Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I would like to point out that while guessing about the story is NOT forbidden by any law on Fanfiction, I find it distasteful to leave your guesses in plain view of others. Please limit them to private messages. I say this to remind, not to reprimand. I enjoy hearing what you believe will happen, but it might ruin the surprises for others if you guess correctly or mislead them if you are not.

I would also like to point out that I have posted pics of some of the characters on my Livejournal account titled: Terabithian Dreams under the name mark35950, for those of you who are interested.

Please feel free to look in on them at any time.

The New Life

a novel by Mark Robert Whitten

Chapter 11

As their horse plodded through the crowd, Leslie took in the sights of the grand city. Not much had changed to her view. The smells, the sounds, the activity all mixed together into a jumble of wonder, excitement and confusion. It had been a long time since she had been around so many people. She wished she could enjoy it. The wind blew her hair across her face for the third time that day and Leslie again lamented having her hands bound to the pommel of her captor's horse. She was at least grateful that she was not slung across its rump like a sack of grain; she couldn't bear everyone gawking at her if she were returned in such a position. Leslie shook her hair back and sighed. She still didn't appreciate being tied up and carried through the streets like some errant child who needed to be taught to behave.

In spite of her simple clothes and shortened hair, she was certain everyone would recognize her, just as Bursk and Vasha had. No one looked her way but her ears burned as though she could hear the excited whispers about "the lost one's return."

As the sounds of the city closed in around her, she lowered her head in shame.

People stepped casually aside as they moved slowly through the crowded thoroughfare. Leslie forced herself to look up. Looming ahead, at the far end of the city was the object of her dread: The Duke's castle. It had been almost two months since she had last seen either the Duke or his home, two months since she had run away from both.

He would be waiting for her.

She swallowed at the thought of what he might say. She glanced over at Bursk. He was as fierce a man as she had ever encountered and she would still rather face him than the Duke. As she continued to glare at the bounty hunter, her eyes examined the details of his weathered face. She studied the man's dark, deep-set eyes. Leslie hated the man. He's the one who had taken her from her home, from her new family. As much as she liked his friendly smile, she couldn't forgive him his unfriendly actions. Losing the Aarons was something that would forever mar her. She didn't even have a chance to say goodbye. For that she would always hate him. She hated Vasha almost as much. In spite of the basic understanding that had grown between her and the woman, Leslie still felt the pain of being stolen from Jess. She missed him terribly. It seemed that every day when the wind blew strong was another empty road, another desolate song, another meaningless story. Jess had given her life purpose.

Without him, she was lost.

Leslie at last resigned herself to taking in the sights. The road expanded and the houses grew gradually more elaborate as they approached the castle. The once narrow street spread out to give the rich ample room to maneuver their carriages. Trees lined the wide thoroughfare where strolled polite folk in exquisite dress and fine colorful coats. Leslie stared openly at them. It had been so long since she had seen such people that she was momentarily shocked by the quality of their garments. She had forgotten that clothes such as theirs existed. The town of Westwood had its share of wealthy people, but they couldn't even imagine what it was to wear such clothes. Leslie glanced down at her own filthy attire. Seated as she was before the stern Vasha, she no doubt seemed a beggar girl, a criminal the bounty hunters were bringing to justice. Most people didn't look their way twice but a few peered towards them, as if they recognized something amiss. Leslie lowered her head, letting her hair hide the sides of her face in shadow. A glare from Vasha turned most away. No one stopped them or asked what such filthy folk were about in this part of the city. Soldiers and bounty hunters were a common enough sight. Leslie had seen enough of them come and go in her ten years. She never expected to be brought in by them herself. The rich folk strolled along after a moment; they had better things to do then watch the day to day procession. Leslie returned her gaze to the grand buildings.

The wealthy merchants and well-to-do inn-keepers kept their homes close to the Duke's castle as being close to the castle was considered both wise and respectable. The castle was more than simply a fortification; it was a center of trade, law and government.

To Leslie, it was nothing more than a prison.

She tried to distract herself with the sounds of the streets. The hawkers called out, the buyers argued price and the sounds of wagons echoed through the city as they made their final approach toward their destination. Neither she nor her captors had anything to say; Vasha rarely spoke and Bursk was too intent on collecting his payment to be distracted by the commotion. Leslie often heard him lament the loss of a bounty when he was but a breath away from collecting his reward and she knew that he would be more careful than ever now that they were so close.

The white stone of the castle grew closer and Leslie swallowed hard at the thought of her bleak future. There would be no escape for her now.

She was doomed.

She shook away thoughts of her dismal future, choosing instead to fill her mind with thoughts of her past. An image of Jess came instantly to her mind. His mop of dark hair and delightfully freckled face sprang obediently to the forefront of her memory. Leslie smiled in spite of herself. Jess was the most amazing boy she had ever known. He had a grin that made her feel like someone special, like she was more than property, kept for show. She would give anything to see his boyish smile again. It broke her heart to know she never would. As the songbirds began their morning chorus, Leslie allowed her mind to drift back to their first meeting.

It happened more than a month ago.

Leslie had found a place to hide and was contented there for a time; she hunted for berries, nuts and apples during the day and slept under the protection of the trees, with the stars as her blanket in the night. She felt safe and didn't really think she needed anyone else. Then one morning, she heard him fighting. She slipped up close behind the trees, quiet as could be. He didn't notice her, hiding amongst the bramble, but she noticed him. She watched him for days, that brown-haired boy, as he fought and yelled and triumphed over invisible foes. He would come out every day at dawn, before the sun truly filled the sky, and there, amongst the oaks and evergreens, he would practice with his willow-switch sword. Leslie fancied the idea and took to making one of her own. When she was alone, she practiced with it as much as he. As much fun as it was to play, she loved even more to watch him train, fight and holler, always calling himself Jess Aarons the Mighty.

Leslie introduced herself—against her better judgment; she had run away for a reason. For the first time in her life, she was free and she didn't want to lose that freedom. But in the end she decided it was worth the risk of being found, if she could somehow get to know the special boy. One morning, while waiting for the sounds of battle, she caught sight of him entering the forest. It was rare that she would see him before hearing his battle cries and she argued for a long time with herself over going to him. She would lose her sanctuary forever if he knew she existed. But if she kept quiet, maybe he would go away.

Then again, if he never came back, she might never know him. She finally decided that he would find her eventually and chose to introduce herself.

She waited until the perfect moment to surprise him. Leslie took him down in a moment. He rose to fight her and lost. He kept at it and Leslie whacked him across the behind as he came at her. They danced for an hour through the dappled sunlight before the boy finally decided he had suffered enough. He then took off for what Leslie assumed was his home and it only took her a moment before she decided to follow.

What she found was something greater than her life in the woods.

She had found a family.

Leslie had always felt safe with the Aarons. They accepted her without much resentment, never bothering her about her origins and for a brief time in her young life, Leslie got to be a friend, confidant, teacher, dancer, fisher, worker and sister all at once. Of course the work was hard, but she felt good to be doing something with her hands, making a difference and being useful. She even accepted the punishment Mr. Aarons had administered for being late for supper. As much as it hurt, she knew he did it because he cared. In the end, she became closer to the whole Aarons family than she had ever been to people at the castle.

Best of all, she got to know "Jess Aarons the Mighty."

She almost laughed at remembering how brave he was when he punched Scott Hoager and tried to save her from the fat, hungry Fulcher-Monster. As the beast seized her she cried out in fright. The Fulcher's breath was thick with stale bread and moldy cheese and his heavy arms pinned her tight against him as he span her about—a captured damsel for Jess to rescue.

His first blow had taken down Hoager and made Fulcher let her go in a big hurry.

Leslie grinned at the memory.

Jess Aarons the Mighty, indeed.

He was like no other boy she had ever known. He was kind and gentle of spirit, possessed of a quality she found remarkably charming. He lacked any proper manners of course, but he wasn't vulgar as boys could be; she never found him talking about scabs or things he pulled from his nose. Jess was better than all that and although he wasn't a true gentleman in the sense of training, there was a certain rough quality to Jess that made him seem like more than he appeared. She was certain he could be somebody special if given the chance. Leslie sighed. He would never get that chance. She knew how it felt to be capable of something and told you didn't belong at the task. She would soon be back in that very life, trapped by what she knew was her unchangeable destiny. Jess would never even know what became of her. The thought of his misery brought forth a new kind of pain and Leslie felt a stray tear as it slipped down her cheek.

As she rubbed it away with her shoulder, she smiled.

It was the last tear she had and she had shed it for Jess.

* * * * *

Jess opened his eyes. His eyes took in the rough wood below him and as he bounced in place, he looked about, squinting at the brightness overhead. He didn't know how long he had slept but judging by the sun's position, he guessed it was close to mid-morning. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Father glanced back at him but said nothing. As he scratched his head, Jess tried to recall the events of the previous night. They had made camp in an open field, near a wood. Jess laid out the bed rolls and helped dig a fire pit which father soon filled with stray bits of straw and dry wood.

They sat together, then, eating dried biscuits and the simple fruit Jess had brought.

As he gazed into the wavering flames, Jess listened to the call of the night birds and chirps of crickets. His thoughts drifted to Leslie, as they always did. He wondered if she was all right, if she was safe. Father said nothing and Jess thought to ask him something he had been wondering for a long time.

"You don't like her, do you?"

Father looked to him with a questioning frown.

"Leslie," Jess explained. "You don't like her."

Father took this in as he returned his attention to their small campfire. He poked at it with a long willow switch, sending embers wafting into the night like little messengers of light. Jess wished they would tell Leslie he was coming. Father regarded him somewhat somberly and Jess watched the firelight reflect in his hazel eyes as he answered.

"She works hard."

He was glad father had admitted that much. "But do you like her?"

Father met his gaze. "I don't dislike her."

Jess nodded. He didn't expect anything more, but then father surprised him.

"Jess, I have three daughters and not one works as hard as she does. She gets in more trouble than the others, speaking when she shouldn't and getting into things she shouldn't… but I think she's a good little girl." He stirred the fire a little and smirked. "She's a handful sometimes, but after a spanking, she's not so bad."

Thoughts of punishment brought forth a question he had been keeping since they learned of Leslie's destination. "Father, what do you think the Duke will do to her?"

He watched the firelight reflecting off his father's weathered features as he answered. "I don't know, Jess. I never met any nobles but from what I understand of laws, nobody takes kindly to thieves." He poked at the fire, sending bright orange sparks swirling up into the night. "Some get their finger cut off, or their whole hand if they stole something really important." Jess felt his throat tighten at the thought of these things being done to his best friend. The thought of her terror made his stomach cramp as father continued. "There are also public lashings or even hangings for the worst offenders..." As father looked over at him, he seemed to realize what he meant. He cleared his throat. "But I don't think would be too hard on her."

"Are-are you sure?"

"I don't know everything about nobles but I'm pretty sure they won't give her anything worse than I ever did."

Jess blushed at the memory of Leslie's worst punishment. They were in a fight with Brenda and Ellie, a spoiled food-fight, throwing rotten tomatoes at each other. Leslie grabbed a big juicy one and let fly, just as father walked in on them. The over-ripe, half-rotten thing caught father right in the face, splattering across his stern features. As the slimy red juice dripped off his weathered face, he stood rooted in place, glaring at her. Leslie covered her gasp with both hands, staring wide-eyed as he stormed over. She turned to flee, crying out an apology, but he caught her by the scruff of her neck and hauled her over to the table. He then bent her struggling form over the table and, tugging down her dark wool pants, he laid several solid whacks of the switch to her bare bottom. Jess never knew anyone could shriek so loud.

His sisters fled the house during the punishment, declaring that the chores they neglected all day suddenly needed their immediate attention, but Jess stood firm, too afraid to leave. One glare from father changed his mind and Jess found himself out in the garden pulling up weeds to the sound of Leslie's punishment. He worked, his guts churning as the sickening crack of a switch pierced his ears. Leslie's howls were apparent immediately after, a shrieking so terrifying it made him tremble. Jess knew how she felt, having been through it before. It seemed as if an hour had passed but Jess knew she was only punished for a few moments. The handful of weeds he pulled to distract himself from her pain was sparse enough to have been gathered within a handful of minutes. Not hearing the switch any longer, Jess waited till his father left the house before slipping in to check on his friend. He spotted her in the far corner, her back to him. Leslie stood stiffly, her hands balled tight in fists at her sides as she wept. As he watched her shudder in convulsing sobs, it occurred to Jess that she seemed so much like May Belle at that moment. He felt so badly for her. He wanted nothing so much at that moment than to take her in his arms and comfort her. Jess trembled as he approached, he reached out to place a hand on her shoulder but before he could touch her, father's stern voice cut through him, warning her to leave her be.

She wept in the corner until long after supper, when she was finally allowed to move to clean everyone else's plates in the wash bucket. Leslie performed her task quietly, only sniffling a bit and wiping at her tears with her sleeve. No one was allowed to speak to her and she didn't meet anyone's gaze the rest of the evening before being sent to bed.

Afterwards, as they lay in the dark, she crept over to his pallet to whisper to him.

"Jess?" Her voice was coarse from crying. Her warm breath splashed across his cheek, but he didn't turn to her, instead hoping that she would think him asleep and get the idea.

She shook him gently. "Jess," she whined, "I'm hungry."

Jess couldn't believe she was surprised. She had been sent to bed without supper. Of course she was hungry. Rather than state the obvious, he silently glared at her. Although he couldn't make out her face in the dark, he knew where she was by the sound of her breath. "Go back to sleep, Leslie." As she repeated her complaint, her stomach rumbled, loudly adding its voice to hers. "Look," he whispered, "the sooner you sleep, the sooner it will be morning. You can eat all the breakfast you want then." He rolled over and pulled his rough wool blanket up over his shoulder. Jess closed his eyes and was just about to fall asleep when she shook him again.

"What?"

"Jess, I can't sleep," she complained. "My bottom hurts too much."

Jess huffed. "Just lie on your belly and close your eyes. Sleep will come." He knew it wouldn't be as easy as that; when your belly was empty and your bottom was aching, sleep was always elusive.

As he expected, her voice came again, soft and pleading.

"What if I told your father I'm sorry and ask him for a little something to eat?"

"All you'll get is another whipping."

"What if I don't ask," she reasoned. He could practically hear the workings of her mind as she cooked up her scheme. "I could just slip down real quiet and sneak a snack…"

He sat bolt upright, glaring at her dark form. "Gods, Leslie, wasn't one switching enough for you?" His temper flared nearly out of control as he strained to keep his voice low. "If you don't go to sleep right now, I'll spank you!"

Jess knew he had spoken too loudly when his father's voice drifted up from the darkness. "Something wrong up there, you two?"

Quick as a cat, he slapped his hand over Leslie's opening mouth. He knew that any answer given would get them in trouble simply by confirming that they were awake when they should be asleep. The old man had a ways about him and after ten years, Jess knew his father well enough to know that right then you didn't answer his questions. Eyes wide, they waited in tense silence until Jess was certain that father was done listening. He could feel Leslie straining to breathe against his hand. His eyes had adjusted and seeing her cheeks puffed out and her eyes wide, Jess almost laughed. He took away his hand and shoved her shoulder, sending her back towards her pallet. Jess lay back down and soon the sound of her quiet shuffling made him relax. At last he rolled over and went to sleep.

The next morning Leslie ate enough breakfast to feed an army. Jess was pleased that she at least hadn't gotten herself into any more trouble.

But now it seemed she had gotten herself into more trouble than ever.

Father was right about her, though; she was a good little girl. He never really thought of Leslie as a little girl, of course, but when she got her bottom warmed, she sure cried like one. Jess didn't enjoy her suffering, of course, but he sure enjoyed her warm smiles well enough. He laughed a little at the thought of her smile, her laughter and even her tears. They had shared so much. They had gone through whippings, baths, fights, meals, stories, adventures and songs together. They had done their chores, slept in the same loft, and shared the same whispers of fears and secret dreams on cold, dark nights. The two of them had conquered Lark Creek together. She had taught him to be brave. Leslie was one little surprise after another. She was someone he could spend a lifetime with.

If they saved her.

"We'll get her back, Jess." He turned to see his father's fire-lit face etched with concern. "I promise, we'll get her back."

Jess nodded. He could only hope they would be in time.

The jolt of the wagon reminded him of how far they had yet to travel; it would be at least another day before they reached Millsburg. A flock of birds called out above and Jess wondered if they were heading for the great city as well. The open grasslands were empty but for the occasional traveler. Jess groaned. He had never been so far from home. He always assumed he would never leave, that he would find some girl in Westwood, marry her and live forever on his family's farm. He didn't hate the idea; he just never gave any thought to anything else. Until Leslie came, there wasn't any other fate to consider. He swiped back his sweat-soaked hair and climbed up front to sit by father.

"Do you think she's all right?"

"She'll be okay, Jess." He snapped the reins and the horses picked up the pace. "Few people I know were ever so good at getting into trouble, but I never knew anyone as good as her at getting out of it."

Jess nodded. Leslie would probably talk her way out of whatever trouble she was in; she was no doubt making a merry game of convincing the Duke to let her go, probably telling him that she took the gold to save him from something awful. Jess bet the fool Duke was rewarding her for her honesty, if nothing else. Leslie was probably sitting on an overstuffed chair covered with golden silks, munching on apples while she spun a preposterous tale of poisonous gold and dangers only she knew existed.

Jess almost laughed at the thought of finding her in such a state.

It would be a sight to see.

* * * * *

Leslie felt the cool breeze gently kiss her sweat-soaked neck as they at last moved through the gates of the castle. The portcullis loomed overhead, the fangs of a monster about to close. She gazed out across the courtyard to see the servants already rushing across the lawn. Everyone in the castle probably knew of her return.

As they finally entered the castle grounds, Vasha patted her shoulder and dismounted. Leslie bit back the urge to grab the reins and ride for the hills. The guards surrounding them discouraged the notion. She wouldn't make it far before she was caught.

Her hands were still bound to the pommel, anyway.

Leslie watched with anticipation as Vasha cut the restraints. She felt the snap of the leather bonds breaking and immediately rubbed her aching wrists. Bursk's bellow caught Leslie by surprise; a full day of travel had done nothing to improve his disposition.

"I don't care," he growled, "We got the little thief and now I want my reward!"

Leslie watched without interest as the well-dressed official tried to reason with the stubborn bounty hunter. "Sir, I'm afraid we must wait until—"

Bursk growled and stepped forward. The guards drew their weapons and although the ring of steel being loosed in the late afternoon didn't slow him, Vasha's voice brought him to heel. "Bursk, if we die this close to payment, I'll kill you."

Bursk relented with a grunt. Leslie laughed a little and as Vasha helped her down, she realized how much she appreciated the woman. It suddenly occurred to her that she was actually going to miss her.

As the guards hemmed her in, sealing off her escape, Leslie realized with sudden anguish that she would miss Jess even more.