She stood there, inches away, grinning back. She leaned in so close, an awful smell emanating from her, then suddenly reached up with both hands, grabbed his cheeks, and kissed him, pressing her shriveled lips hard against his.
Gareth was revolted. It was the most disgusting thing that had ever happened to him. Her lips were like the lips of a lizard, her tounge, which she pressed onto his, like that of a reptile. He tried to pull away, but she held his face tight, pulling him harder, kissing him on the mouth.
Finally, he managed to yank himself away. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as she leaned back and chuckled.
“The first time you kill a man is the hardest,” she said. “You will find it much easier the next time around.”
*
Gareth burst out of the cottage, back into the clearing, to find Firth standing there, waiting for him.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Firth asked, concerned. “You look as if you’ve been stabbed. Did she hurt you?”
Gareth stood there, breathing hard, wiping his mouth again and again. He hardly knew how to respond.
“Let’s get away from this place,” he said. “Now!”
As they began to move, to head out of the clearing into the black wood, suddenly the sun was obscured by clouds, racing across the sky, making the beautiful day cold and dark. Gareth looked up, and had never seen such thick, black clouds appear so quickly. He knew that whatever was happening, it was not normal. He worried about how deep the powers were of this witch, as he felt the cold wind rise in the summer day, creep up the back of his neck. He couldn’t help but think that she had somehow possessed him with that kiss, cast some sort of curse on him.
“What happened in there?” Firth pressed.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gareth said. “I don’t want to think about this day-ever again.”
The two of them hurried back down the trail, down the hill, soon entering the main forest trail to head back towards King’s Court. Just as Gareth was beginning to feel more relieved, preparing to shove the whole episode to the back of his mind, suddenly, he heard another set of boots. He turned and saw a group of men walking towards them. He couldn’t believe it.
His brother. Godfrey. The drunk. He was walking towards them, laughing, surrounded by the villainous Harry, and two other of his miscreant friends. Of all times and places, for his brother to run into him here. In the woods, in the middle of nowhere. Gareth felt as if his whole plot were cursed.
Gareth turned away, pulled the hood over his face, and hiked twice as fast, praying he had not been discovered.
“Gareth?” called out the voice.
Gareth had no choice. He froze in his tracks, pulled back his hood, and turned and looked at his brother, who came waltzing merrily towards him.
“What are you doing here?” Godfrey asked.
Gareth opened his mouth, but then closed it, stumbling, at a loss for words.
“We were going for a hike,” Firth volunteered, rescuing him.
“A hike, were you?” one of Godfrey’s friends mocked Firth, in a high, feminine voice. His friends laughed, too. Gareth knew that his brother and his friends all judged him for his predisposition-but he hardly cared about that now. He just needed to change the topic. He didn’t want them to wonder what he was doing out here.
“What are
“A new tavern opened, by Southwood,” Godfrey answered. “We had just been trying it out. The best ale in all the kingdom. Want some?” he asked, holding out a cask.
Gareth shook his head quickly. He knew he had to distract him, and he figured the best way was to change the topic, to rebuke him.
“Father would be furious if he caught you drinking during the day,” Gareth said. “I suggest you set down that and return to court.”
It worked. Godfrey glowered, and clearly he was no longer thinking about Gareth, but about father, and himself.
“And since when did you care about father’s needs?” he retorted.
Gareth had had enough. He hadn’t time to waste with a drunkard. He succeeded in what he wanted, distracting him, and now, hopefully, he wouldn’t think too deeply about why he had run into him here.
Gareth turned and hurried down the trail, hearing their mocking laughter behind him as he went. He no longer cared. Soon, it would be he who had the last laugh.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Thor sat before the wooden table, working away at the bow and arrow laid out in pieces. Beside him sat Reece, along with several other members of the Legion. They were all hunched over their weapons, hard at work on carving the bows and tightening the strings.
“A warrior knows how to string his own bow,” Kolk yelled out, as he walked up and down the rows of boys, leaning over, examining each one’s work. “The tension must be just right. Too little, and your arrow will not reach its mark. Too much, and your aim will not be true. Weapons break in battle. Weapons break on journeys. You must know how to repair them as you go. The greatest warrior is also a blacksmith, a carpenter, a cobbler, a mender of all things broken. And you don’t really know your own weapon until you’ve repaired it yourself.”
Kolk stopped behind Thor and leaned over his shoulder. He reached out and yanked the wooden bow out of Thor’s grasp, the string hurting his palm as he did.
“The string is not taught enough,” he chided. “It is crooked. Use a weapon like this in battle, and you will surely die. And your partner will die besides you.”
Kolk slammed the bow back down, then moved on; several other boys snickered. Thor reddened as he grabbed the string again, pulled it as taught as he possibly could, and wrapped it around the notch in the bow. He’d been at work on this for hours, the cap to an exhausting day of labor and menial tasks.
Most of the others were out and about, training, sparring, sword fighting. He looked out and in the distance saw his brothers, the three of them, laughing as they clacked wooden swords; as usual, Thor felt that they were gaining the upper hand and he was being left behind, in their shadow. Thor thought it unfair. He felt increasingly that he was unwanted here, as if he were not a true member of the Legion.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it,” O’Connor said beside him.
Thor’s palms were chafed from trying; he pulled back the string one last time, this time with all his might, and finally, to his surprise, it clicked. The string fit neatly in the notch, as he pulled with all his might, sweating. He felt a great sense of satisfaction, as the bow finally felt as strong as it should be.
The sun grew longer in the sky and he looked up, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and wondered how much longer this would go on. He contemplated what it meant to be a warrior. In his head, he had seen it differently. He had only imagined training, all the time. But, he guessed, this was also a form of training.
“This was not what I signed up for, either,” O’Connor said, as if reading his mind.
Thor turned, and was reassured to find his constant smile.
“I come from the Northern Province,” he continued. “I, too, dreamed of joining the Legion my entire life. I guess I imagined constant sparring, battle. Not all of these menial tasks. But it will get better. It is just because we are new. It is a form of initiation. There seems to be a hierarchy here. We are also the youngest. I don’t see the nineteen-year-olds doing this. This can’t last forever. Besides, it’s a useful skill to learn.”
A horn sounded. Thor looked over and saw the rest of the Legion gathering together, beside a huge stone wall in the middle of the field. Ropes were draped across it, spaced every ten feet. The wall must have rose thirty feet and piled at its base were stacks of hay.
“What are you waiting for?” Kolk screamed. “MOVE!”
The Silver appeared all around them, screaming, and before Thor knew it he and all the others jumped from
