Birch’s tongue was thick and his head throbbed. It was pitch black and a dank smell surrounded him. He definitely wasn’t in a stall in the stables. There was no straw and he was lying on a rock surface. He sat up and reached behind him. A wall of some sort, with a rough finish as if it were natural stone. A cave perhaps?

He rubbed his face and tried to remember what had happened to him. The last thing he could recall was coming out of the Frog and Fly and spotting Vetch approaching with a group of robed apprentices. After that, all was black. Blank. How had he got from there to here? And where was here?

“Hello,” he shouted.

The word reverberated off the rocks, but there was no reply.

A banging pain pulsed across the back of his skull. He touched the area that hurt most. There was a large lump, but although it was tender, the skin didn’t seem to be broken. Perhaps he’d bumped his head and was still dazed, and that was why he was struggling to piece together what had happened after he’d seen Vetch.

Keeping his hand anchored to the rock surface behind him, he slowly stood up, using his other hand to shield his head from any ceiling he might encounter above him. But there was nothing there. He raised himself on tiptoes and reached up with his arms. Still nothing. Due to the darkness, he guessed there had to be a roof up there somewhere, but it wasn’t going to be low enough to restrict his movement.

Heading left, Birch walked his hand along the wall. After about a half-dozen or so steps, he came to a corner. Two rock faces met at roughly a right angle. He started to run his hand along this new wall. After another twenty steps, he located the next corner

He was in a room, not a cave. The walls were rough, but the corners were too uniform to be natural.

Continuing to explore the third wall he’d discovered, he came across a warmer section a few paces in. The texture was different. It was smoother. Possibly wood. Yes. There was a joint between the planks. A door perhaps. He traced his hands along the border between the rock and timber. He located the hinges.

At about head height, there was a gap in the door. It was six inches high and maybe a little bit wider than that, and it was divided by three bars, possibly made of metal.

He was in some sort of cell. And the only place like that in Eldergrove were the dungeons underneath Reeve Whitebeam’s residence.

How had he ended up here? What could he possibly have done to deserve being thrown in jail?

He pictured Vetch’s face. He might not have been able to remember what had happened, but he had a pretty good idea of who was behind it.

Birch continued his circuit until he was back at the door again. The cell was square-shaped, and thankfully, he seemed to be the only occupant.

He sat down next to the door with his back against the wall. His head filled with questions. How long had he been here? How would Old Rush punish him for being late to return to work? What sort of trouble was he in?

Taking a breath, he tried to focus on the missing moments between leaving the inn and now. Nothing. His mind was as dark as the cell. He switched his attention to the panels. There was nothing else for him to do in here, so he might as well try to see if he could work out how to open the leaf panels independently of the reward panels they were linked to.

He imagined the leaf panel for the Throwing Small Projectiles skill. He pictured it exactly as it was when he’d last seen it, and then he tried to make it appear in front of him. For a brief moment, it felt as if it was going to happen, but then the outline of the panel seemed to slip away.

Birch sighed. He tried to clear his mind, and then he attempted the task again. This time, although he wasn’t able to conjure the leaf panel in its finished form, he could definitely make out its shape. It was as if he was looking at the panel’s shadow or its wavy reflection in a rippled puddle.

Another panel appeared, this one fully realized.

Panel Control +0.01

Birch smiled, and let the new panel disappear. If he was being rewarded, he was heading in the right direction. What he was attempting was possible. It was just going to take practice.

He repeated the process over and over again. Each time, the mental maneuvers felt a little bit more instinctive, the leaf panel became a little bit more real, and he continued to trigger +0.01 reward panels.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he managed to summon a fully formed version of the leaf panel for the Throwing Small Projectiles skill. He closed it and quickly closed the Panel Control reward panel that followed it.

Could he do it again? Yes. Intuitively, he called it forth, and it hovered in front of him. The procedure now seemed simple, and he couldn’t believe he’d ever had to struggle with it.

He kept the panel open and then opened the leaf panels for the other skills he had been rewarded for. One by one they appeared, and Birch arranged them neatly so that he could scan them together.

Throwing Small Projectiles 5.07

Panel Control 0.30

Power of Reasoning 6.14

Lying 6.02

He let go of the panels. They faded and then disappeared.

A Panel Control reward panel flashed up and he dismissed it.

Birch smiled. He was just about to start probing the panels to see what else might be possible when a clicking noise distracted him. It was coming from outside his cell.

A dim orange light shined through the barred opening in the door, taking the edge off the darkness. Birch glanced around his cell, taking in the details newly revealed. It was much as he’d imagined it from his sightless exploration. He looked up. A rock ceiling spanned the walls about the height of a man above his head.

He strode over to the door and peered out through the gap. Illuminated by a flickering light was a corridor with walls of bare rock, much like the walls in his cell.

The sound of footsteps filled the passageway, and the light started to bob up and down.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Birch pushed his head against the bars and peered as far as he could in the direction of the noise, but he couldn’t see who was approaching.

“Stand away from the door,” an unfamiliar voice said. “You have a visitor.”

Birch did as instructed.

A lantern appeared in front of the bars, followed by a man’s face. Birch thought he recognized him as one of Eldergrove’s guardsmen, but he couldn’t be certain. The man lowered the lantern and moved away from the gap. Then there was the sound of metal scraping against metal followed by a click.

The door opened outward. The man he’d just seen held a lantern in one hand and a sword in the other. Buckthorn stood behind him, scowling.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” the guardsman said. “I’m going to let the interpreter in to speak to you for a few moments. He has asked me to do you a favor, so don’t make me regret it.”

“Thank you.” Birch nodded. “But why am I here? What have I done? I don’t remember anything.”

“I’ll let the interpreter explain.” He ushered Buckthorn forward.

“Much obliged,” Buckthorn said. “I won’t need long.” He stepped into the room.

The guard hung his lantern from a peg above the door frame, and then he closed the door on them, bolting it shut.

“I’ll be at the end of the corridor.”

Buckthorn looked at Birch and put a finger to his lips. He waited for the guard’s footsteps to fade and then he sat down against the back wall and patted the spot next to him.

Birch took a seat.

“What’s going on?” he said. “Why am I here?”

The old man’s forehead wrinkled.

“You honestly don’t remember anything?”

“Not since I left you at the inn. It’s as if I left there, spotted Vetch, and then ended up here.”

“Well, according to the guards, you attacked Vetch by throwing a small glass bottle at his face. Apparently, he sustained a nasty injury to his nose.”

“Good,” Birch said. “I’m sure he did something to deserve it.”

“It’s not good. It’s not good at all. I thought I told you to keep your head down. To carry on as if everything was normal.”

“I’m sorry,” Birch said. “But I don’t remember doing it.”

“I’m guessing the bottle you threw at him was the vial of ointment I gave you for your hand.” Birch shrugged and Buckthorn continued. “If so, this wasn’t how I imagined you’d apply it.” The old man paused and looked away as if something had just occurred to him. “A head is quite a small target, isn’t it? And Vetch might have been moving when you hit him, don’t you think?” He turned to Birch, his eyes wide in the lantern light. “It was probably a much more difficult throw than the ones you made over by the boulders, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember anything.”

“If it was a more difficult throw, perhaps you were rewarded more than 0.01 for successfully hitting the target. Can you check?”

“I can.” Birch grinned. “I’ve just worked out how to see the leaf panels on their own, but I know my score without checking. It’s 5.07. I think it was 5.05 before. Assuming I only hit him once, I think it went up by +0.02.”

“Holm, the guard, didn’t mention a second throw.”

Birch pictured a panel inscribed with a +0.02 rather than the usual +0.01. He vaguely recalled seeing it before, and then he was certain. Just after the vial he’d thrown had connected with Vetch’s face. He saw the blood. He heard the shouts. The events from earlier coalesced in his mind as if the shards of the shattered vial had magically reformed,

He’d been pursued by the bleeding Vetch and his companions. They’d surrounded him, and then they’d forced him to the ground. Vetch’s new friends had been intending to wait for the constables to arrive, but Vetch had other ideas. With his booted foot, he kicked Birch in the back of the head. Birch touched the bump. He must have passed out after that because that was the last thing that he could remember before he woke up in the cell. Presumably, the constables had arrived and transported him here. And no doubt, Vetch had concocted some sort of story that would make it sound like Birch’s attack had been unprovoked.

Birch told Buckthorn what had happened and he confirmed that the throw had indeed earned him a +0.02 reward.

“Excellent,” he said. “It almost makes all of this worth it. We shall have to do some more tests, of course, but I think we are starting to build an understanding of the gift you have been given.”

“A gift,” Birch said. “You keep calling it that. It’s not a gift. I’d trade it in a heartbeat for the mark of an archer, or a guardsman, or a hunter, or a scout.”

“Then you’re a bigger fool than you look.”

Birch narrowed his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Even if your skills don’t get any more advanced than they are now, you have been given the chance to experience the world in a way that others can’t. And I believe this is just the beginning. There’s much more to come”

“I still think I’d prefer to be an archer.”

Buckthorn laughed. “I probably would have said the same at your age. But, if my theories are correct, I think you will end up being more than happy with the abilities the Sacred Oak has bestowed upon you.”

Birch pointed to the door.

“So what’s going to happen to me?”

“I’m not sure. I was able to persuade the guard to let me see you, but he wasn’t willing to say what his orders were beyond keeping you locked in your cell. I have the feeling he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next.”

“How did you convince him to let you in?”

“Let’s just put it like this,” Buckthorn said. “Working in the dungeons doesn’t pay all that well.”

“So you bribed him?”

The old man didn’t reply.

“Vetch will have told the constables his version of events. He’ll have left out the part where he mocked me. And the part where he kicked me in the head.”

“But wasn’t that only after you threw the vial?”

Birch nodded. “But he goaded me. He mentioned—”

“It doesn’t matter. You will be found guilty of attacking him. You’re just going to have to accept whatever punishment is given to you. I doubt it will be very severe given that you do not have a history of violence, and Vetch’s injuries were relatively minor.”

“I think you are forgetting this.” He pointed to the mark on his hand. “You might be deluded enough to think I’ve been given some great gift, but to the rest of the people of Verdant, there’s nothing special about me. I am one of the Markless. And the Markless are rarely treated fairly.”

“That might well be true, but I’m not sure what else we can do. It might not be as bad as you fear. Once again, we must put our trust in the Sacred Oak. We must trust that those it marked as justicers are blessed with an innate sense of fairness.”

“I hope you’re right, but let’s assume you’re not. What’s the worst punishment I could receive?”

“I really don’t know,” Buckthorn said. “But I’ll try and find out for you. In the meantime, just do as you are told. I’m not sure how long you will be in here, but you must try to keep your spirits up. Keep yourself occupied. Focus on the panels. I’ll be in to see you again as soon as I can. I’ll speak to Holm about getting you some blankets.” The old man started to remove the cloak he was wearing over his green tunic. “Here. Take this for now. I’ve got another one back at my lodgings.”

Buckthorn banged on the door. Footsteps got louder and Holm’s face appeared in front of the opening in the door. He escorted Buckthorn out of the room, leaving Birch alone in the cell once again.

It wasn’t exactly as it had been before. The lantern was still hanging above the door, providing just enough light to see by, especially at the front of the cell, and he had Buckthorn’s cloak. Either he could ball it up and use it as a pillow or wrap himself in it to take some of the chill away from the rock floor that would be his bed for the night.

He decided to go for the latter. Holding the cloak by the collar, he draped it over his shoulders, but it wouldn’t sit evenly. It was as if some sort of weight was dragging it down on the left side. He patted the fabric. Hidden in the folds of material his hand touched something rectangular, about the size of his palm with his fingers splayed out. It seemed to be trapped between two layers of fabric.

Birch headed over to the door to get a better look. A pocket had been sewn into the inside of the robe. He managed to tease out the hidden item. He raised it toward the barred hole. It was a black book. The same one he’d seen Buckthorn with by the rocks and again in his room at the Frog and Fly.

Should he call for the guard? Perhaps he would be able to catch Buckthorn before he got too far. No. Holm wasn’t going to care, and even if he did, he might try to return the cloak as well. And besides, Birch didn’t get the impression that Buckthorn would have been forgetful when it came to the book. It seemed important to him. He wouldn’t have left it by mistake.

Birch lowered the book and turned it over. No. Buckthorn had left it with him for a reason.