Orin Wanderwood's Arc

Chapter 4 of 26

The butterfly folded its wings on the last blossom and did not open them again. Orin stood on hard ground with the dead twig in his hand. The girl in front of him had not moved. Her knife was still at her belt, but her fingers were near the grip. She was studying his face the way people study a page they mean to tear out. "Wanted for what," Orin said. His voice cracked. He had not used it in a long time. Marrow drew the knife. She did it slow, so he could see it happen. "Killed a woman in a shed near the north pass. That's what the notice says. Your face, your name. Orin Wanderwood." She stepped closer. "I've pulled two bodies out of these reeds this week. I'm not adding my own." He held up the twig. It was a stupid thing to hold up. The blossoms were bruised and brown. "I was a child when I went in," he said. "I don't know how long ago. I only got my name back an hour ago. I got it off a tree." He heard how it sounded. He kept going anyway. "I have a mother. I have a sister named Lily. That's all I know. If I killed someone, I don't remember it, and I don't believe it." Marrow's mouth tightened. The knife did not lower. Behind Orin, something moved in the reeds — the long-eared shape, standing at the edge of the mist, watching. Marrow saw it over his shoulder. Her eyes changed. Then a small voice came from the reeds beside them, flat and clear. "He's telling the truth." The ghost boy in the gray sweater stood there with his hands in his pockets. Beside him was the little girl in the white dress, barefoot, luminous. "He was in the Fen the whole time," the boy said. "Years. He couldn't have done it." The girl nodded once. "We watched him forget everything. He only just got it back." Marrow stared at the empty air where Orin was staring. She could not see them. She heard something, though — enough to make her jaw set. "Who are you talking to." Orin said, "Two dead kids. They're vouching for me." It was the worst answer he could give. He gave it because it was true. The long-eared thing took one step nearer in the reeds. Marrow's knife hand twitched toward it, then back to him. She lowered the blade. Not all the way. Halfway. "We're not staying here," she said. "That thing behind you is close. You walk in front. Hands where I can see them. If the notice is right, I'll know by morning." She jerked her chin at the mist behind her, away from the Fen. "There's a road that way. My camp's on it." Orin nodded. He put the dead twig inside his shirt, against his skin, and started walking.