Written by J.C. Hart / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti
The Comfort of Wood





























As they rode into camp Shanna was overwhelmed first by the smell. Sweat, blood and human waste. No
wonder women didn’t come into the field, the atmosphere was more unpleasant than anything she had
experienced in her life. If it weren’t for her…skills…she wouldn’t be here.

No. If she had listened to her Mother’s advice—if she had stayed hidden—she wouldn’t be here.

“Our tents are over there.” Her husband, Tavian, pointed to a small cluster of guarded tents just out of
the main camp. “We can avoid most of the smell that way.” He winked at her and smirked.

Shanna laughed softly and was genuinely relieved they wouldn’t be near the soldiers. It was bad enough
she might see the casualties of her weapons, without having to hear the men talk about how well their
arrows flew. The arrows she had crafted.

Across the camp she noticed men and women in torn clothes lined up against a row of posts. There were
ropes bound around their wrists and waists, their clothes were in disarray.

A wave of nausea hit her and she covered her mouth, trying not to gag. Tavian quickly passed her a
handkerchief laden with scent. He smiled at her reassuringly and Shanna was content to let him think it
was the smell disturbing her.

“Who are they?” Shanna asked, pointing towards the people. She noticed several small children clinging
to the legs of their parents.

“The Forensee prisoners,” Tavian replied casually. “They’ll be put to use on the land once we get the rest
of them under control. They know it better than we do.”

Shanna was silent for a moment as their horses moved through the camp and past the prisoners. Their
clothes were in tatters and they looked hungry, broken. “Shouldn’t you feed them? They won’t be much
use if they’re sick or dead.” She tried to keep her voice steady, as though she were only concerned they
wouldn’t provide ample labour.

“There are always more prisoners, Shanna.” Tavian shook his head as if it were all so obvious. But
Shanna had never seen war first-hand. She’d never seen people being treated like this; unless of course
they had magic. Perhaps she had been lucky  it was only Tavian’s father, Daven, who had discovered her
and not someone who didn’t realize there was something to gain by having her in their service.

A deep sorrow welled up in her. They did not look like warriors. What had they done to deserve this? It
seemed more likely their only crime was having land Daven coveted.

At least her fate was less painful, less heart-wrenching than these poor peoples.

She had thought his people—her people—were at risk; that her arrows would help. Instead, she was
helping Daven kill those who had made no aggressive moves.

The bitter taste of bile hit her throat and she almost retched again. “I need to lie down,” she said quietly.

“You’re as pale as a dove,” Tavian commented when he turned to her. “You,” he called to a soldier. “Take
my lady to her tent and fetch the medic for her.”

“Thank you,” Shanna said as she was led away. Tavian might not be all bad, but he was still part of this
family. She wondered if she could ever love him, knowing there was a chance he would turn out just like
his father.

So much for the better life her father had wished for her. If this was it, she didn’t want any part in it.

~ * ~

Shanna knew there was a guard stationed at her door. She could hear him pacing. While the medic had
said it was in case she needed anything, she thought it more likely Daven had requested she be kept
under close watch. For her own good, no doubt.

For his good, more like.

“Excuse me?” she called out and then waited for a response.

The guard poked his head in and Shanna was pleasantly surprised to see it was Tyrone—the same guard
who had kept an eye on her back at the lodge.

“I need to get more wood, could you ask Lord Daven for an escort?”

“Yes, Milady.” He bowed his head and backed out of the tent. She didn’t have to wait long until Tavian
pushed his way inside.

“I’ll escort you, shall I?” He held a hand out to her.

“There’s no need for that,” Shanna said. “I am sure you have more important things to do.” She took his
hand anyway and allowed him to pull her to her feet. They had only been married a matter of weeks
before coming here, and she was still learning who he was.

“No, I want to.” Tavian smiled at her and for the first time she noticed that beneath the foppish brown
hair and vague expression he typically wore, there was an almost handsome man. He would never be
gallant, never dashing. But perhaps one day she might grow to be fond of him.

“Okay,” she agreed. It couldn’t hurt. She would be careful now how she chose her wood—she wouldn’t
let him see her magic—and perhaps, she might learn something useful.

~ * ~

Sunlight dappled the ground, giving the woods a rather more relaxed feel than the set of soldiers did.
Shanna was doing her best to ignore their presence, focusing instead on the trees, the branches,
seeking out those that would do their work the best.

After seeing the prisoners in the camp she was of two minds—should she continue to create arrows that
flew straight, or dare to produce ones that would miss their target? How severely would Lord Daven
punish her? Because he would know as soon as they were used that it was her doing.

Tavian was still astride his horse, as if manual work such as this were below him; so much for wanting to
help her. She shrugged that thought off. It didn’t really bother her; she would rather be here alone
anyway.

As she knelt down to pick up a piece of wood shaped vaguely like a serpent she caught a faint whiff at
odds with the natural surroundings. A rustle of leaves and there, under the brush, was a small child,
shivering in terror, covered in mud and blood.

Shanna clapped a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from speaking. She glanced back to make sure
no-one else had noticed the child. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I won’t tell.”

A grateful smile flashed across its face, so grimy Shanna couldn’t tell whether it was a girl or a boy; but
too young by any standard to be left to fend for itself.

She turned and made her way back towards Tavian, being sure to make plenty of noise. “I think I have
enough,” she said, cradling her latest find, the snake piece, against her chest. “We should get back
before lunch. So I can get back to work.”

“Very well,” Tavian said, smiling.

One of the soldiers gave her a hand up onto her horse and she tucked the small piece of wood into her
bodice. It felt warm against her skin, something in it called to her, comforting her, speaking to her shock
at seeing the child alone, orphaned by the war she was aiding.

Something had to be done.

~ * ~

She cradled the wooden snake in her hands, letting waves of magic wash through her fingers. She could
feel how close it was to the surface now, another few minutes and it would be free from its confines.  

The comfort of crafting for love, rather than war, was a blessing. It had been weeks since she had last
created a sculpture of any sort and she missed that work. A true artist unlocks what is already there.
What she had been doing was forcing something that was not.

Like Lord Daven would force those people into virtual slavery, when they should have been working the
fields for themselves. Their land, for their own gain.

Shanna tugged on a loose strand of hair, the sharp pain pull her back from her anger. She should march
to his tent now, demand that he stop. But what good would that do anyone? She knew him well enough
to know she was merely a pawn in his game. He had denied her the comfort of wood, what would be
next? Threatening the lives of her family?

A tremor coursed through her body as she realized that he may do just that. Could she live with herself
if she let anything happen to them?

She might not have liked how her mother treated her, but the woman had been trying to protect her.
Shanna could see that now. Each bruise and broken bone was a lesson she had refused to learn.

Her father had never done her any harm, had even tried to protect her from her mother’s wrath despite
not knowing its cause.

No. She couldn’t let that happen. There had to be another way.

The wood between her palms shivered then as though taking a first breath. Shanna cupped her hands
so she could see the snake coiled there. Each scale was delicately formed and a tiny tongue flicked in and
out of its mouth as though it were testing the air.

She hadn’t meant to pour her emotions into what had been an empty vessel, but the snake had soaked
it up as though it were starving. Shanna could hear loathing in each small movement as it slithered its
way out of her palm and up her arm. It whispered to her of all that could be done to stop the march of
death.

“Are you sure?” she whispered back. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

The snake slipped across her shoulder and wrapped itself around her neck, rubbing its wooden head
against her cheek. It longed to help her. And she longed to be free.

~ * ~

“He’s dead.” The words were out of Tavian’s mouth before he had closed the tent flap behind him.

“Who?” Shanna stood, rushing to his side. He was shaking his head and pacing.

“Father,” he snapped, pushing her attempts to comfort aside. “Snake bite. Of all the things. A snake
bite.”

“That’s terrible.” Almost as terrible as my ability to lie, she thought. Warmth spread through her chest
that her plan was working. With Lord Daven out of the way, her secret was mostly safe and she could
try to convince Tavian to stop the murder.

“I can’t believe it,” Tavian continued. “We’ll have to be more careful. You don’t think it’s the Forensee do
you? They know this area, they could have let some loose…”

“Surely not, you’ve all but beaten them now. What would they have to gain?” Shanna placed a hand on
his arm, trying to calm him.

“Everything. They think that by taking my father out we’ll just go away?” His lip curled in disgust. “It’s
not going to happen.” He pulled him arm free from her grasp and left the tent.

~ * ~

Shanna waited until she knew he was in his father’s tent. She covered the distance quickly, before
anyone else could intervene. The snake sat coiled within her bodice, a comforting weight against her
chest. She pressed a hand against it, drawing strength.

This was the right thing to do; the only course of action available.

“Tavian?” she called into the tent before lifting the flap. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer
light but she found him sitting on his father’s bed, looking through his papers. “I thought I might find
you here.” She smiled at him as she approached, cheeks flushed with anticipation.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “I should have made sure you were okay earlier. I’m sorry. I was so
caught up thinking about father…”

“No need to apologise.” Shanna sat down on the bed next to him and placed a hand in his. “I know it’s a
hard time for you.” She paused, making sure she had the right words. “You should take a few days to
think about things. It might have nothing to do with Forensee, and it would be terrible to make things
worse.”

“Worse? For who?” He removed his hand from hers and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter whether it
was them or not. I must see this through.”

“Are you sure?” Shanna asked.

“Absolutely, this is the only way forward.”

Shanna leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the brow. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish it could have
been different.”

The snake stirred to life and wound itself free from her clothing. It sprang towards Tavian’s neck and
embedded its fangs, pumping woody poison into his body.

Shanna let out a scream as she mentally shooed the snake away. It looked like a living breathing thing as
it slipped across the sheets and off the bed, landing on the floor just as the guards rushed into the tent.

Tavian thrashed on the bed, his face pale as he clutched at his throat. It wasn’t hard to cry. Shanna had
never seen a person dying before.

“What happened?” one of the guards asked.

Shanna pointed after the snake, just visible as it slid beneath the canvas wall. “It came out of nowhere.”
Her voice wavered and another sob escaped. “Where’s the medic? Someone do something!”

More people rushed into the tent. One guard dragged her outside and attempted to calm her while the
rest tried to save Tavian, or find the snake.

She knew they wouldn’t though. She had been very careful this time. She had finally learned her lesson.

~ * ~

Shanna sat in her tent, more alone than she had been in a very long time. Outside she could hear guards
whispering, could hear a crowd forming—waiting to hear what her orders would be.

She hadn’t thought beyond ridding the world of Lord Davan and Tavian; it had been a simple goal driven
by her desire to free the Forensee—and herself—from rulers who wished to take advantage of them.

A slithering drew her attention to the rugs covering the ground. The snake was crossing towards her
and without thought she reached down and cupped her hands, welcoming it back.

“My busy little friend,” she murmured to it as it slid up her arm and nestled against her neck. “Thank you
for your hard work.”

It whispered to her, sated on death, its energy now tranquil and pleased—not quite a reflection of her
own. Shanna had no real skill with people, her mother having kept her mostly hidden for fear of
discovery, and now here she was, in charge of many lives.

But this is what her father had wanted for her, wasn’t it? A better life? And she was now in the position
to shape things. To create change. As much as she felt it was her nature to slink into the background, it
was time to step forward and make a difference—the Forensee needed her. And so did those who
possessed magic.
THE LORELEI SIGNAL
J.C. Hart is a mother to three beautiful girls, and a writer of (mostly)
speculative fiction. A passionate supporter of NZ writers, she is a
founding member of both kiwiwriters.org and specficnz.org.

You can find her work in A Foreign Country: New Zealand
Speculative Fiction, the Masters of Horror Anthology, and Tales for
Canterbury: Survival, Hope, Future.

She blogs about life, writing, and whatever else takes her fancy at
just-cassie.com.