Chapter IX

Tally spends a day with Gwilym, the first elf she's met.

            When the sun had risen and their morning's work had concluded, Merek walked Tally out to the courtyard. 

 

 

 

            "You did well," he said. "Again tomorrow." Tally nodded.

 

 

            The air was still and dry, the cold of the oncoming winter all but gone in the early sunlight. Tally walked through the yard. Every man had a job; some of them were leaving, some were returning, some were shooting at targets, and a handful were readying a wagon. It was now, in full view of the hundred odd thieves, that Tally became painfully aware that she was without the company of other women. There was every shape and size and color of man and elf, but not one woman.

 

 

            There must be more criminal women than men; their options are fewer. The women must have a fortress of their own, for their safety. I'm certainly not safe in the midst of this army of rogue men.

 

 

            It was a troubling notion, which Tally put to the back of her mind, scurrying back to the southernmost tower and up to Fawkes's room. On the third level, double doors of dark wood stood in front of her nose, identical to the entry into Merek's chambers. With a hitch in her breath, Tally knocked. There was no response. Tally put a pointed ear to the wood. The room was quiet. She knocked again, the tap-tap-tapping of three quick knocks echoed off the stone walls encircling her. She opened the door. 

 

 

            Tally had not noticed the details of the room before, too overwhelmed by the loudness of her own mind. Now, she noticed.

 

 

            The gargantuan room was not decorated in as practical a fashion as Merek's was; Fawkes room was opulent, and bright, and all of it was visible to the eye immediately upon entry. Fawkes certainly didn't need the space, especially if he was so often absent from it, but likely having the topmost room to himself fed Fawkes's ego. The sun shone in brightly from the many windows, and filtered through the crimson canopy above the bed. Tally walked to the bed and rubbed the canopy's thin fabric between her thumb and forefinger. She used her toes to kick her shoes off her heels, and stepped into the warm pool of golden light on the floor in front of her. From the windows on the eastern side of the room, stripes of sunlight met in the center, but failed to stretch to the far end. Tally's body had been cold to the bone for weeks, and just now she felt the frost melt from her toes to the rest of her, until she no longer shivered. 

 

 

            Tally had been trying not to feel for so long. I want to feel now. I want to let myself feel now. Being here with Merek's men was a chance to fix everything. Everything will be alright soon. Pa will be alright. We will all be alright. She stood in front of the window, the sunlight warm on her skin, and looked out from the tower. She saw the courtyard below, and the trees, the tops of which failed to meet her height here, and she could see that the forest reached far, far away, to an icy sea she had only ever known as a drawing on a map. Tally became overwhelmed by the world around her, and the possibility of what all the places on maps really look like to the eye, and the realization of just how tiny she was, and she felt too much at once.  A heavy weight nestled in her chest, and she let herself cry this time, so she would not have to later. 

 

 

            The weight in her chest grew heavier, and her heart beat faster, and her neck grew hotter, until she walked backwards to the bed and sat, bent forward, head in hands. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. The crying felt wrong. She wanted to yell, and more than anything, she wanted the ability to solve her problems. It was the helplessness that stung most. Crying is useless. Crying is for children. I'm tired of needing to cry.

 

 

            Soon, the tears ceased, and Tally ignored the rapidity of her heartbeat. It's over now. She pushed herself off of Fawkes's mattress. Let's try this again. Tally circled the room in slow, deliberate steps. She reached behind her head and lifted her bright red hair off of her neck, twisted it around her finger, and held it up against the back of her head for a moment while she inspected Fawkes's desk. 

 

 

            It was far more organized than Merek's had been, papers and ledgers strewn about the entire surface. Fawkes's had no letters, received or written, and the supplies he had were coated in a layer of dust. Tally turned away from it, and let her hair fall over her shoulder. Her eyes moved from window to window, examining how different the world looked from above. She walked over the ornate, medallion-patterned rug, past the clothes trunk, which she decided she didn't care to open, and for a short while she watched her feet as she carefully walked in a straight line on the pattern, one foot in front of the other, with her arms out at her sides. Then, at the end of the rug, she looked up, and found herself staring into her own eyes--a tall looking glass stood in front of her.

 

 

            Tally recognized herself, from what she could see of herself always, but she had never looked into a mirror. She saw herself now for the first time. She inched closer. I'm a person, she thought, foolishly, and I'm pretty. But then she looked for too long, and grew disappointed. I look like a bird. A red, spotted bird. Tally's nose was large and sharp. Her red hair, free from its braid, was wild and fiery in the light, and her freckles were many. Tally turned her head to look at her ears. If she hid them under her hair, she almost looked human, but uncovered, the small slope gave her away. Half-breed, abomination, the Inquisitor had called her. 

 

 

            She looked at her body, pulling at her boxy homespun shirt to see her freckled, protruding collarbones, and then her arms, thin and muscled like a pauper boy, her skin dark from the sun. Tally, face in a scowl, turned from the mirror. She returned her shoes to her feet and looked once more at the treetops before grabbing her bow and quiver and descending the stairs. On the ground level, Tally met the eyes of a familiar thief; the elf whom she had first met upon her arrival. He had been waiting.

 

 

            "There you are," he said, his voice light and airy.

 

 

            "Here I am," she said, with a long nervous pause between words.

 

 

            He stepped forward and offered her his hand. "I'm Gwilym."

 

 

            "Tallis." she shook his hand.

 

 

            Gwilym smiled and nodded at her name. "Fawkes is out. I'm to be your chaperone this morning."

 

 

            "Are we out on a job?" Tally ached to see the city, if only in her search for Ralnor and Lola. But Gwilym only laughed.

 

 

             "No, I'm afraid your keepers forbade it. You have the pleasure of killing rabbits with the dashing elf before you." He gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

           

           

            Tally was not afraid when she followed Gwilym between the trees. Rather, she entered the surrounding thicket with excitement. The thieves' woods quieter than those that neighbored Errusten, but those had not fed over a hundred men. The trees were many, standing tall and uninhabited, watching Tally and Gwilym stalking beneath their branches. 

 

 

            "Why are you here, then?" asked Gwilym, suddenly.

 

 

            "In the woods?" Tally said in feigned confusion.

 

 

            "You know." 

 

 

            "You're going to scare away the rabbits." She whispered.

 

 

            "The rabbits will come. I want to know your story." Tally said nothing in reply. Gwilym pried. "When I saw you, all you said was 'Fawkes'. Did he ask you to come here?"

 

 

            "No," Tally said, a touch too loud. "I came from Errusten." She hoped that would be explanation enough. Gwilym hissed in response, as if in pain.

 

 

            "Alright, Tallis of Errusten," he sighed. "Let's bring home some rabbits, then."

 

 

            Gwilym didn't ask any more questions, which Tally appreciated. Neither Merek nor Fawkes required Tally then, so she stayed with Gwilym and helped with the menial tasks around the fort. He was a calmer companion than Fawkes, to be sure, and he liked to tell stories. By the time the rabbits had been skinned and cooked, Tally had been given a history lesson in local crime. Every man had their special trade. Gwilym's was infiltration; jail-breaking, specifically. His friends--who had also greeted Tally upon her arrival--Ryn and Kirk, were twin pickpockets. Fawkes's talent was in burglary, but his roots were in smuggling and his favorite crime was swindling.

 

 

            "And you?" asked Gwilym, his face lit by the fire in the now-pitch dark courtyard. "What's your pet crime?"

 

 

            Tally hesitated. "I've never stolen anything."

 

 

            Gwilym scoffed. "I don't understand; if you're not a thief, what use are you here?" Gwilym drank from his tankard. "What was it you did out there?"

 

 

            This was Tally's third night with the thieves, and already she had been distracted. The trauma inflicted three nights since had scabbed over. Gwilym's question tore it out and laid it bare. Tally was quiet for a moment, while her mind left her body in front of the warm courtyard fire and placed itself in front of Elof and Lola's home as it was razed to the ground. With a blink, she returned to herself. "I was a sawyer," she said, finally.

 

 

 

            Gwilym rolled his eyes. "There it is. That's why you got stuck with me," he began to laugh. 

 

 

            Tally leaned closer to Gwilym. "How did everyone else get here?"

 

 

            "Pardon?"

 

 

            "Merek said this outpost was 'one of many', said this was a 'network'. But I don't understand how he chose all of you to be here."

 

 

            From Gwilym's face, Tally was worried she had asked a question he was not allowed to answer. After a moment, the answer came. "I don't know. That's Merek's business. In the beginning, we were all special cases, like you."

 

 

            "In the beginning?"

 

 

            Gwilym took a drink before he explained. "After the war, it was the three of us; Merek, Fawkes, and myself." He looked into the fire in front of them as he spoke, and did not meet her eyes. "Merek took us under his wing, but he hasn't done anyone that favor since."

 

 

            "Do you know why that is?" Tally asked.

 

 

            Gwilym turned to her. "Didn't want to get attached, I suppose. Not in this line of work."

 

 

            They were quiet for a while after that, watching the fire crackle and spark, until Tally had another question to ask.

 

 

            "Am I indebted to him now?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

 

 

            It took a few seconds for Gwilym to absorb the question, as he had also been deep in thought in the sudden silence of the night. "Only in the way we all are," he said. "To Merek, that is. Eventually, the debt goes away, and you become a part of the family."

 

 

            "I didn't come to join a family."

 

 

            "No, but you need one, don't you?"

 

 

            "What I need is an army." Tally clenched her jaw, but not before the words had been said.

 

 

            Gwilym nearly choked on his laughter, but when he saw the grim look on Tally's face, the laughter died. "You better master the art of thievery quick, or you'll be dreaming of your army while you're mucking out horses with me," he said, half in jest. Then, quieter, "At least your sob story's as good as the rest of ours. Better, really."

 

 

            Tally nodded. As she looked forward at the fire, she felt still that she was beside Elof, watching the burning cabin sputter sparks of flame. Then, the image of her father's face, so different from months prior, gave her a sad smile on his way out the door. And her first memory; her mother held her, making an irreversible decision, and put her down for the last time. "The best."

 

 

 

 

 

 

            The middle levels of the southernmost tower were where the men slept. There 

was no privacy, but rows of bunk beds with a trunk at the foot of each one. The room was obscenely large, which allowed for some space of one's own, but there were still upwards of fifty men in each room. Gwilym walked Tally to the second-highest level of the tower--the ceiling of which was Fawkes's floor--and showed her to the bed nearest the doorway.

 

 

            "I realize it's rather scant, but you'll be out of the cold, and it's nearest the door so you don't feel crowded," Gwilym rambled. "And I'll sleep below you, so you know you're safe."

 

 

            "Thank you," said Tally, grinning with gratitude. 

 

 

            The first night in that bed was the worst for many to come, but it was better than the stone floors, and knowing Gwilym was just below her did make her feel safer. Tally was just beginning to succumb to sleep when Fawkes crept up to his own bed, and from her place near the doorway, the pitter-patter of his shoes echoed in her ears.

Words: 2232 Pages: 8

Author's Note

This is an early version of this chapter and the dialogue is still pretty much a rough draft. Not too happy with the characterization of either Tally or Gwilym. Might add this chapter to the end of the previous one since it's so short.