Robbing Centaurs and Other Bad Ideas

by Bethany Meyer

  If he was able to lose Archer during the night, Wick would try to put as many miles between him and Archer as he could. If he was lucky, he would be almost to the coast by the time Archer woke up.

  To keep up the ruse of being asleep, every so often he moved around and changed position on the ground in the way he expected any normal sleeper would. Sometimes the bag was tucked under his arm, sometimes he had it folded up near his head, but he never let go of it or put it anywhere Archer would be able to easily take it from him if he thought he could steal it while Wick was 'asleep.'

  Hours passed. Night creatures and insects emerged out and made their usual chirps and peeps as they went about their lives. The hard ground made Wick's back ache.

  After what felt like a thousand years of patience, Wick cracked his eyes open and peeked up into the tree.

  Archer sat slumped against the trunk of the tree, arms crossed, head down. His breathing was smooth and regular, and even though Wick watched him for several minutes, he didn't move or even look up.

  He was asleep at last.

  Wick slowly and carefully slid out from under the bush and got up. He made as little noise as possible, trying to keep from stepping on any loud twigs and not touching any foliage that would make a noise. Slinging the bag over his shoulder again, he slipped out of the little clearing, leaving Archer asleep behind him.

  He had lost the thief at last.

  Once he was out of sight of the little clearing, Wick walked at his normal swift traveling pace, looking around him at the busy night creatures and up at the many stars twinkling overhead. It was a beautiful cool night. He couldn't get enough of it.

  “Sly move.”

  Wick spun around. Archer stood ten feet behind him, his hair mussed rather than up in its usual spiky formation, his good wing flared out to the side. He looked only half amused. “That really was sly,” he said, nodding. “Turn the tables back on me and try to get away while I was sleeping rather than the other way around. It was clever. I'll give you that. But still not fair.”

  “You won't get the bag from me,” Wick said. “You had better stop trying.”

  “Well, I'm sure you'll be happy to know I've made a decision,” Archer said. He ran a hand up his hair, trying to put it back into his customary spike at the front. “I'm leaving. In case you hadn't noticed, I was trying to get this whole 'saving the world' thing over as fast as possible so I can go back to my normal life–”

  “Troublemaking?” Wick said incredulously.

  “Yes, troublemaking. I love to make trouble. And this is holding me up. I think I'll go and get all the other pieces while you're over here slogging through the swamp protecting your bag, and then when you've left the piece with the nixies and gone home, I'll just hit the nixie territory last and steal their piece and yours in one fell swoop. Sound good to everyone? Good. I'm leaving.” He spun on his heel and stalked off in the other direction.

  This plan sounded worse than his original one of stealing the bag from Wick. If Wick didn't take control of the situation now, everything would spiral out of control, and he could be putting everyone in danger.

  He weighed his options.

  1. He could keep his original plan and leave the Oak Leaf with the nixies, risking it being stolen with the nixie's piece of the Heather Stone when Archer came back.

  2. He could take the Oak Leaf directly to the centaurs, throwing the thief off his trail and allowing him to warn the centaurs of the further thefts that were about to happen.

  3. He could catch up with Archer and follow him as he went after each piece of the Heather Stone. Then, once he had learned Archer's full plan, he could turn him in and get all the pieces back at once.

  The second option sounded the most comfortable, but some nagging part of Wick's mind told him that if the centaurs had wanted him to bring the Oak Leaf to them, they would have told him as much. The first option sounded all-around terrible and just the kind of foolish path Archer wanted him to take.

  Then it occurred to him what Ongel had said about the counselor job. “We want to see you take on and solve some significant problem completely on your own, without any kind of help.”

  Maybe this was the opportunity he was looking for. If he could handle this on his own, figure out what was really going on, maybe that would be just what the centaurs wanted. This might be his only to do so chance for a long time. Furthermore, if he just let the thief walk away now, who knew how long it would be before anyone had a chance at catching him? If Wick trailed him, at least for the time being, he could keep tabs on the thief. If it turned out that Archer was lying, Wick could turn him in.

  He took one more look over the landscape. He could just see the spires of the nixie palace above the tops of the trees. So close. He had come so close.

  Reluctantly he turned away from the coast and walked back the way Archer had gone.

  “Wait,” he called, “what was the centaur's name?”

  Archer stopped and looked over his shoulder. “He said his name was Caihu. Why is that important?”

  Wick caught up. “Because a name proves he was a real person.”

  Archer looked like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Does he exist, then? Does the high and mighty Wick know the name of Caihu?”

  “Yes.” Wick smiled inwardly. “Which is exactly the problem. He disappeared about eight years ago, and before he disappeared, he was invalidated by the other centaurs for having gone insane. All his visions were figments of his crazed mind.”

  “You're saying they called him crazy and kicked him out.”

  “No, he left of his own choice.”

  “Still, that must make it very convenient for you,” Archer said and turned to start walking again. A cricket screeched in a bush off to Wick's left.

  “Is there any other proof you can offer?” Wick asked.

  Archer stopped again. “Why does it matter to you?”

  “Because,” Wick said, “if you're telling the truth, you're not making a very good case right now.”

  Archer snorted. “I don't have to prove anything to you.”

  “Have to, no. But if you could prove it to me, I wouldn't recommend everyone in Aro arrest you on sight. I am just a messenger, and I don't have any real power, but people trust me. They'll believe me when I tell them you're coming. So if you're telling the truth and there really is some kind of danger, I'm going to need more proof.”

  Archer scowled, but he seemed to be considering. At last, he adjusted his grip on the strap of his bag and said, “What if I had everything he said, written down in Caihu's hand?” His tone turned defensive. “Or is that not good enough for you?”

  Wick considered it. “I think I could identify his handwriting.”

  Archer nodded and started walking again.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Wick asked.

  “I don't have it with me. It's in seraph territory,” Archer called as he walked away. “Which is good for me, because the seraph piece of the stone is there too. Why are you following me?” he asked with a sigh as Wick came up beside him.

  “I'm coming with you,” Wick said, watching his footing as he stepped over a large fallen branch. “But only to keep an eye on you. You haven't proved yet that you're telling me the truth, and you're not getting away if it turns out that you never had Caihu's word in writing in the first place.”

  Archer smiled. “What makes you think I want you coming with me? I could lose you in a minute if I wanted.”

  “From where I stand,” Wick said calmly, “either I come with you to seraph territory and you prove to me that what you're saying is true, or I'll send out enough letters to make sure that all the stones are under triple guard. Unless I come with you, you'll fail.”

  For the briefest moment, so fleeting he could have missed it in the space of a breath, Wick thought he saw Archer freeze up. What had Wick said that had him on edge? But all too quickly, the thief's carefree attitude returne
d. “Fine, if you're that worked up about it, you can come with me. But if we're going to seraph territory, we're stealing the seraph stone.”

  Wick balked. “I'm not stealing anything.”

  Archer shrugged. “Fine, don't come if you want, but I thought you said you wanted to keep an eye on me.”

  Wick tried not to let his frustration show as he walked along behind Archer. This was already looking like an impossible task.

  Archer called back to him. “Keep up, tree, or I'll leave you behind.”

  “You couldn't; I walk faster than you. And I'm going to need you to stop calling me tree.”

  “Hmm. I'll consider it.”

  Chapter six

  The Tale of

  An Unfillable Bag

  THEY WALKED FOR the rest of the night, stopping little, talking less. Either Archer was used to traveling at night, or he didn't want to complain about being tired, but he never acted like he needed sleep. Wick suspected it was less stamina and more being too proud to look weak.

  It was the longest night of Wick's life. He was used to traveling in silence, but that was only when he was traveling alone. On the occasion that he had someone with him, it was normally a friend or previous acquaintance, someone he could talk to as they walked.

  However, in this situation, he suspected Archer wasn't in the mood to chat, and frankly, he wasn't in the mood to have a conversation either. At some point, he dared to mention that going to seraph territory had to be something of a homecoming for Archer. All he got in response was a slight raise of the eyebrows and more silence.

  That was the full extent of their conversation. As the hours passed, Wick became painfully aware of the crushing silence.

  It was a relief when the sun came up. The dawn chorus was quieter than it had been the previous morning. Although the birds seemed almost hesitant to sing, there were still a few who sang out anyway, and soon the sound swelled to something like a full chorus.

  It was Archer that broke the silence next. “Tell me, tree, what made you want to carry fancy people's messages all over the place for a living?”

  “First of all, I'm not a tree,” Wick said. “Not even related to a tree.”

  “You keep saying that, and yet I'm still not convinced.” Archer ducked a tree branch. They were starting to cross back over a good deal of the land that Wick had crossed on his way to nixie territory.

  “Well, I'm not,” Wick said. “So stop calling me a tree.”

  “Whatever you say, twig.”

  Wick sighed.

  “Well?” Archer looked over at him with eyebrows raised. “You still haven't answered the question.”

  Leshy were assessed and assigned jobs that their family and surrounding village thought might suit them best in their skills and interests, but Wick didn't feel like explaining that part. “It's what I've always done. I started going to school when I was very young, and that's what I was taught. Once my education was finished, I went into full messenger training and then started the job for real. My circuit just sort of grew from there. Now I go all over the country.”

  “You're telling me you've never done anything else?” Archer asked. “Ever?”

  “I haven't. And I don't think I'd want to.”

  “Why not?” Archer asked.

  “Because this is what I enjoy. I don't want to try anything else because this is what I like doing, and what I want to keep doing.” Wick took an easier route around a tree, avoiding a bramble thicket that Archer walked straight into.

  “But how do you know that you wouldn't like something else more? You don't even want anything else?” Archer insisted. He pulled one last branch of thorns out of his sleeve and kept walking.

  “I don't,” Wick said, “because this is my job and this is where people need me.”

  “Ah, so that's what it is. You do it for other people.” Archer said other people in a voice of utter disappointment. “It's not because you like it. Which is good, because I just don't see what there is to like about it at all.”

  Wick's nerves were starting to fray. He snapped back, “Not everyone lives only for themselves the way you do.”

  Archer grinned. “I'm perfectly selfish and perfectly happy. It's great.”

  “I'm sure.”

  “It's better than how you live. I know I wouldn't want to do the same thing over and over again for the rest of my life,” Archer said. “Over and over and over and over until the day they put me in my grave. It sounds like hell.”

  “It's not hell,” Wick said in the patient but condescending voice of someone dealing with an obnoxious youngster.

  “But I'll bet you like it because you get to talk to all the leaders. Help make decisions. Kiss up to the big wigs. Am I right?” Archer asked, slapping a branch away as if it had offended him.

  “You're wrong about that, too.” Wick ducked under the same branch without slapping it. “But most of the leaders around are nice people, and they're kind to me. There were a few advisers that had problems with me when I first started out because I was so young and all, but those have all been replaced over time.”

  “But you like all the power, don't you?” Archer shot Wick a grin. “It feels good to boss people around. You like it.”

  “I don't boss people around,” Wick insisted. “That's not my job. I can offer suggestions and help with their plans, but they don't have to listen to me.”

  Archer said nothing, but he smiled as he walked, and Wick could feel another little piece being filed away in Archer's bank of knowledge. The easy way Archer seemed to read him was starting to grate Wick's nerves.

  “I don't know why I'm telling you any of this,” Wick said. “I don't have to prove myself to you.”

  Archer's smile only grew. “But it's fun to watch you try anyway.”

  Wick took all the feelings of frustration and possibly murder and ushered them into a deep, dark cubbyhole in his soul, where he asked them politely never to come out again. With his temper stabilized again, he trusted himself to speak again. “But I do like talking to them if that's what you mean.”

  “It isn't.”

  “The centaurs especially have been very kind to me,” Wick went on. “They've been my mentors for the better part of my life, Tinor and Ongel especially. They're always eager to help anyone grow. And most of the other leaders like having me around. I'm reliable and levelheaded, and they like that.”

  “Well, good for them,” Archer said. “But it can't all be fun and games and people patting you on the back for doing a good job. You can't do a good job all the time. What do you hate about it?”

  Wick stood up straighter and kept his gaze straight ahead. “I don't hate anything about being a messenger.”

  “Oh, come on. You have to have feelings buried in there somewhere. Don't you hate when someone tells you off?”

  “No,” Wick said with finality. “Some situations are more difficult than others, but everyone in Aro has a voice and everyone deserves to speak if they think something is wrong.”

  “Sorry,” Archer said, and for a moment Wick thought he was apologizing for being rude. But then he continued, “I thought I was speaking to the messenger, not the handbook he learned from.”

  Wick swallowed his words and said nothing more for a while after that.

  A few minutes later, Archer opened the bag at his side and dug out a handful of berries, which he ate as he walked.

  “Didn't you bring anything to eat?” he asked Wick after eating about half the berries. Almost before he finished asking the question, he seemed to remember Wick's lack of a mouth and said, “Right. Forget I asked.” When he was finished with the berries, he said, “I really think you’re missing out on some of the best things in life. You can't even eat.”

  “I think I'll live,” Wick said. “I have the sun, and that's better than food.”

  “Are you sure, though?” Archer asked. “You don't know if you like anything better than messenger-ing because
you've never done anything else. And you don't know if the sun is better than food because you've never had food. How would you know?”

  “The difference between those two things is that I have no way of eating food at all,” Wick said in a practical tone. Any way short of transmogrifying, and that was out of the question. “I guess I'll just have to live knowing that the sun is certainly better than how those berries taste.”

  “If you say so,” Archer said, and pulled a slice of pie out of his bag. He brushed a few crumbs off the top and took a large bite out of it as he walked.

  And so the traveling went on. Archer stopped every so often to look at some part of the landscape, whether it was some crooked tree or dead flower or to listen to the sound of the wind, but Wick waited for him every time. Neither of them was certain who was the leader of the journey, but one way or another they tolerated one another as they traveled.

  The third time Archer stopped, he had one of the dead flowers in his hand when he stood. “Can you put this in your bag?” he asked, distracted.

  “Why?” Wick looked down at the flower, then back up at Archer again. “You're the one with the unfillable bag. Put it in there.”

  Archer now seemed to realize that he had made the request out loud but refused to backtrack now. “Can't put it in the bag,” he said shortly. “The horse will eat it.”

  “Ah,” Wick said, and then stopped short. “Sorry, what? The horse?”

  “Yeah. She'll eat it if I put it in the bag, and that defeats the point.”

  Wick was still mystified. Then he realized. “She'll eat it if you put it in the bag? The horse is in the bag?”

  “Yes,” Archer said, like Wick should have known.