Kristofer's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Kristofer had loved the princess of the forest since he was nine years old, and today he meant to prove he could fight for her. He stood in the training yard at first light, a wooden sword in one hand, sweat already running down his neck. Green and silver banners hung from the rafters. Straw targets lined the far wall, scarred from ten years of his arrows. He grew up in the stone cottage on the hill, but he had grown up here too, in this yard, chasing one plan. The hero trials came at week's end. Only one boy from the forest could enter. Kristofer wanted that place more than anything, because winners were named heroes, and heroes were presented to the royal family. He would finally stand before her. He would finally matter. He set his feet and swung at the wooden dummy. The armored figure rocked and held. He swung again, harder, aiming for the joint the way the old drills taught him. The dummy spun on its post and struck him across the shoulder. Kristofer stumbled back and laughed at himself. His calico cat watched from a hay bale, tail flicking, unimpressed. "You could pretend to cheer," he told her. The cat blinked. Kristofer wiped his palms and tried once more. This time he ducked the spinning arm, stepped inside, and drove the point into the joint. The dummy cracked and toppled. He stood over it, breathing hard, grinning like a fool. He was ready. He knew it now, in his hands. Then he saw the notice. A square of paper was nailed to the post by the entrance. He had walked past it in the dark. He crossed the yard and read it twice to be sure. The trials were canceled. A beast had come out of the deep woods, the paper said. It had taken sheep, then a shepherd. The royal family had sealed the eastern forest and called every trained fighter to the hunt. Boys need not apply. Kristofer lowered the paper. Ten years of drills, and now no door to walk through. No trial. No hero's name. No moment before the princess. But the notice named the danger, and it named the reward. Whoever ended the beast would be called a hero by the crown itself. Not a boy who won a game with wooden swords. A real one. He looked at his cracked practice dummy. He looked at the sealed road east, past the banners, into the dark line of trees. His cat jumped down and pressed against his leg, as if she already knew. Kristofer folded the notice and pushed it into his belt. He did not need the trials anymore. He walked back to the cottage on the hill to gather real steel and a real pack. The beast had taken his path from him. So he would go and take it back.