More hide and seek
“I know what you’re thinking, Stripes,” Runt whispered, as he approached the tannery, “you’re thinking I’ve only got half a plan, and the half I do have is not very good.”
He began climbing the side of the tannery, feeling the familiar cracks in the planks, remembering the boards that were loose and no good for climbing, the places to rest, the places to hide. Stripes sat patiently in the darkness below while Runt filled his pouch, not with fruit, but with soot. He looked across and felt an incredible sense of déjà vu at the sight of the campfire in the middle distance. He wondered if Greybeard was back there, or if it was the old lady telling fairy tales.
Runt let his gaze stray further, beyond the circle of torches around the campfire, to the patch of dark where the kennels lay. Tyron was almost certainly there. And the hunting dogs. And Daisy. Runt wondered, briefly, if she missed him as much as he missed her.
His heart ached at the familiar sights and his head spun thinking about how much things had changed since the last time he sat here. One week ago, his biggest problem was finding enough scraps to feed his pup. It wasn’t that he missed his old life. But in those days things were certainly less complicated.
“For one thing,” he thought grimly, “back then I wasn’t thinking about sneaking into the city to accuse the Captain of murder.”
Only half a plan, and not a very good one, Runt grumbled, as he rubbed soot over Stripes from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail.
“It’s a real pity,” he said, rubbing his hands over the dog’s legs, “that we couldn’t find a magic fur skin of invisibility that fit you, hey boy? Soot and sneaking will have to do. And, failing that, a mad sprint back to the scrub.”
Dogs were strictly forbidden anywhere above the edge of the outer city, even with an owner. A dog wandering on its own… well, it didn’t bear thinking about. A risky plan, indeed.
The only reason Runt held any hope for the plan was Stripes. Even before they fled the kennels the pup showed excellent obedience and intelligence. Spending nearly a week in the Wilds, with all its challenges and demands, proved Stripes to be a very capable dog. They once sat together, silent and still, as a snake six yards long slithered through their resting place. Runt signalled Stripes to freeze and the dog, not moving a muscle, allowed the snake to glide right between his legs. Runt suspected he could literally ask the dog to sit on an ant’s nest.
And so began the game of hide and sneak that lasted most of the distance up the winding road to the inner city. Lanterns and torch lights became more frequent the further they travelled but, with light, came darkness. The shadows were deep, the hiding places were plentiful. The houses up the hill were richer, better built, and were often made of stone rather than mouldering planks of wood and scrap metal. Sneaking became all the easier because of this. There were no gaps in walls to betray them. Windows had curtains. Doors were locked. In fact, the higher they climbed the less activity they saw. That is, besides the troopers.
For the most part the troopers stuck to the main roads. They usually moved in pairs, one of them swinging a lantern, the other brandishing a crossbow, both with swords strapped to their waists. Others lurked on corners, slouching under a streetlamp, glaring into the dark. Back tracks and side alleys, dark and silent, helped Runt and Stripes move most of the way. Soon enough the light grey wall of the inner city began to dominate the view ahead.
Never in his life had Runt been this far up the hill. His knowledge of the layout was only through stories he’d heard. The main road wound all the way from the port to the city, snaked up and around the hill, and widened as it met the city wall here. It did a full lap of the wall with a width of some twenty yards. There was only one entrance to the inner city, a large set of reinforced gates facing west and overlooking the dragon’s head. These gates were closed, regular as clockwork, just before sunset.
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The entire loop of this road was brightly lit with streetlamps. Runt and Stripes, hiding behind one of the last buildings on the outer, looked across to the city gates. They were shut, locked, and deserted. There was barely a shadow to be seen and yet the road was virtually empty save for the occasional pair of guards wandering past. It didn’t really make sense. Who were the streets lit for?
Runt was suddenly and strangely reminded of the great fey-tree and its moat. The waters formed a natural barrier to predators like the drop-bear that struggled to swim. The whole city, with the farmlands around it, were like that, too. The plains formed a natural barrier that kept the wild creatures from sneaking into the city. Only the foolhardiest of predators would dare cross the open fields to seek out its prey in the buildings on the hillsides. And the inner city itself had its own moat, a twenty-yard width of brightly lit, bare cobblestone.
Runt, a predator like the drop-bear, now contemplated the dash across to the other side. The imposing city gates were surrounded by an arch of stonework that jutted out from the wall. It wasn’t much, but it was the most shadow Runt could see. If he survived the sprint unnoticed, he would be safe enough in the shadows cast by the arch. From there, he would have to climb.
He looked back one last time. Under the pale moonlight the dragon-scale mountains could be seen as a faint grey silhouette. The farmlands and the Wilds beyond were bathed in darkness. Still, Runt imagined he could see the great fey-tree from up here. There were creatures out there relying on him. Runt replayed the final words spoken between himself, Patch, and the teacher.
After the drop-bear attack, and the teacher’s return, the other harpies had left, one by one, until only the three of them remained. Runt was sitting with his back against a tree root explaining his plan to visit the city.
“Where have you been, Wolf-ghost?” The teacher interrupted, staring at Runt intently.
“What do you mean?” Runt answered, defensively. “I’ve been here at the great fey-tree the whole time.”
“Where exactly have you been, though?” the teacher asked again, and crept closer. The teacher grabbed handfuls of Runt’s hair and parted it to reveal the boy’s face, then studied it like a prospector looking for grains of gold in a bucket of sand.
“Tell me, what do you see, young harpy?” The teacher asked. Patch joined the teacher in their close study of Runt’s face. Patch gasped and a tiny finger rose up to gently tickle Runt’s chin. Patch pulled back the finger and looked, with wide eyes, at the tiny blue sparkles of pollen on the tip.
“OK, fine. I went up into the hollow to look for you, ok? That’s where I’ve been. I’m sorry for sneaking.”
“That’s not what the teacher means, Runt.” Patch said, looking at Runt curiously.
“Wolf-ghost, I’ll ask you once more. Where have you been in your mind?”
Runt confessed then. To tasting the blue pollen and the effects it had on him. How he saw the colours change, how everything sounded different, and how, after that, his mind left the hollow and wandered through the forest. He explained how he felt himself inhabit the bodies of creatures: grubs, birds, his dog and, finally, how he inhabited the body of the tree for what seemed like an eternity, feeling what a tree feels, thinking what a tree thinks.
Patch and the teacher stared at each other with mouths agape before turning back to Runt.
“You sat with the trees?” Patch said, turning back to Runt. “On your first journey? You sat with the trees.” The tiny harpy shook its head before continuing. “I’ve been training to be a teacher for a lifetime and I haven’t even done that yet! What does it mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” The teacher responded gruffly, “apart from telling us the demon can’t be trusted to be left alone. You could have died, you know?” The old harpy said, frowning at Runt. “You should have died. We don’t let harpies go on those journeys alone, Wolf-ghost, and for good reason. The mind can get… lost on a journey like that.”
“But Teacher! Runt sat with the trees on his journey. And with the grubs, and with the birds. But he sat with the trees! It can take years for a harpy who is training to be a teacher to have such a journey. And Runt did it on his first try. What does it mean?”
“It means the demon is probably lying!” The teacher snapped. Runt saw the hands of the old harpy trembling and, when the teacher noticed where Runt was looking, it crossed its arms to hide them beneath the flaps of skin.
“No. It means he is one of us.” Patch said, laying a tiny paw on Runt’s hand, and staring at him adoringly. “That’s what it means. You’re one of us, Runt. And maybe one day you’ll even be a teacher, with me.”