There’s a rustle in the leaves in front of me and my heart forgets how to beat. Prowling slowly towards me, perfectly camouflaged and far more balanced in this environment than I could ever be, is a timber bear, his eyes liquid black as they meet mine. His claws wrap elegantly round the branches, razor-sharp to catch his prey, and I try hard not to look at them, uncomfortably aware of how easily they could rip me apart.
I’ve never seen one before, but Grace told me about the tree-dwelling creatures, hunted so mercilessly for their russet pelts that they’re close to extinction. They’re beautiful but unpredictable, capable of savagery if threatened – and I imagine finding me in his tree would be considered a threat.
I hold his gaze. There’s no way I’m going to be the one to break it, to show fear. But I’m mentally trying to figure out how I can reach my dagger if he strikes.
His nose starts to twitch, sniffing the air, and then I hear what he has already smelled. They’ve released hounds. My spirits sink. My chances of escape are getting worse all the time, but now I’ve led the guards to the bear and possibly endangered his life too.
Still I don’t blink, staring deep into the soul of the animal before me, and I think he sees my fear, the widening of my pupils as danger closes in on us, because everything about him softens. We are not enemies; we’re united by a common foe. We are the hunted.
The hounds are close now, having easily locked in on my scent, and the pack rushes up to the tree, clawing at it and barking for all they’re worth. They’ll draw the guards here in no time. So long as there’s no more than a handful of soldiers, I still stand a chance, though the hounds will make it significantly harder. And though I have the height advantage, they’ll be on horseback. Not to mention they’ll be warm and well fed and not an exhausted bag of bones, which is what I feel like right now. The best I can do is go out fighting. And hope they don’t discover the bear.
A group of guards gallop up beneath us, praising the hounds and looking to see if they can spot me through the foliage. To my relief they don’t seem able to detect me, but there are at least a dozen of them and that’s going to be a challenge in my diminished state. I smile sadly at the timber bear. If I am to die, I’m glad I don’t have to face the moment alone, even if my only companion is a bear.
They’re calling out now, demanding I show myself, and one even fires a bolt from his crossbow up into the leaves, missing both me and the bear by some margin. The hounds bark louder and something stirs in the beast’s eyes, a wild anger that simultaneously terrifies and excites me. He makes his move before I even realise what he’s doing.
The bear lowers himself down the trunk, his massive claws sinking into the wood with ease to keep him steady, and he takes a swipe at the nearest hound, lifting it from the ground and flinging it into the neighbouring tree. Its limp body crashes back to the forest floor and the other hounds whimper and shrink back, as do the guards who cower when the bear lets out a deafening howl.
One of the guards gives a nervous laugh. ‘Damn dogs found themselves a bear. Come on, we need to keep looking for her, or the King will string us up instead.’
The hounds are reluctant to leave, but the snarling bear helps persuade them to follow their masters, who spin the horses round and head deeper into the forest.
The bear climbs back up to where I’m still lying and licks his paw.
‘Thank you.’ I’m in no doubt the bear just saved my life.
The animal lifts his head towards me and nuzzles me with his amber snout. He’s telling me to go. To keep running.
I rest my hand gently on his fur, trying to communicate my gratitude through my touch. ‘Stay safe,’ I whisper to him and he makes a grunt in reply. I’m as certain as I can be that we understand one another.
When I move, I move fast. I lower myself cautiously down the branches and drop to the ground. Pausing for a second to listen for any sound of company, I run, away from where I saw the guards go. I want to find water quickly; it’s the only way to break my scent, and so I sprint as fast as my weary legs will carry me, tripping and stumbling over rocks and roots, towards the stream that, if I’ve remembered rightly, runs parallel to the forest in the south. It’s not the direction I wanted to take as it leads me further away from the coast, but right now that’s going to have to wait. Long-term plans will have to give way to immediate survival.
When I finally crash into the icy water of the stream, the force of the current snatches at my legs so I struggle to stay upright. But now all I have to do is follow the water for a while and the hounds will cease to be a problem. As I’m already soaked by the rain, wading through the river doesn’t make much difference, although I’m very aware that I need to find shelter soon.
It’s when dawn is about to break that I catch sight of a dwelling – the first I’ve seen since I escaped. Emerging from the stream, my extremities so cold I can no longer feel them, I drag myself in its direction. I’ve not seen any sign of the guards since I fled the forest, and though I’ve heard the hounds baying in the distance, so far I’ve managed to elude them.
The household has not yet woken for the day’s labour, and so I slip unnoticed through the rooms, searching for dry clothing and food. I help myself to an outfit, a satchel and a chunk from the loaf of stale bread, leaving the rest for the family. I don’t want them starving on my account. Then I head for their barn, where I remove the filthy, drenched shift and wash myself as best I can in the horse’s trough. I’ve deliberately picked a dress to wear, hoping to pass unnoticed as a peasant girl, rather than the Viper, and then I take my knife to my hair. I can’t cut it all off, for fear of revealing the birthmark on my neck, but I can shorten the distinctive mess I’ve always had, and once it’s gone it’s easier to place the simple linen coif over my head.
It’s the best I can do to disguise myself, and the warm woollen stockings and boots are coaxing life back into my toes and feet.
Once I’ve eaten half of my chunk of bread, I set off again, desperate to keep moving, knowing the King’s fury will mean he’ll stop at nothing to have my head. I run for hours, staying off the roads, trailing through ditches and weaving in random directions to confuse anyone tracking me. My mind is sharp, focused only on survival, but behind that focus is a barrage of thoughts and questions clamouring to be heard. When I’m safe enough to allow them room, I’m going to have to process everything that’s happened, but there just isn’t time for that now.
It’s the horse that attracts my attention first. From my concealed position in the ditch, which runs alongside the highway that stretches from one end of the island to the other, I can see him pawing the ground uneasily. His head is held oddly high, his eyes wide, his mouth foaming, and as I get closer it becomes clear why he’s so terrified. The wagon he was pulling is on its side and going nowhere.
Though I know I should turn away and keep running, I cannot ignore the poor animal trapped in his harness. Checking there’s no one around, I climb up the embankment, and once I take in the sight properly, I almost wish I hadn’t.
It was no ordinary wagon, but a cross-island stagecoach carrying travellers. It’s been attacked, plundered for any valuables carried, and recently by the look of things. There are bodies strewn on the ground: innocent men, women and children who’d been going about their business before they met a sudden and violent end. A brief wave of fear sweeps me as I realise the perpetrators could still be close by, but it’s soon quashed by a tsunami of anger. By challenging me the King has practically invited the bandits to continue their rampaging, because who other than me has dared stand against them? Under his command the King’s Fleet have been rendered impotent, and the King’s Guard useless. Once Torin took the throne, he planned to change that, but, as it is, all opposition to the bandits has been removed, and it’s clear that in only a matter of weeks things have deteriorated quickly. I almost will them to return to this scene of carnage. I want to remind them I still live and they shouldn’t forget it.