Scrapes & Burns
The waning moon was still bright. Perhaps it would illuminate an escape route. A cold breeze toyed with her hood as she steadied her breathing and flattened herself against the bell tower, the one thing that was level on an otherwise slanted roof. The city looked so much more open from up high. Across the angular expanse of wood, tile, and thatch, she could see multiple paths around billows of smoke that led all the way to the stone wall and the great expanse beyond. She would have to stay high. The labyrinthine avenues below were too narrow and constricting, too likely to lead to a dead end or a trap.
Lox looked back. Streams of torchlight spilled out of the palace complex like molten slag from a furnace. More flames approached from the south, followed by the sounds of scraping boots and clanking metal. She pressed into the shadows. Would they move past or stop and search? Should she wait or leave before she was surrounded? She glanced at the old guild hall to the north, dark and wooden, not quite as tall as the chancel she had perched herself on but separated by a wide gap. Perhaps it was too wide.
The torches grew brighter. Lox reached back and unsheathed twin daggers, the worn handles cold but familiar. She focused on the guild hall and took a deep breath to stifle her hesitation.
She willed herself into motion. Pushing out of the shadows, she used the steep angle to accelerate towards the ledge. She leapt, blades overhead, cutting through the cold, feeling the drop below. The guild hall rose fast. She swung her blades at the edge of the roof. One scraped off; the other found purchase. She fell back, clutching, clinging. Her arm went taut with a painful jolt as legs swung over emptiness. She reached up, stabbed and clawed until both blades held.
As she lifted herself up and over, her foot hit a loose slat. A few beats later, the sound of wood clattering on cobblestone echoed up behind her.
Shouts rose up from below. She exhaled angrily, knowing her own impatience had given her away. She scrambled to her feet and ran. She crossed the guild hall and jumped over an alley onto slanted tiles. Her feet couldn’t find traction at first, but inertia willed her up and over the apex.
Torchlight and sharp yells chased her. She darted up and down rooftops like a fox over frost covered hills. She jumped over narrow passages, ignoring the dizzying depths below, knowing only that she needed to keep moving. She lost track of direction, hoping her pursuers would lose track of her.
She leapt onto a flat roof and rolled, feeling the punch of every buckle and sheath. The voices were more distant now, yet the moonlight felt unnaturally bright, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. She caught sight of a two-tiered balcony and went to it. Realizing she was still white knuckling her daggers, she sheathed them before jumping over the wooden railing.
In the shadowed sanctuary of the balcony, Lox caught her breath and waited, listening for footsteps over the pounding in her chest. The aches caught up with her now, the throbbing in her arm, the sting of unseen bruises. She reached back to make sure her blades were secure then palmed the pouch at her side. Her prize was still there. She cupped her hands and breathed some warmth into the numbness. Her gloves were thin, ragged things with the tips shorn off. She didn’t trust the grip of anything other than her own fingertips.
Burning light began to grow around a nearby corner. She forced herself to stay frozen in the shadows. The key was knowing when to move and when to wait. Moving too fast led to fatigue and mistakes. Waiting too long led to fewer options. The right path was somewhere in between. She scanned the perimeter and caught sight of a pair of unfinished towers. It was the great cathedral, forever under construction. Above the scaffolding, a gallery of gargoyles watched and waited, leaning out of their perches as if ready to leap.
“Check the stables!”
The grating voice didn’t come from the torchlit corner, but from somewhere on the other end of the street. They were pinching her in from both sides. It was time to move.
She stepped onto the wooden rail, grabbed the balcony above, and pulled herself up, ignoring the panged protest in her arms.
She balanced herself on the next railing tier. A needling breeze poked and prodded, teasing her near the ledge. The canopy above looked like it would grant access to the roof. If she could get to the top, maybe she could double back and lose the Queensguard. Stretching to the tips of her toes, she reached up and grabbed.
Something pricked her finger. She gasped and let go. Her heart lurched, which only added to her imbalance as she began to teeter. She crouched down to steady herself and found a large splinter in her finger. She pulled it out. A small pearl of blood caught the moonlight and, seconds later, the flare of torches. The brick wall in front of her began to glow a quavering red.
She dropped into the balcony just as an arrow ricocheted off the wall. Flickers cut through the railing, casting shadows like prison bars.
“Up there!”
The torches grew brighter, illuminating a door. The only way out was in. She pulled the handle. Locked. She snatched the tool ring from her boot and worked a pick into the keyhole. She tried to find the tumblers. Firelight burned brighter, licking the edges of the wood, crawling up the door that refused to open.
“You have nowhere to go!”
She steadied her hands. Locks like this took time. The torches wouldn’t wait. She dropped the tools, unsheathed a dagger, and wedged it into the doorframe until it stayed. She stepped back and kicked it. The frame buckled and splintered.
“Hey!”
She kicked again, scattering woodchips to the flames. On the third kick, something cracked, and the door swung out, sending the dagger clattering down. She snatched it up and dove into the room.
Everything was dark aside from the light coming through the door. It illuminated the corner of a bed. What had she gotten herself into?
She readied her blade in one hand, while closing the door with the other. It was too damaged to shut all the way but wedged close enough to block out most of the light. She crept towards the bed while her eyes adjusted. Floorboards groaned beneath her. There was no one in the bed, but the linens were scrunched to one side as if someone had laid there moments ago.
Lox scanned the room. Hints of moonlight cut through a shuttered window catching rectangular silhouettes against the opposite wall, perhaps a small table and some sort of chest.
Another door led further in.
Something shifted. A floorboard creaked. She turned. Something snatched her wrist, keeping her dagger at bay. She reached back for her other blade. The sheath was empty. She tensed, feeling a body behind her. A cold sharp edge grazed her neck, her own dagger. How had it been taken so quickly?
“Drop it.”
It was a woman’s voice, deep and dark, firm as the fingers around her wrist. Lox searched the shadows, looking for something, anything beyond the blade at her throat. There was nothing but darkness and hints of hard edges. She unclenched her fist and let go. Metallic echoes rattled the room.
“Go to the door.”
Weary of the blade at her throat, she edged her way towards the door that led further in.
“Open it.”
She found the latch and slowly pushed. A flickering glow met her eyes. Lox swallowed hard, bringing her throat dangerously close to the blade. Had the torches already come in?
A man approached with a candle, a foreigner in faded clothes, lean and swarthy with a tangle of braids that hung from his head like a flail. Another man followed behind him, a brawny Northerner with a triangular brand burned into his forehead. Lox had seen the mark before, a punishment for pirates.
“You all right, Kynsa?” asked the man with the braids as he raised the candle.
“Caught this one breaking into my room.”
The Northerner snorted.
“Well, that’s a bit… ironic, is it not?” said his companion. More doors opened. More faded figures emerged with burning candles and leering eyes. Lox realized they weren’t in a hallway so much as an open walkway that looked out over a large central room. Something like an iron chandelier hung from the center.
“Who was that shoutin’ outside?” asked the man with the candle.
“Queensguard,” said the Northerner.
“The Queensguard? Well, let’s let ’em have her!”
“Wait,” said the woman they called Kynsa. “There must be a reason they’re so eager to get their hands on her.”
Lox could almost hear the woman thinking behind her, debating, considering, all the while keeping the dagger uncomfortably close. Heavy pounding rose up from below. It was undoubtedly the guards, knocking on the front door. As weary as she was of her captors, she didn’t want to be thrown outside. The men looked as Kynsa expectantly. The pounding came again, louder this time.
“Tell them she came in,” said Kynsa, finally. “She came in and she escaped. Tell them she went through the larder. Be cooperative. Show them around if you must.”
The man with the candle raised a dubious eyebrow then turned with a nod.
“You hear that, you lot?” he said, raising his voice. “Alyssin, go to the larder. Make sure the back door’s unlocked…”
The candle moved in one direction while Lox was nudged in another. The sounds from downstairs faded as she was led into another room. More ragged figures came in like hostile revenants shambling out of the shadows. A surprising number of them had blades and cudgels.
It was only when she was surrounded by a small army that the dagger at her throat was lowered. Kynsa pulled the cowl off of Lox’s head, which sent her curls spilling everywhere. Lox blew them out of her eyes as Kynsa stepped in front of her. She was lean and wiry, slightly shorter than Lox with dark brown eyes that were almost black. She wore a simple nightgown and her sable hair had been cropped short. She scrutinized Lox like a garment hanging in a clothier’s shop, all the while spinning the dagger around in her fingers. She had quick hands, nimble hands, hands that could unsheathe a blade without notice.
“Gather the council,” Kynsa said to a nearby serving girl. “Wake them if you must.”
“Yes, mum.”
The Northerner bound Lox’s arms behind her. Sailor types were always good with knots. Kynsa gave her a final look of appraisal before someone approached with a burlap sack and pulled it over her head. It was in that sudden state of blindness that she began to see things clearly: the abundance of blades, Kynsa’s quick hands, the burnt triangle on the Northerner’s forehead.
She had broken into the thieves’ guild.
She felt a tug at her waist. Someone removed the pouch at her belt, taking her score. Unseen fingers crawled over her like spiders, probing for coin and knives no doubt, using the opportunity as an excuse to grope. Lox could do nothing but grit her teeth. Someone shoved her onto a bed. Through the burlap she felt her face sink into goose feathers. It was too soft, soft enough to drown in, out of place amongst the harsh roughness. A hand latched onto her hip and lingered a bit too long before moving to the belt at her waist. Lox struggled to breath. How much would they take from her? The hand moved towards the buckle.
“The council’s gathering,” said a muffled voice. “Take her below.”
The hand lingered for a beat, then moved from her belt to her arm and yanked her to her feet. Lox exhaled with relief, at least as much relief as she could find in the stale air of a burlap shroud. Unseen figures grabbed and pulled, letting her stumble downstairs and into walls, taunting her like spiteful specters as she spiraled down.
The descent was long and dizzying. Was she headed for a cellar or a catacomb? Either way, the staircase reeked of death.
After more shuffling and muffled conversation, the sack was pulled off of her head. Compared to the windswept rooftops above, the heat in this crowded space was suffocating.
Lox found herself facing five figures seated in chairs, three men and two women, perhaps the most eclectic she had ever seen. A horde of motley figures crowded in behind them, including Kynsa who was now wrapped in a thick robe. Flames from the large hearth along the wall cast ghastly shadows on their faces and set their eyes aglow, eyes that were all fixated on Lox.
“So this is the little scrapefoot,” said the man seated in the center while he tapped his ringed fingers against the arms of his chair. He was a short imp of a man with a black beard tinged by specks of gray and an embroidered doublet tinged by wear and tear.
“She’s blonde,” remarked the man to his left with a wolfish grin.
“Yes, Ulvin, we can see that, thank you,” replied the woman seated next to him. She was fair-skinned and voluptuous, draped in clothing that would have been considered elegant had it not been so revealing. She didn’t sit in her chair so much as she lounged in it.
“So, scrapefoot,” said the impish man in the center. “Why are the Queensguard after you?”
Lox cleared her throat, trying to exude more confidence than she really had.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said. “Perhaps they have a fascination with blondes.”
Her quip died on the stone floor. The only one who laughed was Ulvin, but it was an overly exuberant laugh that made her stomach churn. He acted as though this was all some sort of late-night theater, as if the ropes at Lox’s wrists were marionette strings that at any moment would pull her up and force her to dance. Dressed in ornate blacks and golds, he was tall, dark, and handsome, but not as handsome as he thought he was.
The impish man motioned to Kynsa, who brought forth Lox’s effects. He snatched at the pouch greedily, his restless hands hungry for something to hold onto. He pulled out the heavy ring and held it up to the light.
“A signet ring,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “How did you manage that?”
Lox said nothing. She lowered her eyes to the floor, as if that would somehow shield her from so many piercing eyes.
“That’s not the Queen’s seal,” said Ulvin. “I don’t believe that belongs to anyone in her court.”
“I know this seal,” said the lounging woman. “It belongs to the Duke of Battenford,”
“Battenford?” said the impish man. “Are you certain?”
“Oh yes, quite certain. I’ve seen it before… up close.”
Ulvin’s wolfish grin returned, and he burst into laughter.
“Oh, Reina,” he said. “You are undoubtedly the sauciest minx I’ve ever met.”
She ignored his lingering gaze and shook her locks in annoyance. The chair on the opposite side of the council groaned, struggling to hold the weight of the one who sat in it. A gigantic man shifted and leaned his bald boulder of a head against a meaty hand. He looked like he had been sleeping or drinking or both. The old, scraggly woman seated next to him, however, had an unnatural energy about her. Perhaps it was just the way the firelight set her spiderweb hair aglow.
“The Duke of Battenford is currently a guest of the Queen,” said the old woman, half whispering the words. “He arrived at the palace two days ago with a small contingent of advisors to discuss trade and the tensions in the North.”
The impish man nodded thoughtfully as he toyed with Lox’s dagger.
“So, let me get this straight,” he said, looking at Lox. “You come to my city…”
“Oh, so it’s your city now, Stiltz.” said Reina. “I was not aware.”
“You come to this city trailing the Duke of Battenford. You somehow manage to steal his signet ring, but not without raising a ruckus. You bring the Queensguard here to my front door and then… and this is the part I’m still tryin’ to sort out… you have the brazen audacity… or stupidity… to break into the chambers of one of my best cutpurses.”
He pointed the dagger accusingly.
“What were you gonna’ do scrapefoot? Ask her for advice?”
A smattering of chuckles erupted behind him. The aforementioned cutpurse, Kynsa, offered only a thin smile. She was still studying Lox with her watchful eyes. Meeting her gaze was like looking at a darkened reflection of herself, a version of herself from a life that never happened, a life where she hadn’t been caught.
Of all the rooms in this forsaken city, how had she managed to find hers?
“I have questions,” continued Stiltz. “I’d like to know how you took a signet ring off the Duke’s finger, but more importantly, I’d like to know who you’re stealin’ it for.”
Lox looked at the floor again, bent over by the heat and the heavy silence. The name of her patron rose in her throat, but she swallowed hard to keep it down.
“Oh come now,” said Ulvin. “Was it someone from a rival kingdom? Frinmoor perhaps… or the Baroness of Brenhold?”
She forced her mouth to stay shut. A burning log cracked in the hearth.
“It seems our scrapefoot doesn’t wish to speak.”
“Silent as the grave,” whispered the scraggly woman.
“We have ways to make you talk, scrapefoot… Madoc, don’t you know someone in the Queensguard?”
“Aye,” bellowed the massive man. “Younger bloke… former farm boy looking to make his fortune.”
“How’d he like to be a hero? Find the missing signet ring… on the corpse of the one who stole it…”
“I reckon he’d be grateful. Rise in the ranks a bit. Would probably be keen to steer the guard away from certain parts of the city on occasion.”
Madoc’s tone was matter of fact, but the firelit eyes behind him seemed to focus all the more. The predators had caught the scent of blood.
“Well there you have it,” said Stiltz as he twisted the knife in his hands. “I think we now know what to do with our scrapefoot, unless she can offer up something better…”
“Let’s not be too hasty, Stiltz,” said Ulvin. “Give this Queensguard the ring, sure, but must the vixen be killed as well? Perhaps Reina wants to put her to work.”
Reina considered Lox thoughtfully, tapping a nail against apple red lips.
“I suppose she is sort of pretty in her own way with those golden locks of hers, but most men prefer a woman with a bit more… heft to grab onto. Fattening her up would be simple enough, but breaking her stubborn resolve would be another matter entirely.”
She paused for a moment before making a decision. Lox felt the lingering stares all around, the hungry, intrusive eyes.
“She’s more work than I have time for,” declared Reina finally. “Do with her as you please…”
She looked away and flicked her hand, as if dismissing an entrée at a banquet, as if Lox were a roasted pheasant that smelled a bit too dry. Lox had no desire to be a slave or a whore, but she also didn’t want to be a corpse. She was running out of options.
“Get her up,” said the man they called Stiltz. Burly arms came in behind her and yanked her to her feet.
“I don’t think you have much to offer us scrapefoot, but you best start talkin’ just the same. If you say something interesting, maybe we can cut a deal. If not, maybe we start cutting fingers.”
Lox hands grew numb as she fumbled with the frayed ropes at her wrists and found nothing to hold onto. The warm musk of restless men pressed in behind her. Looking around the room, she found nothing but searing stares. Kynsa was expressionless. Even Ulvin seemed to have a predatory look in his eyes. Stiltz made a gesture with the dagger. A portly man stepped towards her with a cleaver in his hand.
“Wait!” she said finally. “I’ll talk.”
The man with the cleaver stopped and looked back at the council.
“I had a sneaking suspicion you would, scrapefoot… Now, let’s hear what you have to say.”
Lox closed her eyes. She would have to spill her secrets before they spilled her blood, but some were more valuable than others. Even if she shared the name of her patron, would that be enough to spare her life? She doubted it. This required something more, something with undeniable value, something she had hoped to carry to the grave.
“The hour is late,” said Stiltz. “You’re trying my patience.”
“My belt,” she said. “There’s something sewn inside it.”
Raina raised an eyebrow. Stiltz nodded at the men that were holding her. One of them unclasped her belt and pulled it off, leaving a space like a cavity, as if a vital organ had been cut out of her side. He brought it to the impish man, empty sheaths and all.
Stiltz set down the dagger and snatched up the belt. He began squeezing and pinching, as if choking a snake, until his fingers rested on the small rough shape and the stitching that held it there. He looked at Lox for a moment with narrowed eyes before using the dagger to make an incision. He pulled out the stone, no larger than a berry, roughhewn and blood red.
A chair creaked. Massive Madoc stood and stepped closer.
“Is that what I think it is?” he asked with furrowed brow.
“Give it here,” said the older, scraggly woman.
Stiltz reluctantly placed the stone in her spindly fingers. The room went quiet as she held it up, her beady eyes barely visible within the creases of her face. She sniffed it, then licked a corner as if it were dipped in sugar.
“What is it, Yagaba?” asked Ulvin.
“Something I have not seen in many years,” she said. “An Al-Iksir Stone.”
The crowd erupted into gasps and mumblings, as Lox expected they would. Reina’s eyes lit up. She stood and walked behind the older woman who was apparently named Yagaba.
“Oh come now,” said Ulvin. “An Al-Iksir Stone? Do such things even exist?”
“They are rare, but they are real,” said Yagaba. “As real as you and me.”
“You mean to tell me that little pebble holds the key to eternal life?”
“Not exactly, no. Can it prolong life? Yes. Heal injury and disease? Most certainly. But to extend life indefinitely… that is impossible.”
“But it does everything else?”
“Why don’t you ask the girl?”
All eyes turned back to Lox. She nodded.
“There’s only one way to find out for certain,” said Stiltz. “Someone fetch her a bit of water.”
The crowd grew agitated and restless. Moments later it parted as a stone-faced woman took a goblet from a scrappy youth and passed it on to Yagaba.
“What are you going to do?” asked Ulvin. “Find a brave soul with a toothache?”
“There’s no need,” said Stiltz. “We’ll test it on her.”
He picked up her dagger and got up from his chair. He was barely tall enough to look down at Lox, even as she slumped on her knees. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. She flinched as cold steel grazed her neck, teasing a curving arc. Small, crawling fingers toyed with her hair and pulled back her locks.
In a sudden burst of movement he grabbed her neck and cut along the side. She stuttered beneath the searing pain. He let go, and she steadied herself. He had stopped just short of her throat.
She opened her eyes as warmth trickled down her neck. Hungry faces watched from the flickering shadows. Yagaba used a small implement to scrape bits of red into the cup and stir it. She stood and stepped forward with an ease that defied her age, holding the goblet in front of Lox like a chalice full of blood. Lox drank without hesitation, in part to show that the claims were true and in part because she was thirsty. The concoction was cold and bitter. Lox braced herself for what came next, waiting along with everyone else.
“How long does it take?” asked Ulvin.
“A bit of time,” said Yagaba. “It needs to mingle with her blood.”
Ulvin huffed.
“We shouldn’t have wasted it,” grumbled Madoc. “Every bit is precious.”
“Only if it’s truly as she claims,” answered Stiltz as he circled Lox like a ravenous crow. Reina stood straight and queenly; her eyes fixed on Lox.
“Tell me,” she said. “Where did you find this stone?”
Lox struggled, uncertain if she could speak.
“It was given to me… by an apothecary.” The words were painful coming out. Her neck felt strained and weak.
“And where would we find this apothecary?”
“Buried in a plot near Ostarham.”
“Well, isn’t that a shame.”
Lox knew she had to give them more. They had the stone, but they still had no incentive to abandon their original plan. The next time Stiltz used the knife, he wouldn’t miss her throat.
“It’s just a piece..,” she said softly, painfully.
“Say what now? Speak up scrapefoot.”
“It’s just a piece of a larger stone.”
“A piece? Where’s the rest of it?”
“In a cave in the woods,” she said. “Near the foothills.”
“A cave? That’s where the rest of the stone is?”
She nodded.
“And you’ll show us where?”
It wasn’t really a question. She nodded again, though the thought of walking into the forest was exhausting. The heat had drained her and a throbbing dizziness threatened to steal her consciousness. The stone floor was too hard. Her knees were beginning to ache.
“The rest of the stone,” said Madoc. “How big is it?”
“About the size of a fist”
“Some fists are larger than others,” snorted Madoc.
“It matters not,” said Stiltz. “A piece the size of my finger is still worth a small fortune.”
“Which begs the question,” said Ulvin. “Why keep it there? Why not grind it into bits and sell them to the highest bidder?”
“Fair ‘nough,” said Madoc. “She don’t look rich to me. If she were, she wouldn’t be stealin’ signet rings. She’d probably have one of her own.”
“Well, scrapefoot. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I gave the rest of the stone away,” she said. “To pay off a debt of sorts. I gave it to the three that live in the cave. They had shown me…”
The word got stuck on the way out. Her heart slowed. Her breathing stopped. It was happening. Numbness gnawed from within. She doubled over as everything went dark.
Mercy.
Someone pulled her off the floor. She opened her eyes as if awaking from a dream. How long had it been? Three seconds? Three hours? Stiltz’s twisted face was uncomfortably close. Reina stood behind him. Lox felt a cloth wipe the side of her neck.
“Not even a scar,” remarked the impish man, as he twisted her head in his fingers.
“Look at the color in her skin,” said Reina. “More sanguine and healthy. She looks…”
“Younger.”
Chatter erupted all around. Lox inhaled slowly and found a sort of solidarity in the simple sensation of air in her lungs. The bruises and aches were little more than faded memories.
Stiltz pulled away. Reina’s queenly composure only did so much to mask her excitement. Even Ulvin was out of his seat now, leering and grinning his wolvish grin. Someone had brought a basin of water to Yagaba. She washed her hands clean.
“Get her up,” said Stiltz. “She has a cave to show us.”
The last rays of moonlight were scattered by tangled branches as they marched past the massive trees that crowded all around. A biting wind licked at Lox’s curls. The cold was inescapable. Winter had not yet released her icy grasp on the realm. Lox hovered close to a bedraggled brute with a torch to siphon some warmth but didn’t let herself get too close, lest her desire be misunderstood. As always, she was forced to walk a narrow path, no wider than a tightrope.
She thought of the mistakes that had led her here, things she had dropped along the way: her daggers, her ring of lockpicks, the clothes she had stolen from the servant girl in the palace, the candlestick that clattered to the floor as she left the Duke’s chambers. They followed her like a trail of crumbs.
She stopped at a gnarled tree with serpentine roots. Torches crowded around. She felt someone breathing down her neck.
“What is this?” demanded Ulvin. “What are we looking at?”
“The path is unmarked,” said Lox. “I’ll know it by a certain tree.”
The smoothened twists longed to be touched, but her hands were still bound behind her. She searched the trunk, but the knot wasn’t there.
“This isn’t it.”
Groans followed in her wake as she made her way back to the road.
“This is madness,” said Ulvin. “We’ll be wandering all night. Couldn’t we have waited till morning?”
As he huffed and puffed, his breath came out in fleeting clouds that dissolved beneath the torches. He was near the front of the pack wearing a heavy fur lined cloak that made Lox’s clothing look threadbare by comparison.
“No one’s keeping you here,” said Stiltz. “If you’d rather be sipping brandy by the fire, the road back is well-trodden.”
“Ah, yes, that does sound nice. That would certainly make you happy, wouldn’t it, Stiltz?”
“You know full well that nothing makes me happy.”
“I can see exactly how it would unfold,” Ulvin continued. “You’d bring back the stone. Everyone would ooh and aah and make a big fuss, not knowing that in reality it was a third the size of the original, a mere piece you had broken off so you could hide the rest for yourself.”
“Ha! I see! So in truth, what you’re saying is that you want in on the scheme. You want half of whatever we don’t share with the rest…”
“Perhaps I do.”
They were the only members of the council that had come. The others had opted to retire to their chambers, but not before asking a confidant or two to join the band going into the woods. Stiltz had invited Kynsa to come. She declined, but lingered for a bit, watching Lox with her dark, piercing eyes before she finally left the room.
Lox longed for the chance to get even. Kynsa had caught her in the midst of a chase after she had been pursued and cornered by a battalion of Queensguard. It was the circumstance that had given Kynsa the upper hand, not some superior show of skill.
Lox exhaled hard and tried to dismiss her bitter thoughts. It was never good to let emotions get the best of oneself yet keeping them contained would only make them fester. The right way was somewhere in between. She acknowledged her anger, felt it like the rash that was forming where the ropes rubbed against her wrists, but decided not to scratch it, at least not yet.
A trio of thieves had cast lots to see who would get to keep Lox’s daggers. When they finally left that stifling cellar, Lox counted thirteen people in total including Stiltz and Ulvin. Most were rowdy patchwork men with sauntering steps. Others were lean and hawkish. A few had the thick beards and silent demeanor typical of Northerners. Almost all had brought blades. Two even had crossbows. Lox shuddered, hoping this wouldn’t end in death.
The torchlight found a twisting trunk. Lox approached it and found the familiar knot that looked like a face. The firelight contorted the likeness, giving it the look of a skull. Feeling the restless crowd behind her, Lox stepped off the road onto the path that wasn’t a path. It would be so easy to get lost in the dark. Yet the trees had cast down their leaves, as if laying their cloaks on the roughhewn ground would make the way less treacherous. It was early spring, but the torches gave the leaves an autumnal glow casting them in shades of crimson and gold.
“Who would live out here?” asked Ulvin. “What kind of people are these?”
“People who are paranoid,” replied Stiltz. “People who don’t want others to know their secret.”
“But why a cave? These people should be among the richest in the land.”
“Don’t ask me. Ask the scrapefoot.”
Lox pretended she hadn’t heard, as if finding the way through the trees and shadows required all of her focus. Her words had to be as careful as her steps.
“Yes, tell us,” said Ulvin, raising his voice. “What do these people do with their money?”
“They don’t have money. They don’t sell bits of the stone.”
“Really? That seems rather odd. Why not? Do they even know what it is?”
Stiltz stepped closer, lifting his torch to her face.
“Did you entrust an Al-Iksir Stone to people that don’t even know what it is?” he demanded.
Lox was about to reply but stopped herself short. Perhaps this would be a good story for them to believe, until they saw, until they knew. Perhaps it would prevent them from asking more questions.
“They know what they need to know,” she said simply.
Ulvin howled with laugher.
“You may not look it, but you truly are a clever vixen, aren’t you?”
Stiltz smirked but seemed less certain.
Lox had to rely more on sound than on sight to find the next landmark. She stopped for a moment to listen, straining to hear anything above the breeze as it swept through the swaying branches above. For a moment she thought they were truly lost, but then she heard a hint of sound, the gentle babble of water. After finding a way through moss covered stones and enduring some dubious looks from Ulvin, the way ahead grew bright with moonlight, illuminating a gap in the trees.
She found the edge of the brook that snaked its way southward. Soon the snowmelt would make it near impassable, but for now there were places to cross. She followed it north, until she reached a choke point that drew the other bank close, where the rushing waters licked at the edges of steppingstones.
Lox’s balance was off with her arms bound behind, but she managed to hop across nonetheless. The steps ended up being great bounds for Stiltz, but he made his way without issue, followed by the rest of the rambling crew. One of the men stumbled a bit and ended up with a foot in the water.
“Mind your step, you drunken fool!” someone shouted.
“Mind your tongue before I throw you in!”
Lox continued on until the flickering torches caught the final landmark, a pair of trees that formed a sort of tangled archway where their branches came together. At some point, she had named it the “tree gate.” She liked to think of it as the entrance to the grounds run by the three that lived in the cave, as if they had built a new kingdom out here in the woods. It was a childish notion.
The rocky ground began sloping upwards. The steps were familiar now, but each one was steeped in uncertainty. Lox’s chest began to throb not so much from the strain of the journey, but from the anticipation of where it would end.
Finally, the trees cleared again, revealing a jagged ridge, a dark mass that rose towards the stars. The moonlight had all but faded making it hard to see the entrance. Lox climbed the final, rocky steps. Stepping on a clutch of loose stones, she almost fell sideways. The brute with the torch caught her shoulder with his free hand and steadied her. She nodded in silence to show a bit of gratitude and continued on, suddenly aware of how much she relied on her arms for balance.
The rocky slope flattened a bit as she stepped onto a rugged shelf. Flickering light ascended behind her to slowly reveal the entrance. Massive stones jutted out of the hillside like a pair of pillars that had collapsed millennia ago, leaving an almost triangular opening beneath them, large enough for two people to enter side by side. It was much more imposing than the place where the three used to live, where Lox had first met them so long ago.
Beyond the roughhewn entrance, the cave was lost in darkness, a deep blackness that looked like a heavy, immovable thing. Lox stopped. Part of her wanted to go in to take shelter from the cold. Part of her wanted to flee. The stones seemed to grow taller as flickers gathered beneath them. The others approached behind her, silent save for their labored breaths. A scathing wind whipped through them. The torches shuddered and nearly went out.
Tiny Stiltz stepped forward, raising a torch toward the stones. He turned back to Lox, his face harsh and narrow.
“In there?” he said.
“Yes.”
“And they’re in there too? These people?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Just the three?”
“Yes.”
He turned back toward the darkness. His free hand grasped for air.
“What kind of people are these?” asked Ulvin. It was as if every question needed to be asked again, as if the answers had suddenly changed. He was stalling just as she was, feet frozen to the ground.
“They’re simple,” she said. “They live off the land.”
“Hunters and foragers?”
She nodded. Stiltz was still studying the stones, lifting his torch as if searching for something to poke and prod. His face flickered with suspicion and doubt, but restless momentum seemed to move him forward.
“Well,” he said finally. “After you, scrapefoot.”
Lox swallowed hard and forced her feet to move, wishing her hands were free. She made her way into the impossible darkness, edging one foot at a time. Torches trickled behind her, painting the stones red.
“Hello,” she said. It was little more than a whisper. She forced herself to speak louder.
“Hello? It’s me.”
She listened and continued, tapping the trips with her toes, slowly stepping into the void.
“I’m sorry.”
Deeper in, a massive stone stood in silence. The way to pass was to the left. She let herself lean against the rock for a moment, the surface rough to the shoulder. Trembling light caught its contours. Lox breathed deep. The air was stale and stagnant. For a moment, she thought she could feel something shift, a subtle vibration in the stone.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, uncertain who she was speaking to or if anyone else could hear. As the others crowded in, she pulled herself off of the stone, feeling the strain in her shoulders, the coarse ropes on her wrists. She crept around the boulder into the shadowy depths. She heard movement and froze.
Torchlight edged around the rock, illuminating a large chamber. Shadows shifted. Footsteps stopped. The torches fell on a large pair of eyes. Twin fires burned within them. A primal roar shook the cavern. White teeth glowed orange.
The great beast rushed forward. Lox tried to give way but was knocked over. She hit the boulder and fell. Sharp pain stabbed her side. Yells and growls echoed behind her, followed by the twang of a crossbow. Metal clattered to the ground. Lox turned over to see a torch hit the floor. Her ribs writhed. She heard boots scraping stone. Men yelled only to have their voices drowned out by a thunderous roar.
Violent reverberations shook the ground, followed by a momentary pause. She pushed herself against the stone. The simple motion of sitting up sent flares through her side. She couldn’t contain the yelp that followed. She heard a snort and froze. The beast was coming back.
She pressed herself against the crags. Flickers caught the huge lumbering shadow, the raging eyes, the snarling teeth. Ragged hair bristled over thick musculature as it moved on all fours. It caught sight of Lox and stalked towards her, slowly, deliberately.
“It’s me,” she stammered. “It’s Goldi…”
The bear growled deep and low; his hulking form fiery as it filled her vision.
“Please…”
He roared and raised a massive paw. She winced and dropped to a fetal position. She felt the swipe through the air. A spark hit her leg. She opened her eyes to see the bear attacking the torch on the ground. He snarled at it, as if it were a crimson snake, then crushed it with another swat. A swarm of fireflies flew up and died. The orange glow faded. The cave went dark, but Lox could hear the bear continue to attack the ashes and stone, lest his flickering foe come back to life.
Lox waited in the dusty darkness, stifling her breathing. After a while, the bear seemed satisfied and rambled away. Lox sat up again gingerly, shaking the dust from her hair. She felt another form loping closer. Thick softness tickled her face. It was almost too soft, soft enough to drown in, out of place amongst the harsh roughness. A wide, wet tongue licked her forehead.
“I’m sorry…”
A nose nuzzled her cheek in response. Her guilt grew heavy in her stomach, but Lox forced herself to stand, leaning into stone and fur to make up for her lack of hands. Her side still stung, and her shoulders ached. The ropes had rubbed her wrists raw.
The great round bear nudged her forward, almost gently. Her coat seemed impossibly clean. Lox moved back toward the entrance. Pale light came in from outside, catching hints of metal and wood on the ground.
A shadow groaned near the corner. A gaunt man in tattered leathers leaned against the wall. He slowly moved toward the entrance clutching an arm that was probably broken. As he left, he stumbled over a heap on the floor. Lox recognized the fur lined cloak.
She approached slowly. When she was two steps away, she saw the heavy cloak rise. Ulvin pulled himself off of the stones and turned, revealing massive tears across his shoulder and chest that had raked through the embroidered gold to reveal pale, bleeding flesh. He looked at Lox and the bear for a moment. All traces of his usual smugness were gone. Lox wanted to sneer and spew witty mockery, but all she could do was watch.
He lowered his eyes and clambered away, using one hand to lean against the pillar stones and the other to clutch his wounds. She wanted to feel satisfied, to savor the sweet taste of justice on her lips, if justice was, in fact, what this was. Instead, she just felt cold and tired and sore.
Lox stepped outside. The huge bear was down the slope, angrily swatting at another fallen torch. He sniffed the smoking remnants, then pummeled it again, burying it deep in the earth. Torches had a way of coming back. He paid no attention to Ulvin or the last of the scraggly intruders as they limped away into the forest. The bear had grown ragged and old. A broken arrow was lodged in his shoulder. Another stuck out of his side. He had scrapes and cuts along his neck. His paws were red.
Satisfied that the torch was dead, he began rambling back and forth, sniffing at things that had been dropped, snorting angrily. The female bear sat and watched. Silent as a spirit, she almost looked like a large round stone that had been rolled to one side to permit entry. How two bears could be so different was something Lox had never understood.
Lox found a mound of sorts and lowered herself onto it, half-sitting, half-falling. The ground was cold and uncomfortable but offered some semblance of rest. She had been running and plotting and hiding for so long that she had almost forgotten what it meant to sit and rest and simply be. As her heart slowed, a deep fatigue swept over her.
Lox felt movement behind her. There was a tug at her bonds, a paw clawing at the ropes. Lox didn’t bother turning around. After the third swipe, the ropes fell off. There was only one bear in the realm that was dexterous enough to do that. Lox exhaled and brought her hands forward. Her shoulders moved with relief. She took off her tattered gloves, in spite of the cold. There was a simple pleasure in seeing her hands, even if her wrists were raw and itchy.
The youngest bear came up beside her. He still carried his prize round his neck, a chain of vines holding a knot of thorns. Within the ball of briars were hints of blood red stone, as if he carried a second heart outside his chest. He still had a bald spot on his side. The dark burns on his paws and forehead still looked fresh, as if his brush with death had only happened yesterday.
Lox remembered how he had looked when she found him collapsed on his side. He was barely breathing amidst the blackened stumps and scorched earth. That day felt like a distant memory from a distant place. The burn marks remained, yet the bear was now teeming with life.
Lox felt a gnawing pain at her side. Abrasions flared on her wrists. She felt half naked without her belt, helpless with no blades at her back. Yet for the first time in months, she felt safe. Here in the woods on the edge of the mountains, surrounded by beasts that could end her in an instant she found a sort of peace, a peace she had never known among men, a peace she wasn’t sure she deserved.
The tears welled up inside her, then came all at once. She collapsed onto the bear before she could stop herself, leaning into his warmth. He did not move. She clung to him, curls and fur everywhere.
After a while Lox pulled away and brushed back her cluttered curls. The bear turned to face her, his eyes like reflective pools. She could almost see herself. She pressed her forehead against his, feeling the soft fur and the rough burns. Thorns pressed against her chest, but she didn’t care. In spite of the years and all she had done, she still felt a semblance of their impossible connection, the bond that had bridged her world to his since she had wandered into his home as a lost little girl.
The bear stayed still as she let him go. Lox heard the restless father clamber up beside them, his breathing heavy and gruff. She glanced over at the mother who remained stoic and still near the cavern entrance. The son sniffed the air as if it was waiting for something.
Lox followed the bear’s gaze to the dark expanse of trees. There were so many things she wanted to say but didn’t know how. Perhaps they were somehow already understood. Perhaps their shared language was found in moments of silence. So many things had changed, yet so many had stayed the same. Once again, she had invaded their home. Once again, they would probably have to find a new one.
A playful breeze tickled Lox’s curls. Her mind raced, formulating plans to steal back her tools, her daggers, her prize, but before anything settled, the wind seemed to whisk them away. The emptiness left by her belt and sheaths felt strange, yet there was a sort of freedom in their absence. Perhaps they were things she no longer needed to carry. She had always been a thief, but maybe she didn’t have to be.
The dark horizon began to glow with the soft light of early morn, revealing the silhouettes of swaying trees and standing stones and countless shades of color. As the world slowly emerged from the darkness, warmth returned to her fingers. The scrapes and bruises still burned, but the harshness felt more tempered. She managed to stand and breathe deep, feeling the air in her lungs, uncertain where she would go next, but knowing that in this moment, among this family that wasn’t her own, at this meeting place of wind and earth and risen sun, she was where she needed to be. Perhaps everything was just right.
