Contest of Stories

“Why did Father have to leave us, Mother?” I whisper, a tear sliding down my cheek as I sink to my knees beside her.

“The robin… told him to. He couldn’t… disobey.” Huh? “We’ve been wandering… for too long now. But now it’s your time… find where you belong.” She reaches into the folds of her cloak and slowly draws something out – a finely carved bow and a quiver of arrows. “Your father wanted me to give you this. It’s been in our family for… generations. And now… it’s yours. Don’t let them… get it.”

“No… no, Mother, I can’t. I can’t leave you!” I sob as tears pour down my cheeks.

“Don’t worry… I believe in you. Go… find home.” Mother sucks in a rattling breath, presses the bow and arrows into my hands, and then her eyes close and she’s gone.

“No… no! Mother!” I cry over and over again, but she doesn’t move.

An eerie screech cuts through the gloom, and I look up to see dark winged shapes wheeling far overhead, circling over the boat. Vultures. The birds of the Emperor’s Guard. Unclear voices shout off in the mist, and I see faint pinpricks of light from torches far off in the distance. They’re coming. Of course. The Emperor isn’t afraid of the Wild Lake – how could I have thought that it would hold the Guard off?

I duck down beneath the rim of the boat, but in my haste the quiver tips over, sending a stream of arrows into the water with a series of loud splashes. No! I peer over the edge and breathe in sharply. While the rest of the arrows are floating on the surface, one arrow is steadily sinking, point down. Not only that, but it’s glowing with a soft, silver light. Something inside me shouts ‘follow the arrow!’ But something else hesitates. Should I leave Mother?

The arrow has nearly vanished in the deep, dark waters. Slinging the bow and quiver over my shoulder, I cast one last glance at Mother and, alone, dive into the lake.

The cold nearly shocks the air out of me. Air bubbles stream from my mouth as my lungs tense, but I must do this! Turning, I rocket downwards, squinting at the silver arrow. It vanishes from sight in the murky depths – but then a tiny glimmer of light faintly reappears behind a curtain of kelp. I plunge through the slime and am instantly blinded by a sudden flare of light.

Two arrows lie on the sandy floor of the lake, one glowing faintly silver and the other bright gold, a dazzling beacon of light in the dark water. This must be it! The golden arrow. The thing I must keep hidden from the Emperor’s Guard. Wrapping my fingers around it, my lungs screaming for air, I kick upwards, launching myself off the sandy floor. But something immediately jerks me back. A long tentacle of kelp has wrapped around my leg, tightening the more I struggle. With fingers numb from the cold, I fight to untangle myself while keeping a hold on the arrow as wild currents tug it upwards. Wait – no, not the currents – the arrow is acting of its own accord, pulling my hand upwards as I tussle with the kelp. Panic flows through me. What have I got myself into?!

Something cold and slimy brushes my shoulder and a moment later a strand of kelp wraps around my neck, cutting off my breath. I choke, swallowing the freezing water. A wave of darkness washes over me and my vision blurs – but suddenly a burst of light cuts through the darkness, and I can dimly see the golden arrow, pulling my hand upwards. But the darkness closes back in…

A floating sensation spreads through me, and the kelp recoils from my neck. The kelp around my leg stiffens, but I’m shooting upwards, water streaming up my nose. With a final jolt, the kelp rips from my leg and I’m soaring away… the light grows brighter, the surface of the lake closer… but still so far away…

I wake with my face squished into cold, wet sand. When I realize I’m alive, I roll over and promptly vomit up a gallon of water onto the sand. I push myself upright, feeling dizzy and weak. My bow and empty quiver dig into my spine – it’s a miracle I still have them. My fingers tingle, and I unclench my fist to find the golden arrow, casting a warm glow through the mist around me.

“Quite a treasure, that is.”

I stiffen, whipping my head up and nearly fainting from the sudden nausea that hits me. A young man is standing nearby, leaning against a tree. A bow and quiver of arrows are slung over his shoulder, a green hooded cloak shadowing his face. He looks strangely familiar…

A memory flits through my mind, quick and blurry, of Father’s last words to me: “Look after your Mother for me, Scout. And remember – wherever you may be in the world, you’ll always have a home with the Merry Men.”

“You’re Robin Hood!” I gasp. ‘The robin’!

He smiles and extends a hand to help me up. “Welcome home.”

The smoke cleared once more, and I was left with one opponent. The man’s government colours and skill told me he was none other than Grrek, captain of the guard. We locked eyes. Grrek might think he was infallible, but even captains made mistakes. If I could unnerve him… At the clang of the gong, I gave Grrek my smoothest wink. Satisfaction swelled within me as he frowned. Turning back to the target, I narrowed my eyes and shot straight and true.

Grrek growled in frustration. Looking over at his target, I grinned. Victory.

Raffe ushered me to the stage, where the Overseer waited. I resisted the urge to pull my hood lower. To my relief, Mr Not-So-Grand had clearly been drinking, and didn’t appear remotely interested in my face. He turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… Kai Yoss!” He scanned my Credit-Band with a flourish, and I smiled as it buzzed.

The crowd erupted, and one whoop stood out, drawing my gaze to what must’ve been Marian and Will.

Then, without warning, a gust of wind blew back my hood. I cursed and ducked my head, but the Overseer’s eyes had already widened. “Guards!”

I searched for Marian, but she was already hurrying Will towards the exit. I ran into the stampeding crowds, blending into the chaos. When I reached the gates, I lowered my head and high-tailed it out of there.

Marian and Will were waiting for me at Rin’s Cantina. I hurried over and hugged Marian from behind.

“You scoundrel!” she squealed.

I grinned. “Miss me?” She rolled her eyes, but I saw her mouth twitch.

I tousled Will’s hair. “Hey, Bandit. You up for the walk home?”

He pouted. “I’m tired, Wobin.”

“I know. I’ll give you a lift, huh?” I turned to Marian. “We shouldn’t linger.” She nodded. But, as I leaned down to grab Will, the door burst open, and guards in the Grand Overseer’s colours barged in. Suns, this was turning out to be a bad day. We ran out a side door just as the guards spotted us and gave chase.

We wove in and out of buildings and people, the footsteps behind us growing ever closer. I followed Marian around corner after corner, looking over my shoulder as we turned down a back alleyway. I couldn’t see anyone, but the footsteps were closing in. Racing around the next corner, we hit the city wall. I stopped dead. Really bad day.

“What? It’s not like we could walk out the front gate,” Marian said.

“I guess not…” I looked back again. Once the guards rounded that last corner, we’d only have seconds.

I crouched, letting Will off my back. “I need you to go with Marian, all right? You’re gonna go over that wall, and I’ll follow you in a minute.”

Will nodded, his eyes wide.

“Good boy.” I turned to Marian. “Take him into the forest. No one will dare follow you there.”

Will grinned. “Yeah, they’re too scared of the ghosts!”

“Exactly. I’ll meet you there.”

Marian grimaced. “Robin…”

I stood up and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll be right behind you. Trust me, okay?”

She nodded against my chest, then let go and turned to the wall as the shouts behind us grew closer.

I watched them disappear over the top, then drew my boltcaster and faced the advancing guards. Too many. Way too many. I searched for something to delay them. An overhanging beam caught my eye. It wouldn’t work for long, but it’d give me a head start. I fired my bolt, then sprinted for the wall. The beam crashed to the ground just as I reached the top. Grinning, I slipped over the edge and hit the ground running. 

I sprinted into the tree line, scanning for Will and Marian. Will’s face peeped out from behind a log, and I vaulted over it to land beside them. Will immediately climbed onto my lap. I smiled and flicked his nose. He giggled, snuggling into me.

Marian glanced at me uneasily. “Did they see you?”

I shook my head.

She relaxed and leaned her head on my shoulder, then looked up at me. “Do you still have the money?”

I checked my Credit-Band. “Yep. No more debt for us.”

Marian grinned. “That’s my number one.” Her gaze softened, and before I knew it, I was leaning closer…

“Ewww, Wobin!”

I laughed. “Sorry, Bandit. You’ll understand someday.”

He wrinkled his nose. “What about school?”

I flashed him my wrist. “With this? We could afford the best school on Satune. You’re covered, Bandit.”

“You’re the best, Wobin.”

I smiled down at him. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad day, after all.

He was a man of legend, and a tale often retold was “The Bullseye,” the arrow he
lodged within his own arrow, slicing the first one into two perfect, quivering pieces.
Arrows became the markers of our territory, the arrowheads buried
In anything from trees to roots to steep sides of dirt, a warning to all who sought
our hideout. It was well hidden, our hideout, the brave
hearts who guarded it kept its location with a level of secrecy
that some would deem unnecessary. Our first hideout was found too easily, and they
drove us out. But we only ventured deeper into the forest, further and further, to
The prize of the Major Oak, a magnificent tree that promised nothing but a
life of hearty adventure for those who dared to camp under its shadow.
From it’s towering height, to
our immediate and complete awe of it, he declared it our hideout upon first sight. Its
limbs made perfect arrows shafts, the wild birds we hunted and
killed supplied us with feathers for fletching. Some of
us knew the art of crafting arrows already, the rest he taught, guiding us
in the picking of a branch for a shaft, to the sharpening of a stone arrowhead. The
land supplied us our every need, from fire to food, apart from liquor, a drink
that was reserved for after a successful plunder. He told us we
should celebrate every little joyous moment of life, as we only
have so long to live, so why shouldn’t we spend it drunk around a fire? It has
been an age since anyone questioned this outlook on life, ever since
our own leader almost kicked a man out on charge of “ruining the atmosphere.”

Sherwood Forest is ours, no matter what the law says. He says it
became ours the moment he shot that first arrow; the moment the soil became the
dreaded ground it is today. Dreaded or not, he says,
the king can’t outlaw what he can’t catch, and the
bodies of the king’s men who come after us leave Sherwood with the marks
of arrows, the scrapes and gashes of his Merry Men,
those who defend all that’s right and true.
Who would oppose us? Our group of wild men, us who
came like a wave upon the forest. Some said a life like this could hold no love.
Before he did, we thought so too. Then there was a maiden in the scene,
crunching over the forest floor with the best of us. Sitting cross-legged
under the Major Oak, lighting fires and plucking birds. Listening to the rumble of a
wagon or two as they clattered by,
wheels creaking on the uneven forest floor. If they said her name’s Marion,
their guess would be right. We all admire her, but she’s got eyes only for him. The
faces they make sometimes, all doe-eyed and soft make their efforts to hide it
hollow. Even a fool could see the love flying through the air between them. That,
and one of us carved their initials on the Major Oak for a laugh. Marion somehow
paled and blushed at the same time as she saw it. Rainy days in Sherwood,
as the Major Oak offered only meagre protection, were spent with water
dripping down on us as we slept, any chance of lighting a
candle gone for certain. Neither the
wax nor wick being waterproof, forget about the flame.

All of us would huddle as close to the trunk of the tree as we could,
the dampness bringing about a green smell like spring had just arrived.
While it rained, we ate only what we could make with no fire, vegetables, dried meat.
They put up wanted posters on the trees one night as we
partied. He thought they looked nothing like him, but we all agreed the picture was
on point, chuckling behind his back. Even so, He told us to leave the posters alone.
Our leader never got caught. He was too smart, too clever. One day we had
stolen more than we often took, enough for a few extra bottles of booze after the
wealth had been distributed. We were all very much
drunken that night, singing loud songs in slurred
voices that Marion told us later sounded worse than feral war cries. We were
drifting through life, us Merry Men. We lived the life, as he would say, usually
on those clear-aired nights as we all stared at the stars twinkling down from above.
The forest seemed alive on those kinds of nights, the
wind whispering, trees rustling, an all-around enchanted feel, no matter

what we ourselves smelt like. “A right stench,” Marion used to tell us when
ever we were particularly sweaty. We never got bored out in the forest. He
was always planning this ambush or that, where each of us would hide, on the
left or right, up a tree or behind a bush. One
of the most interesting ambushes happened when a noble’s wagon fell into the river.
our plan had been the usual, ambush, steal, run, but things had gone awry. The
spoils we gained from that were less than usual, though some men did offer to dive.
they admitted afterwards how cold it was. Despite the amount, he insisted we
gave it all
away. In those days he would disappear for hours, only coming back laden with prey
like one might be laden with jewelry. We’d all feast those days,
it being made all the sweeter by the illegal status of the meat, no matter whether it
was was scrawny or plump or dripping with fat. Some would ask if it was
worth it. Worth living a life running from law, with
nothing but the loyalty of those you lived with keeping you safe.

The answer, we would say, was yes. The
wealth we gained from it was not money, but a life
of daring and valour, creating stories we hoped would echo down
generations, until the tales told about us, about him, were
reduced to nothing but memories, of moments caught in time. And
to those who believe us still to live there, long after our bodies have turned to
dust, those who believe our cries still echo out from around a campfire, perhaps

we are, if you listen. Deep in Sherwood Forest you might hear our cries, us who
hated the injustice of the world and swore to make it right. Us who stood against
them, those filthy rich folk, those tyrants, until our dying breaths.
We are called heroes. Some may have
hated us, but many more rallied beside his name. Many of us will be nameless. But
him? His name was one cheered on by the peasants,

he upon whose likeness became all that some endeavoured to be. It
was him, after all, that we had admired first,
an outlaw, yet one who fought for what the law should have enforced.
A man of bravery and of honour, who lives forevermore at Kirklees, his
murderer a woman lacking either. He told us, he told me,
an hour before his last breath, that, as an
archer, he was to be given his bow and one final arrow,
a chance for one last shot. The final crescendo of a life strife with danger. I, being no
traitor, nothing but loyal Merry Man, provided it, kept my promise
to him, and where that arrow landed,
the arrow he shot straight and true, I buried him there, at Kirklees. He wore no
crown the hero that he was, claimed no gold or riches. He was buried with only
his bow and his arrow, forever the legendary outlaw, the one whose
name would never be forgot, whose philosophy on life
was bold, brave and daring. No tear beyond our own was shed, us Merry Men of the great Robin Hood.

She’d tightened her hands around the hot porcelain of her teacup. “How does he fight them?”

“He steals, hehehe!” A mischievous smile had cracked Mr. Yamada’s face. “He is fast, like the monkey, and smart as the fox! He outwits them and foils their plans. No one knows the city like he does. They cannot catch him, and he returns their… their dirty money to the people they have stolen from.”

Maya fiddled with the loose end of her backpack strap. Neon flickered to life over the sidewalk, casting everything in a soft purple glow. Was there really some daring hero out there, duping the ruthless gangs and quietly aiding the city’s suffering? She wanted to believe it.

Every day on the way to school, she saw traces of the Ryū. A new symbol, spraypainted next to a target’s window, maybe. Or a foreclosure sign on the door of a shop. Sometimes at night she heard sirens wailing for a long time, and tried not to imagine what horrible ‘accident’ would be on the news the next morning.

Besides, Papa never told her what he did on his ‘errands,’ but she knew that when he didn’t invite her along, he certainly wasn’t picking up groceries or takeout. She’d listened to her parents’ murmurings at night when bills arrived, and noticed how Papa’s pockets sometimes sagged and rustled when he came back from an ‘errand.’

She tried not to think about it, but she had a feeling that the Ryū were ruining her family, like they ruined the rest of this city.

Unzipping her backpack, Maya pulled out her algebra textbook, opened to the next chapter, and tried to force herself to take interest in the words. She could dream about heroes all she wanted, but in real life, there was only time and money, both in short supply. Mama would need her help cleaning the shop this evening, and unless Maya wanted to be doing homework late into the night, she had better start in on it now.

She only managed to concentrate for about ten minutes. Then the letters began blurring into inky smudges, and her mind drifted off like a kite that had broken its line. What would it be like to run as the Phoenix could, high over the city, leaping wide gaps and tumbling down steep slants without a whit of fear? It must feel so… freeing.

Because you were swift and strong, and weren’t limited to roads like everyone else, and no one could stop you. No one could hurt you. Money and Dragons meant nothing.

A muffled thump made her jerk her head up. She twisted, looking out the back window.

The street lay empty. The view ahead was clear too.

Voices, gradually rising, filtered through the car to her ears. Coming from the right.

Down the alley Papa had gone into.

The pencil dropped from Maya’s shaking hand.

Sucking in a deep, quivering breath, she shoved her schoolbooks off her lap and slowly opened the door. The dusky evening air smelled like orange chicken and peanut oil, probably coming from the vents of the dingy restaurant close by.

Quietly, Maya pushed the door shut and crept around to the front of the car, straining uselessly to try and see down the alley. She’d have to get closer.

The voices were angry, words flowing fast and sharp as knives.

Another tone rumbled back, softer and calmer. “I won’t do it.”

Papa. Papa was talking. Maya darted up onto the sidewalk and pressed her back to the cold wall of the restaurant, edging toward the corner.

More furious talk, now low and menacing.

Papa replied, “He’s very kind to my daughter. She loves visiting with him. I could never look her in the eyes again if I did it.”

Maya’s fingers found the corner. She grabbed her long hair in her left hand, holding it back so it wouldn’t swing forward. Then she pressed her cheek to the wall and peeked out.

Three men stood close around Papa. One gripped his collar. All three of them were in dark, grubby clothes, and had tattoos on their arms and necks. They wore knives and handguns in their belts, and the one who held Papa kept his other hand twitching restlessly above his holster.

“This is your last chance,” sneered the lead thug.

Papa swallowed hard, but his eyes were firm. “I won’t do it. I’m done. This is too far.”

“You would rather your widow and daughter starve? We can make things very hard for them, Mr. Walker.”

“I won’t hurt a harmless old man.”

The thug’s face contorted in a snarl and his hand sprang toward his gun like a striking cobra. A cry burst out of Maya unbidden.

Like lightning, a woman in black dropped from overhead. She landed on the thug’s shoulders, and with an acrobatic twist, sent him crashing to the ground.

A man burst through a nearby door, exchanging a quick flurry of punches and blocks with the second thug before felling him with a spinning kick.

Finally, another man came sliding down a drainpipe. Slamming his elbow into the last Dragon’s temple, he knocked him out cold.

Maya sprinted over to her father, grabbing his hand. He turned to her in surprise, but before they could exchange any words, their rescuers approached.

All three wore black cloth masks and dark clothes. The woman had cascading red curls and sharp features, but her eyes were kind. Like her companions, she had a semi-automatic rifle slung across her back. The first man was a gigantic blond, towering a full head over the second one, who brushed sweaty black hair aside and then spoke.

“Are you alright, Mr. Walker?”

“Yes,” Papa said. He looked unruffled as ever, but strain edged his voice, and Maya was squeezing his hand tight enough to feel his hammering pulse. “Thank you. Who… who are you?”

“You’re the Phoenix,” Maya whispered. “Aren’t you?”

Papa turned sharply.

The man lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t look displeased. “Who told you?”

“Mr. Yamada. My neighbor.”

“Ah. Haruto Yamada? He is an old friend, and one of my best spies.”

“A spy?” Maya gasped.

“He tells me of the local behavior of the Ryū. I cannot watch all places at once.” The Phoenix chuckled softly. “Well, if Haruto trusted you, I certainly can. I am the Phoenix. And this is Scarlett, and Ewan.”

The woman nodded curtly, and Ewan grinned behind his mask. “Gude evenin’, lassie.”

The Phoenix. He was real! Hope surged in Maya’s heart.

They weren’t alone. Someone was fighting the Ryū, and if he could fight them, others could too.

“I’m impressed, Mr. Walker.” The Phoenix shook Papa’s hand. “There aren’t many in this city willing to defy the Dragons.”

Papa winced, shaking his head. “I… I should have done it much earlier. Too many times, I’ve… I’ve…” He glanced down at Maya. “I told myself it was for them, but I’ve done things I shouldn’t have. It just kept building. A little lie, a small theft, but this? This was too much.” He slashed at the air with his hand.

The Phoenix looked about to reply, then paused and put two fingers up to a small device in his right ear. His friends did the same.

“Allie says there are more Ryū headed this way. You should get home, Mr. Walker, and…?”

“Maya,” Maya provided, holding out her hand.

The Phoenix took it gently, then kissed it. “Mr. Walker and Maya. Go home, quickly, and tell Mr. Yamada what has happened. If you want to start fresh, he will help you.”

Papa frowned. “But we have a home, and a business –”

“You don’t have to leave the city. Quite the opposite. I need more people like Haruto. More brave people like you. People to resist. People to, one day, shake off the Ryū and reconstruct what we had before.” The Phoenix’s clear blue eyes lit up with passion. “Join us, and we’ll see to it that the Dragons don’t bother you again.”

“You’re under our watch now,” Scarlett said, with a sisterly look at Maya. “Anyone who messes with you, messes with us.”

“Aye.” Ewan nodded.

“Thank you,” Papa said. “Yes. Yes, we’ll join you.” He squeezed Maya’s hand and then pulled free. “Thank you. Come on, Mai, your mother will be worried.”

Maya followed him toward the street, but shot a last look at the three heroes. “Thank you,” she mouthed, pouring every ounce of gratitude she could into her expression.

The Phoenix’s warm eyes crinkled at the corners, and he lifted a hand in farewell. Then, with remarkable speed, he and his companions shinnied up the drainpipe, swung up onto a roof, and dashed out of sight.

Maya and Papa got into the car. Papa started the engine, but sat still, his hands frozen on the wheel.

Finally, he murmured, “I’m so sorry, Mai. I wish you hadn’t seen that.”

She swallowed. The air felt stifling. “It’s okay, Papa. I already knew.”

“Yes, but…” He trailed off and massaged his brow.

“It’s past. The Phoenix gave us a second chance.” Maya recalled Mr. Yamada’s words. “We were burned. Now we rise again.”

Papa paused, then nodded. “Yes. You’re right. Thanks, Mai. I love you.”

“Love you too, Papa.”

Papa cleared his throat. “Now let’s go, before your mother gets really worried.”

Maya smiled, then settled back in her seat. As the car started rolling, she looked up at the rooftops. A lone figure stood high above, watching over them. Behind him, the sun descended, wreathed in flame, to plunge beneath the horizon and mount again the next morning, strong as ever.