The Whipping Tree

I: Charcoal and Cerulean

 I

Charcoal and Cerulean

         Despite the man’s height, Joaneveive can hardly keep up. Her feet are flying down the path yet she remains several paces behind. She understands that a rescue must be quick, but the man’s haste begins to make her worry.

         “Where…” Her breaths come hard as she runs to keep up, and she sucks in as much air as her lungs before putting on a burst of speed to join his side.

         “Where are we going?” she gasps. Perhaps before her period of mourning, she could run without trouble. Extensive malnutrition and lethargy has caught up with her, and she clutches a stitch in her side.

         “Ya ask a lot o’ questions, little girl.” He refuses to speak for a good stretch of time.

         As they draw nearer to Fairmeadow, Joan begins to feel a sinking feeling in her stomach. She stops moving altogether.

         The man trots forward another several steps before realizing she paused.

         He turns and asks, “Why ya stoppin’?”

         “Where are we going?” she demands. “I will not walk a step further until you tell me where we’re going.” Hearing the words from her own mouth strengthens her resolve, and she plants her feet. “Please,” she adds, years of etiquette class and smacks on the head forcing the last word from her.

         The man starts towards her and she flinches just a little before steeling herself.

         “I’m taking ya to Lord Leonard Roth’s manor. He’ll keep ya safe there.”

         “And why will he let you take me in?”

         “I’m one o’ his servants.”

         Her distrust is at its peak, but she is exhausted and her brain is muddled.Ya made it over

         If the Noci are following the Otius River west, shouldn’t we have crossed paths by now? she wonders warily.

         “Now are ya comin’ or not?”

         One more deep breath and she follows him down the path. She notices he walks at a slower pace.

         After a few more minutes, Joan sees the top of a building. She opens her mouth to ask a question, but the man grabs her and steers her sideways.

         “This way,” he says.

         They take what looks to Joan like a shortcut, and they arrive at a locked gate.

         “Climb over.” He points at the wall, which is several heads taller than he is, then at her.

         “Do you not have the key?” she snaps.

         “Forgot to bring ‘em,” he replies with a grin that shows too much teeth for Joan’s liking.

         She eyes the barrier and searches for a gap to wedge her foot in. She tests her weight and up she goes, her dress snagging on the topmost plank of wood. She pretends she hasn’t just shown the suspicious man her undergarments, though she cannot mask her annoyance.

         “Ya made it over just fine, didn’t ya?”

         Joan catches his cackle and suppresses a shudder. “Lead the way,” she prompts.