thomas signaled Gavin to pick an observation spot. They had discussed it earlier and decided that Gavin would stay behind to observe the happenings, not letting anyone sneak behind them, ready to cover them with his bow. Now he darted behind some charred logs, giving them a grin, thrusting his thumb up in the universal sign of "I'm fine here – let's do this". Thomas and Snow continued onwards, weapons at hand but not drawn.

The first thing that Snow noticed was that the campfire was still burning. The second was that Eric was still tied to the tree trunk. For a moment Snow wanted nothing more than to run to Eric's side, to make sure he was alright. He was so close – it was agony to tear her eyes away from him, to ignore him. Snow forced herself to concentrate on the others at the scene. The soldiers stood in readiness, two of them guarding the huntsman. Their arrival had clearly been expected. The men were silent and alert, but confident. They didn't consider Snow and the two resistance fighters to be any great threat.

Ravenna sat by the fire, eyes fixed on the flames. Snow was startled – for a heartbeat she looked like an old woman, weary and worn, grey hair a messy bundle on her head. She was nothing like Snow had expected; she reminded her of the old woman in her visions, the mother. Then Ravenna raised her eyes and looked straight at Snow, her look cold and terrible and triumphant. And Snow remembered the terror and the dread the queen had always awoken in her; the same horror was now clawing at her insides, threatening to unravel her outward calm. Snow pushed it back urgently, breathing deep. She would not give into fear.

The queen rose, the black feathers of her gown gleaming in the firelight. The old woman had vanished; she looked once again regal, imposing, domineering. Snow shuddered and forced herself to hold Ravenna's gaze. She would never cower.

"I said she would come, did I not?" Ravenna's icy voice seemed to ring through the whole village, breaking the silence. As intended, it roused Eric from his half-unconsciousness, and he fought to open his eyes, clearly dazed and alarmed. Snow's heart ached. It will be alright.

"You brought friends," Ravenna said, sounding amused. "Not trusting me to hold my end of the bargain?"

"They are here to make sure Eric gets safely out of this place."

Hearing Snow's voice seemed to jolt Eric into alertness; his eyes flew open, the slightly unfocused gaze searching, until finally finding – "Snow," he gasped, horrified. "No, no, no." He started to struggle against his bonds, frantically trying to break free of the ropes that tied him to the tree. The guards let him try; his feeble attempts were completely futile.

Snow couldn't help but say, "Eric – Eric! It's alright." She wanted to go to him so badly, wanted to kiss him, feel his heart beat against her own. To think that maybe she never would again – it was unbearable.

"Hell it is!" Eric growled. "Thomas! Get her away from here, now!"

Thomas didn't say anything, only looked at the huntsman, eyes sympathetic. That just made Eric more furious. "Thomas!" He barked, voice hoarse with pain and barely suppressed fear, "Are you insane?! I swear, if you don't –"

"How touching," Ravenna mocked, "but utterly futile." She seemed to be enjoying the situation; there was a deep satisfaction on her countenance, a certainty that everything was happening as she wanted. It stoked Snow's anger, made her clench her fists. Ravenna continued with a silky voice, mock-compassionate, "She has traded her heart for your life, huntsman; it must be real love." The word love sounded like hate, and the queen's smile was filled with cold calculation and complacency.

"No!" Eric looked half-mad with anguish and desperation. It's alright Love, trust me, Snow wanted to say, but swallowed her words. It was painful to not offer Eric any assurance, but some words were not meant for everyone's ears.

"Enough," Ravenna commanded. "Let's finish this." For the first time, there was a hint of impatience in her voice. She looked hungry, tired of waiting for the feast to begin.

Snow steeled herself, made herself deaf for Eric's denials and pleas. She looked at the queen, trying to look resolute, unbending. "Let him go first."

Ravenna sighed, as if the whole thing was tedious. Her eyes however, bored into Snow, sharp and assessing. Snow stood her ground, hiding her nervousness. She had to let Eric go first.

"You will not try to flee," the queen stated, her eyes narrowing. "Not that you could."

"No," Snow promised truthfully.

"Let him go," Ravenna ordered the soldiers, her gaze never leaving Snow, like a predator keeping its whole focus on its prey.

One of the men cut Eric's ropes; another dragged him to his feet. He staggered for an instant and then lurched suddenly towards Snow. But the soldiers were ready, and he hadn't gotten but a few steps forward, when they restrained him again and pushed him into Thomas, who had quickly strode towards the huntsman. He was wise enough to immediately take hold of Eric, not letting go of him. Eric struggled, but was clearly too weak and exhausted to tear himself free from Thomas' strong grip.

"Let me go!"

"Let her do what must be done."

"Snow, please –"

"Come," Ravenna said.

Snow couldn't look at Eric – couldn't be distracted, couldn't feel. Slowly, she started to walk towards the woman who had killed her father, imprisoned her for years, destroyed her life. She felt curiously numb. This was the moment she had been waiting for, what she had feared and dreamed for so long. Finally, it would all end.

The walk to the other side of the campfire was the longest and the shortest of Snow's life. She had time to think about every dream she had ever had, to dream about all the futures she had envisioned, to remember the half-forgotten past, now more sweet than bitter. And yet it was no time at all – too soon she was only a few yards away from Ravenna, who was watching her every move hungrily.

Snow clutched at the hilt of her knife, a little amazed that she hadn't been ordered to give it up. Ravenna's eyes settled on the weapon and she smirked. Her message couldn't have been clearer: she was humoring Snow. The knife – nor any weapon for that matter – posed no threat to her. Snow was welcome to try to stop her, but she would unavoidably fail.

And of course Snow would try, for she had never intended to give up without a fight. Finally close enough, her hands sweaty, she tugged at the hilt. But Ravenna was too fast, and with eyes burning with triumph, lips drawn in satisfaction, the queen yanked Snow closer, her grip unnaturally strong. Closer still, until Snow was almost pressed against her, could feel Ravenna's breath on her face. Snow tried to desperately draw her knife, but her hands felt suddenly limp, fingers nerveless. Her heart was thudding painfully, contracting as if all the blood were slowly being drawn from it. Someone was pricking her with a thousand needles, and every moment it was harder to breathe until she couldn't anymore.

The hesitant light of dawn dwindled away, the morning reversing into night. For a moment Snow was confused, until she realized that she was dying – she had ended up upholding her part of the exchange after all.

I'm so sorry Love, she thought, but you will be alright.

-o-

In this part of the story I am the one who

Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,

Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

- Pablo Neruda -