“Then why am I still here?” I said through clenched teeth. “Why am I afraid?”
“It’s natural. Being in a house full of strangers.” Ric had planned his answer with care.
A long silence followed before I decided to speak again. “I want to go home.” Willow walked up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I flinched but didn’t pull away.
“Look at you, you’re shaking,” Ric said, suddenly irritated. His heightened voice made me cold and Willow withdrew her hand with an electrical force as if she sensed my discomfort.
“Watch your tone,” she warned him firmly.
Ric took an involuntary step forward as his voice deepened. “Why? If we review it, I wasn’t the one that came up with taking her to them in the first place. It was them. They knew something about her. They said she’d made friends with the wrong people.” His voice was dark, suddenly the same tone I had heard my last night in Wetherdon. I backed away slowly but his last stride was longer than the others and it sent my heart and feet racing as I fled, almost colliding with one of the pillars, and up the stairs.
I ran as fast as I could up to the terrace, up the stairs and across the bridge to the room I’d been imprisoned in. The door slammed behind me and I locked it. It wasn’t an escape, I should have gone for the main door, but it slipped my mind and as a temporary refuge it was enough. I pushed my back into a corner, afraid that Ric would come and finish what he and his friends started.
Now, I thought in the silence, I’m on my own.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I DIDN’T KNOW how long I’d sat in the darkness, alert to every sound that suggested someone was coming for me. For a while shouts and heavy footsteps on the creaky bridge outside were all I heard. Then everything was silent. My heart still hammered incessantly in my chest and I was suddenly too aware of the blood pulsing between my ears in the darkening room. I couldn’t stay here. I wouldn’t stay here. Even if they didn’t kill me straight away it was only a matter of time before I became bothersome or too well informed to be freed. Just like before, if I was going to be taken down I’d go out swinging.
Though I wasn’t keeping a clear mark on it, the sun had been absent for about an hour by the time I moved from the sheltered corner. I crawled over to the door and unlocked it, swinging it open just enough to see what was happening below. In the main building the lights were burning but not elsewhere, at least I had that much cover. The door shut softly despite my haste and I walked to the windows, throwing them wide open. The trees were clustered so close together that it was possible to climb down them…if I could make the jump. As a child I’d been nimble but that was a long time ago. My bones had become hard, my muscles taut from intensive labour, and the half-cast evening shadow made it hard to see which figures were branches and which were mimics.
The windowsill creaked as I pulled myself up onto it and wrapped one hand around the shutter before stretching out, my fingers waving around in open air. I shimmied back inside, exasperated. Getting to the branch wasn’t going to be as easy as stepping onto it after all. If I was going to do something stupid I needed to be at least somewhat comfortable. So I backed up and grabbed my old boots, slipping them over my socked feet. If I misjudged the jump I could hit the windowpane and fall, or I could clear the window – and still fall. Suddenly nauseous, I pushed all of the common sense out of my head and took a few more steps back.
I must be crazy. A short breath passed between my lips and I sprinted, gathering all my strength, and launched myself out of the window.
Though I forced myself not to think of the leap I certainly thought of the distance between myself and the ground. The second of weightlessness was refreshing compared to my graceless descent into the tree, disappearing into its foliage. Crashing through the array of spindly twigs, I fell a good few feet before catching myself on one of its sturdier branches, thankfully remembering to turn away from my injured side at the last minute. Everything was still for that moment while I listened for any commotion, but there was nothing.
I steadied my breathing, thrilled that I’d actually made the jump, and climbed carefully down the slippery, old tree, holding tight against the wet moss and old sap. As I reached the bottom something snapped in the surrounding foliage but I didn’t dare risk investigating; instead I took off into the forest and ran, and ran, and ran. I needed a road or a river, even a village, anything that could tell me where I was. Maybe people would show me a map – or better still, maybe they would let me borrow a horse or ride along with a tradesman to a capital. I wouldn’t go back to being a budgie.
THE MOON CLIMBED higher in the sky as I walked but had yet to start its descent so I couldn’t have been travelling long. Perhaps two hours – perhaps longer. I used to take walks like that with Father as a child. He’d taught me how to track an animal using touch, smell and sound, and how to navigate using only the stars and the moon. Yet, I’d never felt more helpless. The woodland was unknown to man as it lacked any distinctive, well-trod pathways or footprints. Time and time again I stuck my foot down a hole or stumbled into a grassy depression, only just sparing my ankle.
A shiver raked through my body and I groaned. How could I not have been forward-thinking enough to bring a cloak for the early spring chill? I stomped my feet and rubbed my hands over my arms, grumbling. All of my worries subsided suddenly when I heard the most glorious sound I could have hoped for: running water. If I found the stream it would lead to a river and downhill from that there had to be a village eventually. My strength was still lacking despite my rest since that night but I pushed on, ignoring the angry sensation pulsing up and down my legs.
When I reached the stream I dipped my hands into it and brought the cold water to my mouth, and tasting the crispness of it like it was my first drink in years. I pressed cool palms against my neck and sat back against a rock, collecting my breath. The forest floor was cushioned with moss and patches of new grass. The simple droplets of evening dew clung carelessly to the thistle bushes and sleeping spring flowers, and I watched the mice scrambling around to catch them before they fell. It was peaceful, something I hadn’t felt really since Mother’s passing from the world, even if I was entirely lost.