A thud shook the door. Birch let go of the leaf panel he was gripping with his mind and stood up.

The face of the guard who’d given him his breakfast appeared in front of the bars.

“It’s time,” the man said.

“Time for what?”

“Time for you to learn your punishment.”

“Am I to have a trial?” Birch approached the door. “Who will be judging me?”

“I can’t tell you any more than I already have.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Does it matter?”

The guard’s face moved out of sight. The scrape of the metal bolt was followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door opened.

Birch glanced at the corridor wall. If he moved quickly, there was a chance he could push past the guard and race off down the passageway. But what would be the point? He’d probably manage to outrun this guard and maybe a few more, but he’d be caught in the end. He didn’t even know the way out. There’d be no escape.

“Don’t try anything foolish,” the guard said. “I have my orders, and I intend to carry them out.” His hand touched the pommel of the sword scabbarded at his belt. “Now, stand in the doorway facing me.”

Birch did as instructed and the guard patted him down. He discovered the book in the pocket of Buckthorn’s cloak. He pulled it out and turned a few of the pages.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a book,” Birch said.

The guard glared at him. “Don’t get smart with me. I didn’t have to let your little girlfriend in to see you earlier.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Birch’s cheeks got warmer and he looked down. “She’s just someone I know.”

“Well if you want to have all your teeth the next time you see her, I suggest you start answering my questions properly.” The guard took a breath. “Now, let’s try again shall we?” He moved the book in front of Birch’s face. “What is this?”

“It must belong to Buckthorn. The interpreter from Ravenhurst. He gave me the cloak and the book was in the pocket.”

The guard nodded.

“Better. And what’s it about?”

“From the pictures, I guess it’s a book about the different marks people can be given. But I’m not really sure. I wasn’t a very good student. If I’m honest, I could hardly read any of the writing.”

A panel appeared in front of him.

Lying +0.01

Birch glanced at the guard. He half-expected the man to react in some way, but he didn’t. Just like Old Rush and Buckthorn, he too couldn’t see the panels. Birch allowed the panel to close.

Was he the only one? Was he the only one in all of Eldergrove who could see them?

“Are you alright?” the guard said.

“Yes. Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“Well don’t. It will only get you in more trouble.” He tucked the book into a pouch on his belt and removed a length of cord. “Place your hands behind your back and turn around.”

Birch winced as the cord brushed against his injured skin, but he didn’t cry out. He concentrated on keeping his hands still. The guard finished the last of the knots and turned Birch back around.

“Right. Let’s get moving. You first.”

The guard shoved Birch down the corridor and followed after.

Birch gently pushed against his bonds. The cord was securely fastened.

“Don’t even think about it,” the guard said. “If you get your hands free, I’ll cut you down before you even think to run.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

In silence, Birch was directed down numerous corridors and passageways. At first, he tried to keep a mental note of the route they had taken, but he soon gave up. He wasn’t planning to escape, but if he was, he’d need to find the exits, not the way back to his cell.

The guard brought him to a stop in front of a wooden door that looked just like the door to his cell except it didn’t have a barred window. He banged on it with a balled hand.

“Enter.”

The door opened, and they were greeted by another guard.

“I’ll take the prisoner from here, Beam.”

Beam pushed Birch forward, and the new guard, a tall man with a thick beard, gripped him by the shoulders.

He closed the door, leaving Beam on the other side.

The room was bare except for a wooden table running along the left-hand sidel. There was a door in the middle of the back wall.

The new guard propelled Birch forward. He was rougher than Beam had been, and Birch had to focus on each step to stop himself from stumbling on the rough rock floor.

The door opened as they approached, and the guard marched him through it into the center of a small, square, windowless room. Sitting in simple wooden chairs opposite him were three men. On the left was Buckthorn. He caught Birch’s eye and smiled. Next to him sat Reeve Whitebeam, the leader of Eldergrove, and on the right was Larch, Vetch’s father.

“Thank you.” Reeve Whitebeam nodded to the guard. “You may leave us.” He waited for the guard to close the door behind him before continuing. “You might be wondering why we have brought you here.”

“Yes,” Birch said. “I thought I might have been heading for my trial.”

“We thought it would be better to avoid all of that.” Reeve Whitebeam leaned forward. “The simplest solution is often the best one in my experience.”

What did that mean? Surely the simplest solution would be to just let him go.

“We know what you did, Birch. We know you threw a glass vial at Larch’s son Vetch, causing him an injury to his nose.” Reeve Whitebeam dipped his head toward Larch. “As a father, Larch wants to ensure, and rightly so, that you are to be adequately punished for your actions. Rather than go through the rigmarole and complexity of a trial to determine your guilt, a trial which you would undoubtedly lose, Buckthorn has presented us with a more elegant solution.”

Birch narrowed his eyes. Buckthorn wasn’t even from Eldergrove. What could he have offered to sway the reeve’s decision? Surely he hadn’t bribed him as he had the guard back at the cell? And, if so, where did he get all of his money from?

“Buckthorn is due to leave Eldergrove soon to return to his home village of Ravenhurst, far to the west of here. He has offered to have you accompany him on his trip. Apparently, he is in need of a servant.”

Buckthorn grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

“For how long?” Birch asked. “Will I return with Buckthorn for the next Marking Ceremony?”

“No.” Vetch’s father sounded like an older version of his sneering son. “You will not be permitted to return next year, or the year after that. In fact, once you have left, you will never be allowed to set foot in Eldergrove again.”

Birch turned to Reeve Whitebeam.

“Larch speaks the truth. For the violence you committed against Vetch, you are to be exiled.”

“But that’s not fair,” Birch said. “When Elm and Branch were fighting they only had to spend a few days in the cells. After that, they were released. Why is my punishment different? Why am I being cast out when they got to stay?”

“Don’t make this worse for you than it already is,” the reeve said. “I have made my decision. And my word is final. You will leave at first light with Buckthorn, and that’s all there is to it.”

Larch smirked at him. Birch pushed his hands against his bonds. If they weren’t tied, he’d see to it that Vetch wasn’t the only one in his family with a bloodied nose.

“You will be taken back to your cell. We will inform Old Rush of your exile. Your belongings will be waiting for you at Summer Gate ready for your departure.” Reeve Whitebeam’s eyes flicked over to the door. “Guard!”

Within a heartbeat, the door opened, and the guard returned and took up a position behind Birch.

“Take the prisoner back to his cell.”

The guard grabbed Birch’s bound hands and forced him around. Then he pushed him in the back. Birch staggered forward, struggling to keep his balance.

He tried to process everything he’d heard. There wasn’t much for him in Eldergrove. Old Rush had never mistreated him, and he’d provided for him and looked after him, but only in the same way that he cared for the animals in his charge. There was no love there. He was acting out of duty. He might be sad to see Birch go, but only because Birch was a good worker and knew how to make himself useful around the place.

No, Holly was the only person who would genuinely miss him. At least, she’d miss him at first. Perhaps his leaving would be for the best. If he wasn’t here, she wouldn’t feel obliged to try and keep their friendship going. She wouldn’t have to risk being seen with one of the Markless.

Despite all this, a lump was starting to form at the back of his throat. He swallowed. Eldergrove was the only place he’d ever known. It was where his mother and father had lived, and his grandmother. It was his home, and he wasn’t going to be leaving it on his own terms. He was being expelled. And not for killing someone, or stealing from the reeve, but merely for giving some arrogant prick a bloody nose.

If he wasn’t one of the Markless, it wouldn’t be happening. And if he hadn’t met Buckthorn, and the old man hadn’t given Reeve Whitebeam the idea, things might’ve been very different.

He sighed and allowed the guard to manhandle him back to his cell.

*****

Birch guessed about two hours had passed since his meeting with Reeve Whitebeam, but it was hard to be sure sitting in his gloomy cell.

He’d already finished most of the food the guard had brought him for breakfast, and without Buckthorn’s book to distract him, time was dragging its feet like one of Old Rush’s pigs trying to avoid being returned to the pen.

He thought about summoning the panels, but even that felt like too much effort. He rested his head against the cell wall and tried to imagine what his life would be like away from the village. There would be differences, of course, but one thing would remain the same. Birch looked at his scarred hand. The Green Man had declared him to be one of the Markless, and no matter where he called home, nothing would change that.