Secrets We Keep: Chapter Nine

Crying did Credence a world of good.

She was still clinging to a bitter resentment towards herself, so she focused on finding something to break.

My tree, she decided.

All those creatures were still imprisoned. She would release every last one, and the Collector couldn't stop her. She would show him exactly what she thought of his gift.

"John," she called to the woods, "come to me now."

She wasn't sure if John had the same keen sense of hearing as the Collector, or the power to be at her side when she desired his presence.

"John?"

After a moment of silence came the sound of footsteps. John stepped from behind the trees.

"You called, my lady?"

"Don't call me that," Credence snapped but her anger quickly deflated. "Will you show me where my tree is? Please."

He shot her an odd look at the word 'please' but didn't remark on it.

"Of course. Follow me."

Credence remained silent, and John likewise offered no conversation. They were still in the woods when John stopped, but there was no discernible landmark to suggest they'd arrived anywhere special.

"It's through there," he said and pointed ahead. "I will wait here."

"You're not coming with me?"

"I've been given strict instructions not to go near it." He gave a short bow before adding, "I will call you to dinner soon."

"What if I choose not to answer?"

"I will have to fetch you from the tree, of course. That will displease my master. I ask that you refrain from making it come to that."

Credence answered with a short nod, neither confirming nor denying her promise to appear when called, and moved into further the trees.

"Keep walking forward," she heard John say behind her. "You'll find it shortly."

The air grew thick and humid. The leaves on the trees became hued with strange colors, pink and black, and blue glowing mushrooms dotted the landscape. Branches stretched until they blotted out the dusk sky and there was no light left that didn't come from the fungi.

The path was familiar. She had walked it before, she had to remind herself. How many years had passed since she first followed this trail with Josiah by her side?

A light appeared in the distance, becoming brighter with each step closer, and when Credence spotted the tips of white branches she knew she had found it at last.

The Collector's Tree.

It was just as breathtaking as she remembered, but there was a feeling of foreboding around it. An air of wrong, but deeper than that, a thread of sorrow and remorse. It made sense, as the tree was a prison, and all the life around it was miserable.

Something crunched underfoot.

She looked down to find shards of glass and splintered wood. Remnants of broken cages. Exactly as she had left it.

And suspended from the branches were thousands of captives, those she had failed to save, still tormented in their confinement.

Would they be angry or grateful for her return?

The first prisoner she approached, a feathered snake coiled inside a bottle, hissed at her and shied away, trying to put distance between them.

"Don't be frightened," Credence whispered. "I'm going to save you."

The snake looked at her with fearful eyes.

"Pleassse," it said, "don't do it."

She touched the bottle. "Don't you want to be free?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Sssafe here."

"You're not safe, but you will be when I release you. You won't be a prisoner anymore."

Unless they are trapped in this world too, the thought nipped at her.

She tugged the thin chain connecting the bottle to the branch, but the snake cried out, "Don't want it! Don't want to be free!"

Its refusal to accept help reminded her of another in the tree, the sour-faced manticore who had chastised her for releasing the prisoners. She looked around to see if the beast was still there, loyally waiting in the remains of his broken cage.

She could not find him, so she assumed he must have come to his senses and fled.

It would be the same for the snake, she reasoned, and she pulled the chain and released the bottle from its suspension.

The snake was twisting violently.

"It won't hurt," Credence said. "You'll feel much better once you're free."

"Not prissson," the snake said. "Sssafe here, I sssaid! Sssafe!"

"You're not safe in the Collector's tree."

"No Collector," it whispered. "Ssafe here. With her."

"With who? Me?"

The snake shook its head.

"This is my tree," Credence said, "and I won't see it full of prisoners."

"No! Pleassse!"

"You must trust me."

She raised the bottle high, but a voice echoed through the air, stopping her instantly.

"Caution, child!"

Credence hesitated. "I mean to help," she whispered.

She threw the bottle onto the ground. The snake was unharmed, only momentarily dazed, and when it picked its head up Credence smiled.

"It's much better out here don't you think?"

In response, the snake began to slither away.

Credence was content that she had done it a kindness—until she saw the snake making its way back towards the tree. It pressed its body into the trunk.

"Ssstay here," it whispered.

"You may do as you wish," she said, "but I know there's plenty here who want their freedom."

Credence was wrong, for every cage she lifted contained a prisoner that begged her not to free it. It was a confusing and frustrating turn, that the inhabitants of the tree, who once begged her to release them, now wanted to stay.

They could be under a spell.

She smashed a dozen more cages and watched each prisoner make their way back to the trunk, settling themselves beside it just as the snake had done.

"I don't understand," Credence said to them. "You wanted your freedom—you begged for it."

"That was before," came the high-pitched squeak of a winged mouse cuddled next to the snake.

"Before what?"

"She is here now."

"Do you mean me?" The mouse shook its head. "Who is here?"

The voice from before spoke again, so clear it was as if Credence's own mind were speaking to her.

"The creatures are protected. I'm here, Credence."

She pushed past lanterns, bottles, and hanging boxes, searching for the owner of the voice.

"Not in the branches. The tree itself."

When Credence drew near the trunk, she could hear a gentle humming from inside of it. Beneath the bark was a faint golden light.

"That's it. The trunk. Look closer."

Credence pressed her forehead against the bark—

There, at last, through tiny cracks in the trunk, Credence saw her trapped inside the tree.

Majestic and radiant, like some kind of angel, with a glow emanating from her skin that cast light around her. Her complexion was that of an ancient ash tree, and her eyes were obsidian and powerful. Delicately draped over her body was a white dress that looked as soft as spider silk, with golden flowers sewn into the skirt. Atop her head was a gorgeous horned crown of wood set with precious gems. In one hand she held a staff entwined with golden leaves that ended in a crescent moon.

She was the most beautiful thing Credence had ever seen.

The Queen of the Wood.

Credence's mouth opened in awe at the sheer height of the woman, who would no doubt tower over any human, even Pa.

Her presence was commanding, breathtaking.

Not just a queen, Credence thought, but a goddess.

Credence had never been in the company of royalty before, but she remembered Ma's stories and fell to her knees.

"Your highness," Credence whispered.

The Queen pressed her hand against the trunk but could not break through. She was not part of the tree, but inside of it, locked in her own massive cage. When she spoke, her voice was like the calm before a storm.

"Galeia's child. I've been waiting so long to meet you again."

"I can release you," Credence said quickly. "I can get an axe or—"

"I'm afraid that's impossible. But that is not important now. You are here, and there is much we have missed between each other. Did Galeia tell you about me?"

"Very little." Regret pulled at Credence's heart. "I'm sorry we have to meet...like this. Is there nothing I can do for you?"

"You found me, that is enough."

"I've failed, your majesty. Even with your help, I failed."

"How have you failed?"

"I'm trapped here, too."

"You're alive, aren't you? There is no failure in getting caught, Credence."

"But I keep having these thoughts. The Collector...he's inside my head all the time. And I'm afraid that if I let my guard down..." Credence sighed. "I feel so lost."

"Sometimes it's good to be lost."

"He's your son, isn't he? And he's the King of the Wood now."

"Yes."

Credence winced. There was a part of her that hoped what she'd been told was a lie.

"Lilith—she was my aunt—she told me my destiny was to marry him. She said I'd be a fool to ignore it."

"Do you believe her?"

"No. But there are moments when I feel like...it might be the only thing I can do."

Credence felt ashamed to admit it, to finally voice the nagging doubt that had been festering ever since Lilith told her about Ma's past.

"Is it true that I was only born to belong to him?"

"Galeia made a vow," the Queen said sternly, "and because of it, a connection was forged between you and my son. It was intended to make it difficult for you to deny him. In his eyes, you were never supposed to say 'no'."

Credence balked. The Queen had neither confirmed nor denied her question.

"Ma said I had the right to choose."

"But at what cost? Galeia knew what would be unleashed if the promise was not kept." The Queen hummed in thought. "Your soul calls to him, but for what purpose remains unclear. Love or destruction, that is what Galeia meant when she said you had a choice."

"What kind of choice is that?"

"She placed a heavy burden on you," the Queen admitted. "And now you are left with the consequences of her actions."

Her words stung Credence. It felt like a terrible betrayal from Ma, made all the worse by the fact that she had never warned Credence until the last possible moment.

"Can he love me?"

Credence blushed, embarrassed for having asked such a question.

"Love is not formed by a vow. It must be built, but above all, it must be willingly given and received. Do not deceive yourself into believing marriage will mend all, for you will be no less miserable if you cannot truly accept him."

"But I cannot destroy him. I'm not strong enough—I don't know how. And if I cannot love him...what am I to do?"

"Tread carefully."

"I could never love him. He's evil."

"Evil, good, what does that really mean? Must we be only one? Or do we not all have the capacity for both?"

"He hasn't shown a hint of that capacity."

"Have you really allowed yourself the opportunity to find out?"

Credence went silent, mulling over the Queen's words. It did not go unnoticed by her that the Queen's advice was conflicting, for hadn't she tried to keep Credence away from the Collector's grasp?

And yet, he was her son. Perhaps there was still some care and concern in her heart for him.

John's voice called her name and Credence sighed in frustration. She'd only had a few minutes with the Queen.

"Come to me now, Credence." John's voice was louder, signaling his nearness. "Don't make things difficult."

"Go to him," the monarch urged. "I'll be here."

Credence touched the bark of the tree and the Queen mirrored the motion.

"I'll come back," Credence promised.

"I look forward to it."

Credence found John several feet away. He had purposefully kept his distance, not intending to move closer unless necessary, and when he saw Credence he looked relieved.

But there was also a touch of fear in his eyes.

He didn't have a rope, trusting that Credence would accompany him without struggle.

"Time for dinner," he announced with a slight tremble in his voice. He glanced in the direction Credence had come from. "What was it like?"

"Why don't you have a look?"

"Poor attempt, Credence."

"Why aren't you allowed near the tree?"

"My master believes the Queen may try to dissuade me from his service."

"You knew the Queen was there all along?"

"Of course. Didn't you?"

"The Collector kept that piece of information to himself."

"Was she...magnificent?"

"You could see for yourself. I wouldn't tell him. I doubt the Queen would either—"

"He watches me, Credence. If I disobey his command, he'll know."

Credence stopped walking, an obvious question only now striking her.

"Where do you go when I can't see you?"

"To the woods. The real woods. As its Protector, I must keep the king's peace."

"You're—the Protector?" She held back a mean laugh. "The Collector is no more a king than I am a dragon."

"He's the true ruler, accept it or not. With the Queen gone—"

"Imprisoned."

"—the line of succession falls to her son." John paused, considering whether or not to explain further. "There are some who argue his claim, and it's my duty to help them see the truth."

"How?"

"Most just need...a bit of convincing."

"Threats, you mean. A good king should not require fear to keep loyalty."

"How little you know of ruling."

"I met the Knight of the Wood once. He served the Queen, and it was his job to keep the woods safe. He was a real protector." Worry flashed in Credence's mind, of what had become of the Knight now that the Queen did not occupy the throne. She wanted to ask John what happened to him when the Collector became ruler, but was afraid to hear the answer.

"That's how you spend your days?" she asked instead. "Harming innocent lives?"

"Not always. And they're not as innocent as you want to believe."

"Do you enjoy it?"

John turned to her with a nasty glint in his eyes. "Sometimes."

Credence gave a disgusted grunt.

"But it's not always easy," John said. "No matter how low you think of me."

"Seemed easy enough when it was Josiah's blood on your teeth."

John reached for her, a gesture of sympathy, but Credence moved away from his grasp.

"We were starving, Credence. What would you have done? Have you forgotten how you let my brother die from hunger?"

Credence fell silent as the image of a bony, malnourished wolf came to her mind. She remembered she had been cold towards it, and Josiah had admonished her severity.

"That awful thing was your brother?"

"Careful how you speak of him."

"He was a nasty wretch," Credence countered. "He'd done horrible things, he said, and regretted none of them."

"Desperate words from a dying animal. You don't know the first thing about him." John sighed. "Nature is not kind, Credence. It never has been. One day I hope you'll realize the world isn't good and evil, but lives somewhere in between."

"Easy justification for an evil thing like yourself."

"As I recall, you threatened to destroy my soul even after you had subdued me. While I begged you not to. Who was the villain there?"

"I didn't do it, did I?"

"You wanted to."

"But I didn't. Only one of us sees their despicable thoughts through."

"We both know your hands aren't as clean as you proclaim. You've killed."

"I killed those who threatened me first."

"So the argument is really about who deserves death?"

"I—well..." Credence bit the inside of her cheek.

He's wrong, she thought but did not argue out loud. The Headmaster, the wolves, they had to die.

Survival did not make her wicked.

She remembered Josiah confiding in Ken the jester after he'd taken the lives of Hansel and Gretel. Josiah feared he'd been damned for it, but Ken told him it was a necessary killing. Still, her brother was tormented by what he'd done.

Credence did not feel any remorse for the lives she ended. It felt natural, and she knew she would do it again if she found herself in a similar predicament.

She and Josiah were different in that regard, and she wasn't sure which of them was right.

John mistook her silence for defeat and grinned.

His smug victory was short-lived, however, when his cane hit an uneven patch of ground and caused him to stumble.

"Damn thing," he mumbled as he righted himself.

"Some Protector you must be," Credence said with a snort.

***

Credence was seated and waiting when the Collector joined dinner.

There was something off about the room, she noticed. It was smaller than before.

She could simply be growing accustomed to it, but she could have sworn that even the table was shorter, and the distance between them had lessened.

"Good evening," the Collector said in a low voice.

"Good evening," Credence answered.

There was an uneasy air between them. Their last dinner had ended almost agreeably, and now neither one knew how to continue.

Should they try to maintain this fragile civility?

And as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, Credence was unsettled by his presence after what transpired in the mock of Marmy Jo's camp. What her mind had conjured, and what it meant about her own feelings.

"You're keeping secrets," Credence began carefully.

"I have no secrets."

She frowned. "A dishonest host is a poor one. You might as well dine with me as the real monster you are if you think it proper to lie."

It would make it easier to hate you, her mind added.

"I don't follow."

"I've seen your vault." She added a quick lie. "John showed it to me."

The Collector's face remained emotionless.

"There is no vault," he replied.

"Where does the door in the field lead to then? The one that's burned?"

The Collector tilted his head, and there wasn't a whisper of recognition in his eyes.

"I made everything in this world," he said. "I do not recall creating such a thing."

"Your mother said it holds your secrets." Another lie. It was becoming easy to tell them.

The Collector bristled. "My mother?"

"I found her in the tree. Didn't you know I would?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Are you concerned what she might tell me?"

"No."

"And if I wish to release her?"

"You are welcome to try."

"Why do you keep her imprisoned? You have me here, there is no need—"

"Because my mother is a liar and a traitor."

"I thought she was quite lovely."

"That changes nothing."

"And the vault? It's the only locked door—"

"There is no vault."

"I can show you if—"

He slammed his fist onto the table, shaking dishes all the way down to Credence's end. She'd upset him, and Credence could see he was wrestling with his anger. He shifted in his seat and his eyes wandered over the hall in an attempt to look at anything but her.

When he spoke his voice had a slight tremble.

"Perhaps you are being tricked. The vault you speak of does not exist. It could be a vision of the Queen's making. I caution you against trusting her, for she would have you believe she is a victim, and completely innocent."

He raised a cup to his lips and added bitterly, "But I promise you, she is not."