Chapter 9

New Version as of 2/8/20

When Jane woke again, the wagon had stopped, it was daylight, and she was alone. During the night, she'd managed to curl up on the floor, using Georgie's legs as a pillow.

She lay there, grappling with the lead weight that had settled into her heart overnight. Shouts and laughter came from outside. Discomfort finally forced her to move. She managed to moved into the center of the wagon and stretch her legs toward the tailgate. She flopped over onto her back and groaned as her muscles and bones reluctantly returned to their natural positions.

After a few minutes of staring up at the lantern, she tried to sit up, but the unaccustomed weight of the chain mail as well as her weak morning muscles prevented this.

"Good morning, Sunshine."

Jane flattened her chin to her chest and glared at Bear, who was grinning at her through the hole between the tarp and the tailgate. "Who are you calling 'Morning'? She said. She coughed away the rasp in her voice. "Help me up," she demanded.

"As you wish, Princess Crankypants," Bear said, still grinning. He let down the tailgate. He tugged at Jane's ankles until her legs dangled over the back of the wagon. She struggled to sit up, but the chain mail still held her down. Bear laughed and held out his hands. She took them.

"Ugh," she groaned, as he tugged her into a sitting position. "What's the matter with you?" she demanded. "Why are you so happy?"

"I'm a morning person," Bear said. "This is the best time of day. I got to catch the sunrise -- it was gorgeous -- and --"

"Oh, shut up," Jane said, holding her head in her hand, and hating him.

Bear laughed. "I'll bring you some breakfast," he said.

Jane sighed in relief as Bear moved away, partly because she was hungry, and partly because she needed a moment to herself as her body woke up. The bangs and smells of human civilization mingled with birdsong and the rustle of wind in the trees. The caravan had seemed to outrun the storm and the morning smelled dusty and green. She peered out around the side of the caravan and saw that a clearing at the side of the road was full of people industriously building fires, cleaning fish, and otherwise occupied with morning things.

There was a line for a temporary outhouse that had been set up, but there were also people returning from the forest to the clearing, looking relieved. Jane spotted Rufus manning a frying pan over one of the established fires. Georgie, Kate, and Farmer Beverly were using a boulder as a table and looking over a map. Sarah had managed to set up a small forge -- of course she had -- and was hammering away on a miniature anvil. A few people were already waiting in line. What they could possibly need this early in the journey, Jane couldn't guess.

A pressing need forced Jane to move. She hopped off of the wagon with a pained grunt and shuffled over to the line for the outhouse. Her new boots were snug, but with room for her toes wriggle, and the tunic and pants protected her from the brisk morning breeze. The chain mail was a bit much for the quiet morning but it sparkled in the sunlight and it would be useful in an actual battle.

Farmer Clarence turned around at her approach. Farmer Clarence had been one of the people who had rescued her from her father. He was tall and lanky, with a craggy face and friendly eyes. He didn't seem inclined to talk, but he clapped her on the shoulder and smiled at her from behind a lush, gray mustache. Jane slipped under his arm and gave him a quick hug.

As she waited in line, her muscles loosened up. Her natural suspicion of advanced technology was replaced by awe and gratitude as she entered the tiny outhouse. It was a dark gray box with a toilet and a tiny sink. It wasn't a friendly room, but it was clean and smelled a sight better than her outhouse. She washed her hands in the tiny sink -- clean water, in the middle of nowhere, that seemed to come from nowhere!

Jane's mom had often intimated that after Jane saved the world, their lifestyle might become a bit more comfortable. People appreciated heroes, after all. The reason they had been able to fix the roof had been because of the stupid tour The New Commissioner had sent her on, and she'd only received a tiny portion of what he'd been paid for it. Overall, Jane liked her life, and didn't imagine it changing much, after she saved the world. She didn't need a big fancy bathroom with plumbing like Kate, but one of these outhouses wouldn't go amiss.

She was smiling when she stepped out of the outhouse, and greeted Bear with a grin as he approached with a skewer of grilled fish chunks with tomatoes, peppers, and onions in one hand and a small loaf of Kate's bread in the other.

"You're the best," Jane said through a mouthful of fish and bread.

"Aren't I though?" Bear said.

"So what's the plan for today?" Jane asked. She eyed the line of wagons. Seven, in total. That was a lucky number, right? She wondered if anyone had managed to finagle her mother into one of the wagons toward the back of the caravan. With a twinge of guilt, she hoped not. It was hard to imagine herself saving the world in front of her mom. Honestly, if her mom was there, she'd try to do it herself, and would probably be better at it than Jane.

"We'll head out in about an hour," Bear said. "We're only about ten miles out from Erinrae."

"Oh, wow, that fast?" Jane asked. She'd made the journey to Erinrae with her mother when she was a child, and it had seemed to take forever to get there and back. Of course, a lot of that journey had been done on foot, but still. Her stomach clenched around the fish. She wasn't sure if she was ready to be roasted and twirled or whatever the tests involved.

Bear looked at her with amused empathy. "It--"

A bug bit Jane's ear. "Ow!" she said. She reached up to touch the bite and felt something wet and sticky. She brought her hand down and stared at the blood on her fingers.

Then Bear pushed her to the ground. Her back, still sore from spending the night in such an awkward position, protested. Bear covered her body with his. "Stay down," he said, urgently.

Jane craned her neck to look around as shouts of laughter turned into screams. A black cloud had overtaken the wagons at the tail of the caravan. There were eyes in the fog. Red, glowing eyes. Lots of them. Like a thousand damned souls all blended together, bringing with them a stench of malevolence. Black needles darted out of the fog.

Around her, villagers screamed and fell as they were hit by the needles. The cloud swelled toward the people in the clearing. As it moved closer, the number of needles increased from a sprinkle to a shower. Farmer Clarence fell next to Jane, needles freckling his body. Jane went numb with horror.

These were the shadows from the prophecy. The shadows she was supposed to fight. The sense of purpose she'd always expected to feel when the time came, flooded her body, fueled by the sight of Farmer Clarence lying there -- was he dead? No!

Jane shoved Bear off of her and jumped up. She ran toward the wagon, the chest of swords clear in her mind. The cloud bombarded her with needles that pierced through her clothing and the holes in her chain mail. She felt needles hit her arms, her legs, her face, her hair.

Each hit stung for a just a second. Black fog clouded Jane's vision but she kept running toward the wagon. She needed to get to the swords. She needed to fight. She stumbled. Fight…she had to…had to…to….

Old Version:

There is darkness and at first it's quiet. And then a room full of powerful people raise their glasses and their voices to praise me. "Jane," they roar in unison. A man wearing a red coat and the king's face is stabbed in the back. He looks up at me. "This is your fault," he says, dying hands still clutching at a broken anchor. Then someone is screaming and Bear is hushing me, and then my mother hushing me as a slam against the front door shakes the house. She locked him out and he doesn't like that. He was only going to kill me, now he's going to kill both of us. My mother murmurs at me to stay quiet. I want to scream but if I do, then she will die. A dark place opens up within me where the quiet lives. It's a place where hope goes to die.

I wake up on a ship. I try to open my eyes but they are almost swollen shut. I peer through slits and see a canteen banging against the post holding up my hammock. It takes a few tries but I finally manage to catch it.I peer through slits and find a canteen hanging on the side of my bed. I try to drink lying down but just end up coughing. I move to get up but a wave against the side of the ship knocks me back. I almost give up there, but I'm more thirsty than tired. I close my eyes and find the rhythm of the boat and then swing myself into a sitting position.

I sway, finding the motion of the boat comforting.

***

I accidentally snuck onto a pirate ship once, when I was eleven, thinking it was a regular cargo vessel. I had decided to sneak in amongst the children and secretly become a sailor. But there were no children on the ship at all, so I decided to hide until we reached the next port. Then I'd disembark, find a ship with children on it, and try my plan again.

It took them three days to find me. I'm still proud about that. I can still feel the humiliation, though, of two of the pirates cornering me, like a rat, hiding behind a barrel of coriander. They dragged me up to the deck, dumping me in front of the captain. Captain Nancy was stocky, with a head full of graying dreds and one knowing eye, the other hidden behind a patch.

She'd looked down upon me, amused. "So this is why our food is disappearing," she said. "What shall we do with this little stowaway then, eh?" she asked her inferiors.

"Make her walk the plank," one shouted out.

"Let's grind her bones to make our bread," another one called out.

"That's giants," I said, glaring at the people on deck. I tried to tug my arms free from the men who held me prisoner but they were too strong. Since I couldn't shake them off, I just stood up straighter. "I apologize," I said to the captain, stiffy. "I had intended to board a legitimate vessel and become a real sailor. I had no idea that this was a pirate ship."

Captain Nancy let out a noise halfway between a bark and a shout. The gleam in her eye told me that it was laughter. She sized me up. "What makes you think this is a pirate ship?" she asked.

My gaze darted to the black flag on the mast and then back to her, pointedly.

The crew broke up into laughter, and even the captain's lips quirked up into a smile.

"Alright," she said. "And since we are pirates, there are several things we can do with you, none of them good."

Her gaze had turned menacing, and a chill shot up my spine. "You'd better not do anything to me," I said, glaring up at her. "I am the Hero of Binyne."

Her eyebrow shot up. "Indeed," she said with a snort. "I suppose you are about the correct age, but can you prove your claim?"

I nodded and jerked my arms away from my captors whose grips had slackened. I pulled down the left shoulder of my blouse and turned so that she could see the anchor birthmark on my shoulder.

Her face tensed up and my captors each took a step back. "Perhaps we should adjurn to my cabin," she said.

In her cabin, my legs swinging in the air above her bunk, I told her about my plan to become a sailor.

"Why a sailor?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Sailors are already kind of heroes. They all leave their homes and their families and have adventures and go home with riches for everyone."

The captain nodded. I could see that she was trying not to smile, the way that adults do to kids when kids say something cute and dumb. But before I could get mad, her face turned serious. She raised her eyepatch and regarded me with eyes dark with experience. "You should be careful about telling everyone you're the Hero of Binyne," she said.

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because some people might want to hurt the Hero of Binyne," she said.

Seeing my confusion, she sighed. "Besides," she said with a lift of her brow, "It's no good calling yourself a hero if you haven't done anything heroic."

***

Sitting on the hammock, drinking from the canteen, I feel the same flush of shame I always do when I remember that conversation.

Everyone was always so happy when my mother would bring me into town. They'd all give me treats and pat me on the head. I'd stare up at the statue with her gleaming muscles and far off gaze. A flutter of anticipation would batter against the walls of my stomach. The children of the town would run out, and we'd play, me always saving them.

I'd soured of the game when I got back from my adventure with the pirates, and the other kids seemed to grow out of it, too. I'd never mentioned being the Hero of Binyne again and always felt a little embarassed when anyone else would call me that, so, eventually, they stopped.

But it was always in the air, as though someone had just said it, or was about to and I'd started avoiding going into town.

***

One day, a couple of years later, I was standing in the town square, staring up at the statue. It was early morning, the sun just rising. I was alone. I heard footsteps and turned to see Sarah. Sarah had always been my closest friend until I met Bear. I'd never told her about the pirate ship for the same reason I never told her about my father. I had put both experiences in my quiet place and still, at thirteen, didn't know how to talk about them. Even Bear only knew the bare minimum.

Besides, Sarah was starting to grow into her beauty and I looked plainer and rounder every time I accidentally caught my reflection. Even though I loved her, a little ball of resentment had started to grow. For some reason, Sarah had seemed distant lately, too, and on that foggy morning, when I turned to take her hand, it was as cold as her expression.

"You're not the model for that, you know," she said.

"What?"

She pulled her hand away and gestured at the statue. "The artist used my great-great-great grandmother as his model."

That made sense. Sarah's grandfather was the Commissioner, and her family had helped found the town. Lately, I'd started to wonder why Sarah was starting to resemble the statue more than me. Plus, I'd always wondered how the artist had known what I woud look like if I hadn't been born yet. It wasn't so much that Sarah shared this information but that I could sense that she shared it in order to hurt me, that hurt me.

I'd turned to her, a coldness creeping up from my quiet place and creating a stillness in my entire body. "That's alright," I said, deliberately catching her eye. "You can look like a hero, but you'll never be one."

***

Remembering Sarah's sudden gasp of pain makes me take my own, a sharp pain shooting up under my ribcage. Tears well up, aggravating my already sore eyes.

To distract myself, I look around. My vision is so blurry that it takes a moment to register what I'm seeing. No. My heartbeat jumps up into my ears and I sway, about to pass out. I close my eyes and drink some more water. I take a deep breath and open my eyes again. Same hammock, same desk, same cloak and hat hanging on the back of the door.

I cap the canteen and strap it to my chest. I climb gingerly out of the hammock, letting the pain of the past few days climb up from the souls of my feet to my calves and then thighs and then into my hips and straight up my back and shoulders. It centers on the base of my neck, making my head heavy. I hold on to the hammock and sway with the boat and try to catch my breath.

My dress is hanging over the back of Captain Nancy's chair and the flash of red brings back the image of men and women at the feast being slaughtered by mercenaries. I stumble to the door, barefoot, and wearing only my fancy undergarments. I need fresh air. Now.

My feet find their way to the ladder that leads to the deck and I throw my arms around out, grateful for the window whistling down from the opening to the deck. I cling to each step before I take the next.

***

I poke my head out. On deck, pirates are shouting as they perform the complicated dance that is sailing. The sun is setting and the pirates are starting to become silhouettes. I lean against the opening and watch. I can feel a smile crack at my aching face.

A pirate walks over and looks down at me. "It's about time you woke up,". He holds out his arm and I grasp it. He hauls me out of the opening to the deck before dropping down the ladder I just exited.

The momentary feeling of comaraderie fades as I realize he just wanted me out of his way. I look to the helm and find Captain Nancy, her stance even surer than I remember, though her dreds maybe a bit grayer. She keeps a firm eye on the horizon. Bear stands next to her and a little behind, talking softly.

As though they can feel my gaze on them, they both turn their heads to look at me. Bear's mouth tightens and he moves toward me. Captain Nancy spears me with her gaze and then tilts her head back, assessing. Does she still see the spoiled 11-year-old I was the last time she saw me? I can't imagine that I make a much better impression, standing shakily on her deck, in borrowed underwear, eyes puffy from fear and anger and grief.

Bear reaches me, and leads me toward the smell of food. He doesn't ask me how I'm doing and I'm thankful. I hate being forced to politely lie.

***

The galley is tiny, made up of a large stove, a sink and a couple of counters. Shelving attached to the walls above the counters houses pots and pans and food, I imagine. Between the counters and the doorway is a small table made of an old rope spool next to two small shipping containers. An enormous pot of stew bubbles on the stove, and I can smell her heavenly bread coming from the stove. Why I'm surprised to see Kate standing there, I'm not sure. The only other occupant of the room is a pirate, short and thin and mostly held together with scars. His sleeves are rolled up and he's kneading dough.

I hide a laugh behind a cough, and Kate turns and sees me. "Janie!" she says, coming over to wrap me in a warm hug. She pulls back and cups my face in her hands, looking into my eyes, a move that never fails to make me feel uncomfortable. I never know what people are looking for in there.

She pulls back and pushes me gently toward the crates. "Sit down," she says. I do and Bear sits next to me and when I look up, Kate is coming toward me with a bowl of soup. She opens the cupboard closest to the table and pulls out a small loaf of her bread.

It's still warm and I press my nose and mouth into it. I tear off a piece with my teeth and chew. When was the last time I ate? The events of the past few days are blurred together. I think it was yesterday morning. I remember making up with Sarah before the king and his soldiers ambushed us. I remember -- I try not to remember and just focus on eating. I eat slowly and stop eating before I'm fully sated, knowing that if I don't I'm just going to be chucking Kate's hard work up over the side of the ship.

"Where is Sarah?" I ask Bear.

"In the brig." Bear replies. He puts a hand on my arm to stop me from rising. "It's okay, she's just helping some of the pirate fix strengthen their shackles.

"Good gods," I say, rolling my eyes. Experts can't help themselves, can they. If they have information, they have to share it, even if that information is detrimental to human decency. "Where are we going?" I ask.

"We're on the final stretch to Binyne," Bear answers. "We should be there in about three days."

"Oh." Kate's delicious stew starts to rise back up from my stomach. I close my mouth and breathe deeply through my nose. Binyne. I've been hearing that sinister word my entire life. Tales of Binyne are spoken by adults in whispers that cut off quickly when a child enters the room. Imogene has told me stories that set the hairs on the back of my neck on end. All of that on top of whatever it is I'm supposed to do there. I hold on to the canteen I have strapped across my chest, trying to blink all of the images away.

"Hey."

I look up at Bear. His expression is serious. "I'm with you," he says.

I nod, suddenly feeling tired again. He sees me start to fade and stands. "You should get some more rest."

"I don't know why I'm so tired," I say, but I let him stand me up. "Thank you, Kate," I say.

Kate finishes pulling a another tray of small loaves out of the oven. "You're welcome my dear," she says wtih a warm smile. "Get some rest. You've had a trying time."

***

Bear helps me back to the captain's quarters.My pack on Captain Nancy's desk chair. I didn't see it earlier because the sight of the dress upset me so much that I didn't look closer. I'm still not happy to see it. "Can you get rid of this dress?" I ask.

"Of course," Bear says. He lights a few candles, kisses my cheek, and then grabs the dress before he leaves, draping it carefully over his arm. He closes the door behind him.

I open up the pack. The sewing kit is on top, with the package of meat underneath, then The Librarian's book, the knife, my clothes. I grab the book and then climb back onto the captain's hammock.

Many ship captains allow themselves the luxury of a real bed. I wonder why Captain Nancy prefers the hammock. Maybe it's because she knows that she's not a real captain.

Although I like Captain Nancy as a person, Imogene has told me enough stories about pirates that I can't feel anything but revulsion toward the profession. Is it hypocritical to be borrowing her bed, her water, her food, her candlelight? Maybe. I'm not sure why Bear chose Captain Nancy's ship as our mode of transportation. I'm guessing it's because the only type of ship that would be left alone sailing into Binyne would be a pirate's ship but I'm not comfortable about it.

I have spent almost an entire day sleeping, so I open The Librarian's book. I have three days before we reach Binyne, and I'm tired of my own willful ignorance. It was one thing to refuse to know when nobody was getting hurt. I can convince myself that the Farmers and Imogene and The Librarian are okay, if only because the images of them bleeding and dying taunt me too much to allow them space in my head. I can even convince myself that the servants in the city were able to fortify the nobles' houses against the merceneries, again, so that those bodies aren't on my conscience.

However, the real bloodshed that happened at the king's table is impossible to dismiss. I see it against the back of my eyelids every time I blink, and I can't help but feel like if I'd known what was about to happen, I could have prevented it. I can't have anything happen to Kate or Sarah or Bear. I need to know what to expect. No more excuses, no my denying my fate. Whether I am destined to save the world or not, whoever hired the merceneries certainly believes it, and mercenery swords are as sharp as they are real. Whether I'm the savior or not, bodies, real and imagined, are piling up around me.

I flip through to the middle of the first chapter, but I'm too restless to continue where I left off. I look at the Table of Contents and read through the chapter titles. King Abydos' Empire, The History of the Accuracy of King Abydos' Predictions, The History of Binyne, The Prophecy of Binyne, The Hero of Binyne, The Hero of Binyne's Companions, The Three Trials and the Many Tribulations of the Hero of Binyne, A Word on the Importance of Death and Sacrifice in Prophecies. Then there's an Afterword, a glossary, and a section for notes. Every one of the chapter titles gives me heart palpitations but I definitely don't want to read the notes at the back of the book, so I flip to Chapter 4: The Prophecy of Binyne. I've heard about the prophecy my entire life, and certain couplets have been repeated in my hearing over and over, but I've never heard or seen the whole thing. I breathe in and out slowly, and start reading.