Chapter VI

Raphael and Rose finally come to Bird's Hollow - and a secret is revealed upon meeting the Hollow Scouts!

Chapter VI

The Ninth Hollow

 

“Six foot tall, came without a warning

So I had to shoot him dead.”

-      Wake Up Call by Maroon 5

 

It was decided shortly after that to leave.

     Rose didn’t want to risk the men coming back and I was no longer in a position to sleep. She was more tired than she’d let on when we left, though. After the two of us managed to sneak past the guards outside and into the woods, I’d asked her if she was sure about not stopping for the night. Assuring me she was fine, we pressed on.

     It was only three hours into the walk that I could see her starting to stumble occasionally. I noticed her pace lagging and her posture slump. I let this go on for another hour, wanting to see if she would crack as she became progressively worse about stumbling. I waited until she tripped for the thousandth time before scooping her up wordlessly into my arms. She started to protest, but I cut her off, “You’re falling asleep standing up. Take a nap. I’ll keep you safe.”

     She narrowed her eyes at me, demanding, “How is it that you have yet to slow at all in four hours?”

     “I was trained for stuff like this. You, madam, were not. Now rest. I’ll carry you,” I assured.  

          “You cannot possibly carry me, my bag, and your bag. You need rest too, Rafe, and I can’t exactly carry you later.”

          “I just won’t sleep tonight, Rose.” She started to argue again when I spoke firmly, “Go to sleep. I need you alert.” For a moment, I thought she might argue �" but when I looked down at her, I saw that she’d passed out. I just chuckled, continuing to walk on.

 

          As promised, I kept her safe and didn’t fall asleep. The sun was coming up over the horizon as we reached our destination. We were between two grand hills, standing in the bottom of a grassy valley. Sagging with relief for a moment, I continued walking. She stirred slightly, asking sleepily, “Are we there yet?”

          Wanting her to sleep a while longer, I lied. “No, we’ve got a few more miles. Go back to sleep.”

          I was in town when she woke again, seeing me check us into an Inn. I’d had to transfer her onto my back and drop the bags on the floor, but a young boy of eight or nine (for a couple of coin) offered to help me carry them upstairs to our room. She hopped down groggily, wiping her eyes and muttering, “Are you hungry?”

          “A bit,” I answered softly, paying the Inn Keeper and then grabbing my bag and letting the boy carry Rose’s bag. She linked her arm with mine, smiling sleepily at me. Confused, I grinned slightly, asking, “What?”

          “We finally made it, that’s all,” she replied. “I think we should rest today and start affairs tomorrow.”

          “I can’t, actually. I’m going to be leaving you here while I go find the Hollow’s scouts. I’ll come for you around dusk, as I imagine they won’t let me lead anyone there in daylight,” I told her, apologetic at the look of surprise she gave me. “Hollow-Scouts attack anyone who gets too close. It’s best I go alone.”

          As we reached the room, the boy set the bag down, I paid him, and spoke firmly, “This coin is also to ensure that you heard nothing of Hollows.”

          “No idea what you mean, sir,” the boy came back wisely.

          I smiled, “Good lad.”

 

         Rose, warily, watched the boy as he took off down the hall for the steps. “While I doubt a child could be so devious as to rat out anyone for talking of secret Hollows, are you sure coin alone will keep him quiet?”

          “Actually, I’m positive that by the end of the week, there will be some new grand adventure game about finding the mysterious, dangerous Hollow,” I answered with a chuckle.

          “That doesn’t bother you?”

          “It makes me smile, really. On top of knowing dozens of children will be laughing and running around happily over it, any adult will start considering the phrase ‘find the Hollow’ to mean some child’s game. Ergo, the Hollow is discredited as being real and I don’t have to worry so much about it,” I replied.

          She nodded, smiling slightly when I mentioned the laughing children. It seemed to warm the frown on her face to know that we were giving kids a new mean of entertainment. However, she still challenged, “Why would you leave me behind here? Why not take me with you?”

          “It’s just easier this way,” I insisted.

          “Why can’t I go? I don’t want to be left here, Rafe,” she said, grabbing my arm as I shut the door behind us. She held my eyes and I felt bad, looking at those big green orbs. I looked around the room for something else to focus on, but aside from the large bed, the end table, the windows, and a small table and two chairs, there was nothing.

          Sighing, I looked back at her. “I trust every man inside the Brotherhood and Haven with my life, Rose. What I don’t trust is what I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m walking into. I can’t be sure of the mentality of the men in Bird’s Hollow.” She was still giving me that look, so I went on. “There’s just too much I don’t know and can’t be sure of. You can use a bow, and that’s great. In the mean time, we don’t have a bow and Scouts attack first and take hostages. More than likely, I’m going to have to let them capture me if I want in, because they’ll never believe who I am until they search through my things and find the Order.”  

          Rose stared at me for a long time before asking slowly, “What am I to do if you don’t come back by night fall?”

          “Stay here. I’m leaving the money with you, as well as mostly everything else you might need. I’ll come for you when I can.”

          She glared, eyes narrowed and shoulders set. This expression was dangerous, because I could see plots whirling around in her head and there was no telling what she might plan to do. For a long moment, she looked like she was going to argue but then, suddenly, said, “Fine.”

          “That was too easy,” I said suspiciously.

          Rose merely smiled wanly, saying, “If I scare you, I do apologize.”

          “You make me paranoid,” I explained, tightening the knots of my boots. She shrugged and went to the writing desk by the window, sitting down with a small sigh. “You’re to stay here; do you understand?”

          “I understand,” she replied shortly. I merely nodded, and left.

 

          I should have made sure, I realized looking back on it, that she not only understood, but that she agreed to the term. Walking into the woods, I tried not to think on it. I decided that if I went back now, the scouts who had surely spotted me by now would only become paranoid of me.

          One of the hardest things to do, when the habit is so ingrained in your very blood, is to resist the urge to draw arms when you hear a twig snapping under someone’s foot nearby. The muscles of your arm tense and the fingers ache to pull a weapon. I resisted the urge though, wanting to show that I was willing to be taken in, if that’ what it took to relax their own nerves.

          As predicted, a man dropped out of the woods twenty minutes into the walk. He came from the trees, and a dozen men followed him. I was surrounded but I managed to keep all weapons sheathed. “Apprehend me, if that’s what you must to feel better.”

          One of the men, who I assumed was a decoy, stepped forward in a leader-fashion. “State your business in the Bird Wood, sir.”

          “I’m sent by my employer,” I replied. “I was told to aid the Bird Hollow however possible.”

          “What employ might you have in, sir?”

          “I think we both know that answering that question is not only pointless, but useless. None of you will believe me until you search my belongings to find out for yourself, so why not skip a step?” I slowly went about removing weapons and dropping them to the ground, tossing my bag to the man who’d spoken. Once I was free of any defense, I put my hands up in surrender.

          Immediately, two men circled me, gathering my weapons as they did. Two more men kept arrows trained on me while their comrades gathered my things. I saw my bag tossed to a boy, who immediately passed it off to another man. This man held it, as if waiting for an order. Just as the so-called leader started to give orders to search it, my eyes closed in irritation, because it was that moment that I heard a familiar female voice ring out, “Don’t put your hand in there!”

          I turned, hands still up, to see Rose slowly approaching us. Immediately, several men went and grabbed her by the arms, ripping her own bag from her grip. She didn’t resist, but rather kept her eyes locked on the man believed to be in charge. “I implore you to believe me, sir, when I tell you that putting your hand in that bag is extremely unwise.”

          “Who’re you?”

          “I’m a friend,” she said, gesturing to me. The man looked at me and I nodded. She took this as a sign to go on. “Only Rafe can reach in that bag and hope to keep his hand in good order.”

          All the men laughed, but she didn’t seem bothered by the reaction. I watched her closely now, seeing the determination in her eyes. What had she done to my bag? A new man came forward. He was about my height with short scraggly hair. Older, he looked rough for the wear with sun-weathered skin and scars littering the visible skin. His clothes were simple like all the men here but something about the way he carried himself changed suddenly, and the man I’d first thought to be in charge now stepped back to let this new face emerge. “Why,” the new man began, “woman, should we not be searching his bag?”

          Rose swallowed, seeming scared now to admit the truth, but with that swallow, the fear disappeared. “Any man other than Rafe who puts his hand inside the bag will suffer terrible burns. If you really don’t believe me, have one of your men reach inside, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

          They didn’t believe her, but no one reached in. “Why and how would a mere bag be burning our hands, woman?”

          Unafraid, she answered. I noticed, as I stared at her through narrowed eyes, that she was deliberately refusing to meet my gaze. “The bag has been jinxed, sir.”

          “Are you trying to tell us,” the man said slowly, dangerously, “that this man is capable of magic?” He laughed humorlessly. “That’s impossible. There are maybe ten or twenty souls in Ethein that can wield that Art.”

           “More than half of them work for the False King!” That was another man from the group, but no one tried to argue against what he was implying.

          Rose shook her head, taking a step forward as she shook free of the men holding her. She looked at me finally, but just as I imagine she could read nothing on the stone face I’d put on, I couldn’t read anything on hers. Rose faced the leader again, saying loudly, “I’m not saying that this man, who is an ally to your cause, can wield any such Art.” This was met with slight relief, but not a total release of tension. “I’m saying that I can.”

          No one moved or dared even breathe too loudly. For a moment, it was dead silent until the man in charge moved forward and said with a coldly firm voice, “Show us then, madam.”

          She hesitated, which made the men behind her start to move toward her. While I was unimaginably furious with her for lying to me about something like this, I still heard myself growl, “Gentlemen, if you know what’s good, you’ll keep back from the lady.”

          Their leader nodded to heed me and they fell back a few steps. Rose looked at me for a long moment before her eyes searched around, as if trying to think of what to do to prove what she said. Suddenly, her eyes focused in on something and she was moving forward. I watched as she moved toward the boy in the group, who looked terrified.

          She crouched before him, asking softly, “That scar on your forehead. Where did you get it?”

          He was shaking as he answered, with a surprisingly steady voice, “My father used to beat me, when I was little. He’s dead now.”

          Nodding kindly, Rose reached up to brush her fingertips over the scar. She looked at the boy and said, “Does it scare you to remember?”

          The boy looked nervously around at the group but still nodded to her question. “I remember it lots, because of the scar.”

          Rose moved forward and kissed the boy’s forehead, smiling at him when she looked him in the face. “Maybe now you won’t have to remember so much.”

          Shocked, the boy frantically reached to touch what was no longer there. She pulled the knife out of the boy’s belt and held it up so he could look at his forehead in the steel. He started laughing, and then he started to cry. She held him, letting him cry. Looking at the harsh man, she asked, “Is that good enough for you?”

          I thought he would say yes, as all the other men seemed content (and a little afraid) to leave it at that. However, he said, “I don’t believe the bags are honestly jinxed. You’ll have to prove that one.”

          She sighed heavily, releasing the boy and standing. She moved forward to the man who had my bag, took it from him wordlessly, and stared down at it for a long moment. I watched her hesitantly lift a hand, and then slowly put it inside the lid of the bag. Once her hand was submerged to the forearm, a loud crack split the silent air. Immediately, she dropped the bag and fell to her knees, clutching her arm to her chest. I rushed forward, forcing her to sit up enough so everyone could see her arm as I tried to examine it.

          The skin was burnt and cracked, bleeding in several places. Tears filled her eyes as she snapped viciously, “Now do you f*****g believe me, you b*****d?”

          I put aside how angry I was at her for lying and let her cry into my chest. I whispered softly into her hair, “Can you heal it?”

          She was quiet a moment before forcing down the tears and answering, “Yes, but I’ll be exhausted afterward. Healing someone else is one thing, healing wounds on my own body is different.”

          “How is it different?”

          “Every magic user draws magic from their Chakra. The Mother controls the Source, and the Source is where our Chakras gain power. Magic is stronger when it’s being directed outward from the body, because most of the time, you’re aiming at something with your hands.” She weakly held up her hand, saying, “I typically use my right hand, which is now too damaged to channel magic. My left will do, but I’m not used to it. It’s like trying to write with a different hand �" with practice, it becomes legible, but it’ll never look exactly like lettering done by the right hand,” she explained.

          “Can I help?”

          She hesitated before grabbing my left hand awkwardly with her own and saying softly, “This is going to feel weird, just so you know. Slowly move your right palm just over my skin, but don’t touch. Keep moving slowly up and down my arm. You’ll know when to stop.”

           I just nodded. At that moment, an electric fire surged up my left arm. I felt it snake up my arm, across my shoulder, down to my stomach, up to my other shoulder, and down my arm. It didn’t hurt, but it did feel weird. I moved my hand as she told me and I felt the fire escape through my right palm. She kept still, and I watched as the skin knitted together, the burns seemed to fade away, and the blood evaporated. Once her arm was restored, I felt the electric fire withdraw backwards through the path it’d taken inward. As it retracted from my left palm into hers, I realized that she’d just channeled magic through me.

          For possibly the first and only time, I knew what it was like to use magic.

          I started to say something to her, but she was asleep against my chest. I picked her up and turned to the other men, asking, “Are you all satisfied? I need to get her to a bed.”

         

          After a few minutes of arguing, they did finally take me to a place where I could lay her down to sleep. It was difficult, holding onto her and the rope in the middle of the lift. I also had our bags and my weaponry to weigh me down. It was managed though, and I was shown to guest housing.

          It truly was a village in the sky. There were rope ladders between trees, and the trees were hollowed out, while smaller and thinner trunks were surrounded with platform so it was easier to maneuver between what the people here called Planes. These woods were filled with especially large trees and almost all of them had incredibly thick trunks. Clustered closely together in some areas, they made up different areas of commerce. I noticed that six especially large trunks were luckily clustered very close together, and a sort of town square was built in the middle. It had a large stage-looking octagon in the middle, with large steps that slowly closed in on the lowest level that was the stage. There was a pit in the very center of the lowest level that had half-burnt ashes of the last bonfire, I imagined.

          Noticing me looking, one of the men explained, “Town gatherings of Sector Four are held there. We’re the last and largest sector. Each Sector has a square like that, though they all look a little different. People set up blankets on those steps and eat the food made inside the two trunks on the other side, over there,” he said pointing. “We have a meeting once a week, but it’s mostly music and dancing. Serious meetings don’t happen often.”

          “They didn’t used to,” his comrade corrected. The conversation was dropped and I went about admiring the area a bit more.

          It was quite ingenious, really. Single men or women lived in smaller trunks, which since they were homes, were referred to as huts. None of them were particularly glamorous, but they all served the purpose well and apparently maintained heat well. The larger the family, the larger the hut they were given. No one really got attached to their hut, because if a family needed more space, they might end up trading down in order to accommodate them. If a single man managed to hold on to a fairly large hut, he had to accept that if someone in the sector had children and needed that hut, he might have to give them his hut, and take up residence in the family’s hut instead.

          Of course, I was having one of the men explain all of this to me. I don’t make a habit of keeping every general law stored in my head. That was Derek’s job.

          I asked at one point, “Does that also mean that Rose and I might have to transfer at any time?”

          “Yes,” the leader, who I learned was called Spike, answered. “No one is exempt from that rule. We live for the whole, not the one. Since you and the woman will be living together, you’re getting a fair-sized hut but it’s nothing special. You’ll keep it as long as no one needs an upgrade any time soon.”

          “That’s fine. She and I are used to close quarters at this point,” I replied.

          “Is she your wife?”

          “No,” I told him, eyes narrowing. “What do you care?”

          Spike waved the men on, but stopped to face me. We didn’t speak until they’d passed us. He didn’t seem to want to threaten me, but he didn’t seem friendly. “The woman is a magic user. She won’t be trusted easily by most. Thankfully, she only displayed the power to jinx bags and heal a boy, and herself through you. I suggest you tell her to keep the magic to a very low minimum.”

          “I think she knows that already,” I snapped, protective of her even if I wasn’t very happy with her. I didn’t understand that, either. I was furious with her. I felt lied to and there was a pain in my chest from the feeling of betrayal. She’d claimed we were becoming friends �" which wasn’t something I normally did with women �" and then lied to me. Out of all the things she chose to lie about, she chose not to tell me that she could use magic. No one in Ethein trusts magic users anymore. They all work for the False King. Given, if they didn’t, he’d have them beheaded �" but still.

          Ever since I discovered that she’d lied about having relatives, I regularly found excuses to bring up old conversations without being obvious �" making her have to repeat things she’d already told me. Most people, when they lie, forget that they’ve lied about it. Honest people never have to think about answers, because they haven’t changed. I had my chance to catch her in a lie when she mentioned being able to pick locks. At first, when she’d said ‘sisters’, I’d thought that she’d lied to me about the sibling-thing after all. As it turns out, she didn’t mean the term literally. She’d been telling the truth about being an only child.

          I realized suddenly that I’d never really trusted her to begin with, because I was constantly waiting for the chance to catch her in a lie. Whereas she’d been trusting me from the beginning, merely on the basis that I’d saved her from those men. Yet, I still felt a stab of pain in my chest. Why? My only guess at why would have to be that while I did believe she trusted me �" she hadn’t enough to tell me that she could use magic.

          Maybe I didn’t trust her and maybe she didn’t trust me after all.

          Spike put his hands up as a sign of surrender. “No one will cause her any harm, Assassin. She seems honest enough, if a bit secretive. She’s a friend to you. That alone will keep these people from thinking her some spy or traitor. I just think you should remind her that any magic-using might have the men uneasy.”

          My brain suddenly remembered the conversation I’d had with Rose over a week ago when she’d first wanted to come with me. She’d promised to stay out of my way by helping the infirmary of Bird’s Hollow. I mentioned that idea and Spike nodded. “That would do, magic or not. She’d be of help and no one minds a woman that can send a soldier back out faster.”

          I nodded, feeling the matter settled. “She’ll be glad.”

          We started walking again when Spike asked, “How is she?” I at first thought he meant if she was well after passing out, but the grin on his face told me otherwise.

          It was going to be a long day. 

Author's Note

IGNORE RANDOM " BECAUSE CAFE REPLACES - WITH THEM. -- Tell me what you think. (: