The Greenwood Shadow

by Sara Ansted

  "Why do you do it?" she asked abruptly.

  "Do what?" He held a bit of fletching up to the light.

  "Stay here with me."

  Isaiah dropped the fletching and turned slightly red.

  "It's just that bashing heads doesn't seem like your thing," she explained.

  "We don't actually do much bashing."

  She laughed. "No, we don't. But I still ask, why do you keep coming with me?"

  He shrugged. "I don't like head-bashing, but I'm good at it. There are some people who can't do it for themselves. You know how things are. I guess I'd feel guilty if I didn't try to help."

  "Oh." He had just said exactly the same thing that she had tried to articulate for years now.

  Ten seconds later, she was pacing again.

  "Would you sit down?" Isaiah groaned. "You're making me dizzy."

  "Sorry. I just really need to do something right now. All this waiting is maddening."

  He snatched the end of her cloak and halted her momentum. "You wait patiently for things all the time. Usually while completely still."

  She pulled her cloak back from him and walked around the fire again. "I know. I just keep seeing that brute's face in my head and I want to smash it in. I need action. Now. Besides, patience is easier when you know exactly who, what, when, where, why, and how. I don't like ambiguity."

  "That's true." He went back to his fletching. A moment later he said, "You're still pacing."

  "Sorry." She sat facing him. After fidgeting for another few seconds, she ordered, "Distract me. Tell me something about you."

  "Like what? You already know everything interesting."

  "No I don't. Just tell me something. Like... what color you like best."

  "Green," he replied.

  She smiled inwardly. Her eyes were green, and she was rather fond of the color herself.

  "What about it do you like most?"

  He set down the fletching again, and thought for a moment.

  "It's versatile. It can be innocent, like a patch of clover. Or it can be deadly poisonous, like in some animals. It shows life. Most plants have green on them somewhere. When I'm surrounded by miracles of nature, human failings seem to become less impossible. It's very... fulfilling. While I'm out here, I feel closer to really living."

  Evey cocked her head and looked at the trees around her. "You really feel all that, just by sitting under a tree?"

  Isaiah shrugged. "Yeah."

  She suddenly felt very shallow by comparison. He had so many layers. She did not. He had said as much himself.

  "What about you?" he asked. "What color do you like best?"

  She had to think about it. "Oh, I don't know. I like most colors. Red is powerful. Green is sneaky. But I think I like blue most. It's kind of comforting. Makes me feel safe."

  "Like a blanket," he replied.

  "Um, sure?"

  "The sky is a blanket that's always there, no matter how bad things get. Sometimes it's really dark blue, with silver stars, all gorgeous and elegant. Sometimes it's so pale that it's white or gray. It changes colors, but underneath it's always blue, and it's always there."

  "Yeah. Yeah, I guess that's it."

  She cleared her throat.

  "My mother's eyes were an amazing blue," Isaiah said quietly. "They always made me feel warm and cozy. That's why I think of a blanket."

  "You must have her eyes," Evey said.

  He shook his head. "Mine are paler. Hers were like sapphires. Deep and rich and mysterious."

  "Were?"

  "Yeah. She, uh... she died a few years ago." His voice cracked.

  "Oh. I'm sorry." Evey didn't know what else to say, so she just started talking. "I don't remember my mum. My uncle says she was beautifully Irish: flaming red hair, green eyes, infectious laugh. That's Ireland to a T."

  "Yeah."

  "I suppose she must have been amazing. My uncle always says she was. As her little brother, I guess he'd know."

  "What about your dad?" Isaiah asked.

  Evey smiled. She did have one memory of her father.

  "He was the tall, dark, and handsome type. Charming enough to get himself an Irish girl without causing a war. I only remember him a little. He died when I was three."

  Evey felt tears welling up and did not want to attack a cart with weepy eyes. She forced a laugh and said, "They were both beautiful. Both charismatic. Makes you wonder how they ended up with me."

  Isaiah grinned. "I'm sure you could be charming if you slowed down long enough to try."

  "Nah. My charm died with my baby teeth. Besides, it's easier to just knock people on the head."

  Isaiah burst out laughing.

  "Well that does get straight to the point," he said.

  Evey put on a silly grin. "Yeah. I don't see the of point of extra words."

  "Most of the time I agree," he replied.

  "Most of the time?"

  "There are some things that are better with more words. Like..." His face reddened. "Never mind."

  She threw a twig at him. "Oh, come on. Like what?"

  "You'll think it's weird."

  "I won't. I promise."

  "Well, like poetry. Nature, life, love..." He paused and glanced up at her for a moment. "Those things don't need more words, but they deserve them. Saying 'I love you' to someone is fine, if you mean it, but if you really do love them, why not say it over and over? Make the saying of it as beautiful as the feeling itself?"

  "I never thought of that," she answered.

  Love ballads and poems had always seemed like a waste of time to her. Looking at it the way he did, they didn't seem as bad. Still, she wouldn't be composing one any time soon.

  "Sorry." He still blushed furiously. "I didn't mean to get all poetic or whatever. I know it's not really your thing."

  "No, it's fine." She smiled and tried to look like she understood things as deeply as he did. "I like hearing what you've got to say."

  "Well, the words sound better when I think them, than when I say them. I wish I could translate it into spoken language better. That's something I have no talent for."

  Evey threw another twig. "Don't be stupid. You're very good with words."

  Isaiah smiled his thanks.

  The entire forest seemed to go quiet for a moment. It was easy to sit back and appreciate the beauty of her surroundings. She suddenly understood what Isaiah meant about green and life. She was about to say so when she glanced at him. He hadn't been watching the forest with her. He was looking right at her with a content little half-smile.

  She almost asked him what he was looking at with that silly grin, but she rather enjoyed the forest and the stillness, which was very unlike her. It would be best to savor the moment while it lasted. Besides, the grin wasn't actually that silly.

  True to form, it didn't last much longer. Soon her legs felt tight, her hands twitched, and she just had to stand up and stretch. Isaiah looked away immediately as she did, pretending to be interested in the fletching again.

  "That was a good distraction," Evey said, "but the cart is still not here."

  "You could practice shooting," Isaiah suggested.

  "Might as well."

  She grabbed her bow and emptied the quiver into a tree. She could always tell when she was distracted because her shots pulled slightly to the left. She gathered the arrows and fired again until she was focused and calm.

  "I don't think they're coming tonight," Isaiah said after a while. "The sun's almost gone. That sort of caravan never travels in the dark."

  Evey slumped to the ground. "More waiting. My favorite. It'll be a cold camp tonight, I guess."

  "My favorite," Isaiah repeated dryly.

  After an unsatisfying dinner of travel biscuit, Evey climbed the tree with her hammock and fell asleep almost immediately. Something woke her a few hours later. She lay very still, straining to hear any little sound.

  The sound of
muffled cart wheels and men hushing their horses drifted vaguely down the road. It had to be well past midnight, judging by the moon. What was a cart doing on the road in the middle of the night? The only explanation was that they were trying to avoid bandits.

  Quietly she climbed out of the tree and shook Isaiah awake. He sat up groggily and had to slap himself a few times before he was awake enough to string his bow. A minute later, Evey crossed the road and secreted herself in a tall hedge near the path. Isaiah moved to a position almost directly opposite. Then they waited.

  Soon the light from the lanterns came fully into view, followed by a large and rather ornate carriage. This surprised Evey. Carriages usually had people, not cargo. It was expensive looking, though. Obviously, someone important owned it and was probably dozing inside while the hired men did all the work.

  A few soldiers on horseback rode nearby, but nothing serious. This was clearly not the caravan from the rumors. On the other hand, there was a safe-box fastened securely to the rear. With a ride as nice as this one, the owner would surely have something worthwhile in the box.

  A pang of guilt made her hesitate. They couldn't steal from just anyone. This person was just an innocent traveler. Or were they? One glance at the opulence of the carriage helped her stifle any doubts. Whoever it was, they could spare a little to help the less fortunate, and be none the worse for it.

  Isaiah fired his arrow, which was both a signal to her and a trigger for the trap they had set. Evey fired back. Two strong cords now blocked the progress of the procession. The soldiers and driver looked around warily. They'd heard the noise, but couldn't see the lines. The horses did, however, and refused to move forward.

  "What's the matter with you boys?" the driver hissed. The horses just whinnied and stayed put.

  Evey shot an arrow far down the road. The soldiers turned their heads to listen.

  "Sounds like there's someone up there," one of them whispered.

  "Well!" The driver gestured impatiently. "Guard the carriage."

  "Right," said another. They formed up on either side of the harnessed horses, still unaware of the barrier just in front of them.

  They stood there as if expecting something to come down the road at any moment, which is exactly what Evey wanted them to do. It all seemed so easy. No matter which of her tricks she played, the guards fell in to step with them every time.

  She sprinted from her cover and met Isaiah at the box in the back. With a few twists of an iron pick, the lock opened. Evey pulled it off and Isaiah hefted the lid.

  It was totally empty.

  At first Evey didn't believe it. She swept her hand around inside. It touched nothing but the four sides of the box itself. They looked at each other in the dim light and Isaiah shrugged. Something definitely didn't add up. Traveling at night, empty strong box, extremely expensive carriage. What had they stumbled into?

  Then her eyes went dark.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When Evey came to, she found herself facing a pale, early morning sky. She tried to sit up, then sank back to the ground with a weak moan. Her head felt like she'd caught it in the mill grinder.

  After a moment her eyes cleared. Trees. Ivy. Still in the forest, then.

  Isaiah stood at her feet, with his sword drawn toward something. What was happening? Why was she on the ground?

  "You're surrounded now, boy, and you're coming either way, so just put down sword the and come quietly. Let's not make this harder than it has to be."

  Evey struggled back into a half sitting position. The speaker was a large mace-wielding soldier. Where had he come from? Obviously they were after her, but why?

  The same man said, "looks like your little lady friend is awake. Let's just get on with it."

  "No," Isaiah growled. He sounded unusually fierce. She'd never seen him act like that before.

  "What's going on?" Speaking made her head dizzy again, but she fought it back.

  "Ambush. There were soldiers in that carriage."

  Evey groaned inwardly. How could they have fallen for that old trick? It was the second time, too.

  "The lad's got spirit," one soldier said. "Ran halfway through the forest before we caught up. But you can't fight four of us with one sword. Two of us have crossbows. Tell him to put the sword down, and we'll be easy on you."

  "Isaiah?"

  He didn't move. "I'm not giving up that easily. Not just to go to prison."

  "Obviously not." She looked around the circle of soldiers. "But what do we do?"

  "You finished yet?" another soldier asked.

  "No, but you're about to be," Isaiah roared.

  He lunged at the man farthest to the right. The soldier fired his crossbow bolt in a panic. It missed, but the mace man and the sword-wielder stepped forward. Isaiah halted again, now trapped in a very awkward stance.

  Evey stood slowly. "We are innocent. What reason do you have for holding us at arrow-point?"

  The mace man poked his weapon toward Isaiah. "Don't play dumb with me. I saw you feeling around inside that box."

  "We didn't actually get anything," Evey said as calmly as possible. "You can't hold us for theft."

  He made an exasperated face. "You're obviously in league with the outlaw himself. Tell us where Robin Hood is and we might let you go."

  "Never!" Isaiah replied. He lunged again, this time at the mace-man. Both crossbow bolts flew. Again, one missed wildly, but the other struck Isaiah in the shoulder. He dropped his sword. His face twisted in pain, but he refused to scream.

  "Cowards and scum!" Evey shouted. She snatched up her bow, but all the arrows were scattered on the ground.

  "You had better stop there, little lady." He turned his mace toward Isaiah. "If you don't put that down, your friend here won't live to see your execution. Trust me, I am much better with my weapon than these thugs."

  She believed the man. Just the look of him showed that he wasn't lying about his skill. If it were just her, Evey would have gone for an arrow anyway. But Isaiah was helpless. Just the thought of watching him die made her queasy. She released the tension on the bow and let it fall to the ground.

  "I knew you looked like a smart girl. Now tell us how to find Robin Hood. I won't take 'I don't know' for an answer."

  Evey clenched her fists tight. It took every ounce of control to keep from leaping for the soldier's throat. Only a glance at Isaiah's bloody shoulder quelled her anger enough to allow for reasonable thought. She blurted out the only thing that she could think of.

  "You won't take an 'I don't know', but will you take a 'fifteen armed men are on their way to rendezvous at this exact spot and are due any minute'?"

  She spoke as calmly as she could and looked at her captor straight in the eye. He blanched, but composed himself quickly.

  "Bind them both. Armed men or not, you're coming with us. There are better ways of making sure you tell us the truth. And believe me, before we're done with you, you'll be begging to tell me what you know."

  "Let's see your pretty face, little girly," one of the crossbow men said, as he stepped forward to tie her hands. He reached out for the mask. With a flick of her foot, the bow was in her hands again and she promptly cracked it over his head.

  "Put the bow down, or you'll regret it!" cried the leader. He stepped toward Isaiah.

  She dropped it, but punched, kicked, and bit so that none of the soldiers could get too close. She was too small to fight them off indefinitely, though, and eventually they tied her hands behind a horse.

  They walked for miles. The pace wasn't particularly fast for a horse, but for a person tied behind one it was harsh. The sun had started to set before they stopped in a small village, much like Evey's own.

  The soldiers paraded them down the small main road, and made sure the villagers knew why. Though there was technically no proof, Evey and Isaiah were under arrest as Robin Hood's accomplices.

  People stopped and stared at the young outlaws.
A few of them seemed apathetic. A few others looked glad. But by far, the majority of them seemed to say 'I'm Sorry'. They believed in Robin Hood, even if they couldn't say it out loud.

  At the other end of the town, the soldiers shoved Evey and Isaiah into the stable between a horse stall and an old hay wagon. They bound Evey's hands to the wagon, tied so tightly that they started to tingle. They bound Isaiah to the other side, then hurried off to the tavern.

  They didn't even take her dagger. Idiots. As soon as the door shut, she twisted her body around to bring the pommel close to her hands. It was a tight maneuver. There was barely a foot of rope between the wagon and her hands. When she finally got a grip on the hilt, she nearly dropped it.

  The blade was sharp, but the angle was awkward. It took a few minutes of gently sawing before the rope broke. She tried to cut through the knots around her wrists, but the angle was impossible.

  "They weren't too clever, leaving you with that dagger," Isaiah said as cheerfully as he could. "I might have known you'd get us out of this."

  Evey heard the pain in his voice. She tried to ignore his discomfort in favor of getting loose. It wasn't easy.

  "As soon as we're free, we've got to go. Can you handle the crossbow bolt a bit longer?"

  "It's not so bad," he replied.

  She only hoped he wasn't lying.

  Evey worked on cutting him free. It was tricky with tied hands. She had to be careful not to cut his arm along with the rope. When he was free, he sliced through her bonds in turn. She rubbed her hands together as the ropes fell away, trying to bring feeling back into them. She took the moment to explore the stable.

  It was pretty typical. There were five stalls, four with horses in them. At the far end of the building there were shelves of equipment. Bridles, reins, saddle blankets, spare bits of leather, and rope all lined the walls. There were multiple windows very high up, but only one door. She pulled hard on it.

  "Locked!"

  They had cut their bonds only to find themselves still trapped. But that wasn't good enough. She refused to accept it. She tried the door again and again, pushing, shaking, pulling, and kicking it.

  After a while Isaiah muttered, "It looks like it's closed up pretty good. We might as well not warn them that we're untied."