And the place they’ll be looking.
The boy duck-walked across the rocky beach, eyes fixed on his goal. If they were to notice him before he reached the forest, he didn’t want to see them coming.
Clouds scudded past the half moon, casting shadow and throwing the shoreline into darkness. Each shadow leaping from stones and driftwood increased Graymon’s pulse, building panic that pushed him for the trees. After what seemed an impossibly long time to cross such a short distance, he tumbled into the snarl of brush.
Barbs raked his arms, runners tangled his ankles. He thrashed his way through; the feel of blood running from the scratches on his forearm brought tears to his eyes as he broke free into the forest. Underbrush grew thicker beneath the trees, but it didn’t seek to hurt him. Instead, his feet caught on roots, sending him off balance as he stumbled away from the shore.
Graymon breathed hard and fast through his nose but didn’t slow his pace to fill his lungs and soon felt lightheaded. He slumped down on a fallen log and wiped tears and snot off his face with the dirty woolen blanket. Quiet returned to the night, the silence broken only by the waves sweeping onto the shore. He filled his chest with air and his nose with the earthy smell of decaying leaves.
Be brave!
He took another breath and felt his heart begin to slow. Wind rustled what few leaves autumn had left clinging to the trees.
Be brave!
Gathering his courage, Graymon stood. Did no longer hearing the dead men following him mean they gave up or went to look somewhere else? Or did they hear him and were sneaking up on him? He couldn’t stay in one place no matter how scared he felt.
Be brave!
He crept away from the log, mindful of his footing, but the pressure in his bladder returned and wouldn’t go no matter how he tried to ignore it. He could wait no more.
Graymon threw the blanket off his shoulders and undid his breeches. At first, as he glanced around expecting a decomposed face to jump out from behind any one of a hundred trees, the pee wouldn’t start. He concentrated, pushed hard, startled himself when he passed wind then stifled a giggle at the sound. Finally, the pee came, spattering off the broad green leaf of a plant his father would want him to know the name of but he couldn’t remember. He sighed as his bladder emptied, then took a step back, worried he might be peeing on his boots.
He was almost finished when he heard the growl again.
Fear squeezed off the stream of urine and he pulled his breeches up. The last of the pee ran down the inside of his thigh; he ignored it and forced himself to be quiet despite the urge to run. A shape that didn’t look like a dead soldier loomed ahead, indistinct in the gloomy forest. He moved toward it and found the gnarled end of an uprooted tree. Graymon inserted himself amongst the twisted roots, avoiding thoughts of the spiders and other insects that likely called it home. He hunkered down, sinking as far back into the tree trunk as the space allowed, then remained still.
Minutes passed with no more sound and Graymon began to wonder if he’d imagined the growls. He considered leaving the cover of the tree and looking around but dismissed it-the creepy-crawlies possibly making their way up his sleeves and pant legs were preferable to rotting men. He waited, breathing shallowly. The wind shook the trees and he shivered, hugging himself against the cold, teeth chattering. Then his breathing halted.
The blanket!
In his haste to hide he’d left the blanket lying in the brush where he peed. His eyes flickered across the narrow slices of forest he saw between the twisted roots. Nothing.
Should I go get it?
He wished his father was with him to tell him what to do. His da was a brave hero, but no matter how much he wanted to be one or how hard he tried to convince himself he was, Graymon knew he wasn’t really a brave hero himself. He was just a boy trying to survive.
If I don’t get it, they’ll find it and know I’m here.
He clicked his teeth together as he thought.
If I leave here, they might see me.
He chewed his bottom lip, weighing the two options, deciding between the lesser of evils. He felt safe with the gnarled tree at his back, but how long would that last?
Another growl, low and barely distinguishable amongst the rustle of leaves, convinced him to stay put. He let his breath out slowly and scanned what little he could see. Wan light streamed through the trees as a cloud moved past the moon.
A many-legged insect crawled onto Graymon’s hand and he moved instinctively to brush it away when he saw a figure outlined in the dim light. The man grunted, stooped, and rose again holding Graymon’s blanket. Another man joined the first, then another. The many legged-thing scurried over Graymon’s wrist and up his sleeve. A squeal rose in the boy’s chest but he strangled it before it escaped his throat. Another unseen creature crawled onto his face, this one with fewer legs and a gentle touch he wouldn’t have felt on any other part of his body. It moved across the thin line of his pressed-together lips. Unable to bear any more, Graymon closed his eyes and held his breath for fear of sucking some insect up his nose. The thing on his face passed over his ear and into his hair where it might have remained, but he no longer felt its presence. The one in his sleeve made itself at home in the crook of his elbow.
As Graymon opened his eyes, the thoughts of the insects fled. The man with the blanket stood two steps away from his hiding place, head swiveling, searching. The boy waited, his throat squeezed off to breath and cries. A tear rolled unheeded down his cheek as time crawled by. The air in his lungs grew stale, pleaded to be released.
Be b…brave.
When the dead man finally strode past his hiding place, Graymon held onto his breath until his lungs burned before letting it out through his nose. And then he began to shake uncontrollably.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Fystal said he saw them go in as the sun rose. And people saw someone standing…” The man raises his eyes toward the tower, like he’s afraid of talking about it.
“Hmm,” the second man grunts. He’s much bigger than his companion, probably seven feet tall. His back is to me.
“There’s only two of them,” the first man tells him.
“Did they look like they had anythin’ good?”
“Dunno. Weapons for sure. Fystal said one has a blade what glows.”
“Hmm.”
They look across the avenue at the door to the spire, pondering what to do. I know what they’ll do, they’re criminals, after all, and criminals are predictable. They’re going to storm in and kill them both and take their belongings. Or that’s what they think they’re going to do. I might have something to say about it.
The tall one scratches his ass through his dirty breeches; the ragged legs of his pants hang an inch below his knee and look as though one step would separate the seam. Must be difficult to get clothes that fit when you’re huge, especially when everyone you steal from is smaller than yourself.
“His blade glows, eh?”
“That’s what Fystal said.”
A few yards separate my hiding place from where they stand reviewing their options, but they have no idea I’m here. I’m a shadow, a wraith. Another minute passes and I begin to wonder why the delay. Usually the prospect of plunder is a strong pull for men of their ilk. Something else holds them back. Is it the tower?
“Wanna go now?” the smaller one asks.