Nimue wasn’t especially perturbed by the stories they had tried to frighten her with in Ivalo, since during her trek she had coped over and over with similar things. Each place had its own grim folklore, local dangers and horrors, serving to give travellers a scare. Nimue had already been threatened by drowners in lakes, bereginias in streams, wights at crossroads and ghosts in cemeteries. Every second footbridge was supposed to be a troll’s lair, every second brake of crooked willows a striga’s haunt. Nimue finally became accustomed to it and the commonplace horrors ceased to be fearful. But there was no way of mastering the strange anxiety that spread through her before she entered a dark forest, walked along a path between fog-bound burial mounds or a track among mist-shrouded swamps.

She also felt that anxiety now—as she stood before the dark wall of forest—creeping in tingles over the back of her neck and drying her lips.

The road is well travelled, she repeated to herself, quite rutted by wagons, trodden down by the hooves of horses and oxen. So what if the forest looks frightful? It’s no desolate backwoods, it’s a busy track to Dorian, leading through the last patch of forest to escape the axes and saws. Many people ride through here, many walk through here. I’ll also pass through it. I’m not afraid.

I’m Nimue verch Wledyr ap Gwyn.

Vyrva, Guado, Sibell, Brugge, Casterfurt, Mortara, Ivalo, Dorian, Anchor, Gors Velen.

She looked back to see if anybody was approaching. It would be more pleasant to have company, she thought. But the highway, to make matters worse, had chosen not to be well-frequented. It was quite simply deserted.

There was no choice. Nimue cleared her throat, adjusted the bundle on her shoulder and gripped her stick tightly. And strode into the forest.

Oaks, elms and ancient hornbeams interwoven together predominated and there were also pines and larches. Lower down there was dense undergrowth, hawthorns, filberts, bird cherries and honeysuckle entangled together. You would have expected it to teem with bird life, but a malevolent silence reigned there. Nimue walked with her eyes fixed on the ground. She sighed with relief when all of a sudden, a woodpecker drummed somewhere deep in the forest. So, something does live here, she thought, I’m not completely alone.

She stopped and suddenly turned around. She didn’t see anybody or anything, but for a moment was certain that someone was following her. She sensed she was being watched. Secretly stalked. Fear constricted her throat and shivers ran down her back.

She speeded up. The forest, or so it seemed, had begun to thin out, had become lighter and greener, for birches began to predominate. One more bend, then two more, she thought feverishly, a little more and the forest will finish. I’ll put this forest behind me, along with whatever’s prowling there. And I’ll keep going.