by K.N. Lee
Isabelle nodded. It seemed fair enough. She switched the subject.
“So,” she said, watching him. “Care to tell me how you got your harp?”
Jack glanced at her, amused. “You’re not going to stop asking me about it, are you?”
“Sure … if you tell me.” Isabelle smiled at him innocently.
Jack sighed with false exasperation. “Fine. I stole it.”
“You did not.” Isabelle’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Hey.” Jack put his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Hear me out before you judge.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, right.” Jack snorted, then continued. “So, I told you my mom and I were poor. We had a small garden, and we worked in it night and day, hoping to grow enough food to sell at the local market. We worked so hard, but it wasn’t enough. Sometimes I’d pretend I ate already at mealtimes so Ma wouldn’t go hungry.”
Isabelle sniffed. “From what I’ve already heard of your mother, she would’ve deserved going hungry.”
Jack shrugged, using a twig to draw in the dirt. “Eh. She had it rough. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to lose the one you love.”
Isabelle was silent. What about Jack, who was her son? Why couldn’t she have loved him? Her thoughts begin to drift toward her own mother and she pushed them away.
“Anyway, one day at market Ma and I had done a little better than usual. Well, a lot better, actually. We sold much more than we’d expected, and she gave me some coppers to spend on whatever I liked.” He paused, running a hand through his ginger hair. “As you can imagine, I was ecstatic. I never got my own coppers before.”
“What did you buy?” Isabelle asked.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing. Old Witch Baba stole them from me.” He spat the name like a curse. He saw Isabelle’s puzzled expression and explained. “She was a witch from the village. Everyone tolerated her because she was the closest thing to a healer we had, but she wouldn’t help you until she’d extracted a price so great, you usually ended up the worse for it.” His face twisted, the darkness in his eyes flickered and disappeared so quickly Isabelle wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. “She was a thief and a swindler of the worst kind. That day at the market she walked by me, cackling, and just like that, my coppers were gone.” Jack’s eyes flashed, and he clenched his fists. “Why would she do that to us? We barely scraped by as it was. I kind of snapped.”
“What did you do?” Isabelle asked. A tendril of foreboding spiraled up her spine.
“I went to her house alone that night. I didn’t tell Ma what had happened or where I was going, of course. Most people avoided her place because of the big dog she kept chained in her front yard, but I threw it a bone from our dinner and it let me approach.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen. Her door was unlatched and when I entered her home, no one was in the front room.” He swallowed, his eyes distant, reliving his memory.
“I looked around, but I couldn’t find my coppers. I did find this harp though.” He patted the instrument. “I decided it was a fair enough exchange. She stole something from me, I’d steal something from her. I loved music, and my old whistle broke a couple years before that.” He chuckled ruefully. “The moment my fingers touched the harp, she came swirling into the room like a storm. Said she ate thieves for dinner.” He trailed off and was silent.
Isabelle’s feeling of dread grew. Something was wrong. “What happened?”
Jack’s back was rigid. “I tried to kill her.” He noticed Isabelle’s look of disbelief. “What? It was fight or die. I had my Da’s old hunting knife with me and fought back.” He trailed off.
“So that was it?” Isabelle prompted. It felt like there was more to the story. She snapped her fingers. “Just like that, you killed a witch?”
“No, I didn’t kill her,” he said. “And before I could leave she—” Jack bit his lip. “I, uh, set the dog free and escaped, taking the harp with me. Ma threw me out when she’d realized what I’d done. She didn’t want to risk the witch’s wrath. The end.”
Jack was lying about something. That or he wasn’t telling the whole truth. Isabelle could see it on his face. She opened her mouth to say so when Jack stiffened, peering at the forest.
“What is it?” Isabelle pressed.
“It’s quiet.”
“Yes,” Isabelle agreed. “It’s a forest.”
Jack shot her a withering look. “The birds have gone silent.”
They had. Isabelle had become so reliant on Ash to warn her of danger that she hadn’t even noticed.
Jack rose to his feet, pulling a few knives from his boots. “I’m going to take a look around.” He looked down at Isabelle, his face concerned. “Stay here, and be careful.”
Isabelle reached for her bow, anxiously watching Jack as he disappeared in the trees. The silence was deafening, permeating the entire area.
Minutes passed. Nothing. She exited the cave, carefully nocking an arrow to her bow. She wished Jack and Ash would return. There didn’t seem to be anything dangerous in the vicinity, but there was no guarantee that they’d be safe.
A man stepped out of the woods. Isabelle froze. Tall and thin, he had lanky hair that hung in his face. Two swords were strapped to his back, and he grinned toothily at Isabelle. “Hello, sweetheart.” He glanced around the area casually. “Kinda far out from town to be traveling alone, ain’t ye?”
Isabelle raised the bow a little. “I’m not alone. I have a friend out there who’ll be back any moment.”
The man’s smile widened. “That skinny redhead, eh? He won’t be coming back.”
“What do you mean?” Isabelle’s mouth went dry. “What did you do to him?” The man stepped forward and Isabelle raised her bow. “Don’t come any closer.”
Another man stepped out of the woods to stand next to the first, a large burly fellow with broad shoulders. Two more men stepped out of the trees a few paces down, one wielding an axe, the other a club.
Bandits. Isabelle’s limbs began to tremble. She was outnumbered four to one. She raised her bow. “I’ll shoot.” Her hands were sweaty. She’d never killed a human before, and she wasn’t sure she could do it now.
“Yes,” the thin man said softly, leering. “But can you take us all down?” He leaped at her with startling speed, unsheathing one of his swords.
Isabelle released her bowstring, the arrow springing forward with blinding speed. It embedded itself into the man’s shoulder and he fell to his knees with a howl.
In three quick strides the broad shouldered bandit sprinted forward, disarming Isabelle and grabbing her by the arm before she had a chance to nock another arrow. She screamed, trying to pull away from him to no avail. “Let go of me!”
The third and fourth bandit riffled through her pack, pulling out the small bag of coppers. The chicken cowered in the corner of the cave, clucking furiously. She was ignored completely.
The thin bandit rose to his feet with a snarl, his face contorted in rage. “I was going to treat ye like a right proper bandit woman,” he spat, “but I think I’ll slit yer throat instead.”
A knife whirled out of the trees, puncturing the thin man’s chest. He fell with a gurgle, futilely trying to stop the flow of blood.
Jack tore into the clearing with Ash on his heels; his face white with rage. He hurtled another knife, and it slammed into the man holding Isabelle captive. The bandit fell to the ground.
The remaining two sprinted for the trees, Ash snapping at their heels.
Jack stood rooted to the ground, his shoulders heaving. He looked at Isabelle, his face twisted in pain. “I didn’t see them, Isabelle. I’m so sorry.”
Isabelle took a step toward him and collapsed, fear and relief overwhelming her. Jack reached her an instant later. He crushed her in an embrace. “It’s okay now. They’re gone. You’re safe.” They could still hear the retreating sounds of the bandits as they crashed through the undergrowth.
Jack cursed, still
holding Isabelle. “I must have walked right past them. I’m such an idiot.”
Isabelle shook her head. “There’s nothing you could have done. Sneaking and hiding are a bandit’s profession.” She remembered the reedy man’s leer and shuddered. “Among other things.”
At her words Jack’s arms tightened convulsively and Isabelle gasped. “You’re hurting me.”
“Sorry.” Jack pulled away. His eyes were watery. “Here.” He pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go.” He shouldered her pack as the first, fat raindrops splashed down. “They’d be fools to come back, but we’re not taking any chances. We’re getting you out of here.” He turned, and Isabelle saw his shirt was torn at the shoulder, blood seeping through his shirt. “What happened?” She reached a hand out to check his wound but Jack shrugged away, refusing to let her touch it. “Just a scratch,” he said. “I took care of another bandit in the woods. I’ll be fine.”
Isabelle shouldered her bow and followed the tall young man. Her lips wobbled, and she felt a tear trickle down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Jack glanced at her as they walked. “For what?”
“For getting you hurt.” Another tear trickled down and she wiped at them angrily. She couldn’t afford to show weakness. “I almost got you killed.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Jack growled. “This was the bandits fault. Don’t blame yourself for someone else’s actions.”
“I couldn’t bring myself to kill him,” she said. “I had a clear shot. I—”
“I said knock it off.” Jack’s jaw clenched, his face twisting in fury. “They acted, you reacted as best you could. End of story.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and the darkness was there, flickering behind his eyes. “If not the bandits, it was my fault. I should have stayed. I should have protected you.”
A branch snapped behind them and Jack spun around, pulling another throwing knife from his arm sheath. Ash crawled tentatively from the undergrowth, whining at Jack.
The redheaded man relaxed. “Lady Wolf.”
Ash got to her feet when Jack put his blade away, trotting up to them. She had blood on her muzzle. Isabelle’s stomach twisted seeing it, knowing it was from the bandits. She was relieved to have Ash back.
They continued traveling for several hours until Jack’s wound forced them to halt. Isabelle inspected the cut. It was long, but shallow, and she was able to clean and bandage it quickly. Jack bore the discomfort silently, his green eyes burning with a startling intensity as he watched her.
“What is it?” Isabelle asked. “Does it hurt?”
“I want to protect you,” he whispered. “I want to be your hero.”
“You are a hero.” Isabelle smiled, wrapping a strip of linen around the wound. “You helped me and Ash today. And by summer you’ll be a Fabled Hunter.”
Jack smiled, his expression softening. “I’ve never mattered before. That’ll be a lot of responsibility.”
“Too much responsibility?” Isabelle asked and Jack shook his head. “No. I’m ready. This is why I was born. To protect this land. I’m sure of it.”
The rain let up to a faint drizzle and Jack and Isabelle set up a crude shelter against the elements using a woolen blanket, some rope, and fallen branches.
Shaking the rainwater from her fur, Ash crawled in to stay out of the weather, resting her shaggy gray head between her forepaws, looking at Isabelle with luminous golden eyes. Isabelle felt better having her close. Ash would alert her to any further danger. She lay down next to the wolf, drawing her red cloak around herself like a blanket. Jack laid down a proper distance from them, staring up at the blanket that worked as their makeshift shelter. Isabelle thought of Jack and his life. He was similar to her: daring, resourceful, and hopeful. He wanted to prove himself, like Isabelle. She smiled wryly to herself. They didn’t exactly pick the easiest way to do it. Jack laced his fingers behind his head, his profile pale in the fading daylight. It was this comforting image that Isabelle saw last as she fell into slumber.
19
Bethyl was a fairly quiet city that looked more like a large town. It was surrounded by a wall of tall wooden stakes sharpened to a point. The houses were small with worn out white plastered sides. The people seemed friendly enough, but eyed Jack and Isabelle warily as if unused to strangers.
Jack entered the first inn they came across. After their scrape with the robbers, both he and Isabelle decided staying inside walls of civilization might be safer.
The innkeeper was a round, portly man who talked nonstop from the moment they entered. He was delighted when Jack suggested he play his harp in exchange for room and board. “We don’t get strangers here very often,” he said as he led them upstairs to show them their rooms. “Not with the witch and all. The usual customers will be thrilled. Yes, I suspect business will be splendid.” He smiled fondly at the harp case on Jack’s shoulder.
Isabelle frowned at the innkeeper. “Witch?”
The innkeeper nodded vigorously. “Yes, haven’t you heard? A witch resides in a crumbling castle not five miles from here. Bethyl was built many years ago when the witch promised our forefathers her protection. But something changed. Now she’d kidnap you, miss, and turn this lad here to stone if you were to venture near her castle.”
“Well, I don’t fancy being turned to stone.” Jack strode over to the bed, placing his harp case on it. “Don’t fret. We’ll be sure to stay away.”
Isabelle tilted her head, considering the innkeeper’s words. “The witch has been keeping travelers away then?”
The man chuckled at her words, shaking his bald head. “Would you have come by this way if you’d heard of it beforehand? Elris is an unforgiving woman. She turns men to stone and will only release them if they are able to give her something of value. Young maidens—such as yourself—are never seen again. What befalls them, I do not know, but you’d be wise to stay away.”
“Have you asked the Fabled Hunters for help?” Isabelle tried to make her tone sound casual but she saw Jack stiffen out of the corner of her eye.
“Yes, miss, we have,” the innkeeper said. “They never were able to successfully break through the magical barrier she has around her castle. So we just warn passersby as best we may.”
After the innkeeper left the room, Isabelle turned to Jack with a bright smile. “Well, I guess the other room is mine then.”
Jack wore a stern glower, his arms crossed. “You’re going to stay away from that witch, Isabelle.”
Isabelle met his frown with one of her own. “Why? The witch has been a menace, and I need to solve a quest. Time is running out, Jack. I have until the first of summer. That’s only a few weeks away.”
“I don’t care,” Jack growled. “We’ll think of something.” He brightened. “You can work with me. I’ll tell the king you helped me win the golden chicken. We can both claim the quest as our own.”
Isabelle leaned against the plaster wall in the small room. “And if he doesn’t allow it? Who claims the chicken?”
Jack eyed her, mistrust flickering across his face. “What are you saying?”
“What do you think I’m saying?” Isabelle watched him carefully. “To be perfectly blunt, I’m the one who killed the giant, not you. The golden hen is mine too.”
“What? We agreed earlier that this was my quest! I put the giant to sleep. I carried the hen down!” Jack’s face was filled with incredulity. “You’re the one who almost messed everything up. I would have destroyed him on my own.” His voice was angry and in his eyes there was a dark flicker of … something.
Isabelle returned his angry stare, feeling rising frustration. “I’m not going to take the hen, Jack. I don’t want it. But I do need to find another quest.”
Jack looked intently at her, noting her agitation. “We’ll find a quest for you, Isabelle. We will. But nothing this dangerous. A witch is not someone to cross paths with.”
“What if we can’t find a quest in time?” Isabelle couldn’t quell her stress
. “What then? This could be it. My only chance.”
Jack was quiet for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought. He brightened, an idea coming to him. “Then I’ll win the tournament and help you and your family.” His expression softened, and he reached out to touch Isabelle’s face. He did so hesitantly, as if unsure what her reaction would be. “Don’t worry, Isabelle. I got this. We’ll try and find something for you, but either way, you win, see?”
Isabelle took a breath, trying to steady herself. He smelled good, like dust and wood smoke. She couldn’t help but notice the way his unruly hair hung over his forehead when he tilted his head down, looking at her. “No,” she breathed, forcing herself to look away, shying from his touch. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she also wanted this too badly. “What if you fail? I … can’t take that risk.” I want to be a Fabled Hunter, too.
Jack pulled away from her, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. “You don’t believe I can do this.”
“No, it’s not that.” Isabelle put out a hand but Jack shrugged it away. “Jack, I have to become a Hunter. I have to save my family, on my own. If I fail, I would accept any help you offer and gratefully, but I can’t step aside and take the chance.”
Jack shook his head. “You don’t believe in me.”
Isabelle felt anger rise in her, hot and deep. This would hurt, but she had to do it. “Don’t be a coward. Don’t run like you did with the witch, Baba.”
Jack flinched as if she’d struck him. He turned, picked up his harp case and pack, and scooped up the chicken. “I’ll take the other room.” His voice was wooden.
“Jack, wait.” Isabelle tried to stand in front of the door but Jack nudged her aside. “Jack.”
“Don’t go to the witch, Isabelle.” Jack blinked his eyes furiously, not meeting her gaze. “I won’t come after you.” He left the room, chicken held securely under his arm.
Isabelle stood as if rooted to the ground. What did he mean? She slammed the door, then whirled toward the bed, throwing her rucksack at it in frustration.
She pulled a small stool to the window and opened it, deeply breathing the outdoor air. What was she supposed to do? She didn’t know.