The Silver Gate

by Kristin Bailey

  “Down here,” Elric whispered to Wynn. He followed the slope of a hill toward a growing thicket where rainwater flowed down the hill and into a small gulley. The woods grew darker and the leaves crunched beneath their feet. Elric jumped over the small creek and then reached back for Wynn.

  There was a loud shout in the distance.

  Father’s silhouette appeared at the top of the hill.

  Wynn stiffened. “Is that the Grendel?” Her eyes were wide with fear.

  “Yes.” He wished it was. The Grendel was the least of their problems. “He’s coming. Quickly, jump!”

  Wynn swung her arms forward as if to jump, but then caught herself and kept her feet firmly planted on the bank.

  “We don’t have time, just jump!” he called. She reached one hand out to his, but he couldn’t quite reach it. Their fingertips brushed and again she leaned back, unable to jump.

  “I’ll catch you.” He held his arms out to her. She screwed her lips into a tight frown, swung her arms, and jumped off the bank, though she half stopped herself mid-jump and fell forward.

  Elric grabbed her and threw his weight back. He managed to pull her across the creek, but they stumbled and fell on the bank.

  “Oh, we made it!” Wynn exclaimed triumphantly. Elric hushed her as he pulled her up and they ran toward the thick brush. It was no use. They’d never get away like this.

  Their father started down the hill. They had to hide before he spotted them. A dense thicket of blackthorn grew beneath a newly fallen tree. Elric paused. The rounded leaves had turned yellow and thinned out, exposing the wicked thorns. They were easily the length of a babe’s finger.

  “Cover your face with your cloak,” Elric said, lifting Wynn’s hood over her head, then grabbing his own. “We have to hide.”

  Wynn balked and pulled her hand from his. “Blackthorn is danger,” Wynn said.

  The blackthorn was thick, and if they could tuck themselves behind the fallen tree, they’d be well concealed. His father would never think to look for them in that tangle of thorns. “It will protect us,” he whispered. “Trust me.” His heart raced. Blackthorn could be dangerous. Scratches could easily fester. He was about to hide beneath the hedgerow of the devil, but they had no choice. Father would reach the creek soon. He shouted their names as he tromped through the crunching leaves.

  Hunching his shoulders, Elric crouched low and backed into the thicket. The rotting sloe berries squished beneath his feet as he tried to keep Wynn’s face protected. He could feel the thorns jabbing into his back through the thick wool of his clothing.

  The thorns caught and pulled at his sleeves and his sack, sharp claws intent on a blood tribute for daring to seek their shelter. Elric pushed on. Once they were behind the fallen log, he tucked Wynn under his arm and pulled her cloak to conceal her. Thankfully their cloaks were mottled gray and blended into the shadows of the thicket.

  Elric’s fear grew until it became a monster within his own mind. The same oppressive feeling he’d noticed at the church came over him, as if they were being watched—as if something powerful wanted them to be found. He could feel the heavy air all around them, the thousand needlelike jabs waiting to rip at his flesh. Now they had no way to run.

  He peeked out from under his hood, trying not to move a muscle.

  “Will the Grendel eat us?” Wynn whispered.

  “Yes,” Elric whispered back as Wynn shook beneath his arm. “Quiet now, or he will find us.”

  He held Wynn tightly, almost as tightly as he held his own breath.

  Please stay still, please stay still, please stay still.

  Their father was close.

  “Wynnfrith?” their father’s rasping voice called, as if he had run after them. “It’s your father. It’s your duty to obey me.”

  Wynn stiffened under Elric’s arm. He gripped her shoulder, hoping to keep her down. He brought her closer to his chest so he could reach around and cover her mouth if he had to, but thankfully, she stayed silent.

  Their father moved harshly through the brush, and Elric hoped he would just keep going, but the crunching of his boots on the deadfall stopped after only five paces.

  “Elric?” he called. “I saw you run.” Crunch, crunch, he paced away. Crunch, crunch, snap. He came closer again. He stilled, as if he were listening for them. “Come back home. You are no fool, you know what punishment could come to you.”

  Wynn struggled, and Elric hugged his sister tighter.

  Elric’s neck hurt from their hunching and his toes began to go numb. But their father wouldn’t leave. Once again, he circled back toward the blackthorn. It was almost as if he knew where they were. Elric could see the rough seam of his father’s shoe from the narrow gap beneath the log.

  A low-throated awwwwwwwwwwwwww sounded from somewhere next to Wynn.

  Elric froze in shock. That couldn’t be what he thought it was. Their father’s shoe edged closer.

  The grove fell silent.

  Something moved against Elric’s ankle. He looked down at the sack Wynn had packed. The coarsely woven cloth jabbed outward with a low cluck, cluck, awwwwwwwwww.

  She’d packed a chicken!

  The blackthorn rustled to their left. Father was still out there.

  Elric grabbed the sack and yanked it up, but Wynn clung to it. Slapping off her hands, he tugged at the leather tie and the sack flew open.

  A fat black hen burst out, darted through the thorny branches with her wings thrown forward, and ducked under the log.

  Elric covered Wynn’s mouth and tightened his hold on her as she struggled forward after her hen.

  The hen squawked and their father let out a shout.

  Elric listened as the hen’s quick feet dashed through the leaves, and her throaty call hung in the air as she raced away. Something wet leaked under his palm. Tears. Wynn was crying.

  “God’s bones,” their father cursed. Elric heard the loud crack of their father hitting the trunk of a tree with a branch. His footsteps crunched across the glade, growing more and more distant. Their father’s rough voice called out into the empty woods.

  “Wynnfrith! Elric!” The voice faded as the stillness of the woods descended. “Wynn . . .” And then there was nothing.

  Elric waited.

  Wynn struggled and pulled against his hold, but he held her tight and waited. He waited until his thighs shook from fatigue and his feet lost all feeling. His shoulders ached. His neck ached. The thorns bit at his skin, but he waited.

  One wrong move, and it meant Wynn’s life. Father would forgive him. For as surly as their father could be, he valued his only son. He would give some excuse to the villagers about Elric going after another stray sheep should they question his delay. Elric would be fine. It was his sister he was worried about. She would pay the price for all of this.

  Minutes passed like hours. Finally, when Wynn stopped struggling and the shadows began to stretch, he loosened his hold. She wormed her way under the log and out of the thicket.

  A thousand thorns stabbed at him as he pushed out from the tangled bush.

  He touched his knuckle against his cheek, and it came away smeared with blood.

  Across the way, Wynn had made it back to the creek. She bent as if she wanted to jump, but she didn’t have the courage to make the leap across the gully on her own. He hurried to catch up with her, in spite of the numbness in his feet.

  He grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around.

  “You packed a chicken in your sack?” He would have asked what she was thinking, but he knew what she was thinking.

  She pulled her arm away from him with a hard yank. The motion threw his balance forward and he almost fell into the gully. Sometimes he forgot how strong she could be.

  “Mildred is my favorite.” Wynn wiped her nose on the back of her hand.

  “Wynn, you can’t bring a chicken.” His feet stung from falling asleep, and his cheek stung too from the wound. The last thing he needed was for it to fester, but he
couldn’t treat it now. This journey was off to a terrible start, and they hadn’t even left their mother’s woods.

  “We brought a chicken to the Gate before,” she reasoned, harkening back to their childhood games.

  “Wynn, we aren’t going to some ring of rocks in the woods. We have to go far away from here, and a chicken will only get in the way.” He wasn’t quite sure where to go yet. His only thought had been to get away from their father. Now that he was faced with the uncertainty of where to go next, he felt uneasy. He had to find a place that would be safe for her. “What else did you put in here?” He rummaged through her sack. It was full of uprooted weeds, a pot, and a small jar of honey nestled in the middle. “Weeds and honey. That’s what you chose to bring. The only useful thing you packed was the pot.”

  “I like honey. We can eat some at the fairy ring. You said this is a game.” She glared at him, and Elric felt the weight of her anger. “You lied.” She snatched her sack away from him.

  “I’m sorry.” It was all he could say.

  Wynn crossed her arms over her chest. She swayed the way she used to when she was small. “Father will hurt me?” Her words came out haltingly, as if her thoughts couldn’t quite put the lot of them together.

  Elric wasn’t sure what to say. He wished they could go back in time and be children again.

  “He doesn’t want to hurt you. He just wants to be rid of you.” The words almost made him ill, but they were the truth, and he couldn’t hide them from her. She was in danger, and she needed to know it.

  Wynn might have trouble, but she wasn’t what they said she was. She could think. Every once in a while, she understood too well what was going on. He hoped now was one of those moments.

  He needed her to understand him now.

  “Why doesn’t he like me?” She looked up at him with her downturned eyes. They matched the color of the clear autumn sky.

  Elric didn’t know what to say. He knew the answer, but he couldn’t bring himself to say those words. “I don’t know,” Elric lied.

  Wynn turned away from him with her arms still crossed and started walking through the glade away from the hut and the village. He trotted up next to her and reached out to ruffle her hair. She pulled her head away, but stopped walking and looked up at him. “I like you,” he said. That was not a lie.

  Her lips pressed together as she considered their situation. “Where do we go?” she asked.

  That was a good question. Once Father brought him an apple. He’d said he traded with some nuns for it at a convent to the north. Maybe Wynn could find a home there.

  Elric held out a hand. “Just follow me. I’ll keep you safe.” A rumor of a convent somewhere to the north was very little to go on, but it was as good a direction as any. He just hoped she wouldn’t notice that he had no real plan.

  “Keep you safe?” she asked, repeating his words exactly. It was an old habit she fell back on when she was scared. He hated seeing her afraid.

  “I’m going to take you to a place with high walls and kind women who will let you care for the chickens,” he said. He didn’t know if that was true, but there was little other comfort he could give his sister, and it was his deepest hope that it might be true.

  She needed to trust him.

  “Will I have to start the fires?” she asked.

  “Never,” he said. Hoped.

  Wynn reached out and placed her hand in his. Elric gripped it as they walked under the shade of the oaks.

  It was up to him now.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Elric

  “COME ON, WYNN. LET’S GO this way.” Elric glanced up at the sun through the thick branches above. It was the first day it had shone brightly since the storm. The clouds looked like piles of soft, clean wool in the vivid blue sky. He welcomed the sun, not only as an end to the storm, but also to give him a sense of direction. It was already tilting westerly, and they didn’t have much time until nightfall. They had already spent one uneasy night sleeping on the floor of the forest with only their cloaks wrapped around them. Elric hardly rested at all. The entire night he feared brigands or thieves would come upon them in the dark.

  All day long, they had been fighting the forest. They couldn’t find a good path. Most of the trails had been washed out in the storm. The ground was still soft from the rain and large branches, or sometimes entire fallen trees, laid across their path. A sick feeling turned in his stomach. He had never been to the cloister, and didn’t know exactly how to get there. His only clue was to continue to wander north in the hope that they would find civilization.

  Father had said he got the apple from a market in a large town by a fork in the river. If they found the river, they could follow it north until they found the right fork. The town would be nearby, and someone there would have to know the location of the cloister. Wynn could become a nun. She was good at memorizing things. She could remember her prayers and live with the other women somewhere that was safe.

  In the meantime they needed to avoid the roads and stay out of sight. Their father would be searching for them, and if Cuthbert found out they ran away, he would make sure they ended up whipped, or put in the stocks, or worse, once they returned home.

  “Is it a long way?” Wynn asked.

  “Not so very far,” Elric said, though he had no idea if that was the truth. “Let’s hurry.”

  He set out with long strides, and Wynn followed along after him, humming to herself. A narrow deer path wandered along the edge of a thicket and around an enormous fallen oak. The roots branched skyward. The tree reminded Elric of a slain giant with a beard full of snakes. An unsettled feeling came over him. It was too quiet.

  “Wynn?” He spun around. She wasn’t there. “Wynn!” he shouted.

  She emerged from behind the thick trunk of a tree some distance behind him. He watched in disbelief as she stooped and picked up a stick, inspected it, and tucked it under the strap of her sack. She had amassed a small bundle of sticks on her shoulder, and bent to pick up another.

  “What are you doing?” Elric splashed in a puddle in his haste to reach her. The cold water soaked into his stocking until his toes squished in his shoe.

  “I’m helping,” she said with a bright smile, shoving the stick in with the others tucked under her sack.

  Elric had to take a breath to hold back his frustration. Carrying a bunch of sticks would only slow them down. “You’re wasting time. Now come on, and keep up.”

  Once, just once, Elric wished Wynn would do what he asked her to do when he asked her to do it without wandering off and picking some flowers somewhere, or packing a chicken in her sack.

  He hated to admit it, but when they reached the cloister, it would be a relief. He glanced back just to make sure Wynn was still following. Thankfully she was, only a step behind him, her eyes cast down to her feet.

  The path twisted into a grove of trees with a thick carpet of fallen leaves. Elric kept to bare ground along an embankment to avoid ticks. They walked in silence for several minutes until Elric heard a rustling nearby.

  “Wynn! I told you to stay close—” He stopped and turned, and Wynn almost ran into him.

  He heard it again in the trees behind them.

  Someone was following them.

  “Quick, behind here.” Elric grabbed Wynn and forced her around the blackened hull of a tree that had been burned at some point. He tucked himself against the rough bark and held his arm over her chest to keep her still.

  There was a sharp crackle.

  And another.

  Elric’s fear grew with every breath he took. He pulled his short knife from his belt. It could be Father—maybe he had tracked them all this time. Or bandits, or even a mad dog. His sister clung to his arm, but didn’t say a word.

  Awwwwwwk . . . cluck . . . cluck . . . cluck.

  A very fat black hen with dark brown mottled spots on her wings and a bright red comb scratched at the dead leaves.

  “Mildred!” Wynn nearly pushed him down
the embankment as she ran to the bird. She scooped Mildred up in her arms and lovingly stroked her neck.

  Elric slumped against the tree trunk, feeling shaky from leftover fear. This was the last thing he needed.

  “Put her down and leave her. We can’t take a chicken with us,” Elric said as he started back down the path.

  “Why?” Wynn asked, tucking the hen under her arm. The bird cocked her head to the side and gave him an imperious look.

  “Because she will slow us down.” Elric marched on. If they kept going this direction, they were sure to come to the river, but he wasn’t certain if they were on the right side of it.

  “Why?” Wynn insisted.

  “I don’t know!” Elric shouted at her.

  Wynn took a step back, and placed the hen on the ground. She didn’t say anything, but she could never hide how she was feeling. It always showed on her face. Her eyes were wide, and she frowned. She looked confused, but also fearful.

  He let out a huff of air. “We have to find the river before nightfall and we can’t afford any more delays. I’m trying to help you.”

  Wynn reached out and took his hand. “I’m trying to help.”

  Elric looked down at his feet. She was repeating again—every time something upset her it made it harder for her to think of words on her own. He couldn’t afford to upset her either. That would also slow them down. “I know.” He adjusted the sack looped over his shoulder. “Let’s just go.”

  They set off down the path, and the hen followed. Elric tried to shoo her back toward home, but the bird shook her comb and stared at him as if he were a strange curiosity.

  It continued on this way for some time. They moved forward, only to have Elric turn around and chase the hen several paces back in an attempt to force the stubborn bird to give up and return to where she belonged.

  “Wynn, tell your hen to go home,” he said as she stooped to pick up another stick.

  She looked at him strangely. “She’s a chicken.”