Damsel Knight (11 page)

“Stay back and we won’t hurt you,” Bonnie says, walking backward toward the darkness and the door. Neven follows, neck and face turning red with the strain of his cargo. It’s an empty threat. They don’t have anything to use to hurt the boy, whereas he can knock them out with a long enough touch. Death by hug. It’s not exactly a knight’s way of going out.

The boy stays where he is, watching them sullenly. Around them the black curtain seems to crackle, its surface moving like the clouds of a storm. All the hairs on her body stand on end. The tingling energy increases, almost to the point of being painful.

“Faster Neven,” she whispers, trying not to look phased.

Neven mutters to himself, but increases his speed, teeth gritted and face purple under the weight. She’s finding it difficult herself. She’s shorter than Neven and the princess, but it’s not just that. It’s the black curtain, and the tingling cold around them. It’s like it’s sucking at them, drawing all the energy and warmth from their muscles.

The black curtain waits until they’re inches away, then retreats reluctantly. It keeps a steady presence around them, closer than before. Tendrils reach out toward Alice, long fingers made of black smoke. They caress the air above her.

“Stop that!” Bonnie snaps, sending her best glare toward the darkness behind Neven where the boy had stood moments before. “Leave her alone.”

The fingers withdraw with something that sounds eerily like a child’s sigh. They fade into the curtain, and the black wall around them seems to open up a little. The air in her throat feels less like swallowing a lightning storm, and more like how a regular shed should smell. The cold doesn’t go away. That stays along with the curtain, both taking on a solid presence, watching, waiting.

Neven freezes without warning, staring wide eyed at something behind her, like a rabbit caught in a trap. In her hurry, Bonnie’s feet carry on a step or two before the message reaches them to stop. Alice’s legs almost slip out of her hands, and the princess’s head lolls against Neven’s chest.

In a moment she’s spun around, dropped to a crouch to lower Alice’s legs to the ground, and slid a hand out of sight to the knife hanging on her belt. Yet she knows it will be little use.

The door is open, inviting sunlight streaming through and chasing the black away. In the doorway stands Claudia, her one eye glaring and the remains of her staff held high. Magic. Bonnie’s beginning to despise its whole existence.

Still, the wielder of magic is flesh and blood. Her fingers tighten around the knife’s hilt. She’s never killed anyone before. The closest she’s come are chickens back at the farm, and even that turned her stomach the first few times. She thinks she can handle it though. Men have to be prepared to kill. Knights have to be prepared to kill. Her father could do it, and so could Ness she bets. So if she needs to, she’ll do it too.

The witch’s toothless mouth closes tight, making her cheeks hollow and her lips liquidy. Bonnie waits, expecting a fight, or at least some big speech about why she has a dead boy - her son? - in a shed with a stolen princess. That’s what would happen in one of Jack’s puppet shows. The villain would explain their plan, and then after waiting for some reason Bonnie never understood, the hero would start a last epic battle, and win of course.

So when the witch slams the door shut it comes as a surprise. She fumbles for the knife, so clumsy she would’ve cut herself if it were sharper. The throw is as sure and quick as the ones she and her father practised on the side of their shed years ago. But it lands a second too late. It quivers in the closed door as the sound of a bar slotting into place comes from the other side.

“No!” Bonnie shouts, running at the door. Her shoulder hits it so hard her teeth click together. The rough bark scrapes at her, even through her shirt. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She should’ve thrown the knife when she had the chance.

“Bonnie,” Neven says sharply. “She’s casting a spell.”

Bonnie backs up, sets her shoulders. She hears the chanting, but tries to ignore it. The shed's only wood. The door will be the weakest area. She could slash her way through, but that might take too long. Shaking her head, she charges again, leaping at the last moment to slam her whole body weight into the door. If she’s lucky the hinge will break and they might be able to manoeuvre the door over the bar. If she’s really lucky the bar will break and in a second they’ll be out of here.

Her side hits the door hard enough to make her whole body sing with pain. Then something hits her back.

A giant’s punch sends her flying back across the shed, narrowly missing the shelves to her right. A glimpse of swirling darkness. A sharp pain exploding outward from her head and back. Voices. Then nothing.

Part 2

Chapter 12

Reality comes back to her in bits and pieces. The softness of a woollen blanket under her head. Her belt digging into her hip from where she lies on her side. The pain in her head, and ache in her shoulders.

"Boone?" The soft voice sends her head blaring. "Neven. He's awake."

"Careful," comes another voice, younger than the rest. "Make sure he knows where he is before you let him sit up."

"Boone," Neven sounds nervous. "Do you-?"

"I know where I am," Bonnie says, brushing dimly seen hands away from her shoulders. She pushes herself into a sitting position, fighting against a wave of dizziness that threatens to pull her under again. "We're locked in a shed with a dead boy. The witch cast a spell. It hit me."

"Actually you hit it," Neven says, that familiar note of excitement in his voice. She doesn't know whether to be happy he's not too scared to marvel at the magic trapping them in here, or be frustrated that he's marvelling at the magic trapping them here. "All magic gets its energy from somewhere, and this one got its energy from you. It hit you back with the same energy you hit it with. It's genius really. Cast any differently the spell could take a huge amount of energy from the one that forms it, but this way it uses very little."

"I'm happy Claudia didn't strain herself locking us in this cage," Bonnie says, rubbing her head. There's a bump on the back that feels the size of an egg, and she's sure her back and sides are bruised, but it's nothing that won't heal. "Did you figure out how to get us out?"

Bonnie can't see in the little light coming through the gaps in the branches that make the walls, but she's positive she can hear him blush.

"I'm working on it," he says in a quiet tone that almost makes her feel sorry for snapping. Almost.

"Here's some water," comes the younger voice, accompanied by a figure that stands out bright against the darkness. The dead boy looks older than before, his shaved hair a little longer, and a small cloth bag hangs from a cord around his neck. He slides a dented metal container along the floor along with a carved wooden cup. "You should keep hydrated. If the light was better in here I'd check your pupils. You were out a few minutes. Do you feel sick? Does your head hurt?"

Bonnie blinks at him, not sure how to take having her medical needs attended to by a dead person. Not just that. A dead person who isn't supposed to be on their side. Confusing doesn't cover it. "I thought your kind was allergic to light?"

The boy looks down at himself, frowning as if he'd just remembered what his kind is. "Lost ones stay away from light because it makes them remember who they are and how they died. They get a lifetime of memories in a fraction of a second, then a fraction later they forget them all, and a fraction after remember them again. It's too much. They find it painful. I don't forget who I am, so I don't have that problem."

Neven turns around from where he'd examining the wall, thin lines of light falling on him through the branches. "Because of your mother."

"Yeah." The boy scuffs a foot across the ground. It makes no sound. "I know you don't like her, but she's a really nice person. She was always helping everyone in our town. Everyone loved her. She gave up everything for me too. She gave all her teeth so I wouldn't forget who I am. She put out her own eye to give me energy so I wouldn't go searching for it like the lost ones, and so I can touch things when I concentrate and play like a real boy. And she moved us all the way out here so no one could try and take me away from her again."

Bonnie's dry throat wins out over her common sense, and she pours herself a cup of water and downs it. The dead boy's hands have chilled the container through, and the liquid is deliciously cool sliding down her throat.

"I wish I could make you all some warm milk and honey," the boy says excitedly, crouching down on the dirt floor. "It used to be my favourite. My Mama used to melt chocolate in it and stir it all up. We've got goats milk and honey, but it's no good cold. The honey would just stay at the bottom. Maybe when she's in a better mood we can ask her to make some."

Bonnie opens her mouth to say they're not going to be staying that long, and possibly to add one or two less than savoury remarks about his 'really nice person' of a mother. A hand on her shoulder stops her in her tracks. Even without looking she recognises Neven's work callused fingers.

"Timon, why did your mother lock us in here?"

Timon. It must have suited him once. It's a name for little boys, small, vulnerable. A name most boys would shed by the time they got around to playing soldier. It doesn't suit him now. Monsters aren't named Timon.

Timon looks down and scuffs his shoe again.

"It's because of me," Alice says from where she sits in the dark. She'd been so quiet, Bonnie had forgotten she was in here with them. "After the lost ones led me away, I got lost and followed the smoke to the old woman's house. I told her who I was and asked for her help getting me back to my true love. She locked me in here. She said it was because of my father - something he did."

"Whatever he did, it can't be enough to deserve this," Bonnie says. "She trapped you here to be her dead son's playmate."

"And everyone knows King Robin is a fair King," Neven adds hurriedly, as if worrying his true love's feelings might be hurt by the accusation. "She must have done something to earn whatever punishment the King gave her."

Timon says nothing.

Bonnie slips her shield back over her shoulder. It must have a few more dents on its charred surface after tackling that door. Her sword is still in place on her back, but a fumble at her belt reveals something missing. "Where's my knife?"

"Still in the door I think."  Neven wanders through the dark, clattering shelves as he goes. "Yup. Still here."

Bonnie brushes herself off and gets to her feet. A nagging thought drums in the back of her aching head. "Why is it still there? Why didn't it fly off when I did?"

"It landed before the spell was finished," Neven says from the darkness. "So it was just sitting there. The spell only pays back the force in kind. Anything we throw at it, it throws back. That's why we can still touch the walls. As long as we don't use much force the spell has nothing to power the..."

Bonnie places a hand on the hilt of her sword. "Neven?"

"That's it!" Neven's voice becomes shrill with excitement. "We can touch the walls. We've been thinking about breaking our way out with force, but we don't need to do that."

"Slow down," Bonnie says. "And keep an eye on who's listening before you reveal your brilliant plans."

"Timon?" The name is too casual on Neven's tongue. "He already asked to come with us while you were out. And he took good care of Alice."

Something angry and mean coils in her chest at the thought of bringing the dead boy with them. Next they'd be wanting to bring the witch. "Before or after he froze her?"

"That was an accident," Timon protests in his little boy voice. His age has changed again while she wasn't looking. Younger. Maybe five or six. His white shirt has swapped for a tunic, baggy and scuffed on his little frame. "She was so sad and cold, and I forgot. I didn't mean to hurt her."

"He was good to me," Alice says, barely above a whisper. "I think we can trust him."

"Fine. Fine!" Bonnie says, so loud she hears a scuffle as Alice pulls away from her. Guilt gnaws at her, along with dull contempt at the girl for being so easily frightened. "Just tell me this plan lets me use my sword."

"Well," Neven says as if considering. "A knife would be better."

"Fine," Bonnie says. "A knife. As long as I get to hurt something."

***

"Slower," Neven says again for the hundredth time that hour.

She grunts in reply. This wasn't what she meant by hurting something. Her hand drags the knife back and forth over the ropes slowly. So slowly. Neven was right, the door was still the weak link. The walls were tied joined together in too many places, most joined by wood as well as rope and dried mud.

The door is still pretty solid, but it needs to open. That's its weak link. The hinges are beyond difficult to get to. She has to slide the knife in-between the gap that separates door and wall and hunt down until she finds what feels like rope, then start sawing in what room the confined space gives her.

It's agonisingly slow work, and whenever she gets impatient and tries to speed up, the spell protests and pushes the knife back. Once, angry, she sawed with enough force that the door spat the knife backward right out of her hand. It'd hit her chest, but with nothing more than a dull whap. For the first time in days she'd been grateful that the only knives they had were Neven's who rarely sharpened them unless he was working with cloth or string.

"I can take another turn if you want?" Neven offers.

She shakes her head, then remembers he can't see her. "No," she says. He's tired too. Both of them have been working at this the whole day. Her fingers burn, and her wrists feel as limp as sea weed. Her body is itchy with dried sweat.

Alice had tried to take her turn, but her desperate efforts were enough to make both of them cringe. She held the knife well enough, but she didn't have the muscle nor stamina for the long work. Timon was an even bigger failure. Every time he lost his concentration even for a moment, the knife would slip through his fingers like they weren't there.

Instead she and Neven laboured while Alice and Timon fetched them food and water. Right now they were sitting next to each other on the dirt floor. Alice an unseen shadow next to Timon's bright presence. His age is changed again, now a stocky boy of fifteen reading the book on his lap as easily as if it were day instead of night.

"Almost," Bonnie says feeling the threads of the rope catch and tear. The door rocks a little despite Neven holding it in place. "There."

She pushes at the bottom and the top to make sure, and both swing outward as much as the doorway and bar will allow. It's a pity the door-frame is so narrow, otherwise they could pull it off easily. Instead they'll have to manoeuvre it over the bar.

Alice hurries over to them, a faint jangling telling them she has Neven's pack. "We packed some food. There were some cloth packs at the back of the shed, so we should have plenty."

"Right," Bonnie says, turning to them. Most she can't see, but Timon at least looks at her with eager eyes. "I'll go first. If it's clear I'll knock on the door three times and Alice comes through, then Neven, and Timon last. Timon, you'll be as bright as a torch out there, so wait as long as you can, then move quickly. We'll go behind the shed and into the trees. Got it?"

Neven and Alice send soft replies back. Timon nods.

"OK. Now lift." She sends a glance through the darkness to where she knows Neven is. "Slowly."

They lift the door up, leaning it forward over the bar. Bonnie waits until she feels enough room, then rolls out into the witch's garden. The door drops a moment later with more noise than she likes. She glances around nervously, but everything seems quiet. There's not much to see. The sky far above the witch's house is only slightly less dark than the pitch black of the trees surrounding it.

The witch's house is as silent as everything else. Hopefully that means she's in bed asleep, instead of watching her through the night with magic to make that one eye see in the dark. Shivering, she pushes her way to her feet.

Her fingers find the bar, a smoother wood than the door. For a moment she's convinced there will be something else holding it down. Some fancy lock, or magic spell that will stop her from removing the bar. They'll all have to manoeuvre the door up again. It's not impossible, but it will get progressively more awkward as each one of them changes positions in the dark and tries not to let the door fall. And they'd all need to stand out in the open to do it, including when Timon comes out.

Instead the bar moves easily. She slips it from its place, then knocks on the door three times to let them know it's her. They push at the door a little too eagerly, almost making it flatten her.

She manages to stop its progress, though her arms make it known that they don't appreciate the abuse. A sudden lightness in the bulk of wood tells her Neven has slipped out. Between them they walk the door to the right and rest it against the wall.

So far so good.

She uses her fingertips to follow the shed around to its back wall. From there she lines up the back of her shoes with the wall and walks straight forward, arms waving in front of her like some lunatic drunk so she doesn't head nose first into a tree.

One of her hands brushes smooth bark, and she grabs the thin tree, moving herself past the tree-line. All at one she feels safer. It's stupid since she knows the shed is still right there in the darkness, and the witch's house only a little beyond that, but the trees are a barrier. Any barrier between them and the witch is a good one.

Shuffling footsteps, light but clumsy. She moves from tree to tree, getting closer to the noise, then reaches out. Alice squeaks at the  contact, but at least she doesn't scream.

"Shh," Bonnie hisses. "It's me."

The girl moves obediently enough, still breathing too fast from her scare. Bonnie positions her by her side, keeping hold of one of her hands. The last thing she needs is to lose the princess less than a day after finding her again.