Lena Birch's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

The stranger had bolted before Lena got a good look. She heard the wet slap of running boots, then nothing. Now the wrapped blade weighed heavy under her arm. Whoever saw her would reach Birchrot first. If they told what they'd seen, the whole village would learn the woodcutter carried a killer's steel. She left the burial site and followed the tracks pressed into the mud. The prints were small and quick. A child's stride, or a boy's. They cut through the ferns toward the village road. Lena moved fast but quiet, the way she once had. Broken stems told her where the runner had slipped. She gained ground. Ahead, through the trees, she saw a battered wooden shield bouncing on a thin back. A dented helmet, two sizes too big, wobbled with every step. A squire's boy. She had seen him loitering near the smithy, always one pace behind the older men. He talked too fast for anyone to answer. Now he ran for the village with her secret in his mouth. "Wait," Lena called. Not loud. Calm. The boy stumbled and spun. His helmet slid over his eyes. He shoved it up and stared at the bundle under her arm. "That's a sword. Woodcutters don't carry swords. I saw you dig it up, I saw the whole thing, and I have to tell the captain because that's the rule, that's my job—" "Finn." She had heard the men use his name. It stopped him cold. "How far is the captain?" "At the old watch post. By the road." He pointed with the shield. "There's a torch bracket on the wall, the tarry one, I light it every night. He's there right now." Lena weighed it. She could not outrun a report to a captain. She could not silence a boy who craved importance. So she gave him something better. "You saw a woodcutter carry a rusted old tool," she said. "Anyone digs up scrap in these woods. But a squire who cries wolf gets laughed off the post." She stepped closer. "Or you saw nothing, and you keep a favor from me. Every blade in that village passes through my hands. Including the captain's. Including yours, when they finally trust you with one." Finn's mouth opened. For once no words came. He looked at the shield with its borrowed crest, then at her hands. "I keep my mouth shut," he said slowly, "and someday my sword's the sharpest on the post." "Sharper than the captain's." He swallowed. Then he nodded, fast, and pulled the big helmet down to hide his face. Lena watched him run for the watch post, the tarry bracket waiting on its wall. The boy would hold, for now. But he knew what she was. And a boy who wanted to matter would not stay quiet forever. She had bought silence with a promise. Now she had to hide the blade before he changed his mind.