Chapter 7

New Version as of 2/08/20:

An hour later, Jane was a part of a caravan, heading out of town. Apparently, when the townspeople had left the square all at once, it was because they'd recognized the warning against 'the false moon'. They had all headed to their respective homes to gather up supplies for the journey and to arrange child care. There were at least two wagons ahead of Jane's and at least three behind.

Before embarking on their journey, Sarah and Georgie had coaxed a dazed Jane into a new tunic and pants made by Tailor Tomlinson, new boots made by Georgie, lightweight chain mail that Sarah and her mother had crafted, and various other accessories provided by crafts-and-tradespeople of the town.

Jane, Sarah, Georgie, and Bear shared a wagon, driven by Farmer Beverly, with Kate next to him. Rufus was on another wagon, somewhere ahead of them. Jane sat against the side of the wagon, between an apple crate and a trunk full of swords, watching Bear lazily eat an apple with his eyes closed and listening to her friends argue about the exact wording of the prophecy. She felt as though she were floating just inside her skin, like she was inside her body, but separate from it.

"The king will provide a haven," Georgie said.

"The queen shall provide a haven," Sarah corrected.

"We don't have a queen," Georgie protested. "The king isn't married."

"A lot of early civilizations were matriarchal," Bear said, without opening his eyes. "Female pronouns were often used as a default if a gender was not specified. Esomha was only king because his mother didn't have any female heirs." He took another bite of his apple.

"Alright," Georgie said. "What came next?"

"The queen shall provide a haven, and a series of tests for our young maven," Sarah said. "Then -- feats of courage, wisdom, and strength shall..."

Bear opened his eyes. He stared up at the tarp covering the wagon. "Long after the death of this old king, Lives a scion of powerful thinking."

"That would be the philosopher Sawyer," Georgie said.

"Following thirteen generations," Bear continued. "Arises three new nations. Within these lands, we'll find, A hero to bring peace of mind. In a kingdom surrounded by rough water."

"That's how we know it's Erindale," George interrupted again. "It's surrounded by waterfalls on all sides. You have to cross a long, rickety bridge to get to it."

Bear continued, as though he didn't hear Georgie. "A child grows into a wise ruler. This queen shall provide a haven, And test our young maven. Feats of strength, courage, and wisdom, Shall forge for this kingdom, A hero tossed, burned, and swirled --"

"Sounds painful," Georgie said.

Jane shuddered.

"Who shall save the entire world," Bear continued. "An ancient evil shall arise,

And from her head our hero will prise, A crown of jewels, roses, and thorns. A red moon arises and warns, Our hero that her journey is to begin. Two more red moons arise and within, Our hero shall flee and fight, Shadows of magnificent might. She'll face her tests with courage and grace --"

Jane shuddered again, but Bear didn't seem to notice. "Then board a ship to a fearsome place. A sacrifice of blood and bone, Is how our hero shall dethrone, This ancient evil and impending doom,Threatening to cast us into fiery gloom. But beware the false moon, Which will arise too soon."

A solemn silence filled the wagon, broken only by the whinny of horses and the creak of wooden wheels on dirt.

"Whew!" Georgie said, breaking the silence. "That's intense. Seems like a lot to ask of one little Janie."

"That's why we're all going with her," Sarah said, gruffly. "So that Jane doesn't have to face this stuff alone."

Jane looked over at Jane, who gave her a small, reassuring smile. Jane looked away. She stared up at the tarp supports, willing the tears in her eyes to evaporate before they fell.

"The prophecy didn't say anything about the hero having friends," Georgie said, thoughtfully.

"King Esomha didn't know everything," Sarah said. "Besides, what kind of hero doesn't have friends?"


Old Version: 

The king indicates that I should exit the room. I remember that there's a sewing kit in my pack. I look at it and then I look at Bear. He nods.

The king shuts Bear into his office and locks it behind him. Putting the key in his pocket, he starts down the hallway, back the way we came. The musicians are gone, and so are the weavers and the potters, but the kitchen dance has seemed to step up in tempo. We round the corner and the king heads for the stairs. I scurry to keep up with his long-legged strides. All three balconies that look over the foyer are all now full of servants, all dressed in their black silks. Whispers and murmurs greet us as we make it to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, a pair of double doors set in a pointed archway open to a large room. Earlier, the doors were closed. Now they are wide open.

Against the far wall is a throne set upon a dias. The throne is carved from black marble. Above it is a canopy of dangling onyx crystals. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, amythists, and topaz jewels dot the canopy like stars in the night sky. A black carpet leads to the dias and about ten pews are set in rows on either side of the carpet. The pews are full of splendidly-dressed men and women. The king and I walk toward the throne.

Chatter fades away and the people in the pews stand abruptly as they realize that the king has arrived. Whereas the servants are dressed entirely in black silk, and the castle soldiers are dressed in hardier black fabrics with purple piping and amethyst buttons, the fine folk crowding the pews are arranged in an array of jewel-toned tunics and bodices and hats. Each color seems to have its own section, though. Closest to the door is three rows of gentry wearing violet, and then three rows of sapphire, and then emerald, then topaz and finally, the front two rows on each side are filled with folk wearing ruby red.

I know that the colors represent different levels of gentry, although my understanding of the system is hazy because I've always thought that the reasons for separation were arbitrary and did not directly affect me. I do know that in our town, the highest level of gentry we have is purple, and that's The New Commissioner who used to be a soldier. Even the old Commissioner's family, albeit good stewards of our town, their wealth and power is built on trade rather than royalty. I don't count The Librarian, partly because he generally dresses in grays like most merchants. Also, he's not one of us, although I think I remember him wearing more green when he first came to town.

The king and I walk down the aisle together. The king leaves me standing in the large marble circle set between the pews and the dias. He climbs the stairs to the dias and sits down placing the hemp-wrapped tapestry on his lap. He waves his hand and the rainbow of gentry sits down in the pews. Kate and Sarah are off to my right. The soldier/guide from earlier stands next to them and four soldiers stand behind them. Kate winks at me, briefly reminding me of Imogene. To my right, three servants stand, including Geoffrey, the same man who opened the door to the king's office earlier. He is small, even shorter than me. His hair is shaved close at the edges and rises up about an inch off of his head on top. He is dressed entirely in black, but in a military style.

"Ladies and gentleman," he king says, letting his summer honey voice wrap around everyone in the room. "The long awaited day in which the Hero of Binyne stands before us is finally here. She has already passed the Trial of Destiny and is now here face the Trial of Identity. The Propecy of Binyne states that the true hero will be able to heal the fabric of her own dress without any interference or help from anyone of us. We are here to witness and bear testimony to what we see here today." He unwraps the tapestry, allowing the hemp to fall next to his throne. A murmur rolls through the crowd. The rend in the woven hero's dress is clearly visible as he holds up the tapestry.

"Jane Anne Sawyer," the king say, piercing me with his knowing gaze. "Are you prepared for this trial?"

I am not, and he knows it. "My entire life has lead up to this moment," I say solemnly. It means nothing, but it sounds profound, and I can hear another murmur roll around behind me. The king acknowledges my lack of answer with a quirk of his lips and holds out the tapestry to Geoffrey who briskly steps forward to take it. He bows to the king and backs up to me. When he hands me the tapestry, I can see the curiosity in his eyes, and he can see the fear in mine.

He steps away, returning to his spot against the wall. A slight breeze lifts the hairs at the nape of my neck, and I hear the chime of Bear's horn as he stops just behind me. "Hold out your hand," he whispers into my ear. I do, and he places a needle with a long, red thread in my palm. Because he's invisible, to the gentry sitteing nearest to me, it just looks like a threaded needle has appeared in my hands.

"She has the gods on her side," I hear someone whisper. I suppress as smile as Bear walks over to stand next to Kate and Sarah.

The gossip from the front rows takes a minute to reach the back of the room where it stops abruptly as everyone takes a collective breath.

All eyes are on me, an experience that I should be accustomed to by now, but which still leaves me shaking and unsure. I'm not sure if I should face the king or the crowd, so I turn sideways and sit down, cross-legged in the middle of the marble circle.  The crowd lets out their collective breath into another series of murmurs, but I'm not sure if they are pleased or displeased.

I have never mended anything as fancy as a tapestry but I have darned my fair share of socks and shirts. The rend is fairly straightforward, as though someone has deliberately cut the cloth. I take a deep breath and get to work on it.

The thread that Bear brought me matches the tapestry perfectly. Though the cut is straight across on the diagonal, it was clearly done a while ago, and some of the edges have frayed and turned inward a bit. Still, the repair job is simple enough and I set to work, marvelling that any single peasant could have wandered in here over the past hundred years, claimed to be me, and fixed this cloth the same exact way I am now. The image of some daring little tart, wandering into the palace to perform such a simple task makes me smile.

The room is deathly quiet, apart from the everpresent music coming from Bear's horn. I finish the final stitch and weave the ends of the thread into the set stitches. I look up and the room sighs. Sarah and Kate are grinning, and even Bear's smug smile is back. I didn't know how much I missed it until I see it again. I smile back at them and clamber to my feet.

The king steps down from his dais and takes the tapestry in one hand and raises my arm in victory with the other. The room goes up in a collective cheer. I can't help but laugh. The world is saved by an act of embroidery. The gods must be laughing from very far away, or else we'd hear them. I raise my other arm and savor my silly triumph.

***

The king drops my hand and allows me to step back before he raises his arms. Gradually, the room quietens. "We shall adjurn, and meet in the dining hall in an hour for a feast and dancing." Another cheer goes up and then people start filing out of the room.

The king turns to me. "Geoffrey will show you to your room." I look at Sarah and Kate and the king follows my gaze. "They will be at the feast, you can talk to them there." He puts a hand on my arm and waits until I look up at him. "Get cleaned up and get some rest," he says, his dark eyes kind. "You have earned it."

I nod and turn back to my friends. I wave and they wave back smiling, and then at the same time, their faces fall as they realize I'm not joining them. I want to go and talk to them, but the king's command to rest wins out and I follow Geoffrey out of the room.

People are pooled in small groups on the balcony and on the foyer of the first floor. Some are leaving, generally those dressed in purple, blue, and green. Some people wearing red or yellow are heading up one of the staircases on either side of the throne room. A few make eye contact and smile, but nobody approaches. I'm grateful.

Geoffrey leads me up one of the staircases as well, and then up the last one. We walk past several closed doors, and then Geoffrey stops. I've been numbly following him, letting my mind stop thinking, so when he stops, I bump into him.

"Terribly sorry," I say suavely. I shuffle back akwardly. He stifles a laugh. "Your room," he says. He opens the door, and then steps back with a bow. I smile at him gratefully and bow, too. I back up into the room, still bowing, and close the door. I rest my head against it. Finally alone.

***

Hands pull me back from the door.

"You get her clothes, I'll get her shoes," a male voice says.

My tunic is pulled over my head and my pants are shucked off along with my shoes.

I scream. Some confused and furious moments later, I'm dunked into nearly boiling water, still fighting my attackers, and vehemently shouting as many curses and threats as I can think of.

At some point, I realize that I am not under attack, I am in the process of being forcibly bathed but not before I bite someone and punch another in the eye.

"I told you peasants don't like baths," a disguntled male voice says. Strong hands capture my wrists.

"I told you we should introduce ourselves first," another voice says, this one female.

"No time," an impatient, also female voice says. "We have to get the hero presentable in less than an hour!"

I realize that struggling is only making my situation worse and I force myself to go still. "I can bathe myself!" I manage. The strong hands release my wrists. I immediately cover up my more private bits with my hands. "I insist on bathing myself!" I demand, trying to regain some dignity. I find the edges of the tub and hold on until I get my balance. Then I turn and sit, gathering bubbles around me for privacy. I glare up at my three captors, one male, two female.

They're all dressed in black, marking them as servants. The male is slim with nicely chiseled cheekbones and a strong jaw. He is currently glaring right back at me through his left eye, and holding a hand to his right eye. His forearm shows bitemarks. I guess in the confusion of limbs, I bit and punched the same person.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" one of the female maids complains. She has a sharp chin and narrowed eyes. An impatient face for an impatient woman.

"Leave!" I say, testily. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but the past few days have driven home just exactly how little power I have in my own life. I can at least bathe myself.

The impatient maid huffs, "But we need you ready by --"

I raise a hand. "I'll hurry."

"Fine," the servant says, her nose raised in the air. "Just knock on that door when you're ready and we'll get you dressed and do your hair." She gestures to a door next to the bed, different from the one I came through earlier.

The three of them head toward the door that the impatient maid pointed out. A third maid, busty with sweet, round features gives me a sympathic smile. She hangs back and whispers, "I'm sorry," before catching up to the other two.  The door closes behind them, and I sink back in the tub, relieved and embarassed. And still angry. In what world is it okay to just take someone's clothes off without permission? An actual bath is such a luxury that I'm mad that this one has been such a bad experience. At least the third maid apologized. That makes me feel less like I'm wrong to be so upset. I rest my neck on the edge of the tub and try to relax.

The room is decorated in soft pinks and dark grays. Pink is the first hint of color I've seen in the palace that isn't a jewel tone. The canopy bed takes up most of the room, but there's a writing desk in front of one window, and a small table with two cushioned chairs in front of another. A large trunk at the foot of the bed has my pack sitting on top of it. A vanity and a wardrobe are arranged on the wall next to the door that leads to the hallway. My clothes are still piled on the floor where the maids dropped them on the floor.

The water in the round wooden tub set in front of the fireplace is still hot, and despite the ordeal, my muscles are loosening as my heartbeat returns to normal. I promised to hurry, so I wash my hair and body as quickly as my languid limbs allow. The soap smells like lavender and it's heaven compared to the smelly tallow that I use at home. I finish washing and then rise. There is a linen cloth laid across the trunk next to my bag. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to dry myself with it, but I do.

The air cools as I step away from the fire, but not unpleasantly. I step onto the carpet next to the bed. On the bed are some undergarments. I let the linen go and try them on. They fit perfectly. The Librarian and Tailor Tomlinson seem to have passed their information along. When I feel as though I have regained some modesty and dignity, I use the linen to dry the hearthstones. I drape the linen over the back of one of the chairs to dry. I pick up my clothes from the floor, fold them, and place them on the trunk next to my pack. I knock on the door the servants left through earlier.

The impatient maid answers with the other two right behind her. I point to the sweet-faced maid. "Just you," I say. I ignore the protests of the other two as the sweet maid flashes a quick but genuine smile. She enters my room and I close the door in the other two maids' faces. I feel a little bad at the dismay on their faces, but honestly, even a peasant has better manners than these glamorous demons.

"Your name?" I ask the sweet-faced maid.

"Annabelle," she answers.

"Jane." I hold out my hand for her to shake, but she recoils and steps back, clutching her hands to her chest. "I can't shake your hand!" she says, distress evident in her face.

"Sure you can." I wait. I think she finally shakes my hand more, I think, in order to get me to break eye contact than anything else. "Excellent," I say shaking it briefly but firmly. "I need help with my hair."

"Yes, you do," Annabelle says, and then blushes.

I'm not offended. I usually wear my hair in a plain braid down my back, and have little time or interest in figuring out intricate hairstyles. Pretty girls can waste their time doing that. I have more important things to do.

Annabelle gestures toward the vanity, and I sit down, careful to avoid my image in the mirror. Annabelle reaches for a comb and sets to work untangling my hair. I close my eyes and revel in the clean linen of my underclothes, the warm stone under my feet, the gentle tugging at my scalp. I revel in a moment of peace. Annabelle finishes combing my hair out and starts braiding.

I know that I'm supposed to want multitudes of servants performing tasks that I can very well do myself, and wear fine clothes, and dance and play, and I suppose that all of that stuff sounds nice from the comfort of my own hayloft where I sneak off during the day to read and nap. None of the books I've read have ever mentioned how exhausting it is to constantly be moving, not knowing what to expect next, the incessant fumes of ambition and obligation emanating from everyone, all of the time.

As Annabelle braids my hair, I want to cry. It's been so long since I've experienced anything this gentle. Was it less than a week ago that my mother combed my wet hair in front of a fire as I read aloud a tale of giants and fairies to her? In this moment, I want nothing more than to be at home in front of the fire, resenting my mother's hopes and dreams.

"All done," Annabelle says.

I open my eyes only to find that my vision is blurred by tears that have been welling up under my eyelids. Annabelle hands me a handkerchief. I dry my face. "Thanks," I say, trying not to feel embarassed. I stand and walk over to the dress laid out on the bed. I just want to climb up over the dress, curl up under the covers, and sleep forever. No wonder princesses in stories are always falling asleep for a hundred years. Who needs a magic spell? Doing things is exhausting enough.

The dress is as deep a red as I've ever seen, made of velvet, with long sleeves, and lacing at the waist. Thick red embroidery graces the the sleeves and the attached hood. Annabelle helps me get the dress on without messing up my hair and steps back. I can't help but twirl. The skirt floats gracefully to the floor with a swishing sound.

 Annabelle laughs. She steps toward me and I stand still so the she can pluck and tug and smooth and arrange and tighten laces and then tug and smooth again. She gestures toward a large mirror on the wall. "See how beautiful you look," she says, stepping back to admire her work.

I don't move towad the mirror. "I feel beautiful," I say. "I don't want to ruin it by looking at myself."

Annabelle's eyes widen in surprise. She opens her mouth to say something, but then she just shakes her head and smiles. "Alright, then take my word for it." I nod and she smiles again. She picks up the red velvet embroidered shoes that match my dress perfectly and helps me slip them on. They also fit perfectly, and I have to twirl again.

I sway my hips and the skirt swishes against my legs. Now all I want to do is curl up on that giant bed in this dress and these shoes, with a good book, and stay there forever. A knock at the door makes me jump. My heart sinks.

***

Annabelle opens the door. Geoffrey stands there. He and Annabelle grin at each other. "I am here for the hero," he says. His expression goes neutral when he sees me, and he bows. "If you would follow me, Miss," he says.

I nod, glance longingly at the bed again, and then resolutely turn my back to it. I look at Annabelle and take her hands in mine. "Thank you," I say.

She ducks her head. "It was my pleasure, m'lady," she answers.

I take a deep breath and let go. I follow Geoffrey down the hallway and to the staircase. The sounds of celebration splash down the stairs. A few fancy people mill around the second floor and third floor, more are down on the first floor, arriving, gathering together in small pools, and then heading up the stairs. The sounds of their chatter and laugh splash up the stairs.

I have an urge to casually make my way down the three flights of stairs and out the front door and disappear into the night. But then, I wouldn't really disappear, would I? I'd have to go somewhere, like home, or off to save the world. Also, Bear, Sarah, and Kate are around here somewhere. I can't leave without them.

My fantasy of flight hasn't been lost on him as he glances toward the door and suppresses a smile. He hesitates for a moment, and then leans forward. "It won't be that bad," he promises. "Plus the food is good."

My stomach rumbles at his words and I allow him to lead me to the stairs. As we head down, the splashes of merriment turn into a cascade. On the second floor, I recieve several nods and curious glances, but no looks of recognition. I guess I look different enough from the dusty mess I was earlier in the throne room. I appreciate the anonymity, at least. 

Geoffrey leads me past the throne room, into another large room, and a deluge of voices laughing and shouting over one another floods over me. I stand, dizzy and deaf, all of the sounds combining into one overwhelming roar.

A long table takes up most of the room, with plush chairs lining each side. A throne has been placed at the head of the table. A stained glass wall frames the throne. The walls in this room are lined candlelit sconces with more tapestries taking up the space in between. I guess if humans are good for nothing else, we do love our stories.

People are standing around the table in small groups, whilst servants dance around them with covered trays of food that they set on the table.

The king enters, and the room immedately falls into a hush. He heads toward his throne and people start moving toward the table. Geoffrey leads me through the throng and to a seat right next to the king, on his right. My heartbeat kicks up again. I was hoping to sneak into a less conspicous spot, buffered by my friends. Instead, I see the soldier from earlier leading Kate and Sarah to spots on the opposite side of the table, to the king's left.

They have been bathed and dressed, as well. Kate wears a simple dark gray dress but the fabric has a subtle silvery sheen to it. Her hair has been braided in a wreath around her head and then studded with tiny silver flowers. Sarah is stunning in a pale gray dress with long, flowing sleeves. I can't remember the last time I saw her in sleeves, if ever. Her dredlocks have been pulled back at he temples, the rest left to hang down her back, but many of them have been adorned with silver beads and sparkling opals. They smile and wave, but the volume in the room has kicked up again as everyone figures out where they're supposed to sit so it's impossible to do anything more than wave back.

Even though they sit five feet away from me, they feel so far. I avoid looking at the king, partly because I don't know what to say and partly because I feel like he has manipulated the situation so that I can't talk to them.

On my right, a servant ushers a well built young gentleman in a red coat and a gold diadem into the seat next to me. The young man flashes me a smile and then turns to listen to something an older gentleman on his other side is saying. The rest of the room is sat quickly and the spirited conversation fades to a dead silent hush within a minute or two. Almost in unison, everyone's focus turns toward the head of the table.

The king stands. "Thank you all for joining us in this celebration. We have been waiting for this day for hundreds of years, and it has finally arrived." A cheer goes up and he waits for the room to quieten again. "The gods have seen fit to give our kingdom the distinction of indentifying the Hero of Binyne. Throughout the centuries, there have been many pretenders, and their blood is now a part of our soil, but I am happy and proud to say that we have finally found our Hero." he raises his chalice and waits for everyone to raise theirs. I raise mine too. "To the Hero of Binyne!"

"The Hero of Binyne!" everyone echoes. Sarah and Kate clink their chalices together. The gentleman next to me clinks mine, and I see the king clink Kate's. He drinks and everyone else follows suit. It's so weird to be drinking a toast to myself but I haven't eaten or drank anything since morning so it takes every bit of my willpower to not guzzle the entire cup.

The king sets down his chalice and indicates that I should stand. "Would you like to say a few words?" he asks.

I would not! Oh, gods, everyone in the room has gone silent again, and they're all staring at me. The last time I spoke publicly, I disgusted every single person in town. I freeze, thinking quickly. I've seen Imogene speak as me several times. She always gives rousing speeches. What does she say? Stuff about valor and honor and all that nonsense. I stand and open my mouth to speak, but am interrupted by a ruckus near the door.

One of the king's guards is fighting with someone. Then two of the king's guards are fighting. A flood of people enter the room, swords drawn. They are dressed in browns and greens, but unlike the king's men in the copse, these men are unkempt, scarred, and their faces are twisted up in ruthless grins. People on my side of the table, facing the door, stand and unsheath their ceremonial swords, but several people with their backs to the door are instantly slaughtered. I see a gentle lady pull a small knife out of their cleavage and toss it. It embeds itself in a mercenary's neck. The same woman jumps up over the table, grabs a sword from the belt of the slain man who was sitting across from her, and jumps into the fray.

The gentleman to my right tugs on my sleeve and when he sees that he has my attention bows to me, looking up with gleaming eyes. "M'lady, I would gladly die defending you if you would only bestow upon me one kiss," he says with a grin I'm sure he thinks is dashing. Over his shoulder, I see a mercenary stab a man dressed in red.

My stomach drops and I want to throw up.

The young man sees my revulsion and looks surprised and hurt. Then he shrugs and grins, and jumps up onto the table. He immediately parries a mercenary's thrust.

The king has drawn his sword and is already fighting. The soldier that has been guarding Kate and Sarah all day is herding them toward the wall opposite the door. She hides them behind one of the tapestries and then comes back for me, but I'm already heading toward her. We make it to the tapestry and she shoves me behind it before following. Behind the tapestry is an opening. Sarah and Kate are standing just inside.

The soldier joins us, holding one of the sconce candles. There is an unlit torch just inside the opening. She lights it and hands it to me. "Go!" she says. She disappears behind the tapestry with the candle and returns a moment later without it. "Go!" she says again.

***

The passageway is just wide enough for us to travel in a line. Sarah is in front and reaches back for the torch. Kate presses her back against the wall to allow the torch to be passes, and then Sarah leads the way. The passage drops down into stairs about five feet in.

I hear a scuffling coming from the entrance to the secret passageway. The soldier grunts, and then I hear stone sliding against stone and the passageway becomes very quiet. All I can hear is our footsteps and our breathing.

I feel someone coming down the stairs behind me, and turn to fight, but it's just the soldier. Her sword is drawn and there is blood on the blade. She grins at me, and I turn away both to see where I'm going and to avoid the grimness of that smile.

The staircase curves around and then we're on flat ground and running. There is a fork in the passage. "To the right," the soldier calls out from behind me."

Kate and Sarah take the path to the right, but I hear a sound that I've been unconscously listening for all night. I reach the fork and see Bear running toward me from the left passage. He stops and gestures for me to follow.

"No," I shout at Kate and Sarah. "This way!"

Kate and Sarah turn around and run back toward me. Sarah passes the torch to me, and now I'm in the lead, if you don't count Bear, who none of the others can see. I can feel a pain starting to hitch up under my ribs, but I couldn't stop running if I wanted to. My body is in charge, and it wants to run.

Bear reaches the end of the passage and there is more stone scraping against stone and then the night breeze flows in. I follow him out and stop. The moon is bright but still low in the sky.