Chapter 4

Jesse pressed himself against the stone wall of the grain mill, trying not to move. He had run—or, at least, limped quickly—all the way across the village. Now his breath came in short, tired bursts, and he knew he had to wait until his aching lungs had time to recover before he went farther.

Just beyond the mill was a bonfire where three large Patrol members stood, talking and laughing in low tones. Just beyond them was a stone bridge, spanning the dark waters of the Dell River. And just beyond the river was a grove of trees that fringed the cliffs of the Suspicion Mountains.

The trees that contained the power to save Parvel.

I have to get over there, Jesse knew. But how?

His first thought was that he should step out and declare his reason for being out after curfew. Surely they wouldn’t let an innocent man die.

A second later, the problems with this solution flooded his mind. Patrol members were not known for their compassion, or even their intelligence. They were valued for their brute strength and blind loyalty, sworn to enforce the commands of the king. Jesse could not count on their help, no matter what the circumstances.

And they probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. In these hard times it was not uncommon for young boys to steal what they could not afford to buy. Surely these thieves, when caught, made wild excuses.

No, he would have to think of a different plan.

He looked at the river. It was not at flood stage yet, but the water moved by quickly, and Jesse knew it would at least be up to his chest in the middle. I can’t wade across. It would make too much noise.

A quick glance back at the bridge showed him that while the road was securely blocked, he could reach the bridge itself without being seen. The bonfire was a distance away from the bridge, and if he was careful to be quiet, he could sneak over without any of them noticing. But if one of the guards turns his head and sees me walking across…. On the bridge, silhouetted starkly against the moonlight, there would be no place to hide.

Then Jesse remembered all the times he and Eli had played by the river when they were young. He grinned to himself. Maybe I don’t need to go over the bridge after all.

The spongy moss on the riverbank muffled Jesse’s movements as he crept toward the bridge, ready at any moment to drop and flatten himself to the ground if one of the Patrol members looked his way.

They were huddled around the large bonfire. Their voices rose and fell; once he reached the bridge Jesse was close enough to hear every word of the exaggerated stories they told each other.

He did not take the time to listen, though. Instead, he studied the underside of the Dell River bridge. Huge, thick pillars supported its weight, and between these, nearly touching the stone underside of the bridge, wooden supports ran from one side of the bridge to the other, further strengthening the structure.

Jesse knew the supports would hold him. They were solid enough to bear the weight of a caravan of merchants on horseback with carts and wagons. For a hundred years they had stood guard under the bridge, solidly doing their duty without a moment’s rest. No, there was no question about the beams’ strength.

It was his own that worried him.

Ever since the accident had left him crippled in one leg, Jesse had not run about as in the old days. He knew he was much weaker than the young boy who had once played Sea Serpent in the river.

Pretend that’s what you’re doing now, Jesse thought, forcing himself to breathe deeper. He closed his eyes and tried to picture himself as a nine-year-old again. There he was, his brown hair poking out in all directions, looking up at the beams with a determined expression on his face. There was no darkness. There were no Patrol members who would fire crossbows at him if they heard the slightest splash. There was only the bridge and a game to be played.

“No fear,” Jesse whispered, refusing to look at the swirling waters. That was what he and Eli always said when they played their games.

With that, he jumped up and grabbed the first beam with both hands, nearly slamming his head against the underside of the bridge in the process. I guess I don’t have to jump as high as I did when I was nine.

Jesse stretched out his hand to the second beam, swinging silently to it. That was another advantage the years had given him. When he was younger, he had to swing back and forth to get enough momentum, then launch into the air, hoping that he would be able to reach the next beam. If he did not, Eli, the Sea Serpent, would be waiting to get him in the river below. Jesse could almost picture him now, green scum coating his black hair as he laughed and splashed, trying to get Jesse to fall.

But I will not fall. Another rung. This time, Jesse had to pause for a moment before moving on. His arms held his full weight, dangling him inches from the water. I can’t rest, he thought desperately. I can’t hold on long enough for that.

Hand over hand, beam over beam. Each time, Jesse’s hand got farther away from the next beam. On the eighth, he had to use what little energy he had to swing back and gain momentum. Somewhere in the back of his memory, he knew there were twelve beams.

He lunged forward again, giving a short gasp. Surely the sound of the river will cover the noise. Evidently none of the Patrol had heard his heavy breathing, because no one came to investigate.

Jesse kept going, ignoring the pain. Clinging to the eleventh beam, he reached out his hand and grabbed nothing but air. For a second, he felt his lungs tighten in panic. Trapped! Then he looked closer. No, it’s still there. I just didn’t reach far enough.

Come on, just like with Eli.

The exhausted part of Jesse’s mind mocked this idea. No more games! It was never this hard in those days. You know you can’t reach it.

No! With every bit of energy his tired arms could force, Jesse swung back and let go with both hands, trusting they would find the twelfth beam.

They did, barely. Jesse had to claw the beam before he had enough of a grip to hold his weight. Then, with one last jump, Jesse collapsed on the bank.

Panting, he poked his head from beneath the bridge. The Patrol members were still by the bonfire. One of them was singing some loud, senseless tune that made the others roar with laughter.

Jesse limped into the forest, still glancing over his shoulder to make sure none of them would see him and begin pursuit. Only among the trees did he finally kneel to rest. He had made it. Eli would be proud of him.

Yes, I made it, but can I make it back?

Jesse shook his head and limped into the trees. His father always told him never to worry about something until worrying would do any good.

Kayne had trained him well. It didn’t take Jesse long to identify the knob willow tree. He peeled the bark off in strips. Not knowing how much would be enough, he took an armful, just to be safe.

And how will I carry it across the river? Jesse knew he couldn’t swing from support to support with only one arm. He quickly took off his belt, looping it around the stack and cinching it tight. It would not do to have the bark slip and fall into the river. I can hold the strap between my teeth.

No you can’t, the practical side of him realized. You won’t even be able to cross under the bridge again. You’re too tired!

Lacking any other ideas, Jesse ignored his thoughts. He walked back to the bridge beside the road. Behind him, he could feel the shadow of the Suspicion Mountains looming into the dark. Everything was silent and calm, except for the rushing of the river. A nice change from the inn today.

Without knowing why, Jesse looked up. There, in the clear night sky, were thousands of stars, pricks of silver light against the blackness. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

He remembered stories his father had told him about the pictures that the stars formed, the heroes and villains of old whose mighty deeds were captured forever in the skies. Ever since his parents’ disappearance, Jesse had not even stepped out of the inn after curfew. Uncle Tristan strictly forbade it, worried that a Patrol member might see Jesse and close down his inn. It had been a long time since Jesse had seen the stars the stories were based on.

Somehow, the starry sky made Jesse feel a little more confident. This is my chance to do something heroic.

Those warm feelings disappeared instantly as he reached the edge of the forest by the river. There were no Patrol members around the bonfire on the other side.

Where are they, then? Jesse ducked behind the nearest tree and peered out at the river. There they were, sitting beside the bank. One had his boots off and his legs in the water.

Clearly, he could not go back the same way he came. Jesse gripped the bundle of bark tighter. I’ll have to cross on the bridge.

Of course, the short distance between the trees and the bridge would be the most dangerous, since there was no place for him to hide if one of the Patrol members looked his way. After that, he could crawl across the bridge, using its stone sides to shield him from detection.

But it would hurt, Jesse knew, putting full weight on his mangled leg as he crawled. There is no other way, he thought, gritting his teeth. I have to do it.

With that parting thought, he crouched down on the ground and crawled toward the bridge, pausing only when he reached the cold stone.

“What was that?” one Patrol member asked sharply. Jesse froze, his heart beating so fast he was sure they would hear it and discover the source of the sound.

“You’re imagining things,” another said.

Jesse eased his gaze over the stone wall of the bridge, hoping the darkness would hide him from sight. The largest Patrol member had stood, and was scanning the surrounding area for any further sign of movement.

“No,” he said slowly. “I saw someone move.”

“Could’ve been a bird.”

“A bird the size of a human?”

Jesse’s heart started to beat faster. “No,” the Patrol member said. “Someone’s there. I know it. And I’ve never been wrong.”

Just when Jesse was considering diving over the stone wall of the bridge and into the river, an arrow cut through the air with a sharp sigh, landing among the Patrol members. They looked frantically around for the source of the threat, crossbows at the ready.

One bent down to pick up the arrow, eyes still fixed on the darkness. “This isn’t a crude homemade arrow,” he said, a tinge of fear in his voice.

Peasants, of course, were not permitted to own weapons. Swords, spears, and bows were reserved for the king, his guards and nobility, and Patrol members. It was the law. Still, Jesse knew that many created their own weapons for protection, or, in the case of the Rebellion, to fight against the king.

The Patrol member fingered the feathers that formed the shaft. “Blood red,” he said ominously.

“A saard,” his comrade breathed, glancing all around at the woods and stepping closer to the others.

Saards, according to legend in Mir, were the souls of those who had been killed on false charges. Denied justice in life, they sought it in death, punishing those who were responsible for their death. Red was their color, the color of bloodshed.

The fact that the Patrol member was afraid of the saard said much about his integrity. Jesse wondered how many bribes he had taken, how many innocent people he had knowingly condemned. It happened often, he knew, but the thought still made him sick.

But Father said there’s no such being as a saard, Jesse remembered. Who shot that arrow, then?

There. By the mill. Beside the great wooden wheel that moved slowly with the river were two shadowy forms.

Silas and Rae. It has to be. They followed me here.

Jesse knew it wouldn’t take long for the Patrol members to notice the same thing he had. He also knew that Silas would not kill any of the Patrol. The Youth Guard was sworn to protect the kingdom, not destroy its guards.

I have to do something before they are discovered. Jesse knew that his size would hardly intimidate them. But if they believed he was a saard….

Without giving himself time to think about it further, Jesse set down the willow bark on the bridge. Hands shaking with fear, he stood and faced the Patrol members, staring down at them from his position on the bridge.

The one who had been so afraid of the saard arrow pointed at him, staggering backwards. “There he is,” Jesse heard him whisper. A strong, grown man afraid of a boy. Surely the man has something on his conscience.

“What business do you have?” another questioned, his hand on his crossbow. Even he seemed to have lost the customary bluster of a Patrol member. Jesse thought for a second about how he must look to them. Pale, homemade clothing, loose on his small frame, blowing in the wind. Light brown hair, almost gray in the moonlight. Just like a saard.

“I have come to find the ones who killed my parents,” he said calmly, his mind struggling to come up with a satisfactory story. He spoke clearly, but quietly, not a trace of the fear he felt showing in his voice. “After their passing, with no one to provide for me, I starved to death. It was not right.”

“Many go without food in these hard times,” one shot back. “It was not our fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” Jesse never looked away from them. “You are the Patrol. It is your job to protect, in the name of the king.”

“Begone, foul creature,” one Patrol member said, raising his crossbow.

Jesse tried to duck to the ground, but found that his feet would not obey his mind’s command. He was frozen to the bridge, unable to move.

“No!” the other said quickly, shoving his friend’s arm down. “Would you add to our guilt? Besides, you know the saards cannot be killed.”

“It was you who shot the arrow?” the man with the crossbow said suspiciously. Jesse nodded. “Prove it.”

For a second, Jesse panicked. Then the solution came to him. Without daring a glance at the mill, he spoke confidently and loudly, “All I have to do is raise my arm, like this.”

Sure enough, a split second later, a second arrow pierced the ground near the Patrol member’s foot. All three men stared in the direction of the mill.

“My father,” Jesse said simply. “He does not wish to be seen, because of his disfigurement. My mother is there too. Both were killed by Patrol members.”

For all Jesse knew, the story could be true. The thought brought him a sharp twinge of pain, and he pushed it away.

He pointed at the Patrol member in the middle, the one who had been so afraid of the saard arrow and had tried to shoot him with his crossbow. “Was it you, sir?”

He did not answer, and Jesse wondered if perhaps this man did have blood on his hands. “I could raise my arm again,” Jesse said. The man’s face froze. “My father would not miss this time.”

A pause. “But I choose not to,” Jesse finished, stepping back. Then, slowly, with effort, he climbed up on the stone wall of the bridge. A misstep would land him in the river, and he commanded his legs not to shake with fear.

“I choose instead to show mercy.” Then, quieter, “Mercy that was not shown to me or my family.”

The Patrol members looked up at him in terror. “Begone from here!” Jesse commanded. With that ringing shout, Jesse jumped off the bridge.

For a moment, falling through the air, he thought he was wrong, that his memory had failed him after all these years. But then, there it was, cold and sharp: the jutting stone that he and Eli had often used to climb onto the bridge from the river. He held onto the stone with all of his strength.

Jesse had only tried this trick once, six years before, trying to impress Eli, no doubt. He had leapt off the bridge, reaching out to catch the stone sticking out from the side so that he would jerk to a stop before hitting the water. He had missed, and Eli had laughed at him when he emerged, sputtering, from the river.

This time, though, I did not miss. Jesse hung there for a few seconds, gripping the stone until his arms ached. Anyone on the far side of the bridge would see a foolish boy dangling from a ledge of the bridge. But to the guards on the other side, the pale saard boy had disappeared into thin air.

Sure enough, he heard a shout of dismay, then running footsteps. Jesse clung to the rock for as long as he could, with every muscle in his body crying out in protest. Then he let go and fell into the river.

As soon as he hit the cold water, he clawed frantically at the bank so the current wouldn’t drag him away. He tried to pull himself up, but the force of the river was too strong and his arms too weak. Panic swirled inside of him, faster and more furious than the river. I’m going to drown!

Two brown boots flashed in front of Jesse’s eyes. “Take my hand,” a low voice said. Jesse reached up, gasping as he let go of the bank and felt the river begin to pull him away. Then he felt a large, warm hand clasp his, and his body was lifted into the air.

Jesse sputtered, coughing up the water he had swallowed, and crawled to his knees. Silas looked down on him, and Rae stood off to the side, watching them.

“Take the bark to Kayne,” Jesse said to her, pointing weakly to the bridge where he had left the bundle.

Rae nodded. Jesse wasn’t sure, since it was dark, but he thought he might have seen a glimmer of approval on her face. With a graceful leap, she jumped over the bridge’s high stone wall and carried the bark through the sleeping streets of Mir, moving like a silent wisp of wind.

“You did well,” Silas said, nodding at him. He handed Jesse his cloak, then turned toward the road, gesturing for him to follow.

And even though Jesse was wet, sore, and shaking with cold and fear, he smiled as he looked up at the heroes in the stars.