The Price of Art

If the townsfolk of Jarth were paying any attention, they would have seen the cloaked stranger sitting in the corner of the small village’s inn. And if they were even slightly observant, they would have noticed a similarly garbed figure hanging about the crowded marketplace. But no one saw. No one knew. The night was cold. A slow persistent drizzle of rain dampened the little village. Every honest citizen was asleep in their homes. A flag hung limply from a pole in the town square. It featured a red hand clenched tightly into a fist behind a black background. In the gloom of the night, a pair of eyes watched and waited. The drenched form crouched under an overhang, trying to stay warm. Her hands reached up and pulled the cloak tighter around her body. She saw a dim flash from the building opposite the one she was leaning against. It was time. Rising from her crouched position, water rolled off her cloak. She let the cowl fall further down on her head, concealing her features. She crept from her hiding place, peering into the darkness. As she neared the building, she whispered the code, “Why did you choose the little horse?” A voice snickered, “because Tag trumps Knight.” She let out a sigh of relief and ducked into the shadows between the houses, shaking water off of her clothes intentionally spraying the mostly dry boy. His hiding place was much drier than hers. “Malachi, you are insufferable,” she joked. “That is why we are friends,” he retorted. Then in a more serious tone he motioned towards her. “Come on, let's talk in a safer area. I’ve got some things to tell you.” The two disappeared into the dark.  

After a long, wet, cold hike through the nearby forest, they finally arrived at their temporary base - a small cave big enough to hold them and their two horses. A friendly whinny welcomed them into the cave. Two horses stood in the recesses of the culvert. One was tall and jet black with a long silky mane. The other was little. His coat was shaggy and chestnut brown and one white splotch covered half of his face like a cloud. “I’ll get a fire going, Kestrel,” Malachi whispered, walking over to the pile of dry firewood they had collected before heading into town. Kestrel nodded and removed some jerky from Knight’s saddle bag. Knight nuzzled Kestrel’s hand. She laughed, “Looking for food, are you?” The horse lowered his head. “Are you nodding at me?” Knight snorted. In half an hour the pair had a crackling blaze that set shadows dancing and expelled the doom and gloom of the rainy weather outside. Kestrel sat chewing on tough jerky while Malachi crunched on an apple. Tag and Knight noisily slurped up water and oats. Malachi sighed, “Rumors are flying. The whole of Jarth is chattering about the oppression of King Gavin. Nobody likes him, but they are afraid. They won’t rebel. His powers have them terrified. They say his castle is impossible to attack. What are we supposed to do?” Kestrel drummed her fingers on her leg, trying unsuccessfully to calm her nerves. “They’re just rumors. Most of the townsfolk have not been to the capital, much less seen Castle Malg themselves. They are just going off of what they have heard and their fear.” She hoped she sounded braver than she felt. They were just kids. Kestrel was fourteen and Malachi was not much older. Why were they picked for this mission which the hope of the rebellion rested on? “Remember our mission,” she continued. Malachi smirked, “Yes - our mission: Break into the castle that has never been defeated in the 200 years of its life. Infiltrate the secret holding place of the secret weapon, which no one knows what it looks like and is the only way to kill the immortal King who, by the way, supposedly has powerful magic. Then escape with the weapon and hopefully not be killed or worse, be captured. If we are captured, we will be tortured until we die. Yep, brilliant plan.”  Kestrel rolled her eyes. “They never said it would be easy. You could have backed out. Why didn’t you?” Malachi ignored the question and sighed again, “Ok, tell me we have a better plan.” Silence reigned. Rain pattered, seeming to settle and calm as if sensing the tension in the little cave. Fire crackled and wavered. It’s beauty dangerous and inviting at the same time. It reminded Kestrel of the rebellion. They had named themselves Falcons, representing how the rebels would rise above the challenges and pain. Not all of the fight was battle and glory. Sometimes they failed; sometimes they had to desperately claw their way foot by foot, scrabbling to reach the top of an ever-growing mountain. Sometimes the fire of the fight and hope waned leaving the Falcons reeling. Now it all rested on the shoulders of two young teenagers, on the shoulders of Malachi and Kestrel. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Kestrel then cocked her head, “Did you hear anything else important?” Malachi’s spirits rose, “Yes - one of the men at the bar was a guard for the castle. He had a little too much rum and was spilling secrets he probably would be beheaded for if King Gavin knew he had said them.” Malachi paused dramatically. Kestrel leaned forward. “Tell me already!” “According to the guard there is something that the king is hiding jealousy. No one is allowed to enter the vault except Gavin himself, and he only goes in the early morning at the same time every day. Twenty soldiers guard it day and night.” Kestrel’s spine pricked. She felt like the air around her was on edge. Malachi continued, “He calls it his ‘art museum,’ but it is not hard to guess. Art is not what he is guarding.” Kestrel sucked in a breath. “That is it. The weapon has to be in there.” He nodded. She smiled. “I have an idea. While I was in the market, I overheard two girls about two years older than me talking about how the castle is hiring new servants.” Malachi stared at her. “You have got to be kidding. I am not going to be a slave to our greatest enemy!” Kestrel groaned. Why did he have to be so stubborn? “We would be in disguise. We are not actually his servants. Just think about it. No one pays any attention to people under their status, and we will have access to the whole castle without having to dodge soldiers. Also, we may not be allowed to see the museum, but it will be easier to sneak in.” “Fine,” Malachi growled. “But you get first watch tonight.” “Deal,” Kestrel agreed. Malachi rolled over and promptly fell asleep.

Two months later

Kestrel scrubbed at a sticky honey covered plate until the skin of her knuckles were raw and bleeding. She cursed under her breath. Why did King Gavin and his court have to be such messy eaters? Their plan had gone well. They had traveled to Castle Malg and had inquired about getting a job. Almost immediately they were hired. The castle constantly needed new servants because the smart people did not want to serve such an unpredictable and cruel lord. Kestrel was assigned to the kitchens and Malachi to the stables, but of course they also did other jobs - cleaning the dining hall, fetching water, serving the food, and one time, Kestrel was commanded to bring food to King Gavin himself. She could still remember the terror of placing the meal at his spot, head down. “He is going to know. He is going to see me.” Kestrel had trembled with a combination of fear and anger. She felt as if she could sense the evil and power coming off of him in waves, but he only shooed her away like a pesky fly. Now as Kestrel cleaned the disgustingly dirty dishes, she only felt contempt. Malachi had come back from a day of work with a dark bruise on his cheek and battered rips. A fellow stable boy had failed to tighten the saddle on an important commander’s horse. The commander went down in a dust cloud. Instead of accepting the blame, he had pointed his finger at Malachi. Malachi had taken a beating. It could have been worse. The head servant had threatened to whip him next time. Kestrel’s brooding thoughts were interrupted as she heard a loud bell clang. Relieved she set the clean dish on the rack and headed towards the door. It was break time. Kestrel joined the flood of servants rushing to the mess hall. Kestrel snagged two plates of food, one for Malachi and one for herself. She sat at an unoccupied table as Malachi plunked down next to her wincing with pain. “You ok?” She asked, concerned. “I’m fine,” he said with a small smile that grew larger as she placed the food in front of him. “Now I am magnificent.” Kestrel knew that Malachi was the one who suffered the most cruelty from his superiors, and she admired his perseverance. Malachi shoveled the stew into his mouth like it was going to run off his bowl. Kestrel laughed. It felt good to have something to be happy about. As they ate Kestrel noticed how thin Malachi had become and the bands of muscle that lined his arms. That had not been there before. Malachi finished in record time and looked around as if hoping that another bowl of stew would magically appear in front of him. It didn’t. Malachi turned serious and locked eyes with Kestrel. “I’ve gotten word from the Falcons. Tonight's the night.” Kestrel sucked in a breath. This was it. Tonight, they were going into the king’s art museum.

Kestrel tried to quiet her breathing. Tucked in a culvert behind a large plant, she looked up and down the hallway searching for Malachi. Where was he? She had discarded the uncomfortable servant's garb and exchanged it for her old tunic, breaches, and cloak. Kestrel hated wearing dresses and was relieved to be back in her own clothes. Squeezing her dagger in a white knuckled grip, she scanned the empty hallway once again. Her dagger and Malachi’s short sword were a trick to smuggle in, but they had succeeded. Crouching behind the plant, Kestrel stared hoping that Malachi would come. “How long are we gonna sit here?” Kestrel whipped around pulling the dagger out of its sheath to see Malachi grinning from ear to ear. He had tucked himself into the same culvert behind a different plant. He too had donned his regular clothes, including his cloak. Kestrel muttered a stream of curses, “You know our life is in danger right now.” Malachi nodded, becoming serious. He pointed down the passageway. His message was obvious. “Let’s go.” Creeping along, barely making a sound, the two intruders slunk through Castle Malg like twin shadows. Malachi’s hand did not stray far from his short sword’s hilt. Rounding a corner they paused listening. During their time in the castle, they had both learned the location of the art museum from the servant’s gossip. They were close. Kestrel strained her ears. A loud guffaw erupted from behind the corner. They had made it. Now for the hard part. Malachi gave a shrug and a wink. Kestrel could plainly see he was still hurting but doggedly determined to press on.  She folded herself into the shadows behind a statue of King Gavin. Ironically, she was protected by a representation of her greatest enemy. “Wish me luck.” Malachi smiled, and then he launched out of his hiding place. Shouts of alarm spread through the guards like wildfire. “Come at me bro!” he yelled and bowled a small spherical object into the chaos. One of the many advantages of being a secret resistance group was that the enemy had a hard time knowing what weapons the Falcons possessed. One of those weapons was a compact, round explosive. Malachi ran as the bomb exploded, and the concussive wave knocked him off his feet. Kestrel wanted to help him but knew she had to stick with the plan. Malachi stumbled to his feet and bolted back down the hallway. Fifteen of the twenty soldiers ran after him furiously. Three of them collapsed. They would not rise again. After a muttered prayer that Malachi would survive, Kestrel emerged out of her hiding place and sprinted to the now unguarded museum. Grabbing the handle, she pulled… and twisted…and turned. The door remained unmoved. Fear tore through her like a lightning bolt. “No no no no,” Kestrel cursed at herself. She should have thought of this before. The one person who entered the museum was King Gavin. When she had served him in the dining room she had seen a silver chain around his neck. Was that the key? She thought of her father. Both he and her mother had been killed by King Gavin. He had always said, “My dear Kessy, never give up, no matter what.” She closed her eyes on tears. Kestrel would not give up. She checked her pockets. One time she had been on a mission with Malachi and another boy named Max. Kestrel had picked the lock to get into a box of goods the Falcons needed. She could do that again. Her hand found what she wanted. Kestrel held up a small knife. She pulled a pin out of her braided hair. As her loose hair fell down her face, she stuck the knife firmly into the lock. With trembling fingers Kestrel slid the hair pin inside and wiggled it around. For a few terrifying seconds nothing happened. Kestrel heard a click. The door creaked open. She sighed, tension draining from her. Kestrel stepped into the forbidden art museum. Torches flickered. Kestrel gasped. She was surrounded by weapons. Beautifully made swords, shields, and every kind of pointed object imaginable. They were indeed works of art, but which one was the weapon that could kill Gavin? Kestrel knew that any of these could annihilate her. Suddenly she felt drawn further into the museum past row upon row of battle gear. None of these were what she was looking for. Somehow, she knew. Kestrel felt like a fish on a line. Something was drawing her forward. Then she saw it. In the very back of the creepy museum, a hook was mounted to the wall. On it hung a simple gold chain with a heart pendant on it. This was it. How was this it? The weapon that was somehow supposed to kill the immortal powerful king was a heart necklace? It seemed ridiculous, but Kestrel knew this was it. With shaking fingers Kestrel seized the Art, the necklace, the weapon. As soon as Kestrel touched the precious heart, she felt a roar thunder through her mind like a sword thrust. “NOOOOOOOOOO!” Kestrel bolted out of the museum; the heart clutched in her left hand. King Gavin was coming. He knew. Tearing down the hallways heedless of the noise she was making, Kestrel ran. Refusing to give into her exhaustion, Kestrel sprinted into the courtyard. The night air was cool on her sweaty skin. Kestrel wanted to collapse, but she forced herself to stagger forward. I will not give up now. Kestrel heard shouting. At the edge of the courtyard was the gate to her freedom. It was shut tight. Her hopes sank and rose in the same instant. Suddenly, galloping at top speed, Malachi emerged on Tag. He was followed by Knight and a garrison of angry guards. He stopped in front of Kestrel and threw another bomb at the oncoming assault. The effect of the explosion was devastating. Kestrel grabbed the reins and practically leapt onto Knight’s sturdy back. They took off hurtling towards the closed gate. Malachi was out of bombs. It was hopeless. They were nearly there, caught between the hammer of the pursuing garrison and the anvil, the impenetrable gate. They were doomed. Arrows whizzed above their heads missing them by mere inches. The soldiers laughed as they saw the kids' plight. Kestrel felt tears spill down her cheeks. To come so far just to fail was unacceptable. They slowed their horses to keep them from plowing into the gate. Kestrel and Malachi turned from the closed gate and faced their enemy. They would not give up. They would go out with a bang. They will remember us. Malachi glanced at Kestrel, “I love you, Kestrel.” He smiled a sad smile. Kestrel looked at him surprised. Suddenly without warning Malachi leapt from Tag’s back and ran toward the enemy, short sword out. No, he was running toward a wheel Kestrel had not noticed. Sliding the sword into its sheath, he gripped the wheel in both hands and turned with all of his might. The gate began to open. He heaved, straining all of the muscle he had gained during his time as a rebel and as a servant. The gate opened. “Go!” Malachi yelled. Kestrel didn’t want to. She wanted to charge in and fight at his side, always. “You're our only hope!” Malachi pleaded. With that he turned and struck out at the nearest guard, his sword biting into a man's gut. He was sacrificing himself for her. Tears blotted out her vision. Knight decided for her. He sprinted forward. She rode out sobbing. Malachi was fighting for his life when an arrow plunged into his thigh. He collapsed to the ground crying out in pain. Through his hazed vision he could just make out the dark looming figure of King Gavin. 

Later at the Falcon’s Base

Kestrel vowed to save Malachi, if he was still alive. In her hand she gripped the hope of the Falcons and the hope of the kingdom - the Art, the weapon, the golden heart.