The forest might be thick with trees, but they weren’t full of the enemies Burne imagined.
He rubbed his hand over his mess of curls and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. They were just trees, with birds singing from their tops and tiny green and yellow buds emerging from the branches. The forest air smelled sweet and earthy. He almost caught the feeling of hope Trillium kept saying was in the spring breeze.
The curtain rustled behind him and Trillium herself stepped out of the shelter. “Ready to go?” she asked with a smile.
Burne had been the tallest one in any room since he’d reached sixteen winters, and as an adult he was used to towering over anyone around him. But Trillium was tiny by any standard. She was many winters old, revealed only by the faint creases left after she laughed or the few wisps of gray in her dark hair or the carefulness she took in walking. Her green fairy eyes were as bright as ever.
“Ready? Is that a joke?”
“Oh Burne,” she said.
“I don’t want to fail again.”
“I know you’re trying your best,” she said, taking his hand. “You just try again and if you come back tonight, it’s no trouble.”
“But I’m setting a bad example for the children.”
“How is it a bad example to show them adults have fears and struggles and can fail at things?”
Trust Trillium to turn his cowardice into an uplifting lesson.
“You have some snacks?” She poked his backpack.
“And my shoes to wear when I reach the village.” He’d gotten used to the fairy habit of walking barefoot since arriving here one turn of the seasons ago, but if he were returning to the village, he should dress like a human. “If I reach it,” he added under his breath.
“And the present for your mother?” Trillium continued.
“Yes. Thank you.”
When Burne had first arrived out here at the Haven, Trillium had helped him send his mother a message to let her know he was safe. He’d spent the time since living in the forest outpost with Trillium, her partner Woodbine, and the children they took care of, foraging for food among the undergrowth to supplement what they grew in the garden and maintaining the shelters the two fairies had built. Now he regularly scaled rock walls or tall trees, and he could walk through the forest barefoot. A turn of the seasons of living with a household of fairies and half fairies had given him more skills and confidence.
So why did the thought of returning to the village still make him shudder?
“Your mother will be glad,” Trillium said, interrupting his thoughts. “I never knew a cook who didn’t appreciate spring ramps.”
“They’re green onions, Trillium.”
“They’re ramps, young man! They’re a forest delicacy.”
He snorted.
“You see what your mother has to say about it.”
Burne couldn’t help smiling. His mother would probably love the weird onions
Woodbine had packaged for him to bring her. He was eager to see her again. “I have them packed safely in my shoe.”
“In your shoe?” Finally Trillium sounded disappointed in him.
“It’s clean. I haven’t worn my shoes since last spring.”
But she was shaking her head. “When you do, your feet will smell like ramps.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
Trillium tugged his bag off his shoulders and repacked the items.
The curtain rustled again and Alyss bounced out. At twelve winters, the top of her head reached Burne’s elbows. She turned her big green eyes up to him.
“Want me to come with you, Burne?”
Did he? Maybe if Alyss were with him, he’d be braver. But what if they ran into Cap or Stone? What if the men knocked him to the ground with Alyss there to see it? What if they picked on her?
“No,” he said. “You stay here and have your lessons. But thank you for offering.”
Alyss frowned a moment, but then she squinted up at him, her lips curving. “You just don’t want me watching you bumble through the trees.”
Burne grinned. Alyss always teased him for this.
“Bumbling Burne!” she sang. “Cracking every twig and stuck in the brambles!”
“You’ve had seasons more practice than me,” Burne said. “I’m much better than I used to be.”
“You’ll never be as quiet as I am.”
She was probably right. Alyss and the other children were half fairy and had learned to walk silently from the start. The whole lot of them could hike through the forest without a single bird fluttering away. If they ever stopped talking, that is.
The children had been living out here in the woods since they were young. Before that . . . Burne didn’t like to think about their lives before. They’d been taken from their human mothers by a tyrannical fairy queen and
used as servants. The queen had been unpredictable and violent, and the fairies had been scared to cross her. But Trillium and Woodbine had smuggled the children out of the fairy caverns. They’d built the Haven, a sheltered spot deep in the woods where they could raise the children and keep them hidden from the queen. Their friend Thistle stayed behind and spread a rumor that the half-human children had grown sickly and died. The queen, and most of the fairies, believed Trillium and Woodbine were dead as well.
Trillium stood, lifting Burne’s bag up toward his shoulders. He slipped it on. She glanced at Alyss and back to Burne.
“You know the King’s Guard is gone,” Trillium said.
“I know.” Shortly after Burne had deserted his post, the villagers had overthrown the king, and the company he’d been a guard in had fallen apart. Cap was no longer his superior.
“Thistle says the new guards keep the peace—the humans call them peacekeepers now.”
“I know.” He shouldn’t be scared to leave the woods. But knowing the Guard was gone wasn’t enough to stop the fear.
“You’d better get going,” she said, wrapping her arm around Alyss’s shoulders. “The sun’s climbing high.” She reached out and gave his hand one last squeeze.
They were going to watch until he left. With another deep breath, Burne took the first step, then another. He followed the trail away from the Haven, nudging aside the thin branches that reached for him as he passed, and checked the sun for his direction east. He didn’t really need to check, as he’d made this journey so many times now, but he grew more confident as his checks assured him he was heading the right direction.
His footsteps crushed softly on the thick layer of dead leaves as he cleared the bushes, walked out under the tall trees, and left the Haven behind. His pack was light and his muscles eager for the long walk. All around, new green leaves emerged from the branches, and a soft breeze whiffled through his curly brown hair as if the promise of spring was unfolding before him. When he reached the clearing where the stream tumbled down from the rocks, the dogwoods blossomed like snow and
a stretch of clear sky opened above him.
So the dogwoods were blooming again . . . It was the exact time of spring when he’d begun his guard training a turn of the seasons ago. He’d been forced to join the King’s Guard. Never mind that he’d never held a gun or even hit anyone—the idea he could pick up a gun and learn to shoot another person was preposterous. But what choice had he had? If he hadn’t gone, they’d have come after him or his mother. Back then, the guardsmen caused all kinds of trouble for the villagers.
His mother had tried to keep him home by inventing ailments for him each time the Guard’s recruiter came around. She’d said he wouldn’t survive a season in the Guard. Her lying was embarrassing, but since he’d dreaded going, he’d let her do it. And it worked for a few moons, until the day when they would no longer believe her.
At the time, he’d decided to make the best of it. Maybe he’d grow stronger or tougher or faster during the training. Maybe he’d discover he could shoot a target a hundred paces away. Or maybe he’d be so awful at killing things that they’d let him work as a cook for the other guardsmen. He knew how to cook. He’d grown excited as morning dawned on the day when he had to report for training. Maybe he’d find a place where he belonged.
The shame of his first encounter with Cap still vexed him. An officer had pointed Burne and the other new recruits to a barracks and told them to claim an empty bunk. On the walk over, the men joked and smiled. Burne knew some of their faces from around the village. One man drifted to his side—Aaron, the son of fish-catchers. He was quiet like Burne, but he caught Burne’s gaze and smiled just for him.
At the barracks, Burne found a bottom bunk in the corner near Aaron and quickly tucked the bed linen over the mattress. As the men dressed in their new uniforms, voices rang out in the hall and Cap came in with his arm around the shoulders of another new recruit, Stone. The badges on Cap’s uniform showed seniority. They came straight toward Burne’s corner.
“That bunk’s taken,” Cap said, shoving Stone forward. Stone grinned and handed Burne
his bed linen. When Burne didn’t move, Cap added, “It was reserved. I reserved it.” He bit his lip but failed to hide his own grin.
Burne had known Cap was full of it. The bunk had been empty and available. But his face heated and his mind grasped for a response and found none. Around the room, the other new recruits stayed quiet and averted their eyes. What if he fought back and it made things worse for him? And did it really matter if he had this bunk or a different one? Burne clutched the new sheet and his half-changed clothing and took his pack up. He shuffled to an empty bunk in the middle of the room. As he made up the new bed, Cap and Stone snickered behind him and the others continued to ignore him. Aaron didn’t look his way again.
It turned out his mother had been right. He hadn’t survived a season in the King’s Guard. He hadn’t even survived one moon. And now his guts were twisting into knots from remembering what had happened when he’d arrived and met the other recruits, and been assigned to Cap’s squad, and how he’d tried to make friends and failed.
Burne inhaled slowly and let it out. Focus on the present, he reminded himself. That was what Trillium always said. The King’s Guard was in the past and he could acknowledge what had happened and move on from it. The events of his past didn’t have to define who he was now.
But somehow it seemed like they always did.
The moss pressed softly under his toes as he continued alongside the stream. The thick trees shaded the entire forest floor, blocking the bright sun glowing above, sparkling through chinks in the leaves and creating a diamond of light here and there as he crossed the woods. The breeze rustled in the branches above. The soft soughing mingled with the rush of the stream as it tumbled down from the distant mountains in its race to the ocean beyond the edge of the forest.
Just downstream of
where they filled the jugs with drinking water, the ground leveled and he passed the pond that the stream flowed through. The pond was a speck compared to the ocean he’d grown up swimming in, but it was wide enough to swim short laps on the days when he needed some extra exercise. Around the edge of the pond, the water leaked out at a low spot and continued on.
Burne followed the stream down through the woods until it rounded a bend. He hitched his pack higher on his shoulders and turned away from the stream bank, heading due east in a straight line toward Woodglen. To keep his mind off the anxiety threatening to emerge, he listened for his steps as he walked and tried not to make a single sound. He made it ten steps in silence. He counted another ten. One, two, three—
A deer shot out of the bushes, leaping across his path.
Burne staggered backward, clutching the straps of his pack as the deer’s white tail flashed. It had startled him just like the bear that time. His face heated, remembering . . .
Cap had rushed into the barracks begging for help, shouting about a bear that had Stone trapped up a tree. Burne had fallen for it like a rock dropped in a well. This was his chance to prove himself—to rescue Stone and be accepted by the men. He’d grabbed a long shovel and rushed out with Cap while the others trailed behind. Cap pointed him into the trees, where fierce growls rumbled behind a thick holly bush. But when Burne lifted the shovel and stepped toward the bush, the bear grabbed him from behind, its claws scraping his neck and belly as he screamed.
He wrenched himself free and fell into the holly as the men laughed. Stone appeared over him, grinning as he growled and brandished his fist. Long nails poked out—he’d gripped them to imitate claws and trick Burne into thinking he was a bear.
The deer had disappeared into the trees and the rush of its passing silenced. Burne’s heart was pounding. Just a deer, he repeated, just a deer. He’d startled it, that was all. Maybe he shouldn’t practice walking silently. Better to bumble along and let everything know he was coming.
Burne stared at his feet as he moved on. What would Cap and Stone say if they saw him leaping in fright at a deer? He might’ve learned how to build shelters and survive by foraging in the past seasons, but he was still
Yellow-Bellied Burne. A coward. No matter how much he wanted to be brave, he couldn’t seem to change. Why did he always have to be scared of everything?
He continued toward the rising sun. After making this journey nine times, he was starting to recognize spots along the way—after the creek bend, the tall pine to the north marked the edge of the fairies’ domain. He’d never been any closer to it than this, but Trillium and Woodbine had told him all about it. During Queen Oleander’s reign, the fairies had lived underground. But last spring, as the humans had overthrown their tyrannical king, the fairies had ousted their queen. She was contained in the fairy caverns where she could harm no one. The fairies were free to live in the forest or even in the human village. Trillium and Woodbine could return home if they wished, and they no longer had to hide the children. They had talked with the children about if they wanted to find their mothers, but they didn’t know how best to go about it.
Burne checked the sky and shifted his path. Even if he lost his way, as long as he continued walking east, he would come to the forest road. The road would take him to the village where his mother lived and where the former king had ruled from his castle. He walked on as the sun climbed higher before him and the shadows lessened. A squirrel leapt away from his path, skittered up a tree trunk, and clutched the branch. Its tail flicked angrily and it scolded him with a piercing little call.
Sunlight struck his eyes, a large patch of it beaming onto the carpet of leaves. The trees had opened up but more undergrowth thrived in the extra light, blocking his straight path. He wove between the trees and skirted a ditch where a massive tree had fallen, its dried ball of roots towering over him. The trunk had been neatly sawed off and taken away, probably by a villager to use as firewood. A trail began just beyond, taking him through the thickets and brambles. The chirping birds quieted as he passed, and a few times, a bird burst from the leaves along the trail and soared up to the high branches.
The air changed, losing the deep moistness of the forest shadows as sunlight warmed his face
again. The sun had climbed to the top of the sky and beamed down on him through sparse branches. Wind whispered in through the trees, overtaking the rustling of the birds and other small creatures. Ahead through the trees was a wide-open space with waving fields of grain. Too open, not close and safe the way it felt under the canopy.
Don’t, he told himself. Don’t start to panic. He inhaled deeply and caught snatches of the ocean scent carried across the fields on the breeze. How he’d missed swimming in the ocean last summer!
His steps slowed and he swallowed. This was it.
He stopped two hundred paces from the edge of the forest and peered out. He’d angled himself through the trees perfectly—directly in front of him was the crossroad into the village. All he had to do was step onto the road and follow it between the cottages. He didn’t even have to venture into the throng of shops. His mother’s home was at the top of the town, close to the castle. Her wages as the castle cook and her frugality had enabled them to live in one of the nicer spots in the village, even after his father’s injury and death. But how had his mother been getting by since the revolution? He should have been home long ago to find out.
The new village peacekeepers wouldn’t know who he was. If they did recognize him, what would they care about someone who’d deserted from the King’s Guard? They’d be more likely to detain him if he hadn’t deserted.
But what if he ran into Cap or Stone? Had they left Woodglen when the Guard disbanded? Or were they in the new ranks of the peacekeepers? Or maybe they hadn’t joined the peacekeepers but they lived in the village, getting drunk at the pubs as they used to. They were probably torturing puppies and kittens now that they didn’t have him to pick on.
Ahead on Burne’s left, something moved. He inhaled but caught himself before he jerked around, hearing Woodbine’s lesson in his mind: Move quietly and carefully. Avoid startling the wildlife.
He turned his head slowly
to peer through the trees.
A man knelt on the forest floor, inside the shelter of the woods. He was sitting back on his heels and staring off into the distance as if lost in a daydream.
Burne held his breath. Don’t startle the wildlife, indeed. He’d expected a deer or a squirrel and instead he found a handsome stranger.
The man had a face like a statue in the castle garden, with his smooth jaw curved in sunlight and his neck in shadow. Where the buttons of his shirt opened, the rest of him looked hard as a statue as well. But his hair . . . Burne squinted. It was dark as Norlian coffee at the top, but as the strands fell away from his face, they shimmered like the morning sun on the ocean. Burne blinked hard, but he couldn’t focus on the man’s locks. In the filtered sunlight, they shifted from silver to green.
The man shook his head once as if returning from his daydream and dropped forward onto his hands. His hair fell across his face, blocking Burne’s view. He crawled forward and reached out to take something. He was foraging, picking something as he crept across the leaves. ...
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