The Heartless
Chapter II: in which plans are made

The following day, I dodged further confrontation with Bertrand with practiced ease and crept out of the house and down to the local bowyer’s shop down the road with my proverbial tail between my legs, in the mood to sulk. The shop always smelled faintly of sawdust and freshly cut wood, and Marley always had some new project sprawled across her battered workbench. Many years ago, she had been the one to make me my bow, after I wouldn’t stop showing up at her door asking to see what she was working on. Its strong and sturdy construction still held firm today, something she always told me was the mark of a true craftsman. I had helped her cut the wood myself, barely tall enough to see over the top of the workbench and having to stand on a crate to properly reach the saw.

At the sound of the door, Marley emerged from the back room, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her arm.

“Ace, what a pleasant surprise!”

She came around to lean back against the counter while I made myself at home in the chair by the front door.

“What’s troubling you?” she asked.

I looked up to see a knowing smile on Marley’s face and grimaced.

“How did you know something was troubling me?” I questioned.

Marley chuckled. “Please, it’s written all over your face!”

Hastily, I attempted to neutralize my expression, but based on the amused look that flashed across Marley’s face, it likely only made things worse.

“Well, spill,” she commanded, wiping her hands on her work apron. “You’ve already waltzed in like you own the place, so out with it.”

Ignoring her usual taunts, I sighed and rested my elbows on my knees.

“I ran into a little trouble last night,” I began hesitantly.

Marley’s eyebrows jumped into her hairline, revealing the wrinkles that were beginning to take shape on her forehead. “Oh? Do tell.”

I launched into a retelling of the previous night, from the moment I woke up after supper until my squabble with Bertrand, leaving out the specific details of my dream. Throughout the tale, Marley listened intently, nodding along.

“It sounds like you were in the right place at the right time,” she commented when I had finished. “But just be glad it was just a couple of kids looking for trouble, and nothing more than that.”

“That’s all it ever is, Marley,” I countered. “And the fact that it’s just some kids says nothing about the potential danger.”

“Well, of course. But there’s a marked difference between a few stray troublemakers and a planned attack.”

“You don’t realize what kids are capable of. Someone could have died.”

“I know, Ace.” Marley held up a hand to halt my anxious rambling. “You’re always on edge, always anticipating some danger that isn’t sure to ever come. Is that Bertrand’s influence on you?”

I shook my head. “Bertrand doesn’t get it. All he cares about is breaking the curse.”

Marley sighed. “He’s an old man, set in his ways. Heaven knows what he’s been put through in his life. You’re the only person who ever talks to him.”

I shrugged glumly. “We don’t quite understand each other.”

“Well, understanding takes a lot of work. We all know that better than anyone.” Marley pushed off the counter and gestured to the back room. “You want to help me sand down some wood for a while? You can’t sulk if you’re working.”

I smiled. “Sure,” I responded, and rose from my chair to follow Marley into the back of the shop.

Over the next few weeks, the rift between me and Bertrand grew steadily wider, and the little old house buzzed with static whenever both of us were in it. We rarely spoke, save for a few muttered pleasantries in the mornings and at supper. Every night, I crept up to the big oak tree down the road and perched there, watching for Petra, and sometimes I saw her dart out of the woods with another sack full of looted food. Sometimes she saw me up in the tree and paused, raising a finger to her lips before running onward.

Knife Boy never followed her. Sometimes I wished he would.

The weather was growing warmer and the days longer, which only gave me more time to think and Bertrand more time to agonize over breaking a centuries-old curse. Throughout all this time, the nightmares never ceased. Knife Boy’s smug, slimy grin eventually faded, unmasking the demons I had kept under lock and key for years. Some of them were creations of my own mind, but by far the most harrowing ones were true.

“And then,” Basil whispered, pausing for effect, “when they turned the corner, the whole village had disappeared!”

There was silence. Basil looked back and forth around the circle, anticipating a reaction. Finally, Carita spoke up next to me.

“That wasn’t very scary,” she complained, rolling her eyes. “Why would a village just disappear?”

I saw Basil stare at me out of the corner of his eye and smirk. “I don’t know, Carita,” he replied. “Ace seemed pretty scared to me.”

I felt my face heat up as several pairs of eyes landed on me. I couldn’t be sure if my expression really betrayed my fear, or if Basil was just pretending so the other children would think he was a good storyteller. “D-Did not!” I cried.

“It doesn’t matter, I have a scarier story,” announced Marcus, “And this one’s true.” A chorus of gasps rang out from around the circle. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes--I was never Marcus’ biggest fan--but I quickly sobered up as he began his tale. “It happened hundreds of years ago. There’s a legend that says there was once an evil, terrible wizard who put a curse on our entire kingdom. For the rest of time, there would be children born in the kingdom without hearts.” He paused for dramatic effect, to striking results. “Most people think they’re really out there, probably living at the edge of the kingdom somewhere.”

“I-Is that true?” someone piped up from somewhere across the circle. I sat mostly frozen, combatting feelings of otherness and plucking blades of grass out of the dirt absentmindedly so Marcus would think I was simply uninterested.

Marcus scoffed, “Of course it’s true. My grandpa told it to me. But he said they don’t feel any emotions, so it’s dangerous to go there.”

Hesitantly, I stole a glance across the circle at Basil and was surprised to find him staring at his feet out in front of him, mouth set in a deep frown. It was the quietest he’d ever been.

I woke up with a familiar crick in my neck and an ache in my hip from sleeping curled up on the uncomfortable cot. I could hear Bertrand tinkering away in his study, where he had likely been all night for what had to be at least the fourth day in a row. My nightclothes were soaked with sweat, so after a humble breakfast of a slice of old bread and some jam, I peeled them off and wrung them through the wash before hanging them outside on the line to dry.

It was still early, just after sunrise, so the Village of the Heartless was quiet, with just a few people outside tending their gardens that had been pillaged overnight by groundhogs and squirrels. Dawn was as serene as the Village ever got, after the danger of night had lifted but before most people awoke. I stood there outside the house for a long time, soaking in some much needed peace. Outside, the tension between me and Bertrand could not reach me, and neither could the nightmares that plagued my sleep.

Nevertheless, my lingering thoughts followed me all the way from the front door to the back garden behind the house. Dewdrops clung to the heads of lettuce that had continued to sprout overnight, and against the wall grew the selection of herbs that Bertrand kept for his potions. I walked amongst the rows and filled in holes dug by chipmunks with the toe of my shoe, grumbling all the while.

“Ace!” Came the call of a familiar voice from down the road. I turned to see Petra jogging up to the fence, oozing with her usual enthusiasm and zest for life. She came to a screeching halt at the garden gate and shot me a grin.

“You’re up and about early,” I remarked.

“I could say the same to you.” Petra stepped up between the wooden slats of the fence and leaned over the edge. “You said we could have target practice this morning, don’t you remember?”

Realization sprouted within me. Ever since I first caught Petra sneaking around and getting into trouble, I’d resolved to teach her to shoot a bow and arrow, for self-defense purposes. If she was going to run around committing petty theft throughout the kingdom despite my warnings, I couldn’t exactly let her do so undefended. However, my dream had caused our plans for that morning to completely slip my mind.

Our chosen practice area was a secluded grove at the forest’s edge, just a brief walk from the far end of town furthest from the village gates. There, the trees grew sturdy and untouched by agriculture, perfect for hanging up targets I had drawn onto old sheets of burlap. When we arrived that morning, I passed Petra my bow and arrow and took several deliberate steps back.

My body was present in the clearing, but my mind drifted elsewhere, wandering back to some distant meadow that now lived only in my subconscious. Each day, the nightmares became harder to shake, and the gnawing feeling in my gut became harder to ignore.

“Ace? Are you paying attention?”

I snapped back to the target range, my eyes darting around the clearing until they found purchase; Petra was staring at me incredulously over her shoulder, bow hanging limp at her side.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Did you say something?” I inquired, trying to make my voice sound casual.

Petra frowned. “I asked if my form was better that time, but you were spacing out again.” She paused and turned her body to face me properly. “Are you alright?”

I was unsure how to answer. I’d never told Petra very much about Basil, or anyone in my home village for that matter--my stories were always intentionally vague, leaving out names and other personal details to avoid revealing too much. But it became clear to me now that as Petra got older and I grew more visibly pensive, the mystery became far more frustrating than enthralling.

“I’m alright, just thinking.” I dropped down and sat cross-legged in the dirt.

Petra seemed unconvinced. “Thinking?” she questioned, coming to sit beside me. “What about?”

“I’ve been having quite a lot of dreams lately, mostly of home.” I paused, letting the truth roll around on my tongue for a few moments. Even amongst fellow Heartless, I still was not used to sharing the grittier details of my childhood, although I knew I was likely to be understood.

“I had a friend,” I started. “Basil. I haven’t spoken to him since the day I left. I’m not too sure he’s still alive.”

“Oh,” Petra whispered, seeming to sink into herself ever so slightly. “You’ve never spoken about him.”

I shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about what happened. He was like a brother to me.”

Petra hummed softly in understanding. She picked a small twig up off the ground and began drawing patterns in the dirt. A few moments passed in companionable silence before she tilted her head to look at me again and mused, “You should come with me next time I go into town. You know as well as I do that there is more to the world than what the Village has to offer.”

“I don’t know about that.” I offered her a watery smile, chuckling under my breath. “You do remember me telling you to stop doing that, don’t you?”

“Well, we don’t have to steal anything.” Petra returned to drawing in the soil. “Just to take your mind off things, you know?”

For a moment, I hesitated. I had never left the Village or its woods in the seven years since my arrival, and the thought of entering back into a world that had long ago driven me away struck a fearful chord in me, ghoulish fingers plucking my bones like the strings of a skeletal guitar. However, the kingdom of Amistadia was large, and the chances of me being recognized at its southern limits were slim.

“Fine,” I eventually conceded. Petra gaped at me in surprise. “But only on the condition that we restrict our travel to the south and east, as my home village, Swallow’s Point, is in the north.”

Petra leapt to her feet. “Yes! Of course! We’ll go wherever you want!”

“Right, not so fast.” I stood up and dusted the dirt from my pants, then pointed at my bow, which lay discarded on the ground where Petra had been sitting. “First, show me your form again. This time, I’ll pay attention.”

Petra beamed. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

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