Journey of a Girl: Chapter Two

Credence looked at the room, desperate to find a weapon.

There was a mattress on a chipped wooden frame, with an old, thin sheet and a lumpy pillow. A rag and clay pitcher sat on a stool beside the bed, but the water inside the pitcher rested under a cover of dust, and had obviously been sitting in neglect.

There was no window for her to climb through to escape, so Credence's only way out was through the door—and the rodent-faced man on the other side.

She felt queasy, like she'd eaten spoiled food.

She didn't dare open the door to spy on the man, fearing he might try to press his way inside the second she unlocked it. Instead, she grabbed the pitcher and poured some of its contents under the gap at the bottom of the door. The water flowed into the hall, and Credence heard the man give a sharp gasp as his feet were dampened. He mumbled under his breath and the soft squish of his wet shoes signaled his movement away from her room.

Credence had a moment to breathe, but it was a hollow one. She needed to get away, but could not be sure if the man actually left the hallway, or if he was waiting a few feet away, ready to strike. Remembering a trick she often used to tease her brother, Credence took the stool and wedged it under the doorknob. Now the man would have to work twice as hard to kick down the door.

But with enough effort he could get in, and what Credence would do if he broke through would be entirely reliant on her instinct in the moment.

To ease her mind, she dipped the rag into the pitcher to clean herself, but her eyes remained on the door, watching for any sign that the man had returned.

When she twisted the rag to wring it, the water that poured into the pitcher was red.

Blood.

Was it hers or Ajo's?

She sat on the bed and pulled at the golden chain around her ankle, desperate to break it, but it wouldn't relent under any amount of pressure.

A symbol that I belong to—

"Be quiet," she hissed and ceased her attempt to remove the jewelry.

A flicker of light danced on a lump of wax melted into the bedpost, the product of several candles fused together over many months. Credence conjured fire to grow the flame, and watched the shadows it created writhe across the floor and walls and ceiling.

She forced herself to think about the life she would have once she was free of the trees.

What waited on the other side?

Was there another place like the towns, just as wretched, that she needed to avoid?

Was there another kind of land, an ocean or endless hills of sand, like those she'd heard about in bedtime stories?

The world is mine to explore, she mused to herself. The world is mine...

***

Long into the night, the doorknob to her room jiggled.

The noise did not wake Credence immediately, but then the doorknob began to rattle violently, and someone on the other side pushed against the door, causing the stool against it to crack. When the wood gave a loud creak and groan, Credence opened her eyes, unaware she had closed them, and sat up in bed. Quickly roused to attention, she glanced at the doorknob, which had gone still, and tried to assure herself she hadn't heard anything. The lump of wax was still burning, but the hours had dimmed it considerably, and Credence had to squint to see clearly.

She held her breath and waited

The doorknob jiggled again.

A string of curses was uttered from outside.

The door opened slightly before being caught by the hook and stool.

After a terrifying pause, Credence watched in horror as a slip of parchment was fed through the gap between the door and its frame.

Credence saw a corner of painted blue sky.

It was sturdy enough to push against the hook that locked the door. The painting stumbled around the lock, pressing upwards in several attempts, and the doorknob continued to shake and twist until finally the hook was pushed from its loop with a quiet clank.

Someone chuckled and the door opened wider—

But it was stopped by the stool before giving enough space to enter through.

A heavy shove cracked one of the stool's legs, and in an instant Credence was out of bed and pushing against the door. When the man threw his full weight into the barrier it sent the stool flying across the room, leaving Credence as the only obstacle to his entry. She yelped in surprise and the man spoke to her.

"Be a good girl and let me in. If I have to break the door I'll be very angry."

Her eye caught the pitcher on the floor nearby. Credence strained to reach it, but it cost her dearly when the man pushed hard and the force almost sent her from the door.

Now he had enough space to reach his entire arm into the room. He grabbed for her and Credence slammed the door onto him, trapping his arm.

The man let out a painful wail, no longer concerned with staying quiet.

"Little bitch!" he snarled.

Without hesitation, Credence shattered the pitcher against the floor and drove a sharp-edged shard into his arm. Blood poured from the wound, and the arm began to thrash wildly. He caught Credence's hair and yanked hard, and in return she sank her teeth into his skin. The door moved enough for the arm to slip out of the room, and Credence slammed it shut.

"Can't stay in there forever," the man whispered.

His weight lifted from the door and Credence heard movement in the hall.

"Just getting comfortable," the man said. "I'll be right here, ready for you. In the morning I'll have everyone up here to drag you out."

She heard the sound of fabric ripping and assumed the man was using his clothes as bandages.

He wouldn't leave her door, not even to tend to his wounds.

Night would end before it would stay, and in a few short hours Credence would have to face what waited on the other side of the door.

***

A threat hung in the silence.

The door hadn't moved in over an hour, but taunted Credence with the inevitable danger the morning would bring.

She had to escape before he brought the rest of the tavern to her room, for they would surely break down her door and drag her from safety.

He has to sleep sometime, doesn't he? she thought.

She prayed he was the kind of person who snored.

Her prayers were not answered.

The only hint of how much time had passed was in the ever-melting lump of wax on the bedpost, which told her several hours had gone by. She flicked her wrist to snuff the candle with magic and gave her eyes time to adjust to darkness.

Slow as sap, Credence lifted herself to her feet and cracked the door open to peer into the hall. She braced herself for another attempted entry.

The hall was drowned in pitch, but there was a small window on the back wall, where slivers of moonlight poured in, lighting upon the faint figure of the man hunched against the door across from her, no more than three steps away. His wounded arm was held against his chest, bound messily in what once had been a shirtsleeve.

Credence kept her hand around the doorknob and waited for him to strike.

He moved one time, to reposition himself as he slept, and groaned when his wounded arm bumped the floor.

It could be a trap, her mind warned.

Credence opened the door just enough to slip through and took a bold step into the hallway. Keeping her back pressed against the wall, she made her way inch by painful inch past the sleeping danger. She was certain the roar of her pulse would wake him, and she didn't dare take a single breath.

Her toe found the drop of the first step on the staircase, and what ensued was an agonizingly slow descent, in which the stairs seemed determined to groan under every bit of weight placed on them. When she reached the bottom step she realized that the riskier task of maneuvering through a dark room filled with tables and chairs still lay before her.

The distance to the door was a terrifying stretch that felt miles long.

She bumped into a chair and it tipped over with an awful crash. Sure she had revealed herself, Credence dashed to the door, hitting several more pieces of furniture, until her outstretched hands touched a wall.

She moved along it until she felt the telling edges of a door.

It had three locks, and two were more elegant mechanisms than the one in her room. She twisted them until they unbolted, then threw the final lock—a wooden beam across the door—to the ground.

She threw the door open and ran towards the woods, where night was just beginning to bid farewell to the sky.

A thought tickled her humor.

For once, the woods at night are safer than four walls and roof.

A hand grabbed her shoulder.

"Saved me the trouble, I see." The man leaned down to her ear, and his breath carried a shudder across her skin. "My cottage is in the other direction."

Why are you afraid of him? her mind asked. He should be afraid of you.

Unable to resist it—and not wanting to—a surge of anger rose in Credence, and along with it, the feeling of power.

"Take your hand off me," she warned.

The man snickered. "Why should—"

His voice cut off, and the weight of his hand was gone from Credence's body.

Cautiously, she turned to him, unsure she wanted to see what her anger brought forth.

The man had vanished, and not a trace of him was left in the space where he had been.

It was a strange spell, Credence thought, for she had assumed something more extravagant would have occurred.

Or something grotesque, like what she had done to the tree in Ajo's purple world.

It was only when she cast her eyes to the ground that she saw what remained of the villain: A pile of white in the dirt.

She bent to examine it, finding coarse crystals.

She dipped her finger into the pile and lifted a few of the grains to her mouth.

Salt.

The old Credence might have been horrified at what she had done. She had taken a life, more or less, but she couldn't find a drop of pity in her soul for the loss.

He deserved it.

She looked towards the tavern. Its walls could still be seen in flashes of red among the green and brown trees.

Did the humans within deserve their miserable lives after the way they treated her?

It might be a mercy to rid the world of their wretchedness.

It might be a delight to watch fire eat the tavern, and listen to the screams of—

She turned and ran into the woods, moving as fast and far as her legs would take her.

Manic energy took hold of her and she began to laugh at the absurdity of everything. Tears fell from her eyes, the effect of unrestrained hysterics, but each time she lifted her hand to wipe one away the exuberance in her spirit lessened.

It was replaced by a nagging fear that the path she was presently on would come to no good end.