by A R Davis
Lord Aubrey gave a hearty laugh and clapped his son more firmly on the shoulder. He addressed his guards. “Never let it be said that we Aubreys are not ambitious. My boy will do the line proud.”
How can the dead show pride? Young Aubrey thought as he followed his father into the office. It seemed less intimidating now that Lord Aubrey was in his proper place. The deer head’s coal black eyes bored deep into Young Aubrey’s. It seemed to be daring him to replace it. He sat across from his father and tried to ignore the pit that was forming in his stomach.
Lord Aubrey folded his hands on his desk. “You two are dismissed,” he said to his guards. “I want to be alone with my son.” The guards obeyed.
When they were alone, Lord Aubrey addressed his son. “We will soon be on opposite sides of this desk.” He let that statement sink in for a moment. “I must admit, I have been looking forward to this day ever since you were born.”
Young Aubrey smiled on cue. The words felt wrong to him. Did his father really not see any other possible future for him? Did he only see this?
“I am…pleased,” Young Aubrey said.
“Pleased? You should be excited and proud! Though, if you’re feeling nervous, that is understandable.” Lord Aubrey leaned forward in his seat. “When I was your age, sitting where you are now, I felt absolutely terrified of the responsibilities I would have to take on. But I’ll tell you what my father told me–”
“Father, I’m not nervous.”
Lord Aubrey stared at him warily. “No?”
“You’ve taught me well, Father. I am confident that I’ll be able to govern just as efficiently as you have.”
Lord Aubrey folded his hands. “Take care not to be overly confident. It can cause you to make careless mistakes.”
Young Aubrey forced a laugh. “Father –”
“I am serious, son. You don’t want to appear arrogant to the people. They are quick in their judgments, and it is not easy to earn their forgiveness if you wrong them. Your great grandfather learned that the hard way. And I suppose I did as well when I sent our good men to war.”
Young Aubrey barely remembered those times. Ships of foreigners from overseas threatened to take over the land. They burned down half the towns as they made their way towards Merrion, the city closest to Leola. His father had reluctantly sent out countless men to assist in a war that lasted three years. He feared that if he had not gotten involved then Leola would have been the next to burn. Young Aubrey, however, knew that his father was only following the orders of the other lords.
“Father, you taught me that all men do wrong sometimes,” Young Aubrey said.
“This is true.” He recited the well-worn phrase, “Evil men must be punished. However, I do not wish for you to be one of those men, and I do not want you to be blighted by hubris. This work is not always easy. But I would never want you to take the easy road if it meant you were doing wrong.”
Young Aubrey lowered his gaze to the edge of the desk.
“I know you say that you aren’t nervous, but I believe you fear I would think less of you if you spoke the truth.” Lord Aubrey slowly shook his head. “I would never, especially since I have been in your position. I want you to know that I will be here for you, whether it be your first step or your last. I will be here until my time is done.”
Young Aubrey looked his father in the eye. Some part of him was moved by his father’s words; another part believed bitterly that his father did not come up with them on his own. And then, from the back of his mind came the softest of whispers: How are you going to prove you are a great Lord with your father at your back?
“Thank you, Father,” he said warmly though his insides were cold. “That eases my heart.”
Young Aubrey participated in his morning lessons listlessly. He knew all of the procedures and oaths so well that he was sure they were branded onto his memory. Young Aubrey felt mechanical as he recited everything that was instilled in him since he was a boy. As he listed off the names of the twelve remaining lords, he studied what made them…unique—what made them memorable. When he said their names aloud, he could clearly picture a distinct face for each. He wondered how he could make that happen for himself.
There had to be a way.
At supper, he picked at his roast goose, feeling sickened by the grease that pooled underneath it. His father ate more fervently.
“You’re not eating,” Lord Aubrey said.
“I’m not hungry,” he replied.
“Because you’re nervous.”
“No, I’m not, Father.”
“Anxious, then. Either way, you should still eat to keep up your strength.”
Young Aubrey ate as little as he could without drawing suspicion, deliberately leaving a healthy pile of scraps. When he was certain his father wouldn’t protest, he asked, “May I be excused, Father?”
Lord Aubrey quickly glanced over at him before returning his gaze to his own plate. “You may,” he said and waved him off.
Very quietly, Young Aubrey slipped away from the table, carrying his half-eaten plate with him. His heart thudded loudly in his ears, though he was sure his father hadn’t seen him. Once he left the dining room, he crept down the hallway towards the stairs leading to the cellar. At the stairway, he checked left and right, then back again, and waited to hear if anybody was headed his way. Then he slowly went down the stairs, wincing when he heard a creak.
The door at the bottom was closed as usual. Young Aubrey felt a wave disappointment. She should have known he was coming. He walked up to the door, set the plate down in front of it, then knocked. He quickly raced back up the stairs and hid around the corner. He waited.
Downstairs, he heard the door open and dared to peer out of his hiding place. He saw the sliver of a hand reaching out for the leftover goose. The hand grabbed the plate, then pulled it back into the room and softly shut the door. Young Aubrey felt his heart thump as though it was in his throat. He stood there for a few more moments staring at the spot where he saw the hand.
When I am Lord, he thought, I will set you free.
*
The sky was light purple when Valerie got out of bed. As quietly as she could, she got dressed, pulled on her boots, grabbed her knife and her bag, and then walked down the stairs.
Her father’s office door was closed, and no light came from the room. She hadn’t heard him go to bed, so she figured he must have fallen asleep in there. Gently, she opened the door. Her father was resting his head on his desk. The wooden Beast figurine stood ever vigilant on the corner of it. Metal pieces from the pistol her father was working on were stuck to his cheek. He mumbled something in his sleep. To Valerie, it sounded like he was telling someone to run. Another nightmare, she thought. The very few times her father spoke of the war, he said he had to watch a lot of good men die and he had to kill a lot of good men, too. “And that is why…” he had said as he raised the bottle to his lips. He never said the rest of it. He never said why. She tiptoed up to the desk and bent down to kiss her father’s cheek. She liked to think her touch helped pull him to safety in his dream world.
The forest was a great deal darker than the streets of Leola. A heady scent of moss and wet earth permeated the predawn air. It was rather quiet, save for the trilling birds and the dry leaves crunching under Valerie’s feet. After walking a mile on the path, she decided to stray off, pushing beyond the bushes and low-hanging branches. When the thicket became too dense, Valerie had to pull out her knife and cut her way through. In the distance, she spotted a few deer ruminating the ground; their ears perked up when they heard her coming. Valerie stayed out of their path.
To her, the forest was her refuge. After losing her mother, it was the place to which she retreated when she wanted to be alone. Sometimes she’d run as far from the path as she could until her lungs hurt. She would then sit among the trees and cry. It was ok to cry in front of the trees. The trees could not ask you to be an adult when you weren’t ready to grow up. She remembered th
e day they buried her mother and how hard it was not to cry and to stand as tall as the trees. Her father broke down and sobbed beside her. She held his hand tightly. She wanted to say, “It’s all right, Papa.” But she knew it was not all right. It was the furthest thing from all right. It was emptiness and loneliness, and she knew she would never be big enough for this, not even when she was a lady. Not ever. She often asked herself, What am I going to do? She never came up with an answer. But somehow she always managed. As long as I can do that, then everything is all right.
At some point along her journey, she noted that her surroundings were dead quiet. The birds stopped their maddened chirping, the cries of foxes ceased, even the shushing in the treetops had seemed to halt.
Valerie paused for a moment and looked around her. An unsettling sensation was slowly building up in her belly, rising to her throat. She didn’t know why, but it felt as though everything had suddenly died.
The hairs at the back of her neck stood up. She looked all around her, but she saw nothing. She kept moving, tentatively now—more vigilant. Her hand grasped the knife in her pocket, just in case.
Maybe it was nothing, she thought after a time.
There was a soft rustling noise behind her.
Startled, she whipped around, holding the knife out in front of her.
“Who’s there?” she demanded. Her voice quivered a bit.
The rustling stopped. Valerie took a step back; she readied herself to run if she needed to. She preferred to run than to fight.
She tensed again as the rustling started again. It was becoming harder to firmly grip the knife in her sweaty hand. So many thoughts ran through her head at once: Bandits, wolves, bears, wild men, they want to kill me, they want me dead, stay calm, don’t move, you can run.
A rabbit emerged from the bushes. It sniffed the air for half a second before scurrying back the way it came.
Valerie let out a breath and dropped her knife-hand back to her side. She suddenly felt very stupid. She shook her head; all those stories were getting to her. Her heartbeat slowed back down to a steady rhythm. After she calmed down, she took a few more steps onward.
There was an audible snapping sound.
She didn’t have time to scream.
Suddenly, she was launched into the air. Her stomach burying itself down farther and farther into her body as she went up and up, almost touching the treetops. Then she fell and fell, and the ground rose to meet her as her stomach rose into her throat.
The net yanked her back up before she hit the ground. She bobbed and swung for a few moments before finally coming to a stop. Valerie was clutching the net, the scream still trapped in her mouth. Her whole body shook. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she breathed deeply, in and out, over and over, until she could think clearly again.
I’ve got to get out of here.
She remembered her knife. After a bit of fumbling, she managed to reach into her pocket.
It was gone.
She looked down.
Lying in the dirt, glinting in the sparse light, was her knife.
She was then able to scream. “Help! Somebody, please! Help me!”
Echoes of her cries came back to her.
She shook the net a few times. She tried to pry the rope apart and tried to rip through it with her teeth. It wouldn’t give. “Help!” she shrieked.
Nothing.
She couldn’t see anyone through the thicket; she didn’t hear a single sound of anyone returning. But someone has to, right? Someone set up this trap—a hunter. Surely he would come back. He might even scold her, might tell her she deserved this for all the times she stole. Either way, all she had to do was wait and she would be free again.
That’s right, she thought as she did her best to calm herself again. Somebody will come back. I won’t be here for long.
To say being strung up in the net was uncomfortable felt like an understatement. Her body felt like it was twisted up like a cleaning cloth being wrung out. Valerie’s ankles kept falling through and getting caught in the space between the braids. She eventually decided to stop moving altogether. She leaned against the back of the net and felt her heart dropping into despair as the minutes passed.
Minute after minute dwindled by. Soon it became harder to tell herself that someone was coming back. She tried not to think about what time it was. Mrs. Lind must be waiting for her. By now she must think I’m gone for good. She was probably on her way to tell the guards. More likely, she was going to fetch her father. Valerie could picture her father’s anxious face when he learned that she was missing and his fearful expression when he discovered where she went. He’d probably forbid her from returning to the forest. She was sure she will have disappointed him.
Another hour passed, and another. Valerie’s body cramped up, but she would not let go. My father will come, she thought desperately. He’ll be here soon.
Unless he went to the pub.
OK, she thought. It’s OK. At least you’re relatively safe up here. Whatever comes along will have a hard time getting to you. You’ll be OK. You’ll be OK.
Suddenly, the net gave a violent shudder. She yelped.
Something was above her.
She looked up; she couldn’t help it. It felt as though an invisible hand was tilting her chin up.
A man in a black hood stared down at her.
Chapter 3
Valerie couldn’t see his face, but she knew—she knew—he was looking at her. And for a moment, she was transfixed in that black circle, sucked in entirely.
“Wh-Who are you?” she asked, her voice cracking.
The stranger said nothing. He started tearing at the rope that was wound around the tree branch under his feet.
“Did you set this trap?”
Again, no response.
“H-hey! Hey! Will you answer me? Please?”
It was like speaking to the trees. He spoke not a word, nor did he give any indication that he was listening. What if he means to kill me? she thought. The panic rose in her chest and her fingers and feet went numb. Maybe this wasn’t a trap meant for animals; maybe this was for people.
Once the rope was completely cut, he started slowly lowering her to the ground. Valerie’s heart rose in her mouth with each jerk and start. The only hope she had of defending herself was to find her knife.
As soon as she was completely on the ground Valerie frantically searched around for her knife. Her fingers traced over dirt and dead leaves. Every time she thought she felt the handle, it turned out to only be a branch. The man landed with a thud a few inches away from her. She knew she had only seconds left.
But she needn’t have bothered.
My knife.
The man had it.
The blade winked at her in the light.
What little determination she had dissipated.
Valerie crawled back as far as she could, wishing she could shrink or burrow down into the dirt. The man sawed at the net with her knife, and Valerie shielded her face and eyes, wondering if those parts of her would be first to feel the pain.
The man cut a hole large enough for her to escape, but Valerie felt too numb to move. He was standing over her, looking as though he was made of darkness. How could she even try to stand?
Valerie flinched when he reached towards her.
He was handing her the knife handle-first.
Valerie stared quizzically at it for a time. Was this a trick? Tentatively, she reached out and plucked it from his gloved hand.
The man began to limp away.
“Hey,” Valerie said softly. “Are you all right?”
She watched as he clumsily sat on the ground with his back against a tree.
“Sir?” she asked as she crept toward him. “Do you need help?”
“No,” he said. His voice sounded as though there were small rocks grinding against each other in his throat.
Valerie knelt in front of him, trying to assess his injury. “You’re bleeding,” she said when she
saw his arm. “Were you in an accident?”
“No,” he said.
“What happened?”
“Was in a fight.”
“With who?”
“He…It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter anymore.”
Valerie was taken aback for a moment. She tried to get a look at the man’s face, but she couldn’t make it out even in the light. She tore off a long strip from the bottom of her skirt.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Helping you,” she said as she grabbed hold of his arm.
The man jerked away. “I don’t need help.”
“It would be poor manners on my part not to do at least a little something for you.” She inspected the wound carefully. “This looks like a cut.”
“He fought dirty.”
Valerie made to roll up the man’s sleeve, but he pulled away again.
“You really don’t need to do this,” he said.
“At least allow me to stop the bleeding.” Valerie tightly wound the fabric around his arm and then tied it in place. “There. When you get home, you should clean it properly so you won’t get an infection.”
The man inspected her work and then said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Are you all right to get home?”
“Yes. I can walk fine.”
“Where do you live?”
“Somewhere far. And before you ask, no, you’re not coming with me. As I said, I’m all right.”
“Valerie!”
They were both startled at the shout. Valerie straightened when she realized she knew who was shouting for her. “Papa!” she yelled back.
“You should go,” the man said, already scrambling to his feet.
Her father’s shouts were getting louder. Valerie looked toward the sound, then to the man, and back again.
“I’m sure my father could –”
“He can’t. Go. You’ve done enough.” The man turned his back on her and limped as quickly as he could into the trees.