by R. L. Weeks
Except for one. A small boy runs by me. I have had a handful of encounters with him since coming here. He has dark curls that bounce as he moves and the lightest brown eyes. His skin is always dirty and his clothes threadbare, yet he smiles. He runs with a gaggle of siblings. Too many to count. All older siblings. They boisterously run circles in the street despite the screaming happening down in the square. One of the older ones, a girl, sees me. She halts in her tracks. Her eyes widen with fear. The others catch on to her mood shift, flocking her as they also become aware of my presence. So many dirty faces. Workers they are, toiling long hours in dirt to provide the roots and flowers their mother sells on the streets in the mornings. Whether it is my face or my reputation that frightens them I know not. Except for the boy.
He turns to me seeing what his elders fear. His face twists up into a grin. A clenching fills my chest. He approaches me. A gasp comes from the pack of his siblings. Tiny hands reach into his pockets and out he pulls a large hard-shell nut in one hand, and a crumpled flower in the other. He stares at them both, choosing. He takes in my face, thinking. I see what he is doing. If I am a man, he would give me the nut. A maiden, the flower. Most men cannot even tell what I am. Why he chooses to do this task at all perplexes me. Normally he waves as he’s peeking back and forth out of his mother’s skirts. He holds out the flower in his dimpled hand. I look up and down the streets, no one is witness. If I take this flower is it a show of weakness? Mercy of which these people should never see from me. I cannot turn away. I feel my lips upturn in return. I lower myself to him taking the flower to sniff it.
“Thank you, young lad.”
Instead of replying he grins and holds out the nut to me. My lips quake trying to hold back a grin to match his. I can’t be too soft.
“No, no, you must keep this.” I reassure him, closing his little palm around it with my gloved hand. I may take taxes from his mother, but I will not take food from this boy.
His head tilts. His brow furrows, he holds it out to me again.
I sigh. I can’t deny him. “How about I pay you for it then? The flower shall be my gift, but…” I pull out one satchel of coins. Coins I am certain his mother will take from him just to pay to me next month. This is no mercy, I tell myself. I give him the entire satchel. “This is for the nut.”
He waits, still no words. He shrugs taking the satchel.
“Do you have a name young one?”
He nods.
“H-i-s name,” A voice quavers behind him, “His name is Nicodemus. Sir-uh-Sheriff.” The tall girl speaks. I had forgotten his siblings. “He doesn’t, he can’t speak Sir. He can hear though.”
“Ah,” I say. I have come across one like him before in my village only that one couldn’t hear either. He died early when he fell into a well and couldn’t call for help. “Nicodemus.”
Nicodemus nods happily and holds out his hand for me to shake. Just as I am about to take it, I spot a pair of too black eyes in the pile of his siblings. Between the dirty faces of Nicodemus’ siblings, a fair clean face is among them. A child they cannot see. The child that doesn’t belong there is shaking in rage.
Shouting sounds out from down the street where the criminals are chained. I turn to see the guards running amok.
“Nicodemus, run home now.” I say.
His sister sees the urgency in me. The black-eyed boy I love looks from Nicodemus to me seething. “Get him straight home!” I order her. She nods and grabs him up.
“Hoodsmen!” The guards yell from down the street. I turn away from the children and mount Hollow just as the arrows begin.
Chapter 3
Vile filth! I ride back to the square. A part of me wonders if my darling boy had something to do with this. He was so angry seeing me with Nicodemus. Jealousy. A feeling dangerous for him to have. I will rectify this with him after I take care of the scourge.
The square is in chaos. My men are running to catch some of the chained criminals who have been freed, their chains have been broken. How the Hoodsmen could have accomplished such a feat so quickly infuriates me. Some of the criminals are running, some cowering. The town whipsman is lying on the ground in a pool of blood with an arrow in his throat. I spot one hood running across the top of a building. I do not have arrows to launch at him, but I need them not. I grab a dagger from my thigh as I ride and throw it at the hood. The dagger soars, catching him in the calf and causing him to fall from the steep roof.
“Grab him!” I order to the guard nearest to me holding onto a chain of three criminals. The guardsman obeys, Phillip I believe his name is. The hood I hit in the calf is still putting up a fight. But another guardsman joins Phillip and beats him down and into shackles. More hoods scramble around the square in like to the disgusting vermin they are. They’re running to and fro fighting guardsmen and taking shackled prisoners out. I cut down two of them before they can even turn at the sound of Hollow and I upon them.
From the building across the square from me I finally see him, his green hood flows around him as he jumps from the rooftop to the top of one of the whipping posts with the dexterity of a cat. My blood boils at the sight of him. For months now, he has barely escaped my grasp over and over. His Hoodsmen seem to multiply faster than I can capture or kill them.
“People of Nottingham!” He addresses the crowd. “No more shall you fear the unjust taxes of your Prince and your Sheriff! Where they shackle you, I shall free you. Where they rob you of food and shelter, the Hoodsmen shall give you home and hearth!” He throws two satchels of coins into the air. That does the trick, from all around the people come running out of their hovels to grovel over the coins in the street making it impossible to distinguish freed criminals from townsfolk. Just as he had planned, I am certain. “Bless you Hoodsmen!” the people yell.
These people do not understand what he truly is, they are ignorantly being bought for a few coin. I grab another dagger and throw it at the green hood. He is joyously soaking in the celebrity his thievery has bought, when just before the dagger hits its mark, he jumps out of the way from one post to another. The dagger flies by him sticking deep into the wall of a building.
“Very good dear Sheriff, but not good enough.” His eyes glimmer gayly over his covered nose and mouth at me. He is young, that I have determined. He has the boisterous arrogance only youth can give a man, older men are just as arrogant, but they become quieter about it until they are with dimmed with drink.
“Why don’t you come down you scared nillywit and fight me like a man, then we will see who is good enough!” I goad him. Young men find it hard to deny a challenge.
“We can see that now my good man!” He yells back and before I can blink, he is unleashing an arrow right at my face. Within a breath it is before me, stopped, inches from my right eye. My right gloved hand is clasped around it, and around my hand is clasped a tiny pale one. My black-eyed boy stands next to me hovering.
“See, you still need me.” My boy, my Onyx tells me with a velvet voice of warning. The words only my ears hear.
“I do.” I say to him earnestly under my breath. I hear another whizz as another arrow is coming again for my face. My left hand catches the arrow with ease and Onyx is suddenly on my left side holding my hand around it. I turn back to the hood with a smile cracking the arrows before I drop them.
His eyes are wide for a split-second before he grins, “You are quick Sheriff.”
“Oh no you do me no justice, Robin of the Hood. There are a great many things I languish taking my time with. As many of your fallen hoods have learned and as you soon will learn in kind.” My eyes ignite with hunger over the idea of what I will do with his insides when I finally get my hands on the murderous pirate of the forest. Onyx laughs next to me knowing exactly what I am thinking.
Something dark crosses the hoods features before he once again puts up a merry façade and shouts, “You shall have to catch me first!” He winks at me, “Now John!” His words are an arrow of their own accord. Suddenly the
square is surrounded by bags of flour being thrown into the air. From windows, rooftops, on all sides it as if a bomb of bread making has gone off. Suddenly instead of guardsmen, Hoodsmen, and towns people there are only dark shapes in a thick light mist.
“He is wily, I’ll gift him that.” I tell Onyx.
“This way!” Onyx replies. He has moved away from me to lead me out of the flour mist.
Chapter 4
Onyx leads me farther than just out of the flour. I follow him through the orange streets that are beginning to darken as the sun sets. We ride swiftly as he always manages to stay ahead of me, oft disappearing around a building or a tree as he leads me farther from town, past the farmlands.
“Faster! This way!” His voices spirits through the air to me encouraging me to push Hollow farther. I see not one Hoodsmen, but Onyx has never lead me wrong. I will catch that wretched Robin of the Hood and fix this town once and for all. His men shall never again merrily cheer as they steal from the Lords and Ladies. As they steal livestock, and kill crops that feed not only Nottingham, but that are taken to feed the King his men in the war. It is as if the Hoodsmen live and ride for our country’s rivals.
“They could.” Onyx assures me.
Hollow’s breaths quicken tiredly as the night surrounds us. “Onyx, this is too far. The Hoodsmen travel on foot. Unless they are liken to you, they could not make it this far.” I tell him as he has disappeared somewhere in the night. I slow down as Hollow and I come upon the royal forest.
“In there, but I cannot go there.” I hear Onyx’s voice scarce around me.
“Where are you? Are you certain they come here? Why can you not come in?”
“Yes. You must go. I am forbidden.” His voice sounds farther away.
I feel it suddenly as a change of wind, he is gone from me. This happens sometimes, he shall find his way back to me, yet never before has he been forbidden from a place. I scan the trees, and eerie whistle howls through them, from some beast or specter unseen.
I have sent sentries three times in months past to explore this haunted forest. None have returned. No caravans using the royal forest roads have arrived at their destined places either. They too vanished. Then townspeople began going missing as well. Farmers nearest by. Father’s leave for work in the morn, and do not return. Woodsmen by trade, hunters, all lost whence they step foot here. I heard Nicodemus’ own father disappeared the same way shortly before I came to town. The legends grew that no man shall live after entering the forest. I was so busy working on the town I dare not leave to investigate for myself. The Prince has been patient with me. He gave the last sheriff three years before beheading him for failure. I have time. I turn to Hollow to go back to town. But- if through some witchcraft the Hoodsmen do reside here it would explain why we cannot find them. I grind my teeth remembering Robin’s taunting eyes. I would be a coward not to go. I will not be like those men, I am no man. I am woman. I turn Hollow back to the trees and enter the haunted royal forest.
It’s wet beneath the cover of trees so thick the sky cannot be seen. The darkness surrounds us like a shroud pulled over this place. This I can deal with. Darkness I know. My eyes adjust quickly to the lack of light and I navigate Hollow deeper. Disembodied howls and hoots surround us. Sounds no man nor animal could make. Hollows heart gallops as we walk. His breathing rushed and I notice the whites of his eyes dart all around, my reassurances calm him not. Fearing his life may snuff out and I will have to walk back to the keep, I dismount.
Chapter 5
“Go back to the meadow and wait for me.” I whisper to him as I pet his snout, “I shan’t be long.” I mean the words. I will just have a look around this night, on the morrow I will come back with supplies and raze this forest to the ground if I must. The tree branches stir above me but not an animal or bird is to be seen. Echoes of cries and sobs begin the deeper I go. Moisture settles in my palms despite the doubt in my brain telling me this can’t be real. I step over what seems to be a deep pit of mud and my face hits something hard. I grab it. It’s round and seems tied to a branch. Holding onto it I rip it down. It is the skull of a small animal. Bleached white and engraved with markings I do not know. I pocket it for later inspection.
The farther I go the louder the calls and cries seem to get. Enough it would send chills up the most daring mans spine. I keep walking, hacking away at the thick brush with my sword. I wanted to be silent, but the forest is so much louder than I can keep up with it masks my movements. Along the way I find more skulls, bones, and a wet birds wing hanging. Whatever resides here is a dark and dangerous thing. I begin to doubt Onyx on his assurance that the jovial young thief and his band of horrors would come to such a place.
A flicker of light catches the corner of my eye. Just for a moment it returns then is gone as it seems the trees shift and move in the dark. I follow it and come across many more effigies and dead engravings. Suddenly I am confronted with a hanging wall of mirrors. Kinds of all shapes and sizes hang from the trees, some affixed to them. In them is reflected only the dark green forest, my own refection does not appear back at me as I stare into them. I do so for some time. An icy feeling clawing in my chest as I search for my own eyes and face. Instead I see shadows moving in and out of the forest reflected behind me. Recognition jumps through me like a bolt of lightning. I know what this is. I have seen this before. I should leave, I tell myself. Laughter stops me.
A little girl is laughing. It’s not the creepy cawing of an undead voice, this is alive. I walk past the mirrors. They are thick. If the girls voice didn’t carry so well, I would have walked myself in circles. I keep going past the shapes that seem to be floating all around me in the reflections. I catch glimpses of lights coming through the trees and brush. Following them I am met by rows of tall wood posts with skeletal remains tied to them. Some are the men I sent in, some wear finer clothes, and some gowns. There’s one bare, with a hand-drawn photo of the prince covering its face, an arrow sticking through the heart. Farther yet is another hand-drawn photo of my own face with many arrows stuck between the bones. How flattering. I carry such re-noun in such a short time to warrant more target practice than the prince. Past these are tree houses. In fact, not just a tree house, a tree city. I am awestruck for a moment. More bone carvings hang here and there, but this is a city. Down on the ground running around a campfire is a little girl in a dress. The dress a few sizes too large and much too nice to be something someone bought. I wonder what child had to die for this child to wear such a fine gown. A fattened friar watches over the child, a canter of heavy drink next to him as he all but slumbers.
“Do you think Father will bring me gifts on his return in the morrow Tuck?” Her voice squeaks.
“Mmm doesn’t he always.” The friar, Tuck, responds to the child.
“Oh, how wonderful will it be if he has killed the Prince when he comes! That will be the only gift I wish. That or sweeties.” She coos, her ratted hair covers half of her face but her one eye looks quite familiar. Exactly like a certain Robin of the Hood.
“Yes, that would be nice.” The friar’s words trail off.
The girl continues to dance round and round the fire. She chants words in a language that stirs a familiarity. The fire changes colors forming itself into galloping ponies and leaping deer.
I know these people. After our village was decimated, the few who remained called to a nearby village, the Molocs, to assist us. The Molocs were savages, even more than my own kin. They ate the flesh of man and beast saying it gave them immense powers to work magicks no other clan knows. The Molocs turned us away. They were not our enemies, but not our friends. I smile. They are my enemies now.
The girl continues to dance. I search the town in the trees. No one is in sight. Crouching low I run back to my effigy, yanking off the paper. I return and silently move in. The child faces away from me. Before she can make a sound, I take the blunt end of my sword and knock her on the head. She falls. I walk calmly over to the friar and hold my swo
rd to his drunken throat. He stirs.
“Marianne, stop. Go play with your flames child.” He grumbles opening his eyes. They widen with a gasp. I shove my sword through his throat. I grab up the little maiden Marianne and run, leaving my photo pinned through the friar’s heart with a dagger.
Chapter 6
“To the Sheriff!” The guardsmen chant in the tavern raising their mugs in my direction.
I raise my mug to them nodding. I need not praise. The hood must have returned by now to find his friar dead and child gone. I had taken the child straight to the prince to show him I has found the Hoodsmen’s keep. Now I had something Robin of the Hood would come to us for. Yet he had not returned. Days passed with no sign of them. I wondered if maybe the hood thought his progeny dead. So, the prince was to hold a competition on the morrow. There was to be an archery competition for all who should wish to try their hand. The prize was to be wed off to the little maiden Marianne. A little young she is, but what better way to pry him out? Would not a father want to save his child from the slavery of marriage at such a young age? That was the plan at least.
