The Hooded Figure

The Thief

James woke to the chirping of birds and the soft rays of sunlight that filtered through the thick canopy and fell on his face. He sat up, letting the blanket fall onto his legs. The sound of rushing water filled his ears, but he took no notice, having slept by the river bank all night he was quite used to it. He looked to his side and saw that Fallon was missing, panicking he looked around quickly. A familiar  voice behind him made him jump.

“You’re finally awake.” He turned to see her walking out of the forest, looking strangely brighter than usual “I let you sleep in a little since we walked so much yesterday.”

He watched her fill her bottle in the river before he decided that he had rested enough. Folding the blanket and returning it in his small rucksack, he noticed that she had vanished again.

“Come on, we’ll eat while we walk, we’ve wasted enough time already!” she said, her cold voice carrying down the river, he looked up to see her fading into the forest.

“W...wait!” he yelled, how did she get there so fast? He didn’t have time to think, he slunk his rucksack over his shoulder and ran to catch up to her disappearing figure.

After hours of walking through the forest, their feet making muffled footsteps on the wet leaves, James noticed that the trees started to thin out. Ahead of them, he could see that the ground was harder, more trodden on, forming a path. It was quite obvious that Fallon was following it, so he let his legs slack off; knowing that he would not get lost even if he lost sight of her. As he watched her back, he let his mind wander to memories of his mother and his childhood. Suddenly, he was curious about the woman he was now following, trusting with his very life. He realized that he knew nothing about her but her name. It would feel wrong to ask, so he decided with a more subtle question, one, he felt, that was less personal.

“Fallon, who are you looking for?” he said, then realized that she was so far ahead that she probably hadn’t heard. After running to walk beside her, he opened his mouth to repeat the question when, to his surprise, she spoke.          

“A man. His name is Matthew Vendigard.” Her voice was different than usual, strained, as if she was holding something back. James decided not to probe any further, since the man seemed to hold great meaning to her, if she wanted to tell him, she’d do so herself.

After a while, they came to a small clearing, the trees around it formed a sort of protective cover, it felt safe, so Fallon decided to rest. Without hinting this to James, she put her back on a nearby tree and threw a fruit at him before biting into her own. He just managed to catch it before it hit his face and sat down, resting his tired legs.

“I lied to you” Fallon said so suddenly that James nearly choked on his food, she seemed to not notice and continued, “my name, its Tula, Tula Maerad.” James hoped that she would elaborate, but she went back to eating, the conversation clearly over. Why had she lied? Did she not trust him? It was not in his nature to poke his nose into other people’s business, but why had she decided to tell him now? If she had just kept quiet he would have never known.  

“There’s someone there.” Her voice so quiet it could have been mistaken for the wind. But he heard it and his body stiffened, he honed his senses; she was right. Behind the bushes to his right, he could sense a presence.

“Pretend you haven’t noticed, don’t make any sudden movements,” he obeyed her words without a second thought; finishing off his fruit as normally as possible while holding down the urge to run away. There was a rustle from the bushes, he held his breath, his stomach was queasy with fear. Then, out of the bushes, broke a tremendous figure, sword held high over his head, he charged at James, yelling at the top of his lungs. James panicked he brought his arms up, shielding himself and closed his eyes tight. But the blow that he so expected never came. The man stopped screaming and fell to the floor with a thud.

James opened his eyes slowly and brought down his arms, unsure of what had happened. Tula walked up to the groaning man; he had dropped his sword and was now clutching his chest. She kicked him onto his back and pulled something out of his chest. He withered in pain, then he was still. Upon looking closer at Tula’s hand, James realized that she had pulled a throwing knife out of his scruffy beard, which reached half way down his chest. The blade was completely soaked in blood.

“Wow, y...you threw it all the way from over there? But he was going so fast and you hit him right in his chest, h...how is that even possible?” James bewildered, his eyes wide in amazement. Tula made no move to answer; she wiped her knife on a cloth she seemed to have conjured from nowhere and completely ignored his questions.         

James knelt down beside the lifeless body, the blood still surging out of his open wound.

“Is he dead?”

“No” said Tula without looking “but he will be.”

After a long stretch of silence, James spoke again,

“Doesn’t he look familiar? Oh...I remember now! He was on one of the wanted posters in the Grande Hall!”

At this, Tula finally looked down at the half-dead man and realized that he was right. She walked over to her sac, which she had left propped up against a tree, and from inside, she retrieved a roll of bandages and a small ointment bottle.

“We’ll take him with us and hand him in when we reach Tarinia.”

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