The morning sun attacked me with its blinding light as dust swirled around me. I rubbed my eyes, wiping away the sleep and dirt. After our fight, I didn't dare return to the tavern. I couldn't. There was nothing more for me to say. I would have to wait for Arrow to lead me to the highway, and then we'd go our separate ways.
I'd slept outside, curled up in my cloak under a fallen sign. The shrieking wind had jolted me awake throughout the night, providing a much-needed break from my troubled dreams.
The doors to the tavern burst open. The men barreled past me with surly grimaces and grunts. The few that pretended not to see me scuffed up dirt or kicked my cloak on their way across the street.
After the sleepless night, I didn't have the energy to fight their accusing eyes as they lined up. It didn't take much effort to guess what they thought about me. It came through loud and clear. I had transformed from hero to traitor in one day as if I bore a scarlet "T" stamped on my chest. If I wasn't the bad guy here, why did I feel so guilty?
Arrow marched through the dusty street, his hair falling in front of his dark eyes. He stopped in front of me and dropped my bag at my feet.
"What's this?" I asked, cautiously squinting up at him.
He ignored my question and looked over to the men gathering across the street. "I would stay over here until we're ready to go," he said. The anger left over from last night simmered beneath the surface.
"I'm sorry," I said, pursing my lips.
"So am I."
"Is there anything?" I asked, letting the thought linger.
He scoffed and brushed his hair back. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, and deep lines etched his forehead. "No, you've done enough."
"That's not what I meant," I said, shaking my head.
"Meant or not, Goldy, it's the way it goes," he said, turning away.
I nodded and watched him leave. His shoulders softened as he walked back, as if the weight of dealing with me had been lifted. Really, though, it had just been transferred onto my shoulders. I sunk deeper under my cloak and clutched the bag, teetering on the line between denial and complete devastation. I hadn't felt this alone since waking up in this world.
The warmth on my hands surprised me. Peeking into the bag, I breathed in a rush of steam from fresh rolls, which warmed my cheeks and turned my stomach. Everything else was there: a new cloak, money boxes, the remains of the money I'd taken, and, tucked underneath it all, an oversized package of vines. The gnawing hole in my stomach doubled in size, and tears welled up in my eyes.
How could he do this? This generosity confused me. Everything about this world confused me.
I leaned against the gate, closing my eyes while I waited. Maybe if I had told Arrow earlier, this could have been avoided. Could it have, though? He seemed just as determined as I to have things play out on his terms. I thought back to the manor, the missteps and close calls. Both our agendas twisted around each other.
I sighed. Replaying the past wouldn't change anything. One thing I knew from playing the game was that when you finished a level, you couldn't go back. Whatever level Arrow belonged in was finished. It was time to move on.
The wind picked up, and Arrow and his men formed a line. My breath caught in my chest. They walked past me without a glance. I jumped into line, leaving a significant distance between us. Dust swirled up from the ground, and I covered my face, trying to keep from choking.
We walked for hours away from Flourin, crossing northwest of the woods Arrow and I had taken to get to Baron Marix's, through miles of meadows and marshy grasslands. Their pace challenged me, but I didn't dare say anything. They didn't owe me, and I didn't want any favors. I didn't even want their attention. For the first time since being here, I faded into the background.
It didn't feel the same as I remembered.
I tightened the cloak, braving the brunt of the wind. I was out of breath when we stopped at the crossroads where the mountains met the wetlands.
"Goldy!" Arrow yelled.
"I'm coming," I said, cursing the slight quiver in my voice.
"Well, here we are." Arrow clenched his jaw. Sadness haunted his eyes, even though the rest of his face was emotionless.
"Thank you," I whispered, breaking eye contact. If I stared any more, I didn't think I'd be able to leave. "What will you do now? Where will you go?"
"We'll continue with our plan. With or without you, it's time to settle this battle."
"Is that safe? I mean, you could wait for another hero."
He gave me the same look he'd given me when I slapped him. "It doesn't work that way. I already told you, you were our only chance."
The silence stretched between us. "Arrow, I'm—"
"No," he said, cutting me off. "It's all been said." He pointed to the intersecting trails. "The trail to the right will take you around the mountains. The one on the left will take you to the wetlands, and if you're looking for the shortcut home, go straight up the cliff." That sent his men into a fit of laughter. "Goodbye Goldy. I hope you find your way home, I really do."
"Good luck to you too, Arrow." A tear slid down my face, blurring the line of men. I turned away, trying to ignore the sadness drowning me from the inside, and looked up towards the cliff. It was time to end this game. He may have been joking about the shortcut, but this was a video game. He might have told me something important without realizing it. And with a shortcut, I might be able to get to the final level, and home, sooner. I'd try the cliffs.
The enormity of the cliffs crushed me. Taller than anything I had seen before, sheer walls rose hundreds of feet, vertical cracks breaking the smooth surface. Fallen boulders filled the long crevasses. Clouds collided with the stone, breaking into a river of mist at the top. I swallowed hard and wiped my palms along my thighs.
Climbing came naturally to me, but this stretched my limits. I dusted my palms and caressed the walls, searching for the right hold. I found it. A narrow crevasse surrounded my palm like a glove. The next one fit just as perfectly. One handhold led to another. Prickles of anticipation shot through me. I climbed up the first twenty feet easily, finding holds and ridges perfectly aligned for my height. That's what I loved about climbing. I chose my own path. Only I could see where to go next. And when I reached the top, it was always worth it. The satisfaction I felt reinforced my resolve, and I did something I shouldn't have. I looked down.
Never look down. It was the first rule I was taught, and the most important. Besides the obvious threat of disorientation, I had a bad habit of second-guessing the path I had chosen. Hindsight was my enemy. The world spun, and my fingers slipped against the smooth rock. I couldn't find any more obvious handholds, and I cursed my impulsiveness. There was nowhere else to go. I had started in the wrong place.
Tightening my grip, I climbed down, and when I reached the ground, I folded my arms across my chest and looked up. The shortcut had to be here. I was sure of it. Trees and vines always marked the shortcuts between levels, and fifty feet up, a tree jutted out from the sheer walls. If I climbed there, I knew I'd find my next move.
I dragged my hand along the rough stone, walking over fallen boulders and scattered bushes until I stood directly underneath the tree. I pushed against the stone wall, applying different levels of pressure. Nothing happened. The shortcut wouldn't be as obvious or simple as an unwinding vine from the game—or would it? My fingers slid across something smooth tucked inside a vertical fissure between the rocks.
"Jackpot." I curled my fingers around the twisted plant. After a quick test to make sure it would hold my weight, I climbed.
The rope swayed with bursts of wind, and my feet slipped, losing traction along the gritty wall. Sweat dripped down my face, rolling over my arms, but I didn't stop. I climbed until I reached the ledge where the tree grew and pulled myself over. The vine continued higher up the cliff, disappearing into the cloud of mist above.
I leaned into the trunk, letting the shade cool the sweat beading at my temples. Resting my forehead against the rough bark, I studied the horizon. From above, the details disappeared. Life didn't get in my way like it did when I was on solid ground. But climbing this mountain was different. There was so much to see, and yet I couldn't focus. I stared out over Lockhorn, and details that I couldn't ignore popped into my head.
The bark scratched my arms as I held on to the tree, struggling against the forceful wind. Small rocks slid out from the cracks surrounding the tree, echoing off the wall below. I followed the rocks as they fell until I saw the trail I had started on. It was farther down than I thought. A lump formed in my throat.
The dusty trail curved through the landscape. My gaze followed its meandering path through the green land, marveling at how the wetlands painted the earth below me. Shades of blue and green bent around each other in an intricate pattern that I could just barely make out. I followed the sweeping lines until I found a cluster of moving dots. That had to be Arrow and his men.
The lump in the bottom of my stomach pulled me down. I sighed. What was I doing here? In the game, shortcuts were easy, quick ways to reach the end. Now it just felt like cheating.
I banged my head on the tree. It seemed so stupid. On the list of the dumbest things I had done since arriving, this would top it. Given the choice of having an army at my back or fighting on my own, I chose myself. Why?
That was the million-dollar question. Why hadn't I just stayed with Arrow and offered my help? Weren't our plans pretty much the same? We both wanted to save the queen. We both needed to get to the castle. I'd said I couldn't be responsible for their lives, but that didn't make sense. If I thought they weren't real, then it didn't matter. And if I did believe, then why didn't I want their protection or support? Either way, neither of us would succeed without saving the queen.
The longer I sat there, the more obvious it became. I was an idiot. Hindsight, my biggest enemy in climbing, got me again. I sighed and looked the other way.
The charred remains of trees lined the forest. Dark patches intermixed with the lighter greens, winding in a design reminiscent of the paisley wallpaper in our dining room. The memory forced its way into my mind.
Natalie pressed down on my shoulders to peek around the corner. "Are you sure?"
"Positive." I smirked and pointed to my mom, hidden behind her favorite magazine in the living room. She wouldn't notice us, and Dad was still at work. "Coast is clear!"
Natalie snickered behind me and gave me a push. "I want the strawberry one this time."
"I think I ate all those. What about grape?"
"Sure, whatever." She shrugged.
It was our third popsicle of the day and our second box that week. Stealth was necessary.
I tiptoed away from our hiding spot towards the kitchen. Water dripped from my bathing suit to the floor, turning the narrow hallway into a slip-n-slide. Then my feet slid out from beneath me, throwing me into the dining room instead of the kitchen.
It all happened in a second. I flailed, trying to grab something to slow my fall before I hit the wall. My fingers wrapped around a polished dining chair, pulling it away from the table. It tipped over, banging the wall behind me. My second attempt at stopping was no better. The blue gingham tablecloth slid easily off the table.
The next moments blurred together. Natalie's scream, my mom's horrified expression, and the explosive crash of my great-grandma's china around me. Chunks of blue plates and white teacups shattered into puzzle pieces. Small shards scratched my arms, and a large piece sliced my forehead by my hairline.
"Alex! Are you all right?" My mom asked, biting her nails as she brushed specks of china shards from my skin. "Natalie, get an ice pack from the freezer."
I leaned forward to cry in her arms, but she turned away, focusing on the ground.
"Mom?"
She didn't hear me. Tears slid down her cheek.
"Grandma, your china," she whimpered, picking up pieces of a broken platter. "What did you do? Alex, how could you do this?"
"It was an accident," I said, reaching for her arm.
"There are no accidents, only mistakes." She brushed off the china dust and left me alone. Broken, like the dishes.
I traced the scar.
That accident had defined me for too long. After that, I became aware of limits. Everything had a limit; everything had a consequence. I followed their orders, never knowing I had another choice. Mistakes could either be fixed or left alone to fester. And for my mom and me, that piece of wallpaper had never been repaired. Like Flourin, it posed a constant reminder of the past.
I looked back towards the moving dots in the wetlands. In this world, I didn't have to make those same choices. I could still fix this.
While I contemplated my options, movement along the horizon caught my attention. The charred trees now hid under clouds of dust. I squinted, trying to see through the haze, and covered my mouth.
"Oh no," I gasped. A cluster of dark armor crossed through the forest. I recognized the uniforms from Marix's manor. These were either his guards or Berkos' men. I pulled my gaze from the dark mass to the other side where Arrow's men had stopped.
"Move, Arrow! You can't rest. Not now." I bit my thumb and glanced back to Berkos' men, still moving. The time for second-guessing was over. I needed to warn him before it was too late. I might not be a hero, but I wasn't a monster either.
The vines burned my palms as I rappelled down.
I tightened my ponytail and ran down the left path towards the wetlands, sprinting until my chest burned, and then further. My head pounded and my vision blurred, turning one patch of long grass into another. The hard ground gave way to soft mud and gritty sand, tripping me. Warm goo slid over the edges of my boots. The brief thought that I might get stuck in another pit ran through my mind, but I ignored it. I didn't have time—Arrow didn't have time—for me to worry about that. I pushed myself up and ran.
Even with my head start and frantic pace, the enemy was catching up. I had never run so fast or so far, and yet I knew this was just the beginning. My chest heaved, and the tunic tightened against me as I struggled to balance breathing with running. Miles of winding pathways blurred my surroundings into nonsense. Puddles looked like dark abysses, rocks clumped together forming statues, and whipping reeds doubled as herds of horned-bits. Mud slushed beneath me, slowing each step. Everything spun, and then I collapsed.
When I looked up, a dozen of Arrow's men had scrambled to their feet, lunging for their weapons.
"Arrow!" I yelled, stumbling around the final twist of the wetland. "They're coming!" I lifted my arms in surrender.
"What's she doing here?" Cale grumbled, reaching me first and pointing a sword at my neck. "She can't be trusted."
I glared at Cale, then twisted to look behind him at Arrow's casual approach.
"Goldy? What are you doing here?" he asked. "Let her go, Cale."
Cale blew a ring of smoke at me but lowered his sword. "I don't trust her," he said again, turning around.
I bit my tongue. Now was not the time to lash out.
"Tell me, why are you here?" Arrow insisted.
"They're coming," I choked out, hunched over and out of breath.
"What? Who's coming?" he demanded, motioning for his men to lower their weapons.
"Marix...Berkos...I'm not sure. Army. On their way," I said, gasping between words.
"And you came to warn us—why?" His hand still rested on the hilt of his sword.
I gave up and fell to my knees. The groundwater drenched me as I searched his face for understanding. "Because I may not be your hero, but I don't want to see you hurt. You're right. I can't ignore this, no matter how much I tried. I don't know what I can do, but I'm all in—with you, the rebellion, with everything."
He opened his mouth to say something and stopped, jerking his gaze beyond me. "How many are there?"
"I-I don't know. They were just a bunch of black dots moving across the forest. Maybe fifty? Maybe more. I knew they'd be on you if I didn't—"
"I got that part, Goldy. Listen, we don't have much time. They're here."
"That's why I'm back," I said. The beating of my heart drowned out the frantic running of the men.
"Boris, Cale, the rest of you, we have to go now. Goldy's right, they're on their way. Hide!" he yelled.
He pulled me down the path. My legs protested but didn't stop. The ground rumbled beneath us. I ignored the sneers from the other men as I ran alongside Arrow. I'd have to fix that later. If there was a later.
The cold water stung my legs when we waded through it. Arrow pulled me around the next bend, and then slid beneath an old wooden bridge. I skidded across the rocky shore, spraying rocks around us before hiding behind a curtain of reeds. Blood seeped through my leggings and into the gravel below. I bit the inside of my lip, cradling my shins.
The rest of his men caught up to us and huddled underneath the bridge, careful to crowd in from the edges. Boris took a long look at my leg and tore off his sleeve to tie around my wound.
"Thanks," I mouthed, but he looked away without a word.
"Thank you for coming back," Arrow said, wrapping his arms around me, pressing me down against the rocks.
Tears welled behind my eyes as I folded into him, biting my cheek. I hoped it wasn't too late.
"Hey, hey, it'll be all right," he said, cradling me in his arms. "You're safe now. We're all safe now," he said pointedly to the other men. "Remember, we're in this together." He looked me in the eyes. "I still mean that."
"What?" I whispered.
"We're in this together, you and me, saving Queen Elin."
"That's what I thought you meant," I said, looking away.
e 9{