Chapter 29 #2
There’s a pause, in which husband and wife exchange a look.
Then Iris says, ‘For some time our village has been targeted by a group of brigands. They come in the night, silent as ghosts. They steal from us – taking our grain, our tools, our livestock – attacking anyone who gets in their way. We never know when they’ll strike.’
‘That’s awful,’ says Spinner.
I practically jump as Sheen, who has been silent since we entered the forge, clears his throat and asks, ‘Who are they? These people?’
‘They call themselves the Green Bandits,’ says Iris darkly. ‘I’ve never seen such barbarism.’ Her gaze flickers to me. ‘Speaking of, what happened to you?’
It’s as if her words open up a hole in the centre of my chest, and for a moment all I can hear is the fire snapping and crackling in the corner. My stomach heaves.
Sheen is watching me.
Hold it together, Flint.
I plaster on a smile – the smile of a boy who wins, and keeps winning.
‘This old thing?’ I say cheerfully, gesturing to my eyepatch. ‘I wear it to look tough.’
Glen, who’s busy fletching the shaft of an arrow, scoffs. Iris raises an eyebrow as she brushes a pile of wood shavings off the table and on to the floor, but doesn’t press me.
‘You don’t happen to know a physician, do you?’ Sheen asks.
‘I’m fine,’ I mutter, irritated.
Iris shakes her head. ‘Afraid not. Physicians are hard to come by in outlying villages. They tend to flock to the central provinces, big towns and cities where they’re more likely to find work.
The more people, the more sick people.’ She finishes carving the riser and sets it down on the table.
‘Here, we make do. We learn to live with pain. You survive or you die.’
‘Ever thought of moving?’ Spinner suggests.
Iris selects a wicked-looking arrowhead from a pile in front of her. ‘This is our home.’
Spinner nods politely, but I can tell she’s thinking about the Golden Palace. For her, home means opulence, luxury, high society and pretty dresses, not struggling to get by in a poky cottage surrounded by sheep and heather.
‘Where are you lot headed, anyway?’ Iris asks.
I see no reason not to tell the truth. ‘The Waterlands.’
‘Then I take it you’re planning to travel through the Greenwood?’
I nod.
‘You’ll need more than that bow to protect you in there,’ says Glen.
I take a swig from my waterskin. ‘Perhaps. But I suspect the constant threat of death will keep things interesting.’
Sheen gives me a look.
Iris takes a freshly fletched arrow shaft from Glen and tests its balance.
Watching them together – her spirited and resourceful, him doting and dependable – reminds me of my parents.
I was ten when my mother died giving birth to Renly.
My memories are somewhat hazy, but something I recall with absolute clarity is the way my father used to look at her.
It was an expression of utter contentment coupled with just a little dash of surprise, as though he couldn’t quite believe he was getting to breathe the same air as her, let alone spend his life with her.
That is, until he couldn’t. Her death shattered him beyond repair.
Since then, I suppose I’ve always found the idea of love a little terrifying. From what I’ve seen, it only ever ends in pain. I think of my father’s silent grief, of Seraphine’s keening wails, of the way Elaith’s spark dulls every time Cole passes her over for another.
Hearts are fragile, so easily broken. It’s why I choose to keep things light, casual. To have fun, without having to worry about feelings.
I glance over to where Sheen is speaking quietly with Iris, having moved across to examine her work. The fire casts strange shadows along his sharp cheekbones.
Spinner snaps her fingers in front of my face. ‘Flint?’
I blink. ‘What?’
‘I said, we should leave before nightfall, give ourselves time to set up camp.’
‘Sure,’ I say, as she entwines her gloved fingers with my own.
It’s not long before Iris presents my bow, complete with a full quiver of arrows. It’s beautiful – sleek, lightweight, delicate, yet entirely robust. It’s a far superior model to my old one. For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel utterly defenceless.
I nock an arrow and draw back the string.
‘Careful!’ Spinner yelps.
‘Relax, I’m just testing it out.’ I turn back to Iris. ‘How much?’
I’d have paid double what she asks for a bow like this, so I hand over several pieces of silver, which she’s not too proud to accept.
Though I’ve barely set one foot outside when a voice behind me calls, ‘Wait!’
Iris appears in the doorway, holding a small packet. Upon closer examination, I see that it’s filled with a number of dried leaves.
‘What’s this?’
‘Dillweed,’ she replies. ‘For your eye. Whenever the pain gets too much, chew on a couple of these.’
‘Oh,’ I say, first taken aback, then touched. ‘Thank you.’
‘Be careful,’ Iris says as Sheen marches off into the pale evening light, Spinner and I following in his wake.
‘There’s more than just bandits to contend with in the Greenwood.
It’s home to tree nymphs, commonly known as dryads, though some call them sirens of the forest. They’ll try to trick you, lure you in so deep you’ll never find your way out again.
Remember, never eat anything that grows in there, and try to vary your path.
If you hear your name, don’t respond. Turn and walk away in the opposite direction. ’
‘And whatever you do, keep your wits about you,’ warns Glen.
‘Don’t worry,’ I call over my shoulder, slinging an arm round Spinner. ‘I have more than enough wit for the three of us.’