Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“Who—who are you?” Prue asked. Her mouth was dry; it was difficult to speak.

“Bandits, kid,” responded one of the runners. “Wildwood bandits. You’re lucky we found you.”

“Oh,” said Prue. The world swam above her and a fog suddenly overtook her vision and she lost consciousness again.

Bap.

“Hey!”

Bap.

Prue, her eyes still closed, was suddenly alerted to a smacking noise, as if someone’s back was being slapped.

Bap.

There it went again! she thought. It suddenly dawned on her that she felt a sensation accompanying each slapping sound—the feeling of someone hitting her cheek, gently, with an open palm. She opened her eyes, slowly, and started. Directly above her was the man she’d seen in the clearing, the red-bearded one with the forehead tattoo. His breath smelled very sour; his hand was poised for another slap.

“There you go,” he said, satisfied. “Wasn’t sure if you were going to die or not.”

Prue was shocked. “No, I’m not going to die!” she said defiantly. “I was just . . . sleeping, I guess.”

“Good,” said the man. “Besides, you’d be a mite bit embarrassed if you died of a bruised rib and a sprained ankle, that’s for sure.”

“A bruised rib?” she asked. “How did you . . .”

“Ah, those South Wooders would love to sell us bandits as know-nothings, but we sure ken our bruises and breaks.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “But you don’t look like you’re from South Wood. And you’re no North Wooder neither. You’re an Outsider, ain’t ya?”

Prue nodded.

The bandit sat back, and Prue had an opportunity to take in her surroundings. She appeared to be in a lodge of some sort, rudely constructed of unfinished logs and brambly branches. The ceiling was made up of leafy fir boughs, and a simple handwoven rug covered a large section of the earthen floor. Shifting slightly, Prue realized that she was lying on a kind of rustic canvas mattress in the corner of the hut.

“Very peculiar,” said the bandit, chewing thoughtfully on a dried cinnamon stick. “I never met an Outsider before in my life and then, in the span of two days, I see two.”

Prue’s eyes went wide. “Two? You’ve—you’ve seen another?”

“Yes, in a skirmish with the coyotes,” said the bandit. “Only yesterday. A young lad, probably the same age as yourself. Fought alongside the Governess—and a good fighter, too! Rather crafty.” The bandit suddenly came to a realization. “You ain’t . . . you ain’t in the employ of the Dowager, is ye? She’s not made some dark alliance with the Outside, has she?” His hand instinctively went to the saber at his hip.

“NO!” shouted Prue, pain spiking at her chest. “I swear! I’ve never met her; only heard some terrible things.”

The bandit lifted his arm from his side. “As you should. Evil woman, that Dowager Governess.”

“But this other Outsider you saw,” asked Prue. “What did he look like? Did he have curly black hair? And . . . and glasses?”

The bandit nodded.

Prue was flummoxed. “I can’t believe it!” she said. “He’s okay! And he was actually fighting! With the Governess! It can’t be true!”

“’Tis true,” the bandit replied. “Knocked out our finest howitzer, too. Turned the tide of the battle single-handedly, he did. Lost a lot of men that day.” The bandit shook his head dolefully. “But here I’m shooting my mouth off—haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Brendan. Folks call me the Bandit King.”

Prue blushed. “King!” she said, embarrassed. She had no idea she’d been addressing royalty. “Very good to meet you, Your Highness. My name’s Prue.”

Brendan batted the air. “Oh, don’t start with the Highness stuff. It’s mostly a title I use to scare people. Tends to work fairly well, too.”

“So,” began Prue, “if you’re bandits, then why didn’t you try to rob me? Isn’t that what bandits do?”

Brendan tilted his head back and laughed. “Oh, aye, that’s the truth. But robbing little girls who fall out of the sky ain’t necessarily our forte. We go for rich folk, delivery drivers and the like—folks plying the Long Road between North and South Wood. We like to think we’re liberators. Liberatin’ money from folks who take it all for granted.”

Prue smiled politely, though the bandit’s reasoning struck her as funny. She chose to change the subject. “This other Outsider, his name’s Curtis, I have to find him! We came in together, and we got split up when the coyotes found us, but that was before I saw Richard and made it to the Mansion, but then I—”