New Version:
Georgie nodded, stepping confidently through the undergrowth. The trees were so old that the trunks were wider than the span of Jane's arms and they grew so tall that although the sky could be seen through the tops of the trees, far, far above, no sunlight made it through to the ground. The bright green moss worked as tiny, ethereal lamps that helped guide them through the forest.
The trees emanated a palpable silence. The constant birdsong and chittering of animals wove through the thick air like a never-ending but constantly changing song. The breeze was heavy and dank and tasted of old, wise soil. As Jane breathed it in, she felt her strength and determination returning. Fear and guilt retreated in the face of the dignified trees that had borne out more prophecies and disasters than she'd ever face.
For Jane, forests signified the best and the worst that nature had to offer. Here, animals hunted each other, chose their mates, foraged for food, and fed their children. That her father had once hunted her in a forest was only one bad series of memories amongst a myriad of good ones. Jane had climbed trees, rescued baby birds from hungry foxes, and, once, had found a unicorn that thought it was a bear in a magical clearing. Anything was possible in a forest, good and bad -- and to be fair, although the bad could be very, very bad -- so could the good.
As Georgie led the small group to the path, Jane was glad to see that Rufus was walking, fairly steadily, on his own. Jane rested her cheek against Sarah's bald head and all of the years of piggyback rides flashed through her mind. Jane on Sarah's back, Sarah on hers; in the town square, in the fields of the farm in every season, running through the forest, jumping over huge tree roots with no hesitation, as though tripping and falling was something that happened to other people -- although they did their fair share of that too.
Jane and Sarah were very close in age; Sarah was only three months older than Jane. Jane's mother had been more active in the village back then, visiting often to sell or trade produce from the farm. She and Sarah's mother were particular friends, so Jane had grown up, toddling around the forge, and learning, sometimes the hard way, what not to touch.
In the village, old folks liked to bring their grandchildren to the town square during the day while their parents were working. The adults could gossip and the children could run around and climb the statue, their grandparents, each other. The mark of the bravest children were the ones who would climb the statue and sit on the saddle with the Hero.
Once when Sarah and Jane were six and Georgie was nine, Georgie had climbed all of the way to the anchor, and then had gotten stuck, too scared to climb back down. As the point of the anchor hung five feet over Kate's bakery, Kate sent some of her apprentices up to the roof to help Georgie down. Although they were able to reach Georgie without difficulty, she was too afraid to let go, and in the end, it was Kate's gentle voice and promise of a free cupcake that coaxed a crying and snot-nosed Georgie from her perch.
She had emerged from Kate's bakery with red eyes and a cupcake larger than her fist. Sarah, Jane, and the other kids rushed around her, not sure if they were more impressed by her bravery or her reward. Then Kate came out with cupcakes for everybody, which only made Georgie even more the hero of the day.
Herbert Mohz, The Mayor's son, was a few years older than Georgie, and the arbitrator of cool for all of the kids. He received his cupcake last, as he was the only one who hadn't mobbed Kate and her tray. He'd raised his cupcake in the air and proclaimed, "To Georgie!"
"To Georgie!" the kids shouted, and Georgie blushed.
Later, as Jane and her mother had walked home, Jane relayed Georgie's spectacular failure. Jane's mother had laughed and shook her head. "That girl," she said. "What did her parents do?"
"They just hugged her a lot and said they were glad she was okay," Jane said. Georgie had started crying again, but the other kids were already chasing each other around the square on sugar-fueled highs, so they hadn't noticed. "Why didn't she get in trouble?" Jane asked.
Jane's mother was quiet for a moment. "I think -- you get in trouble when you do something dangerous so that you remember to never do that again. I think, in Georgie's case, what she did was so stupid and dangerous that a) she's unlikely to ever try that again and b) everyone was so happy that she survived it that they didn't have the heart to punish her."
Jane thought about that. "But why did we all get cupcakes?" she asked.
"Hmm…I don't know," Jane's mother said. "Why do you think you all got cupcakes?"
Jane thought about it. Once, Jane had been walking through the square, lost in her thoughts, and had almost run into Rufus. They both saw each other in time and stopped. Then they'd laughed. They both knew what could have happened and were glad it didn't. There was something else, too. That same kind of excitement that Jane felt when she saw Georgie finally come down off of the anchor, and then again when she walked out of Kate's bakery. Like, it was normal to see Georgie safe and okay but it became special and important to see Georgie safe and okay after knowing that she almost hadn't been safe and okay.
But that explained why Georgie got a cupcake. Why did everyone get one? Maybe it was because when Jane was watching Georgie struggle with her fear, Jane felt the same fear, as if it was her up there. So, Georgie making it down safely felt like she had made it down safely too, even though she was never in danger. And Kate knew that. And everyone else seemed to know it, too.
Jane didn't remember what she answered her mother, but she remembered her internal answer to her mother's question. Maybe that was why the villagers were so supportive of her saving the world. They would all have come with her, if they could have. In a way, they were her, the same way Jane had been Georgie in that series of awful moments when Georgie was stuck.
This was an important thought and she was in the process of digesting it when Sarah paused and bumped Jane into a more comfortable position. Jane felt the thought fly away, and knew that she'd lost something important. She hoped that it would come back to her but then she was back in the present.
She recognized that at some point, they had found the path. It was wide enough for two people to walk side by side but it was covered in fallen leaves and twigs, and overgrown in places. Even with the moss, the forest seemed darker, and a glance at the sky verified that the sun, although far from setting, was one its way down.
Rufus seemed to be walking less steadily, and Sarah was walking slower. Even Georgie, who was healthy and not carrying anyone, wasn't as far ahead of them, as she had been when they'd started out.
Sarah shifted Jane again, and Jane recognized the signal that Sarah was done carrying Jane. Unfortunately, although Jane felt mentally stronger, her arms and legs still felt tired, like thirty pounds of chain mail was dangling from each of them.
Bear passed Sarah and caught up with Rufus just in time to catch him as he stumbled. Sarah stopped and let go of Jane's legs. Jane slid down and landed on the ground more gracefully than she would have expected. At least, she didn't fall. She used Sarah for balance, and then stepped away on shaky legs. Georgie had stopped, and was watching the rest of the group.
"We should probably take a break," Bear said, seemingly the only one with enough energy to speak, although the violet shadows under his eyes seemed darker than before.
Rufus nodded and sat down where he stood. Jane walked over and sat next to him. She rested her head against his shoulder and they leaned on each other. Bear, gleaming in Sarah's chain mail, let the backpack fall from his shoulders and crouched in front of it. Georgie started gathering small twigs and branches while Sarah set up a fire ring.
Bear passed around bread and cheese and fish jerky that had been in the pack, and they all ate in silence, listening to the snap, crackle, and pop of the flames. The bread and cheese tasted unreasonably good to Jane, although she was so tired that she could barely raise each bite to her mouth.
Georgie finished first, and then pulled open the pouch that was slung around her waist. She pulled out one of the needles and closed the pouch again. She flipped the needle around in her hands, watching the light play off of it and testing the tip with her fingers. Her fingers were so calloused from years of making shoes that the tip only dented her fingertips, but Jane had to look away, remembering the darkness that the needles brought.
Sarah worked to make the fire bigger than it needed to be for their purposes, but Jane didn't say anything, recognizing that Sarah needed something to do with her hands and that playing with fire was how Sarah relaxed.
Rufus reached around behind him and picked out a large stick from the ground. He pulled out a knife. Jane, who had pulled away while he was arranging all of this, settled back against his arm as he started whittling. His hands moved with a quick, sure rhythm that was soothing to Jane. She remembered leaning against her father's side when she was small, as he whittled and her mother sang or told stories. Jane reflected that it would have been easier to hate her father if she hadn't been cursed with so many good memories.
She would have expected Bear to break the silence, but he seemed lost in his thoughts, content to watch Georgie play with her needle. Instead, it was Rufus who started talking, his quiet rumble cocooning the group in his story.
"My father was a butcher in Erinrae. He had apprenticed under his uncle, and had a knack for butchery. By the time he was twenty years old, he was already working in the castle. Back then, the king was known to be cruel, but he was old and dying, and my father had hope that his son would be a better ruler.
"My mother worked in the castle, as well. There were so many servants, that they were all given specialties. The thing that my mother did from sunup to sundown was mend old sheets, blankets, and clothing so that they could be re-purposed into bedding and clothing for the servants. The king insisted that everyone who worked in the castle look as regal as the lords and ladies who would visit.
"This wasn't a kindness; the old king did this for a few reasons. For one thing, it confused assassins from other kingdoms. Second, the king liked to be seen as so wealthy that even his servants looked equal to visiting royalty, and the third reason was related, but it was to keep the nobility itself humble.
"This meant that the only thing that set servants apart from royalty was that the servants worked. Therefore, my mother was quite busy. But she had a nimble hand and an admirable lack of ambition, so she was happy enough with her lot in life. My father was an ambitious man, and having come from humble beginnings, very much enjoyed the finery and the grandeur of the palace.
"He liked working, and was a genius with a pig, which he always said later, was why he got along so well with both of the kings that he worked under. My father had worked in the castle for three years when the old king died. Before the news had even made its way fully around the castle, my father was called into the king's chambers.
"My father washed his hands and changed his apron and then followed a servant down the corridor, wondering what the new king could possibly want from him. The king's official chambers were on the third level of the castle, but his office was on the ground floor, around the corner from the kitchens. My father had never been in there, as the old king had been too ill to get out of bed for the entirety of my father's stay until that point.
"The room was small; barely a double arms' breadth and width, with stone walls that were covered on three sides by tapestries, and on the outside wall was a huge, stained-glass window that depicted three mermaids and a laughing sphinx. In front of the window was an enormous ebony desk, with a huge throne behind it. A wrought iron chandelier with hundreds of barbs hung from the ceiling and featured at least a dozen lit candles. A thick, soft rug had been laid on the stone ground, but in spite of the candles and the insulation from the rugs and tapestries, the room felt cold.
"My father shivered involuntarily as he entered. The new king was sitting behind the desk, already wearing the crown, and smiling over steepled fingertips. My father noted that the desk was clear. Not even a blotter or an ink pot. There were no chairs aside from the throne the king sat on, so my father knelt awkwardly in front of the desk for several minutes after the door had clicked shut behind the servant.
"'You may rise,' the king said, finally.
"My father rose, and observed the king, who was smiling slightly from behind steepled fingertips. 'I am very sorry for your loss, Your Highness,' my father said.
"'My loss,' the new king said, mockingly. "I have been waiting for that old bastard to die, for years. I'm in my fifties. I had begun to believe that he would outlive me. My father didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent. The new king's smile widened. 'You believe me un-dutiful to speak of my father that way,' he said.
"'I wouldn't presume to believe anything of the sort,' my father answered.
"'Good,' the new king said. 'The reason I called you in here is because there is a favor of a sensitive nature that I would like to task you with.'
"'I would be honored to complete any task that you would put before my, Your Highness,' my father said.
"'Hmm…' the new king answered. 'I would like for you to butcher my father's dead body so that I can serve him at his funeral feast.'
"My father felt his consciousness leave his body. It returned almost immediately, but reluctantly. 'Of course, Your Highness,' he said, automatically. He wondered if the new king was joking; a weird, twisted test of loyalty.
"'You don't have any moral objections to defiling the body of a dead king?' the new king asked.
"My father knew that this question was a test, and he knew that he had to answer as quickly as he did carefully. He held back an urge to throw up. Fortunately, he'd grown up at the hands of a sadistic father and therefore navigating this conversation was as familiar as it was unpleasant. 'Nothing that Your Highness could ask of me could be defined as anything other than honorable, Your Highness,' my father answered.
"'Excellent,' the new king said. His eyelids slid half-closed. My father recognized the self-satisfaction, and the hope that the new king was joking fled. 'I shall have the body delivered to your butchery at midnight.'
"My father recognized that he was being dismissed. He nodded, and backed out of the room, nearly walking into the servant who had escorted him. The door was too thick for the servant to have been able listen in, but there was no telling that the servant didn't already know what the king's request had been. He knew better than to show any kind of fear or disgust, so he merely nodded to the servant, and walked at a normal pace back to his butchery.
"Once there, he leaned against the door and shuddered. He hadn't liked the old king; he'd been demanding, selfish, and gloried in unnecessary wars with neighboring kingdoms. But he had had a strange honor about him. He'd fought on the front lines of every war he'd started, and when he'd become too sick to fight, he'd stood at the front lines, which forced his soldiers to fight all the harder in order to protect him.
"The new king had been rumored to be irritated by his father's warmongering, and had been relieved when the king had fallen too ill to pick fights with their less well-militarized neighbors. My father had gladly taken the job in the palace, thinking that the prince would bring peace, at last, to Erinrae. Unfortunately, after only a few months, my father was privy to new rumors about the prince. Rumors that he liked to spend his time in the dungeon with pretty, young servants who were then never heard from again.
"My father had always hoped that these rumors were false, but seeing the glint in the new king's eyes as he'd requested the defilement of his own father's body, my father wasn't able to deny those rumors anymore. He'd seen that glint in his own father's eyes too many times, and although his father hadn't been quite as depraved as the new king, he'd found pleasure in hurting people -- especially people who loved him.
"My father got back to work; one dead king's body wouldn't be enough to feed an entire kingdom's worth of mourners. As chickens, fish, pigs, cows, and lambs were delivered to him throughout the day, my father lost himself in the rhythm of butchery. His knifes never shook, never missed their marks. When midnight came, he accepted the delivery with numb resignation.
"He was about to shut the door behind the new king's servants when another servant was shoved through the door. 'What's this?' he asked, as he looked down at my mother. She was short and round with long, curly hair and big, innocent eyes.
"'Insurance,' the servant answered, slamming the door shut behind him.
My father closed his eyes. A vague determination to escape with all of the money he'd saved over the past three years, died.
"'What's going on?' my mother asked. 'Why is the king's body in here? Why am I here? What did he mean by insurance?' My mother tried the door. The knob turned but didn't open. The butchery walls were tall and stony, with long, thin windows near the ceiling. My mother climbed on tables and cabinets, looking out of each of the windows. 'There are soldiers everywhere,' she said.
"She crossed her arms and stared down at my father from the counter next to the sink. 'As if we could squeeze through these windows. What is going on?' Every few seconds, her gaze returned to the king, but it seemed easier to just glare at my father, so she did. She tapped her foot, as she waited for him to answer. Her eyes no longer seemed as sweet as when she'd first entered, but my father was reticent to speak the words that would rob her of the rest of her innocence.
"Instead, he walked over to the king's body, and, suppressing a shudder and his half-formed escape plans, he disrobed and washed the king's body. He picked up a fileting knife and looked at my mother, who hadn't moved from the counter. She was staring at him, terrified. 'You may want to look away,' he said, wishing that he could do the same.
"He only half-heard my mother's screams and curses as he set to work on the king's body. Habit took over; the habit of denying his own horror, and the habit of focus. He was barely aware of what he was doing, and it was over more quickly than he would have imagined. He packaged up each of the parts, and walked over to the sink.
"He'd almost forgotten my mother's presence. She was huddled on the counter, next to the sink. She was turned away and sobbing. My father washed his hands and then cleaned up his station. He packaged up the meat and then washed his hands again. Then he washed his hands again. He tried his hands on a towel and then tried to hand a clean one to my mother. 'It's done,' he said. She flinched away from him.
"He sighed. 'Insurance,' he said, still holding out the towel. 'It means that you know what I did and can tell people about it. It's meant to prevent me from speaking out against the new king.'
"'How would that work?' my mother asked. She took the towel, be careful not to brush her fingers against my father's. She wiped her eyes and then blew her nose, for a long time. 'If you tell people what he had you do --'
"'Who is to say that the new king forced me to do this?' my father asked. 'You saw me butcher the king. You didn't see the new king ask me to, did you?'
"She shook her head. 'But --'
"'And if you witnessed me butchering the king and didn't say anything, then what can they say about you? That you were in on it? That we planned it together?'
"'Nobody would believe --'
"'Think about if you heard about me flaying the king and cutting up his body to be feasted upon by his subjects. Would you believe --'
"'Yes,' my mother said. 'I know what he did to my friend Lorena. I'd believe anything anyone said about that bastard.' Her eyes narrowed in anger.
"My father was surprised. He wouldn't have guessed by looking at her that my mother could possibly be aware of the prince's proclivities. 'Alright,' he said, conceding her point. 'And what would you think of me? What do you think of me? Do you believe that I was forced into this situation; that it was to do this or die myself? Or do you believe that I found some pleasure in this act?'
"She hesitated, looking at him, doubt in her face.
"My father smiled ruefully. 'And you're here,' he said. 'I can tell you that I didn't want to do that, and you're not even sure if you believe me. How would somebody feel if they weren't here, and they heard? I'd be reviled.' He gestured toward the king's neatly packaged body parts. 'I should be reviled. I can never outlive the shame that this would bring upon my name. I don't even know if I can live with it.'
"My mother uncurled herself and let her feet dangle from the counter. She started to reach out to my father and stopped, dropped her hands to her lap, and examining the towel. 'Alright,' she said. She looked up. 'So what now?'
"My father sighed, relieved. If my mother had remained hysterical, no doubt she would have been killed as soon as she'd left the butchery, regardless of her value as a witness. 'Now, I deliver the meat to the king's feast, and you go back to your chambers. You wake up in the morning and tell no one, and live a long life.'
"My mother examined his face. 'You're going to escape, aren't you?'
"My father stepped back, surprised. 'What makes you think that?'
"My mother snorted. Snot bubbled out of her nose and she wiped it on the towel. 'You couldn't stay here after that. Neither can I. I'll go with you.'
"'No. I'm not planning to escape,' my father lied. 'And neither should you. You have a good life here. It's worse out in the world, believe me.'
"My mother tilted her head. 'How much worse can it be?' she asked. 'I and any of my friends can be abducted at any moment, tortured, and then slaughtered, for the king's amusement.' She shook her head. 'I won't stay here. I can't.'
"My father sighed. 'We can't be seen together. We'll both be killed if we so much as make eye contact after this.'
"My mother nodded. 'Great. So. Tomorrow night, midnight. I'll meet you at the end of the bridge. Can you get there?'
"My father hesitated. He was planning on going, and travelling and earning money would be easier with two, at least until one or both of them was more established. 'Yes,' he said. He walked over to the door. 'And if I can't make it or I'm late, you go without me.'
"My mother nodded. 'And you without me.'
"My father acknowledged this with a jerk of his head, as my mother slid off of the counter. She threw the towel onto the counter and squared her shoulders as my father opened the door.
Old Version:
I stand, unscathed, unsure of how many bodies I've left behind, bloody, beaten, dead. Since Bear fixed me with his horn, I feel stronger and more sure of my own body than ever.
Georgie nodded, stepping confidently through the undergrowth. The trees were so old that the trunks were wider than the span of Jane's arms and they grew so tall that although the sky could be seen through the tops of the trees, far, far above, no sunlight made it through to the ground. The bright green moss worked as tiny, ethereal lamps that helped guide them through the forest.
The trees emanated a palpable silence. The constant birdsong and chittering of animals wove through the thick air like a never-ending but constantly changing song. The breeze was heavy and dank and tasted of old, wise soil. As Jane breathed it in, she felt her strength and determination returning. Fear and guilt retreated in the face of the dignified trees that had borne out more prophecies and disasters than she'd ever face.
For Jane, forests signified the best and the worst that nature had to offer. Here, animals hunted each other, chose their mates, foraged for food, and fed their children. That her father had once hunted her in a forest was only one bad series of memories amongst a myriad of good ones. Jane had climbed trees, rescued baby birds from hungry foxes, and, once, had found a unicorn that thought it was a bear in a magical clearing. Anything was possible in a forest, good and bad -- and to be fair, although the bad could be very, very bad -- so could the good.
As Georgie led the small group to the path, Jane was glad to see that Rufus was walking, fairly steadily, on his own. Jane rested her cheek against Sarah's bald head and all of the years of piggyback rides flashed through her mind. Jane on Sarah's back, Sarah on hers; in the town square, in the fields of the farm in every season, running through the forest, jumping over huge tree roots with no hesitation, as though tripping and falling was something that happened to other people -- although they did their fair share of that too.
Jane and Sarah were very close in age; Sarah was only three months older than Jane. Jane's mother had been more active in the village back then, visiting often to sell or trade produce from the farm. She and Sarah's mother were particular friends, so Jane had grown up, toddling around the forge, and learning, sometimes the hard way, what not to touch.
In the village, old folks liked to bring their grandchildren to the town square during the day while their parents were working. The adults could gossip and the children could run around and climb the statue, their grandparents, each other. The mark of the bravest children were the ones who would climb the statue and sit on the saddle with the Hero.
Once when Sarah and Jane were six and Georgie was nine, Georgie had climbed all of the way to the anchor, and then had gotten stuck, too scared to climb back down. As the point of the anchor hung five feet over Kate's bakery, Kate sent some of her apprentices up to the roof to help Georgie down. Although they were able to reach Georgie without difficulty, she was too afraid to let go, and in the end, it was Kate's gentle voice and promise of a free cupcake that coaxed a crying and snot-nosed Georgie from her perch.
She had emerged from Kate's bakery with red eyes and a cupcake larger than her fist. Sarah, Jane, and the other kids rushed around her, not sure if they were more impressed by her bravery or her reward. Then Kate came out with cupcakes for everybody, which only made Georgie even more the hero of the day.
Herbert Mohz, The Mayor's son, was a few years older than Georgie, and the arbitrator of cool for all of the kids. He received his cupcake last, as he was the only one who hadn't mobbed Kate and her tray. He'd raised his cupcake in the air and proclaimed, "To Georgie!"
"To Georgie!" the kids shouted, and Georgie blushed.
Later, as Jane and her mother had walked home, Jane relayed Georgie's spectacular failure. Jane's mother had laughed and shook her head. "That girl," she said. "What did her parents do?"
"They just hugged her a lot and said they were glad she was okay," Jane said. Georgie had started crying again, but the other kids were already chasing each other around the square on sugar-fueled highs, so they hadn't noticed. "Why didn't she get in trouble?" Jane asked.
Jane's mother was quiet for a moment. "I think -- you get in trouble when you do something dangerous so that you remember to never do that again. I think, in Georgie's case, what she did was so stupid and dangerous that a) she's unlikely to ever try that again and b) everyone was so happy that she survived it that they didn't have the heart to punish her."
Jane thought about that. "But why did we all get cupcakes?" she asked.
"Hmm…I don't know," Jane's mother said. "Why do you think you all got cupcakes?"
Jane thought about it. Once, Jane had been walking through the square, lost in her thoughts, and had almost run into Rufus. They both saw each other in time and stopped. Then they'd laughed. They both knew what could have happened and were glad it didn't. There was something else, too. That same kind of excitement that Jane felt when she saw Georgie finally come down off of the anchor, and then again when she walked out of Kate's bakery. Like, it was normal to see Georgie safe and okay but it became special and important to see Georgie safe and okay after knowing that she almost hadn't been safe and okay.
But that explained why Georgie got a cupcake. Why did everyone get one? Maybe it was because when Jane was watching Georgie struggle with her fear, Jane felt the same fear, as if it was her up there. So, Georgie making it down safely felt like she had made it down safely too, even though she was never in danger. And Kate knew that. And everyone else seemed to know it, too.
Jane didn't remember what she answered her mother, but she remembered her internal answer to her mother's question. Maybe that was why the villagers were so supportive of her saving the world. They would all have come with her, if they could have. In a way, they were her, the same way Jane had been Georgie in that series of awful moments when Georgie was stuck.
This was an important thought and she was in the process of digesting it when Sarah paused and bumped Jane into a more comfortable position. Jane felt the thought fly away, and knew that she'd lost something important. She hoped that it would come back to her but then she was back in the present.
She recognized that at some point, they had found the path. It was wide enough for two people to walk side by side but it was covered in fallen leaves and twigs, and overgrown in places. Even with the moss, the forest seemed darker, and a glance at the sky verified that the sun, although far from setting, was one its way down.
Rufus seemed to be walking less steadily, and Sarah was walking slower. Even Georgie, who was healthy and not carrying anyone, wasn't as far ahead of them, as she had been when they'd started out.
Sarah shifted Jane again, and Jane recognized the signal that Sarah was done carrying Jane. Unfortunately, although Jane felt mentally stronger, her arms and legs still felt tired, like thirty pounds of chain mail was dangling from each of them.
Bear passed Sarah and caught up with Rufus just in time to catch him as he stumbled. Sarah stopped and let go of Jane's legs. Jane slid down and landed on the ground more gracefully than she would have expected. At least, she didn't fall. She used Sarah for balance, and then stepped away on shaky legs. Georgie had stopped, and was watching the rest of the group.
"We should probably take a break," Bear said, seemingly the only one with enough energy to speak, although the violet shadows under his eyes seemed darker than before.
Rufus nodded and sat down where he stood. Jane walked over and sat next to him. She rested her head against his shoulder and they leaned on each other. Bear, gleaming in Sarah's chain mail, let the backpack fall from his shoulders and crouched in front of it. Georgie started gathering small twigs and branches while Sarah set up a fire ring.
Bear passed around bread and cheese and fish jerky that had been in the pack, and they all ate in silence, listening to the snap, crackle, and pop of the flames. The bread and cheese tasted unreasonably good to Jane, although she was so tired that she could barely raise each bite to her mouth.
Georgie finished first, and then pulled open the pouch that was slung around her waist. She pulled out one of the needles and closed the pouch again. She flipped the needle around in her hands, watching the light play off of it and testing the tip with her fingers. Her fingers were so calloused from years of making shoes that the tip only dented her fingertips, but Jane had to look away, remembering the darkness that the needles brought.
Sarah worked to make the fire bigger than it needed to be for their purposes, but Jane didn't say anything, recognizing that Sarah needed something to do with her hands and that playing with fire was how Sarah relaxed.
Rufus reached around behind him and picked out a large stick from the ground. He pulled out a knife. Jane, who had pulled away while he was arranging all of this, settled back against his arm as he started whittling. His hands moved with a quick, sure rhythm that was soothing to Jane. She remembered leaning against her father's side when she was small, as he whittled and her mother sang or told stories. Jane reflected that it would have been easier to hate her father if she hadn't been cursed with so many good memories.
She would have expected Bear to break the silence, but he seemed lost in his thoughts, content to watch Georgie play with her needle. Instead, it was Rufus who started talking, his quiet rumble cocooning the group in his story.
"My father was a butcher in Erinrae. He had apprenticed under his uncle, and had a knack for butchery. By the time he was twenty years old, he was already working in the castle. Back then, the king was known to be cruel, but he was old and dying, and my father had hope that his son would be a better ruler.
"My mother worked in the castle, as well. There were so many servants, that they were all given specialties. The thing that my mother did from sunup to sundown was mend old sheets, blankets, and clothing so that they could be re-purposed into bedding and clothing for the servants. The king insisted that everyone who worked in the castle look as regal as the lords and ladies who would visit.
"This wasn't a kindness; the old king did this for a few reasons. For one thing, it confused assassins from other kingdoms. Second, the king liked to be seen as so wealthy that even his servants looked equal to visiting royalty, and the third reason was related, but it was to keep the nobility itself humble.
"This meant that the only thing that set servants apart from royalty was that the servants worked. Therefore, my mother was quite busy. But she had a nimble hand and an admirable lack of ambition, so she was happy enough with her lot in life. My father was an ambitious man, and having come from humble beginnings, very much enjoyed the finery and the grandeur of the palace.
"He liked working, and was a genius with a pig, which he always said later, was why he got along so well with both of the kings that he worked under. My father had worked in the castle for three years when the old king died. Before the news had even made its way fully around the castle, my father was called into the king's chambers.
"My father washed his hands and changed his apron and then followed a servant down the corridor, wondering what the new king could possibly want from him. The king's official chambers were on the third level of the castle, but his office was on the ground floor, around the corner from the kitchens. My father had never been in there, as the old king had been too ill to get out of bed for the entirety of my father's stay until that point.
"The room was small; barely a double arms' breadth and width, with stone walls that were covered on three sides by tapestries, and on the outside wall was a huge, stained-glass window that depicted three mermaids and a laughing sphinx. In front of the window was an enormous ebony desk, with a huge throne behind it. A wrought iron chandelier with hundreds of barbs hung from the ceiling and featured at least a dozen lit candles. A thick, soft rug had been laid on the stone ground, but in spite of the candles and the insulation from the rugs and tapestries, the room felt cold.
"My father shivered involuntarily as he entered. The new king was sitting behind the desk, already wearing the crown, and smiling over steepled fingertips. My father noted that the desk was clear. Not even a blotter or an ink pot. There were no chairs aside from the throne the king sat on, so my father knelt awkwardly in front of the desk for several minutes after the door had clicked shut behind the servant.
"'You may rise,' the king said, finally.
"My father rose, and observed the king, who was smiling slightly from behind steepled fingertips. 'I am very sorry for your loss, Your Highness,' my father said.
"'My loss,' the new king said, mockingly. "I have been waiting for that old bastard to die, for years. I'm in my fifties. I had begun to believe that he would outlive me. My father didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent. The new king's smile widened. 'You believe me un-dutiful to speak of my father that way,' he said.
"'I wouldn't presume to believe anything of the sort,' my father answered.
"'Good,' the new king said. 'The reason I called you in here is because there is a favor of a sensitive nature that I would like to task you with.'
"'I would be honored to complete any task that you would put before my, Your Highness,' my father said.
"'Hmm…' the new king answered. 'I would like for you to butcher my father's dead body so that I can serve him at his funeral feast.'
"My father felt his consciousness leave his body. It returned almost immediately, but reluctantly. 'Of course, Your Highness,' he said, automatically. He wondered if the new king was joking; a weird, twisted test of loyalty.
"'You don't have any moral objections to defiling the body of a dead king?' the new king asked.
"My father knew that this question was a test, and he knew that he had to answer as quickly as he did carefully. He held back an urge to throw up. Fortunately, he'd grown up at the hands of a sadistic father and therefore navigating this conversation was as familiar as it was unpleasant. 'Nothing that Your Highness could ask of me could be defined as anything other than honorable, Your Highness,' my father answered.
"'Excellent,' the new king said. His eyelids slid half-closed. My father recognized the self-satisfaction, and the hope that the new king was joking fled. 'I shall have the body delivered to your butchery at midnight.'
"My father recognized that he was being dismissed. He nodded, and backed out of the room, nearly walking into the servant who had escorted him. The door was too thick for the servant to have been able listen in, but there was no telling that the servant didn't already know what the king's request had been. He knew better than to show any kind of fear or disgust, so he merely nodded to the servant, and walked at a normal pace back to his butchery.
"Once there, he leaned against the door and shuddered. He hadn't liked the old king; he'd been demanding, selfish, and gloried in unnecessary wars with neighboring kingdoms. But he had had a strange honor about him. He'd fought on the front lines of every war he'd started, and when he'd become too sick to fight, he'd stood at the front lines, which forced his soldiers to fight all the harder in order to protect him.
"The new king had been rumored to be irritated by his father's warmongering, and had been relieved when the king had fallen too ill to pick fights with their less well-militarized neighbors. My father had gladly taken the job in the palace, thinking that the prince would bring peace, at last, to Erinrae. Unfortunately, after only a few months, my father was privy to new rumors about the prince. Rumors that he liked to spend his time in the dungeon with pretty, young servants who were then never heard from again.
"My father had always hoped that these rumors were false, but seeing the glint in the new king's eyes as he'd requested the defilement of his own father's body, my father wasn't able to deny those rumors anymore. He'd seen that glint in his own father's eyes too many times, and although his father hadn't been quite as depraved as the new king, he'd found pleasure in hurting people -- especially people who loved him.
"My father got back to work; one dead king's body wouldn't be enough to feed an entire kingdom's worth of mourners. As chickens, fish, pigs, cows, and lambs were delivered to him throughout the day, my father lost himself in the rhythm of butchery. His knifes never shook, never missed their marks. When midnight came, he accepted the delivery with numb resignation.
"He was about to shut the door behind the new king's servants when another servant was shoved through the door. 'What's this?' he asked, as he looked down at my mother. She was short and round with long, curly hair and big, innocent eyes.
"'Insurance,' the servant answered, slamming the door shut behind him.
My father closed his eyes. A vague determination to escape with all of the money he'd saved over the past three years, died.
"'What's going on?' my mother asked. 'Why is the king's body in here? Why am I here? What did he mean by insurance?' My mother tried the door. The knob turned but didn't open. The butchery walls were tall and stony, with long, thin windows near the ceiling. My mother climbed on tables and cabinets, looking out of each of the windows. 'There are soldiers everywhere,' she said.
"She crossed her arms and stared down at my father from the counter next to the sink. 'As if we could squeeze through these windows. What is going on?' Every few seconds, her gaze returned to the king, but it seemed easier to just glare at my father, so she did. She tapped her foot, as she waited for him to answer. Her eyes no longer seemed as sweet as when she'd first entered, but my father was reticent to speak the words that would rob her of the rest of her innocence.
"Instead, he walked over to the king's body, and, suppressing a shudder and his half-formed escape plans, he disrobed and washed the king's body. He picked up a fileting knife and looked at my mother, who hadn't moved from the counter. She was staring at him, terrified. 'You may want to look away,' he said, wishing that he could do the same.
"He only half-heard my mother's screams and curses as he set to work on the king's body. Habit took over; the habit of denying his own horror, and the habit of focus. He was barely aware of what he was doing, and it was over more quickly than he would have imagined. He packaged up each of the parts, and walked over to the sink.
"He'd almost forgotten my mother's presence. She was huddled on the counter, next to the sink. She was turned away and sobbing. My father washed his hands and then cleaned up his station. He packaged up the meat and then washed his hands again. Then he washed his hands again. He tried his hands on a towel and then tried to hand a clean one to my mother. 'It's done,' he said. She flinched away from him.
"He sighed. 'Insurance,' he said, still holding out the towel. 'It means that you know what I did and can tell people about it. It's meant to prevent me from speaking out against the new king.'
"'How would that work?' my mother asked. She took the towel, be careful not to brush her fingers against my father's. She wiped her eyes and then blew her nose, for a long time. 'If you tell people what he had you do --'
"'Who is to say that the new king forced me to do this?' my father asked. 'You saw me butcher the king. You didn't see the new king ask me to, did you?'
"She shook her head. 'But --'
"'And if you witnessed me butchering the king and didn't say anything, then what can they say about you? That you were in on it? That we planned it together?'
"'Nobody would believe --'
"'Think about if you heard about me flaying the king and cutting up his body to be feasted upon by his subjects. Would you believe --'
"'Yes,' my mother said. 'I know what he did to my friend Lorena. I'd believe anything anyone said about that bastard.' Her eyes narrowed in anger.
"My father was surprised. He wouldn't have guessed by looking at her that my mother could possibly be aware of the prince's proclivities. 'Alright,' he said, conceding her point. 'And what would you think of me? What do you think of me? Do you believe that I was forced into this situation; that it was to do this or die myself? Or do you believe that I found some pleasure in this act?'
"She hesitated, looking at him, doubt in her face.
"My father smiled ruefully. 'And you're here,' he said. 'I can tell you that I didn't want to do that, and you're not even sure if you believe me. How would somebody feel if they weren't here, and they heard? I'd be reviled.' He gestured toward the king's neatly packaged body parts. 'I should be reviled. I can never outlive the shame that this would bring upon my name. I don't even know if I can live with it.'
"My mother uncurled herself and let her feet dangle from the counter. She started to reach out to my father and stopped, dropped her hands to her lap, and examining the towel. 'Alright,' she said. She looked up. 'So what now?'
"My father sighed, relieved. If my mother had remained hysterical, no doubt she would have been killed as soon as she'd left the butchery, regardless of her value as a witness. 'Now, I deliver the meat to the king's feast, and you go back to your chambers. You wake up in the morning and tell no one, and live a long life.'
"My mother examined his face. 'You're going to escape, aren't you?'
"My father stepped back, surprised. 'What makes you think that?'
"My mother snorted. Snot bubbled out of her nose and she wiped it on the towel. 'You couldn't stay here after that. Neither can I. I'll go with you.'
"'No. I'm not planning to escape,' my father lied. 'And neither should you. You have a good life here. It's worse out in the world, believe me.'
"My mother tilted her head. 'How much worse can it be?' she asked. 'I and any of my friends can be abducted at any moment, tortured, and then slaughtered, for the king's amusement.' She shook her head. 'I won't stay here. I can't.'
"My father sighed. 'We can't be seen together. We'll both be killed if we so much as make eye contact after this.'
"My mother nodded. 'Great. So. Tomorrow night, midnight. I'll meet you at the end of the bridge. Can you get there?'
"My father hesitated. He was planning on going, and travelling and earning money would be easier with two, at least until one or both of them was more established. 'Yes,' he said. He walked over to the door. 'And if I can't make it or I'm late, you go without me.'
"My mother nodded. 'And you without me.'
"My father acknowledged this with a jerk of his head, as my mother slid off of the counter. She threw the towel onto the counter and squared her shoulders as my father opened the door.
Old Version:
I stand, unscathed, unsure of how many bodies I've left behind, bloody, beaten, dead. Since Bear fixed me with his horn, I feel stronger and more sure of my own body than ever.
At some point during the night, the rain stopped and the ship surges through the onslaught of restless waves, but my feet are steady. I see Mabel shimmy down from the crow's nest. She heads toward the below decks. Another pirate silently takes Mabel's place, only exchanging nods with Captain Nancy.
"I need to do something," I say.
Captain Nancy looks over at me. She nods and suppresses a smile. "You're going to have your chance in about thirty minutes," she says. "That's when we'll reach Mount Binyne."
My heartbeat kicks up again. I nod and turn away. I return to Captain Nancy's cabin. I remove her nightgown and fold it, leaving it on the hammock. My underwear is dry, so I slip it on. Her pants are still wet. I borrow another pair and strap the knife to the leg. Now, I pull out the tunic and chainmail and put them on. I slip on Hans' boots and use Captain Nancy's brush disentangle my curls. I pull my hair into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck.
I fold the blanket and leave it on the hammock. I pick up the scattered threads that held my braids together, and roll them into a tangle. They go in a pocket. I slip on the pack. It's light, as the only things left in it are Rufus' chunk of dried meat and the sewing kit. The coat I borrowed the day before is still damp, but I put the book back in the pocket and then slip the coat over my arm. If I survive, I'll return the pants and coat.
I meet Sarah at the bottom of the ladder. She is wearing her pack, too. She flashes me a tired grin. I follow her up the ladder. Kate and Bear are waiting for us, both kitted up with their own packs. Kate smiles at me but her face is grim. The pirate chef weeps gently into a dirty handkerchief from the doorway to the galley.
Ahead of us, Mount Binyne rises up. The closer we get, the more separate she seems from the mountain range around her. Clouds waft lazily around the flattened top. Mount Binyne is a dormant volcano. Somehow, I have forgotten that fact as my friends and I have rushed toward her, this past week.
She is majestic, I have to admit. She has been dormant long enough that she is covered in trees and bushes, but smoke mingles with the clouds. The town of Binyne has moved away from the mountain over the past couple of decades, with its citizens in constant readiness to evacuate, but they have weathered small eruptions fairly well and their livelihoods are too tied into the abundance of fruit and wildlife attached to the mountain, to leave. On the other side of the mountain, the hills gradually fade away to desert.
I look up at her and feel a grudging kinship. Our names and destinies have been tangled together in peoples' mouths for centuries. I'm fairly certain that one of us is supposed to destroy the other. I feel that intuitively, although I have no idea what it means. At her base, the mountain curves away from her, like arms, encircling a large lagoon.
"Drop anchor!" Captain Nancy shouts. Several men run around the aft?, and in a few minutes, the ship slows, just as we circle around and stop in front of where the lagoon begins. The ship would fit through, but just barely. I watch several pirates use ropes and pulleys to drop a small boat down into the water. I board the boat, followed by Kate, Sarah, and Bear. One of the pirates comes down with us, presumably to take the boat back after we're done with it. He's a burly one, and he works the oars quickly and fluidly.
***
Halfway down the lagoon, I realize that I didn't say a word of thanks to Captain Nancy. I turn back and see her outlined against the mid-morning sun. She waves and I wave back. I know that she's a despicable person, but I can't help but like her, anyway.
I turn back toward the mountain, and watch the small dock get closer. I imagine the dock is the other reason the ship didn't enter the lagoon. It would barely have enough room to turn around without scraping the sides. The mountain's arms rise up and welcome us.
On the dock, two men wait for us, one young and healthy, with a bushy black beard, and an older one, bent over a cane, a large hood covering everything but a pointy, bony chin, and skeletally thin hands. I'm so hypnotized by the hands that it takes me a moment to look back at the bigger man.
"Rufus!" I shout, just as the pirate pulls up to the dock. I scramble up and out of the boat and into Rufus' arms. I hug him tight. I didn't realize I missed him until now. I breathe him in. He smells strongly of musky woodchips and mildly of death. Combined, it's one of my favorite smells.
Rufus chuckles, hugging me back. I close my eyes and pretend like I'm back home, just for a minute. When I pull back and wipe my face, he's kind enough to not notice the tears. Sarah and Kate hug Rufus, too, and then pull me into a group hug. We're all laughing and pretending not to cry.
Sarah is the first to pull herself together. Kate and I follow her lead more reluctantly.
Rufus clears his throat and introduces us to the old man. "This is Sodyba the Scholar."
"Sodyba the Scholar?" Kate asks, disbelief in her voice. "I thought you were dead!"
I look at him. He looks dead. His face is shadowed by the hood, but he barely stands, supported by his cane, his back bent against time and luck.
"Eh?" Sodyba says, his voice cracked and dry like a footstep on a dried out branch in the middle of the forest.
"He's a little hard of hearing." Rufus says. He raises his voice. "This is Kate, Sarah, and Jane," he says, gesturing to each of us in turn.
"Eh." the little old man grunts. His hood twitches as he looks at Kate and then Sarah, and then once more as he turns to look at me. "The Hero of Binyne, eh?" he creaks. He shuffles forward, forcing Sarah and Kate to step back. I hold my ground and he walks right up to me, peering up into my face. Close up, his face is as skeletal as his hands, wet eyes set back in bony sockets. His nose and lips have nearly receeded into the rest of his face. I shudder as he grasps my hand with his. I feel ashamed. I shouldn't be so disgusted by his appearance. Sodyba the Scholar is world-renowned for his wisdom and interpretation of old prophecies. He's more than an old man, he's full of wisdom and --
"I-it's nice to meet you," I stutter, pulling my hand gently out of his grasp. My revulsion recedes almost immediately, but doesn't disappear. I've never met anyone this old. The way that thin hairs grow out of his eyebrows and chin seem unnatural. Everything about him feels unnatural. We're not supposed to live this long.
He chuckles, accurately reading my expression. "I'm not as handsome as I once was," he says. "But my beauty has been replaced with knowledge. I shall lead you to where you need to go, and then, I believe, my journey I've taken in these old bones will be complete."
The idea doesn't reassure me. Is he just going to drop dead at the end of some path?
I look around at the others. Sarah is looking at the old man, bemused. Rufus is frowning at me, reprovingly. Kate is beaming. "I've heard so much about you -- my father used to -- and my grandfather -- I have so many questions!"
Sodyba the Scholar grins, revealing a mouthful of blackened, broken, and missing teeth. "Excellent, my dear," he says. "Happy to answer them." He looks around. "But we should be moving, yes? Not much time!"
"Don't we have another two full nights?" I regret my question, as Sodyba turns to look at me. No question I may have is worth having those wet eye wriggling around in my direction.
"Yes," he says. "However, it will take nearly that amount of time to reach our destination." I'm relieved when he turns away. "Now, where did Jas go?"
"I'm right here."
Rufus, Kate, Sarah, and I turn to follow the old man's gaze. I gasp. James Anthony Sawyer steps out of the trees, leading three horses.
Kate, Sarah, and I look at Rufus. Rufus shrugs sheepishly. "It makes sense, when Sodyba the Scholar explains it," he says.
"Eh?" Sodyba the Scholar says. "Ah, yes. The young upstart who helped you out with the Test of Identity. I sent him."
Now, Kate, Sarah, and I all turn to look at Sodyba the Scholar. He shrugs, a complicated movement that involves multiple cracked joints. "He is my apprentice."
"He said that he was my brother, and that he was the real Hero of Binyne," I say, indignant.
"Yes," The Scholar says, slowly, turning to look at me. This time, I don't care, though. I meet his watery gaze with an angry one of my own. "The prophecy said that there would be a usurper. Jas was the usurper."
I fold my arms. "I'm not going anywhere with these two. I don't trust them. They've already tried to thwart us once. Who is to say that they aren't going to lead us astray?" I ignore the two strangers and focus on Rufus, Kate, and Sarah.
Sarah nods and Rufus looks uncertain but Kate frowns at me. "What are you talking about?" she asks. "No one in town believed that this --" she gestures toward Jas and falters, searching for a proper way to define him "--young man was the real Hero of Binyne. He didn't even try very hard. In fact, after you left, we confronted him and he admitted that he was a fraud, sent to play his part in the prophecy."
I rock back on my heels and look over at the muscled young man. He looks the same as he did the last time I saw him, except that his shirt is back on. I can see the straps and hilt of his broadsword as well. He looks as heroic as he did the last time I saw him, but smaller. Still bulging with muscles and bravery, but human. I haven't really done anything heroic yet, but I'm so clearly the person written about in the prophecy that it's ridiculous that I ever believed otherwise. I wonder if I'd read the prophecy earlier, if I would have been so quick to hand over my destiny to him.
"How do we know he wasn't behind the raid on the road to Muska?" I ask.
Kate blinked. "For one thing, he is only one person. For another, none of us saw him there, and finally, Sodyba the Scholar vouches for him." She frowns and her voice turns stern. "That may mean nothing to you, but it means someting to me." Her chin lifts in a wordless challenge.
I feel destiny press down upon the crown of my head. If I choose incorrectly, we and everyone else in the world dies. I could knock the old man to the ground and watch him shatter into dust. I could even try to take on Jas, and I'd kick and bite as hard as I could, but I can't fight Kate. I nod and she beams.
"We'll double up on the horses," Jas says, unflustered by my utter disgust of him.
"Yes, and I will only guide you to for a little while," the Scholar says. "Jas will protect you the rest of the way."
If either of them thinks I'm getting on horse with either of them, they are insane. But Jas hands the reins of one horse to Kate, and leads another over to me. I refuse to take the reins, so Sarah does. I take the reins from her and mount. I help pull her up behind me, while Kate and Rufus mount another horse. Jas helps the old man onto the saddle and then climbs up behind him, although he retains control of the reins. Jas and the old man take the lead, with Kate and Rufus next, and Sarah and I last.
***
It hasn't been lost on me that Bear has disappeared again. I know he got on the boat with us, but I can't remember him getting out of the boat with us. I know that he has his ways, so it wouldn't bother me, except that I can't hear the music coming from his horn. He either too far away for me to hear it, or he has muffled it for some reason. I guess it makes sense. We are, in a way, riding toward some indefinable evil for an unknown purpose.
We ride in silence, time marked only by the steep drop off that gets steeper by the moment, the movement of the sun through the trees, and the increasing darkness of my thoughts.
I need to read the prophecy again, try to glean any clues from it that I can. I switch the reins to one hand and pull the book out. I hand it back to Sarah. "Can you read the prophecy to me?" I ask. "I'm trying to get a grip on what I'm actually supposed to do."
Sarah takes the book. We ride in silence as she flips through the book. The sky is starting to darken, but . I can no longer see the top of the mountain, and I understand why it's going to take longer than a day to reach the top. It should take a week. What if we're too late to save the world? The idea sends a rush of panic through me, but I take a deep breath and focus on the path ahead. The prophecy has been correct so far, why would it fail us now?
"Okay," Sarah says. "You ready?' She reads the prophecy to me quietly, correct in assuming that I don't want anyone else to overhear. I purposely slow the horse down a bit to give us some distance from the others. Under cover of the horses' footsteps and the wildlife rustling through the trees, Sarah reads. She gets to the "child unremarkable" part and pauses. "That's unnecessary," she says, indignantly.
This makes me laugh, the sound shooting out to echo against the moutainside and get lost within the trees. Rufus turns and smiles at me over his shoulder. I grin at him before he turns around again.
"You have a lot of talents --" Sarah starts again, but breaks off as I stifle more laughter. "Alright, fine," she says gruffly. She returns to the prophecy. "Who shall travel with four trusted companions--" she breaks off again. "There are five of us, though."
"It says four trusted," I mutter over my shoulder.
"Hm." Sarah says. She reads about the first two trials. "You already did those," she comments. "Remarkable how accurate this prophecy is." Then she reads the final stanza and then the couplet. "So your final test is one of sacrifice and you have to make a choice. I wonder what it is," she says.
"Me too," I say darkly. "But we are walking into a volcano, so I have some idea."
"Oh, my," Sarah says.
Something about the innocent dismay in her voice sets me off again, and this time, she joins me and we giggle helplessly as my eyes blur and I lose track of the trail. Fortunately, the horse is old and steady and doesn't need much guidance from me. Every time I catch my breath, I get hit by another fit of laughter and Sarah clings to me with one hand, gasping for breath, too.
The horse comes to a halt and I wipe the tears from my eyes to find that the others have stopped, too. Jas and Kate have turned their horses, and everyone is staring and Sarah and me. I get my giggles under control, and reach back to slap Sarah's leg. She looks over my shoulder and sees everyone staring at us too. This sends her into another fit, and I fight back another fit of my own as her head jabs at the back of my shoulders. Kate and Rufus are looking indulgent, Jas looks perplexed, and I can't see the Scholar's face as it is shadowed by the hood, but he doesn't seem amused.
***
"We shall camp here for the night," he says. Jas dismounts and helps the old man off of the horse.
Sarah has caught her breath and dismounted. I do the same, my legs and back sore from being in the same position for so long. "It's still light out," I protest. "And the top of the mountain is at least several days away. I can't even see the top. How will we get there in time?"
The Scholar is silent for a moment, allowing the defiance in my voice to seep into the silence. Kate frowns at me, Rufus doesn't look happy, and even Sarah steps away. I recognize my own disrespect and feel bad.
"You shall not be going to the top," the Scholar answers, his voice grave with dignity. "Your destination is not much higher than here, but much deeper within the mountain."
I open my mouth to ask more questions, but I know that they'll sound equally hostile and Kate and Rufus frown me down. I nod, and the others turn away to unpack the horses.
I untie my pack from the side of the horse. Hunger and fatigue catch up with me. I think I spent all of my reserves of energy on laughing, and regret the momentary merriment. Sarah steps up to me, and hands me the book but she doesn't let go until I look up at her. "I don't like him either," she whispers, with a small smile.
I smile back, flooded with relief that I'm not alone. I nod and look away, slipping the book into my pack. The relief fades, replaced almost mmediately with shame. I've influenced Sarah not like a perfectly nice and helpful old man, just because I don't.
***
