The hermitress knew that she was coming before Marian's familiar knock reached her ears. The woman was sure that the leather bonds of her mask were securely tied before she lifted the door covering and peered out into the darkness. Sure enough, the girl was climbing up the rocky trail, her cloak hood dropped to her shoulders, revealing her strained features. The woman felt sorry for the limping girl, for she knew that she would never walk the same again.
"Marian," she whispered, and her words were carried by a soft spring wind down to the girl's ears, "I knew tha would come tonight." The young woman smiled and hurried as fast as she could due to her wounded leg up the rough terrain of the ridge to meet her friend. She stood before the masked woman and said, "Sarah..."
"I know child," the woman said, putting a supporting arm around her waist, "I know what ails thee..."
Sarah brought the young woman into her cave bungalow, carrying a flame torch as she went. They settled on a worn rug near a trickling stream of cool water that flowed through the cave's crevices. Marian sighed as she relaxed against the cold hardness of the rock, watching the woman pull out a dark velvet bag and spread the contents on the crude wooden table before her.
"I'm going to die in these woods, aren't I?" Marian asked suddenly, and Sarah glanced up at her, then shook her head, "Many will perish, few will prevail. The strong will live, and thou art not one of the weak."
"How art thou so sure, Sarah, what should I believe?"
"Trust thy heart, and thou shalt find that others will trust thee with theirs," she spread the runes on the table, the rocks make pleasant scratching noises as she did so. Marian shrugged at the woman's vagueness, knowing all too well that she spoke in a strange code, and that it took time to think about the wisdom that she spoke. Usually all their meetings went this way, Marian would ask questions, and Sarah would give opaque, unsettling answers.
Marian also itched to know what Sarah looked like under her false face of wood and leather. The eyes were only slits through which Marian saw grey eyes, and the mouth was a square shape below the wooden nose. Sarah told Marian that she wore it because she was deformed, ugly, and that her parents had covered her face with it since she was born, hiding her from hateful words and stares. She said if any would look upon her with her mask off, they would surely die, because her warped and twisted features were the work of Satan. Though Marian had heard the tale many times, she was sure that the woman wasn't as unseemly as she said she was.
Sarah had caught her staring, and Marian looked away, flushed, and mumbled her apologies. Sarah shifted uncomfortably, running her long, slender fingers across the painted rocks. She gave a grunt, gathered them in her hand and threw them down again, a low whistle emitted from behind the concealment. Marian waited on the edge of her seat while the woman traced circles around the runes.
"Two figures will come to tha tomorrow. On the Day of the May. A surprise will happen...two surprises actually...one I am sure of...and the other...I can't quite make out..." Marian smiled, enveloping herself in thoughts of good fortune, but was halted when Sarah said in a low voice, "Remember what I said, child, the weak might die in these woods...the strong survive...I begin to see what part tha will play...though I do not see it clearly..."
"'Ey Rob," a whisper awoke Robert from a dreamless sleep, "Wake up, now, we must go." Robert opened his eyes, rubbing the fogginess out of them, and his friend crouched above him, his face shadowed in the darkness.
"John, what's the matter? Why did tha wake me up?" he grumbled, sitting up.
"Quiet, Rob, 'oo might wake up th' others," the large young man said, "We must leave, post haste, th' Bishop found out that 'e's 'arbored outlaws."
"That's a good reason," Robert said, quickly shoving his bedroll into his pack. Twenty other men slept soundly on the castle floor, and John and Robert stepped around them and made it outside without any furthur delay. They crept across the well-trimmed lawn to the large stables, where John forcibly opened the massive wooden doors.
An arrow flew from a dark corner and struck the wood plank right above Robert's head with a 'thwack'. With cat-like quickness, he pulled out his own bow and fitted a silver-tipped arrow between his fingers, aiming at the dark place. John stood next to him, holding his ash stave out in defense.
"S-s-sorry, Robert, didn't know 'twas thee," a lad said, coming out of the shadows. Robert sighed, dropping his arms, "Alan..."
"I said I was sorry," Alan said, shrugging his shoulders at John.
"Make thyself useful, boy, fetch some horses," Robert instructed, and watched the curly-haired boy run off into the stables. John shook his head, "'Oo got thyself into thy own mess with tha' 'un." Robert shot him a glare, and the smirk left John's face.
Two other young men appeared in the doorway, and Robert nodded in their direction.
"How did he find out?" the shorter man asked, coming into the torchlight of the warm barn.
"Some one must have told, Much," Robert said, rolling his eyes.
"I'm no fool, Robert," he snapped, looking anxiously out into the moonlit night.
"'Twas not I," the other man said, shifting the bag in his arms.
"No un's blamin' anyun', Scarlet," John's deep voice boomed.
"I'm not blaming anyone either, but someone in this stable leaked the secret," he said, watching Alan lead five horses to them.
"Enough quarreling, we must leave, before Bishop Heugh sends his men upon us," Robert said, tersely, mounting Horse, and riding out of the stable. John and Much followed, leaving Scarlet and Alan in the building alone.
"Be glad that he's thy guardian, Al," Will threatened the lad, and jumped upon the horse's back. Alan clumsily jumped on his steed, and they followed Robert from Tickhill Castle, towards the thick tangles of the mysterious Barnsdale Wastes.