Her bare soles found the cool, uneven bark where the last shards of green light dissolved into nothing. The branch widened beneath her, wide enough that her searching toes met only more wood, stretching left and right until the curve vanished into silence. No echo answered the soft shift of her weight; the air itself seemed to swallow sound. Behind her, the faint glow that had guided her was gone. Absolute black pressed against her eyes.

  Kneeling down, Marcy pressed her hand against the wide branch she had tread across. Finding the sensation of soil against fingers, warm to the touch. Stunned in absolute confusion, Marcy’s instincts forced her hand to reach for blades that would be at her sides, clenching air instead.

  “Where am I?” Her ears twitched at the returning echo bouncing off tall walls.

  “Here,” something whispered from her left, the word leaking out of the dark like air from a punctured lung.

  She turned her head. Nothing.

  “Here,” it sighed from her right of her.

  The darkness itself seemed to inhale. Then, from directly behind her, a familiar cough burst against the back of her skull, carrying the reek of curdled milk and old graves.

  She whirled.

  Two paces away, maybe less, the coughing doubled over on itself, hacking up wet chunks of sound. Each exhale painted the air with a stench so foul her tongue curled against the roof of her mouth. She gagged, eyes watering though they saw nothing.

  “HERE!” the voice exploded inside her ears, a hammer blow of noise and spit.

  Marcy’s fist snapped up and cut empty black. She stumbled backward, her heel scraped dust.

  “Here,” the voice cooed from straight ahead, soft again, almost gentle

  “NO!” The refusal exploded from her throat as she surged forward. Marcy moved with grace: low, balanced, weight on the balls of her feet, elbows tight to her ribs, hands open and ready to trap or tear. “I am here!” she snarled, advancing in a controlled rush.

  Her strikes cut only blackness. Marcy stood stone-like, awaiting any sound to draw her attention. From the dark, a slender needle of gold captivated her eyes.

  The light brought forth the visage of a warming flame, illuminating a darkened face of a wild man with scarred etchings engraving his flesh in unknown swirl-like symbols, “I am but a man,” he said. Words soft yet authoritative, accented with kind tone welcoming her approach.

  “They sent me here to die?” She asked.

  “I called you here to witness the victor...” Bringing his right hand into the soft glow, revealed the beast of guilt born within her heart, that wheezing creature with goat legs and thick white wild fur. “Here,” he said, raising his left hand where her own blade rested. “Strike.”

  Marcy’s eyes shifted to familiar metal that had taken many lives, innocent and guilty alike. Feeling it’s touch as her palm wrapped around it’s rudimentary handle, she lifted it into light, witnessing familiar scars of combat and dents of defense. Glaring back at the wild man, her face contorted with fright as in his stead, the colossal form of that hideous guilt beast towered before her. From it, that loud sickly wheeze grunted, its thrusting hands pressed against flame, snuffing it out.

  With blade in hand, she felt fur-covered flesh engulf her, its claws ripping at her back as it embraced, thrusting the blade she felt a snapping sensation that made the beast contort in pain. Cold steel broke through chest bone, tearing through cartilage and finding a vulnerable heart below. She felt the beast’s weight pull her down as it failed the test of balance.

  Pressing away from its tired grasp, Marcy released her blade as innards clenched and muscles spasmed in pain. Stepping back from the thrashing creature, she felt a rough hardened surface stop her retreat. Turning herself around, she prepared for anything, yet eyes met not darkness. Her ears found the sounds of the forest—birds calling and nearby twigs snapping.

  Turning her head, all senses came to life as she took in the sudden world around her. The vast base of the tree stood but inches before her, and beside Marcy stood a single ram, chewing upon foliage of the wild, glaring with inquisitive eyes. A sensation of peace coursed through her; before the ram turned and took it’s leave.

  “I am here.” Rutger’s voice called. She turned, facing him and the cocky Master Falix.

  “Yes you are... What was that? Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked.

  “Tell you what?” Rutger said. “We all see different things.” His soft footsteps glided past her, placing a single hand upon rough bark. “It’s just a tree, but it speaks to us. This one has decided it wants to be a Rooster too.” A soft smile crept across his face. “We welcomed him long ago, or maybe he was the first Rooster?”

  “Not that good in combat, I’m afraid,” Falix added.

  “What did you see?” Marcy asked Falix.

  He stood still, pondering. “My mother and father, one last time... You?”

  “My fear,” she answered. “I think it took it from me.”

  “You must tell us all about it, but first, we should return to camp. I’m sure the boys will want to hear too!” Rutger said.

  The crowd of boys cramped close to where a thin path extruded from the surrounding brush, leading toward the elder-tree that engrafted large portions of the green. A tall, bushy-haired boy stepped on his tiptoes to see over the growing crowd.

  “Can’t believe she did it...” He scratched his head as his eyes caught movement beyond the brush. “Almost no one actually completes the course.”

  “There they are!” a voice escaped the crowd.

  Marcy witnessed the many boys cheering her ascension. A strange feeling of bashfulness escaped her, such attention was unknown during her days as an assassin.

  “I saw you flip! How’d you do that?” a voice called from the cheering boys.

  “Can you teach me?” another asked.

  With a growing smile, Marcy met the crowed alongside the Masters. “I may have some time to spare.”

  Rutger lifted his head with a smile. “You are welcome here in our humble slice of the EverGreen.”

  Her mind still pondered the idea. The concept seemed foreign, yet within her she felt neither the guilt weighing her down nor the regret that accented it’s stench.

  “I think you should see our healer about that wound.” Rutger pointed toward her bleeding hand.

  “You can sense that? Are you really blind, old man?” she asked.

  “My name is Rutger, or old Rutger if you’d like.” He coyed. “Come now, your day isn’t done.”

  Marcy felt the eyes of many pressing upon her as she passed. Following the two masters, she tread upon the land with a lighter foot and a strange spirit of excitement within. A strike of curiosity hit her: was this correct? Boys so young they still carried childlike innocence, even within this lawless land. Before her mind could dwell, she saw them approaching a large tent set aside from most wooden facilities, resting in a clearing slowly being engrafted by surrounding forest.

  Parting the large flaps, the two masters led her into the dimly lit interior. The scent of burning incense and the sound of pattering water filled the darkened room. Before her rested two sickly boys with cloth wraps of herbs laid upon their heads. With back turned to them, a single figure washed blood-stained cloths while muttering a small chant before turning his attention towards them.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Welcome, Masters. This is she?” Marcy’s eyes widened as the figure turned to face them. Standing within the tent was the tribal man who had appeared in her strange vision while traversing the tree.

  “Hail, old friend.” Rutger approached the tribal man and embraced him.

  “I smell blood.” The man’s eyes shifted toward Marcy.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I am Klawn, and yes, I was of the wild men.” He confessed.

  “Klawn was abandoned as a boy,” Rutger said. “He was left alone to die. By some means, he survived.”

  “Not without your aid,” Klawn replied. “More than once, Rutger was there when I would have otherwise perished.”

  “I saw you in my vision...” Marcy stepped back.

  “All see me. My first home was among its branches—in many ways I never left. I can feel each soul that traverses her. I can feel the pain in your hand. Let me look...” He reached toward her.

  With foreign vulnerability, Marcy placed her wounded hand within his grasp. His free hand unveiled a chunk of moist herbs. She felt strong pressure as Klawn pressed the herbs atop the wound and tightly wrapped it.

  “That should do.” He muttered.

  She felt light numbness where the familiar sting had been. “How’d you end up here?”

  “The forest told me of Rutger’s approach when we were but young men. I heard the cry of a crow, an odd creature to find in the deep forest. Yet my ears did not hear the creature for another two years, and the day before Rutger’s arrival, it rang once again through the trees.”

  “How poetic.” She replied. “What is in the trees? This sense of it being alive?”

  “It is alive. There’s nothing in the trees but the trees themselves.” Klawn explained. “They make up the spirit of the forest. It’s so curious of all it’s inhabitants, dark and light alike. I can tell it takes a particular interest in you.”

  “Is that good?” Marcy asked.

  “Time will tell. Now go. Rest your hand for two days and you’ll be healed for battle.” Klawn said.

  “Thank you.” She parted ways, exiting the tent with the masters. “What now?”

  “Now I have to ask if you really want to teach,” Rutger said as Master Falix walked off. “The path you’ve crossed, only a few have seen the strange wanderings and unveiled thoughts placed upon us by the forest. Only seven, in fact.”

  “But I thought they all had to cross that to become Roosters?”

  “They must have the courage to try. The poles are made of the very bark taken from the elder-tree. Each of them has known a part of it, but only the Seven have accomplished the task given to them. I wish for you to train them.” Rutger said.

  “A small class would make things easier. But I’ve never taught anyone how to fight before.” Marcy replied.

  “You have two days to think about it. Come- as you ponder your lessons, let’s meet the class.” Rutger said.

  She returned to meet the lot of boys, each breaking apart into their own small groups, separated by age and task. Among their lot was the eldest of their flock. A strongly built seventeen-year-old boy named Fernando. Standing upon an old fallen log, he rehearsed tales of battles past to his fellow Roosters. As he spoke of his own grand deeds, a voice broke out among his gawking listeners.

  “Fernando, enough.” Master Falix called.

  Breaking from his tale, the well-storied boy glared upward. Seeing the tall, well-trained woman walking toward Falix, Fernando spared not a word to his admirers. Pressing past the small crowd of confused boys, he marched toward his masters with wonder upon his face.

  “How did you do that?” he asked, eyes locked on Marcy.

  “She did not call you!” Falix raised his voice. “Or were you busy coming up with another story about an unrecorded battle?”

  Fernando shot his eyes toward the disturbed Master, biting his tongue as his enflamed emotions rumbled. “Sorry Master.”

  “Do I sense a hint of coy?” Falix said.

  “Fernando.” Rutger’s raspy voice spoke up. “The forest has brought us good tidings. This woman is Marcy. She maybe willing to train you in the ways of a warrior, which I cannot.”

  Marcy felt a sting of responsibility wrestling with regret as his words met her ears. “You’ll be one of my first students. I’m sure this will be quite the experience for both of us.”

  “I’m a good first student,” Fernando replied. “But can you teach me how you did that? How you flipped over the pole? I had to bare the pain and almost lost my foot just to get over that thing.” A glare of excitement shot through him.

  Holding back a smirk, Marcy spoke. “We’ll see if you have what it takes.” She stepped back.

  With a curious look, Fernando was about to speak when a voice slithered from behind him.

  “Hey, I completed the pole thing too! Do I get special training?” Pushing through the crowd, the thick bushy-haired boy huffed. “Or is Ferny the First going to hog all the glory here too?”

  “Damn you, Edwardo!” Falix’s voice carried an aura of order as his words assaulted the boy. “What have I told you?”

  Turning his head away with crossed arms, Edwardo muttered, “You told me never to talk when I’m not spoken to... That’s so stupid!”

  “This is Edwardo,” Rutger said. “He completed the obstacle course twice.”

  “Twice?” Marcy said. “He’s so... un-warrior-like.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Edwardo spoke up. “I’ve been in four and a half fights, and I took fifteen lives!”

  “Rabbits don’t count,” Fernando joked.

  “He will do,” Marcy said.

  All eyes shifted toward her.

  “If he completed the task twice,” she continued, “then he’s warrior enough.”

  With wide eyes, Edwardo held a grand smirk that unveiled his half-clean teeth. “You mean it?”

  “Yes. I’ll put you to the test, but don’t gripe about your training.” Marcy replied.

  “I won’t! I really won’t,” Edwardo replied.

  “He will,” Fernando added.

  As the two boys glared at one another, Rutger spoke up. “That’s two. Let’s go meet the others. I’m surprised they’re not here.”

  “There’s another attack,” Falix said. “Those on guard are there now.”

  “That’s two this week alone, even with a Doternite patrol.” Rutger pondered. “Let us go. I think I know where one may be.”

  “The birds told us it’s the wild men,” Falix said.

  “The wild men?” Rutger’s brow raised as he walked. Seeing the many boys slowly following them, Rutger stopped and gave them a glare.

  “What’s this?” Falix said. “Let me get these animals in order.” Walking away from Rutger and Marcy, Falix raised his hand into the air. “Let’s go! Back to your duties, you swine!”

  “Come now.” Rutger told Marcy, “We have a bit of a walk in front of us.”

  The ribbit of a frog disturbed the light rhythms of the creak of insects surrounding the lazy river that flowed so slowly not a wave was made. A loud pluck echoed across the water, accompanied by a large splash as a single small fingerfish, a silver-scaled curious fellow, bit upon the line of a rod that yanked its tiny form from the water. Its scales shone as moisture pressed off its small stature. The fish flung through the air and fell upon the damp chest of a young warrior with unkempt long hair and light pricklings of facial hair escaping his chin.

  The fish pattered within his solid grasp, slick scales pressing against his palm. “You’ll do!” He turned from the creek toward a hot fire.

  “That’s no dinner.” The familiar voice of Rutger escaped the surrounding green. “If you place that small thing upon your rod, you can catch an even bigger fish.”

  The boy’s brow narrowed. “Always one for dramatics. Where are you, Master?” Glaring about in all directions, not a sign of him gave way between the darkened canopies.

  “I’m here.” The voice escaped his left.

  Cocking his head, the boy wore a tired look. “Thanks for the free lesson.” His eyes shifted to a moving shadow in the dark, there behind his old master was a woman. “Who is she?” His eyes locked on Rutger, then shot her a quick look. Spotting the strange growth upon her face. Moving his hand over his brow, he felt the same dreadful adornment under his long hair. “Who are you?”

  “I am Marcy. I’m here to speak to you of training. What is your name?” She asked.

  “My name’s...” He paused, curious of her motives.

  “His name’s William,” Rutger answered.

  William gave his Master a glare laced with offense. “Don’t tell her my business, Master.”

  “Why not? I am the one you call master. Do you think your Master would bring just anyone to your hiding place?” Rutger asked.

  “I don’t hide... I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I’m not a Rooster. Not anymore.” William said.

  “She has what you need,” Rutger replied.

  Folding his brow, William stepped toward Marcy. “Speak...”

  “I’m here to train the best, I guess.” she said.

  “What can you do?” William asked.

  “I can show you how to kill people- silently, quickly,” she confessed.

  Looking over his shoulder, William walked toward the fire and reached down where a soft cloth lay.

  Under the dim shine of rays, what light penetrated the canopy glared off fine steel of a Doter Knight’s sword, a blade fashioned at the heart of the Doter’s homeland, engraved with a red emerald across its hilt in the shape of flame. “Can you show me how to use this? It was my father’s sword. It’s mine now... He’s dead.” A snicker of his nose huffed away the foul thought. “He taught me what he could, but I need to know more.”

  “I can teach you to kill with any blade.” Her mouth muttered as her eyes examined the fine sword. “That is something special. You’ll need to know how to protect the blade itself from the eyes of your fellow travelers.”

  “I know how to kill. I need to know how to kill better.” He wrapped the blade in harsh confines of aged, dirty fabric. “I’m better than all those boys you call Roosters.”

  “That sounds laughable.” All heads turned as Fernando’s familiar voice escaped the wild. Stepping forth, he and Edwardo emerged from the green.

  “I always knew he thought he was better than us,” Edwardo said. “Stupid.”

  “Both of you,” Rutger replied. “What brings you here?”

  With a sharp face, Fernando replied, “Some boys returned injured from the attack, Klawn calls for you.”

  Rutger looked to Marcy with concern. “This isn’t good. Meet your student and return to your confines for the time being. Fernando will aid you in your return.”

  She replied with a silent nod. Turning to face William, Marcy examined the boy—fit, strong, his stature well-adjusted. He was of Doternite blood. “Why do you want to kill better?” Her question lingered as Rutger’s footsteps signaled his retreat.

  Turning his sight toward the shallow, lazy river, William spoke. “So I can go back... My father was a bastard son of Doter, cast out to prove himself worthy. He’s dead now, they’re all dead. I want to finish his task and go back with his blade, and with the skills to match anyone who would dare stop me.” His voice carried dark authority.

  A light smirk grew across Marcy’s face. “Yeah, you’ll do.” Turning to look at her other recruits, “where are the horses? If there’s a battle and boys are in trouble... Let’s meet it.”