The Greenwood Shadow

by Sara Ansted

  "Freeze where you are!" she shouted from behind a tree. "Hands where I can see them."

  He put his hands out. "I'm unarmed."

  Evey stepped from behind the tree, but stayed out of the man's line of sight.

  "What are you doing here? What do you want with me?"

  "It's about your friend. The one they call Robin Hood."

  "You got him killed!" she yelled.

  "That's debatable on multiple levels, but I won't argue it with you now. Robin is more important. I need you to come with me."

  He had a note in his voice that sounded sincere and urgent.

  "How do I know I can trust you?" She pulled her arrow back a little farther.

  "Robin is lying in a cart at this very moment, out by the road. As for trust, I don't know. You can either come help me save Robin now, or you can waste his remaining time by arguing about my intentions."

  She didn't trust the man at all, but if his story was true... Isaiah might still alive, and she couldn't possibly risk losing him. Not for a second time. She stepped into his view, and held her bow up ominously.

  "One trick, and this arrow goes between your shoulder blades. Don't think I can't do it. John! Follow us! Will! Get a bed ready at camp!" She waited until John appeared through the trees, then turned back to the cloaked stranger. "Now go."

  The man didn't waste time arguing. He led the way through the trees to an overgrown portion of road that had obviously not been used for a long time. The cart horse nibbled at some sparse grass that grew over it. Evey could see no sign of an ambush, but she still stepped cautiously.

  He climbed into the back of the cart, and she followed. Just as he said, Isaiah was there. In the moonlight he looked horribly pale. Most of his torso was covered in bandages. As soon as she saw that his chest moved up and down, however shallowly, she abandoned all caution. Her bow dropped to the ground and she rushed to his side, with tears streaming down her cheeks and soaking into her mask.

  She brushed his hair from his face. "Will he be okay?"

  "There's no time to talk now. We need to get him to your camp, where the firelight is bright."

  Having seen Isaiah, she no longer argued or questioned anything that the man said. Although the stranger was tall, John was by far the biggest and strongest. He easily lifted Isaiah from the cart and carried him through the trees. The castle servant led the horse behind.

  The going was slow, interrupted by several owls, a deer, and a fox. The forest nightlife had never before been a cause for concern to Evey, but that night every strange sound or movement made her pulse race faster. Eventually they made it back to the camp where Will had gathered all but three of the blankets and layered them together in the soft, mossy ground.

  "I got to him before the rest of the guard showed up. He was hurt badly, but none of the wounds were fatal. At least, not immediately so. But he was losing too much blood. I couldn't take him to the healers, because they would have him arrested as soon as look at him, so I had to work on him myself."

  John set Isaiah down carefully on the bed. The cloaked man immediately unwound one section of the bandages.

  "My knowledge of healing is extremely limited. All I could do was remove the bolts and bind the wounds tightly. The one in his right shoulder came easily. So did the one just above the hip. That one hit the bone, and wasn't deep. It's the third bolt, here in the side of his abdomen, that is problematic." The cloaked man pointed to a nasty looking gash. "It must have ricocheted in and splintered on impact. The broad head is still inside. I tried to get it out, but I need more than two hands."

  "He looks awful," Evey said.

  The man wiped his forehead. "I've been searching for you almost fourteen hours. He's getting worse all the time."

  "What do you need me to do?"

  "See how the wound is at an odd angle? I can't get a grip on the broad head and see what I'm doing at the same time. Take these."

  He handed her two thin lengths of iron, bound together at one end. She guessed that they were meant to grab the broken bolt tip. Her hands shook, but it was Isaiah's life. She had to be strong enough.

  The procedure was tricky. The makeshift tool was unwieldy, even when using both hands. It was no wonder that the man had trouble with it. He held the wound open and steady. John held a torch as close as could be managed. Will directed her hands.

  Three times she almost had the broad head out before the blood and fluids cause it to slip from her tentative grasp. In frustration, she threw the tool down.

  "I can't get it!" she screamed.

  "This has to come out. He can't heal otherwise."

  "Don't you think I realize that?" She pointed at the offending implement with venom. "But I just can't get it with that."

  "Let me see your hands," he asked. She held them up and he nodded. "They are quite small. That is good. Perhaps..."

  He left the question unspoken, but she knew what he meant. She shuddered, but couldn't back down.

  Very slowly she slid two fingers into the open wound. It was hot and slimy, but she pressed on. Soon she felt the splintered wood under her fingers and understood why she couldn't get it before. There was very little grip on it. The widened ends on the head caught and pulled it free from her grasp. Moving gently, she worked the iron head free. She also removed several splinters that had remained.

  At last it was done. She breathed deeply after realizing that she had been holding her breath. She wasn't sure if she imagined it, but it seemed as though Isaiah was already breathing easier.

  "He'll be okay, won't he?" she finally asked.

  "He did lose a lot of blood." The stranger shrugged. "But he'll recover, if the fever doesn't take him."

  Although she couldn't see his face, she could tell that the man was completely exhausted. She remembered that he had been searching for their camp all day, and realized that he must be starving as well.

  "Have some bread, uh... what should we call you?" she inquired.

  "I suppose you could call me Lance."

  "Fancy yourself Sir Lancelot, do you?" Will asked him with a laugh.

  The man shrugged. "If I make up a name, why shouldn't it be something interesting?"

  "Fair point." Will conceded.

  "Well, Lance. Have a meal. It's the least we can do." Evey interjected.

  "My pleasure, Lady Marion," he answered.

  "Ugh. Enough with the 'Lady Marion'. Just Marion, okay?"

  "Alright."

  "Lance, how did you manage to find us?" Will inquired. "Or get out of the castle with him, for that matter?"

  The full story involved hiding in cupboards, a secret passageway, and a clever disguise, followed by fourteen hours of combing through the forest in various places where they had previously camped.

  He even got bitten by something once, though Evey couldn't remember what. As interesting as the story was, she had a hard time paying more than vague attention to it. She was tired and rattled. All she could think about was Isaiah, and the fact that he was alive after all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Evey wasn't a physician. Or a magician. And those were the only two people she would have given anything to see.

  At first, he seemed to improve. Then, on the third day after Lance had rescued him, Isaiah's skin suddenly became hot. He started to sweat profusely, and Evey started to panic. She had only seen a few fevers in her lifetime, and none of them had ended well.

  Her own father's last moments had been clouded in heat and hallucinations, brought on by a wound so similar to Isaiah's that she almost hyperventilated whenever she thought of it. Death seemed to be the reward of brave men who stood up for the rights of the innocent.

  None of the others knew what to do for him either. The only semi-reasonable suggestion was to send Lance out in search of a healer. Not to bring one to camp, of course, but to ask advice. He promptly rode off to do just that.

  In the mean time, there was nothing for Evey
to do but wait. She didn't know whether to try to cool his skin, or stoke the fire until it was blazing. She'd heard about both being done, so which was it? Her lack of knowledge made her feel more useless than ever.

  Lance returned quickly, and Evey practically tackled him as he arrived in camp.

  "Did you find anything?"

  "Not much." He sounded almost scared to tell her the truth.

  "Well?"

  "I'm sorry, Marion, but everyone I talked to said the same thing. At this point, he'll have as much chance of pulling through without a healer as with one. I got this poultice, and an elixir that's supposed to lessen the heat, but other than that, all we can do is wait for the fever to break."

  What kind of healers were these people anyway? Evey was tempted to leap onto Lance's horse and ride off in search of her own answers. With a great deal of difficulty, she resisted the urge, and instead began pacing through camp, cursing fluidly.

  Lance tried to approach her. It seemed as though he were intent on saying something reassuring. Much to his credit, Will intervened.

  "You'd better not," he said in a whisper that Evey nevertheless overheard.

  She couldn't decide whether to be angry or grateful.

  From then on, she took the night watches, and slept during the day when John, Will, and occasionally Lance would take over the care. She had a lot of time to think during those long nights, and often wondered about where they would go next in their quest. This past mission had been such a miserable failure that she was even more at a loss for direction than before.

  She also realized that anything they did within the castle would have to depend heavily on Lance. He had already left the camp several times so that his absence at the castle would go unnoticed, but he always returned with blankets, bandages, and food. That was a good sign. But trust? She just didn't know.

  Days passed with no change. Evey worried more about what Isaiah wasn't able to eat than what she should have eaten. Several times a day, Will had to remind her that she'd do no one any good if she died too, and from something as silly as starvation.

  Isaiah was, at least, alive. That was something. Not much, though. At least getting taken down in battle was quick and certain. But this sickness... she didn't know how she would take it if she lost him again, and so slowly.

  Well after midnight, a week after the disaster, Evey sat thinking. No matter how many times she tried to design a new plan, she ended with less than she started. It didn't help that Isaiah was still burning up. Nothing shook her concentration like remembering his plight.

  Whenever this happened, she started talking out loud. She knew he wouldn't answer, but it made her feel like they were back in the time before their arrest. In the time when everything was just a game, and no one's life was on the line.

  "It wasn't really so long ago, was it?" she asked him.

  It hadn't even been six weeks since things had turned deadly serious. It seemed like so much longer. A whole different lifetime.

  She looked down at his face, which had grown eerily pale. Something lurched in her stomach, and she had to turn away again.

  "Did you ever expect to get mixed up in this? I sure didn't. My uncle told me once that I might be surprised what I could do if I just tried. But I never thought I'd actually be trying. Trying and failing so far. Just look at you. This might have never happened if you never knew me."

  "That's alright. I forgive you."

  The reply was horribly weak, but Evey still had to stifle a scream.

  "Isaiah!!"

  She nearly toppled on to him in her rush to check the state of his illness. She pressed her hand against his cheek, and then to his forehead.

  "You're awake! Your fever is leaving! You scared me to death!"

  "Well, since you wanted to keep score, we'll count that as two for me, I think."

  He coughed with the effort of speaking, and cleared his throat several times. She gave him some water, a little at a time, so that he could swallow it.

  "Isaiah! I'm just... and you'll be okay... and what on earth were you thinking? Really? You nearly died! I can't believe you! How could you do that to me?"

  "And to think I expected you to be glad to see me," he whispered hoarsely, with a wink.

  She pushed his hair off his forehead and checked his temperature again, just to be sure.

  "I am," she replied in a calmer voice. "I'm sorry. You know I am. But I thought you were dead. Do you know what that did to me?"

  "I think I have a pretty good idea. Recall a certain foiled execution."

  Evey suddenly felt guilty for blaming him. After all, because of him she had escaped unscathed. For a moment she couldn't find the words to thank him. She was still too traumatized by his death and re-appearance.

  Despite his weakened state, he still seemed to be able to tell what she was thinking. He moved his un-bandaged arm, and took her hand.

  "I would do it all over again, for you. All of it. You can't blame yourself for anything," he said.

  His voice grew stronger as he used it more.

  "You should try to eat." She felt suddenly very awkward.

  "Now that you mention it, I am famished." He was obviously disappointed in her change of topic. "How long have I been out?"

  "Eight days."

  "Eight? Well, no wonder I'm starving."

  He tried to sound lighthearted, but Evey still noticed the forced cheer.

  She reached for a loaf of bread, tore a piece off and gave it to him, forcing him to release her hand. She wanted to grab it back, but she knew she shouldn't.

  He struggled for a moment. Then she realized he was trying to sit up. His face tightened, and he tensed for a moment, to let the pain pass.

  Once he'd lain flat again, he stared at the bread as if deciding how to tackle it from a horizontal position. Evey took her blanket and rolled it into a tight bundle. She leaned over him, and lifted his head, to prop it with the make-shift pillow.

  For a few seconds her face was inches from his. She froze there, inexplicably paralyzed. Heat flushed her cheeks. A moment later the spell broke. She rested his head on the blanket roll, and moved away quickly.

  "Isaiah?"

  "Yeah?" he grunted more than said.

  "I... I don't actually know what to say."

  "That's a first." He sounded harsh and bitter.

  She stopped herself from taking his hand again. "Don't be mad at me."

  "I'm not."

  He looked away.

  "You are. I've just crushed you to pieces, haven't I?"

  "Quite literally."

  She took a deep breath.

  "You know we can't – you and I won't – that we'll never–"

  Her voice cracked, and she cursed herself for stumbling so badly. She looked to him for the words, and a tiny smile re-appeared at the corner of his mouth.

  "I know," he whispered. He took her hand again. She couldn't find the will to pull it away.

  "But what about our–"

  "Weddings?" He frowned. "I'll keep my promises, and you'll keep yours. But I need you right now."

  She turned her face away.

  Isaiah squeezed her hand. "I know it can't go anywhere, but without you, I'd just as soon not wake up ever again."

  "Don't say things like that!" She intended to stop there, but the next words leapt from her mouth. "I couldn't be without you either."

  She blushed profusely. It was true, of course. He meant more to her than anyone else had ever done. She realized that even as she spoke the words.

  Isaiah squeezed her hand again. Somehow she knew exactly what he meant by it, even without words. The air had to be cleared. The subject had to be addressed. Now they both knew where they stood, and things would go on exactly as they had before.

  Well, almost exactly.

  She gripped his hand a little tighter, as if afraid it might not be there when she woke. By the time morning came, she was more tired than she ha
d started. She had spent a thoroughly restless night reminding herself that Isaiah was fine. He was there next to her, and he wasn't going to go anywhere.

  Instead of brooding on it, she took up her bow and slipped away into the woods, hoping to find some meat. She was tired of dry bread.

  The sun peered over the horizon before she found anything. A small bird foraged around in the pine needles for its breakfast. Evey took aim and was just about to fire, when the bird flew away in a panic. Animals tended to have sharper instincts than humans, and she knew she hadn't caused it.

  With that in mind, she went into defense mode. She froze against the trunk of a large tree, practically disappearing from view. It took several minutes for her to hear what the bird had known long before. Someone came their way, and they were anything but silent.

  Now that she had a direction, she stalked closer, keeping her arrow nocked and ready. Silent, and invisible, she approached the intruder only to discover that it was Lance. He held a pouch, which she assumed was full of bandages and bread. When she was as close as she could get, she stepped into his path, which made him start. He dropped the pouch, and she laughed.

  "We really need to work on your forest skills." She dashed forward and picked up the pouch. "Five minutes ago you scared a bird away right as I had it in my line of sight."

  "And we really need to work on your people skills," he grumbled. "Stepping out of nothing like that is enough to give a man heart failure."

  "You're young. You'll survive," she said. Then she added, "The fever broke last night. He woke up for a little while."

  "Robin?"

  "No, John. He just woke up and told me to tell you that he was having a great dream. Of course, Robin!"

  "How was he? Did he speak?" Lance asked.

  "Yeah, some," she answered vaguely.

  She was not about to reveal the topic of their conversation to anyone.

  "And he remembered everything? His mind was good?"