Chapter 2: He lives

The voice came to her in her sleep, disrupting the peaceful dreams of black, starry skies, and quiet, velvet forest grounds. It was a deep voice, a hated voice, a voice she'd gladly die to escape.

Yet even in death, it seemed, the voice found her, haunted her:

"Listen closely. This is your task: You will put yourself in harm's way deliberately. You will appear as a hero.

"You will rescue two children from death; and even as you save them from the noose, my own archers will be aiming for the children's hearts. You'll run to save them. The archers will have their orders: they won't aim directly at you, but only past you, so that you will appear to be in danger from their poisoned arrows. But you will not be. You will run amidst their fire and save the innocent little mites. Carry them to safety or something of that sort."

"But they'll be heavy. And, probably crying, as well."

"You will prove your devotion to the outlaws. They will fall at your feet and you will earn their blind trust. You won't have to ask them to join their sorry little company; they'll invite you in by themselves. They'll beg you to join them. You'll appear to have braved great danger, although you'll be in none."

The hateful voice stopped there, as it had stopped in real life, when the voice had been giving her her orders.

But it had lied. The voice hadn't spoken the truth: she had been in real danger. She had nearly died. She was dying right now, fading away and down into the abyss.

…

A chilling wind across her face. Hands covering her with a blanket that smelled like wood and smoke. A low baritone of male voices over her head. Her eyelids so heavy, they were impossible to open.

"How is he, Tuck?"

"Not good, Robin. He wakes up and falls unconscious again."

"Damn it, I told you he wasn't to die."

"It's in God's hands now."

"I'm not interested in your religious views, Tuck. Did you get all the poison out?"

"The wound is clean."

"Then save him. Save him. That's an order."

"He's weak, Rob. Did you see his back? It looks..."

"I saw."

"Good Lord, Robin, he's been whipped to threads, and the skin has healed badly... He's been seriously hurt before, and by the looks of it, he's not fully recovered yet. The..."

"Stop it, Ben, for the love of heaven. I can't think about it."

"Who do you think could do such violence? He's such a sweet-looking mite, he hardly has any meat on his bones. What reason would they have?"

"We both know the Sheriff's deputy needs no reason to exercise his cruelty on the weak; I'm guessing the one who hurt the lad was the one who did the same to you and me. I can't think about that pain, I can't bear remembering... Don't speak of it. The boy is different, he's not like we were. He's not Will. He's young, he'll make it."

"Will made it. Because of you."

"That's right. And this one will make it as well. I promised him he wouldn't die."

"You're so stubborn, Robbie. Even you can't alter the course of death."

"There will be no death here."

"Whatever you say, master."

"Don't call me that."

Silence for a moment. Then, the same voice:

"The boy lives, Tuck. The boy lives."