Into the Fire

My fingers twitch, my legs itch. The little piece metal burns through the thin cotton of my pants. A tall guard struts past, clanging his baton against the bars, a perverse xylophone. He spits as he blows out the candles. When the darkness comes and the guard has disappeared around the corner, I am ready.

The lock springs open joyfully, as if it had been waiting all its life for this moment. I slip out under the familiar cloak of invisibility. In measured steps, I reverse the guard's path.

I reach a lighted corridor and drop flat, wriggling the rest of the way. The night guard, short and stocky, is alone at his station, his partner still winding his long-legged way through the rounds. I launch myself up from the ground and punch shorty in the throat. He rasps, unable to scream and takes a wild swing at me. I duck and rise up to connect my other fist with his jaw. He drops like a rock.

I run for the stairs. The pick flashes as I open the gate. I pad up the stone steps. At the top, I peer through the bars of yet another gate. This one is more ornate and less secure than the others. I've barely inserted the pick before it springs open.

I take a hint of a step into the moonlit hall. Movement makes me jump back into the stairwell, but it's only a cat. Heart pounding, I slide back in the hall, hugging the coldly hewn wall.

The stairs to the next level are blocked by a steel bound bastard of a door. Fortunately, the lock is not nearly as impressive. It takes a few minutes of fiddling and nervous glances, but yields. I peak through the key whole before edging open the door. It creaks. I wince, but no footsteps respond. I close the door behind me and send up a quick prayer.

The hall at the top of the stairs is grander, tapestries stretching from the high ceiling to the smooth stone floor, the whole ensemble flickering in the torchlight. Guards are stationed at regular intervals. In the shadowed stairs, I am hidden from their disciplined forward gazes.

I crouch on the top step in a sprinter's stance. In my head, I count down ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two. I burst out, legs and arms pumping furiously. The guards shout in confusion. Those ahead of me step to block me. I dodge the first and slam my palm into the nose of the second. The third nicks my arm with his spear. I curse, but I'm almost at the end of the hall.

I fly around the corner and thank my lucky stars that the Duke is so heavily understaffed. Only a single guard mans this corridor. I shove him back towards the other guards, hot on my heels.

The next turn is narrower. I kick off the wall to turn. By the sound of it, some of the guards imitate me more successfully than others. Another staircase waits for me, and I take it at a gallop.

I barrel past a guard at the top. He shout in surprise as I swing myself over a wall and drop down into the moat.

The water hits me cold and hard and I sink like a stone. I kick up, water swirling heavily around my legs. Water yields to air, and I gasp eager breaths. An arrow falls beside me, and I plunge my aching lungs back under and swim.

I emerge, sputtering, hovering on the verge of collapse. Stumbling to my feet, I limp away into the forest. An arrow punches my shoulder and my face collides with the ground. Whimpering, I push myself back up.

Blood fills my mouth, and I try to remember when I bit my tongue. My legs are lead, but I force them into movement. My face feels wet and I can't tell if it's blood, sweat, or tears. Or, I realize, it could be the moat.

I shuffle on. My only hope is that they're slow to mobilize and the woods are deep and dark. And dangerous. Maybe they'll get eaten by a bear.

My feet are barely moving, and I'm definitely crying now, but I can't hear them anymore. The trees have grown taller and denser, blocking out all but a sliver of the moon. Somewhere, a wolf howls.

My feet tangle. I thrust a half-hearted hand out at a tree, and yelp at the sudden pain in my shoulder. Numbly, I glance at the arrow, shiny with blood. I sway and collapse onto a tangle of tree roots.

Sunlight tickles eyelids. Somehow, I am still alive. I'm sure of this, because everything hurts and I want to die.

I open my eyes and scream. There is a girl in my face. She starts and falls backwards.

"Who are you!" I shriek.

She gapes. "Who am I? Who are you? And why are you in my forest?"

I look at her blankly. I realize I'm laying in a bed-like moss arrangement and the arrow in my shoulder has been replaced by a bandage. My look blankens further.

The girl sighs. "Fine, I'll start. You may call me Robin. I belong to the forest, and it belongs to me. It found you, and you seemed like you didn't want to die. So I fixed you. Your turn."

"Uh," I say. She looks astounded by my brilliant wit. "I'm Henry."

"And why are you here?" she prompts.

"It was a nice day for a walk in the woods?"

She scoffs. "Fine, don't tell me yet. We've got time."

"We do?"

She smiles, revealing pointed teeth. "Oh, yes, my dear. You owe me a life debt now."

I scrabble away. She rises and looms over me.

"You're fae," I say.

She laughs, sharp and ringing. "What else could I be?"