Shadows of Sherwood (32 page)

And Then There Was One

“Tucker?” Robyn called. Her voice echoed in the cavernous cathedral. “Tucker?” No answer. Where had he gone?

So Robyn climbed into the choir loft, headed for the moon shrine entrance. Tucker must have been working when they arrived. A granola bar wrapper and a still-sweating glass of ice water rested on the table, in the only clear space among Tucker's nest of papers, files, and notes.

She trailed her fingers along the edge of his pile of books. Tucker must really like to read. Robyn also enjoyed a good story, but she preferred to hear books read out loud, or to watch something on screen. Books with pictures were okay, too, but sitting still long enough to read one wasn't Robyn's specialty. She flipped through a couple of the thinner tomes.
History of Nottingham Cathedral
.
Prayer and the People. The Church in Nott City
.
The Plight of the Poor.
No pictures. Tiny print. Bo-ring.

Robyn quickly moved along. She didn't need to see Tucker. She needed to see the moon shrine. She keyed in
using the pendant and climbed down the rickety stairs, feeling relieved, as before, when her feet touched down on the pebbles. The door drifted shut behind her.

The courtyard was dark. Thick clouds bunched overhead, blocking out moon and stars. Robyn went to the mysterious curtain and fingered each of the six strands, still curious. She knelt on the altar, clutching the crescent-shaped necklace.

Dad.
She pleaded with him in her heart.
Where are you? Why did you lead me here? What am I supposed to do?

She swept the curtain aside and studied the etched shapes in the stone. The row of moon phases. The arc of the rising and setting sun.

The two largest shapes, positioned in the center, one above the other, stood out to her more now than the first time. A black crescent moon. A round white sun.

Robyn placed one hand over each. The black moon was cool as the moonstone it was etched in. The sun, surprisingly, felt warm. Robyn pressed her palm more firmly against the etching. Yes, the spot had grown faintly warm. It reminded her of . . .

She yanked her hand away and gasped. “Mom?”

Robyn brushed aside dirt and pebbles and lay down on the preserved altar. It was clean, and safe, and—at least for now—hers. She closed her eyes and tucked her body tight, willing the wall to shed answers upon her. For all she knew, she was the first to find this spot in a hundred years. She didn't know how, she didn't know why, but it had something
to do with her parents. There was something of them here. She could feel it.

A chilly breeze swirled down from above. Robyn awoke, shivering, curled in the same spot on the altar, with her back against the curtain. The clouds overhead had cleared. The entire courtyard was bathed in soft moonlight. The moon itself was small and high in the sky, circled by drifting sheets of dark clouds, but its glow seemed bright all around her.

Robyn unfolded herself and stretched. How long had she slept?

A rolling tumble of thunder echoed in the distance. The air smelled cool and damp. Ready for a storm. Robyn felt reluctant to leave the shrine, but knew she had better get back to the tree house before the sky opened.

As she got to her feet, she glanced over her shoulder at the mysterious, glowing curtain, wishing she could—

Wait . . . the curtain was glowing?

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

The Curtain in the Moonlight

Robyn scrambled away from the wall. The strange curtain was indeed glowing. Not everywhere, though. Most of the curtain remained plain silver, but now glowing diagonal lines crisscrossed each strand. Perhaps reflecting the moonlight?

It is a moon shrine
, Robyn chided herself. She supposed it made sense that the curtain would respond to moonlight.

No longer afraid, but curious, Robyn crawled closer again. The glowing lines were not actually lines. The silver streaks formed slanted cursive words. Big, single words woven in various angles across each curtain strand. Tilting her head, Robyn could make out some of them.

DARKNESS

LIGHT

BEACON

DAUGHTER

HOPE

PLACE

MOON

ANCIENTS

There were many more. Most were ordinary words on their own, but together they added up to nothing. Just nonsense. Woven, slanted nonsense.

She got up and looked around the shrine. Maybe in the daylight there would be some kind of clue she hadn't noticed before? Robyn paced around on the gravel, drawing the diagonal between the two staircases. She climbed the second staircase, which ended in another door. This door had a keyhole, too, but her moon pendant did not fit. This hole was rounder.

Robyn believed that the moon shrine had something to do with
both
her parents. Could it be that the white stone pendant her mom wore was the second key? And where did the door lead? Looking up, it appeared to be positioned below the bell towers.

Robyn didn't have much time to study. The curtain's glow dimmed as dark gray clouds rolled back across the moon. Robyn sensed the gathering storm. She'd better get back to the tree house before it started to rain.

On her way through the choir loft, Robyn noticed Tucker's glass and wrapper were gone. He must have come back up for a while, not realizing she was here. How long had she been asleep?

The mound of books looked more or less identical to before, in fact—

Robyn gasped—
Tucker's books!
She began riffling through the stacks. What if, in his research, he'd stumbled across the book Eveline had told her to find? That seemed likely, in fact, since Tucker seemed to have every possible book about churches in Nott City.
What was that call number again?
Robyn tried to remember.

She sifted through the books looking at their spines. Finally she stumbled upon a number that looked familiar. An old leather-bound volume that looked all but hand-written. Yeah, that was probably it. It wasn't even too thick, Robyn noted with relief.

Thunder crashed again, closer now. Time to get moving. Robyn wasn't about to sit here and read through the whole thing anyway. She tucked the book in her backpack.

She didn't want to disturb Tucker's notes, but she saw a blank stack of his neon-green sticky notes. That would work.

Robyn scribbled on the top note:

Hi, Tucker—

I borrowed a book on the moon lore. Will bring it back!

Robyn

Tucker had several more notepads; he probably wouldn't miss this one. She stuck it in her backpack.

Robyn exited the cathedral and headed toward the woods. She avoided major streets, sticking to alleys and small roads as usual. But it didn't prevent her from hearing the announcement.

“Attention, Sherwood Citizens!” It was Sheriff Marissa Mallet's voice. But where was it coming from? It seemed like everywhere.

Robyn slowed and looked in through the window of a barbershop. The men seated around the room angled their necks up to focus on the high-mounted small screen above one mirror. Mallet appeared there, much the way Governor Crown had done in previous days.

“A message for one among your number. To the hoodlum known as Robyn: dissent will not be tolerated. You believe you are one hiding among many. We will find you. You say you are working on behalf of the people. It is the people who will suffer for your actions. Consider yourself warned.”

The screen filled with a shot of Robyn's Wanted poster. She ducked from the window and scurried on toward the woods. Mallet's voice followed her, from speakers mounted high on street lamps. Robyn had never heard of such a thing. When had those been installed?

Robyn hurried to reach the woods. Despite Mallet's threat, she felt safer than usual crossing under the trees—she figured the MPs would not want to patrol under threat of a rainstorm, even in search of Sherwood's Most Wanted.

A cool breeze blew. Dead leaves drifted down from the branches overhead. Their gentle rustling was everywhere. Rain was imminent. Robyn hurried. She climbed the spiral stair and tucked inside the flap.

The tree house was empty.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

The Moon Lore

Where were Key and Laurel? They should have made it back by now. Were they all right? Robyn's heart slowed. After the terrible things she had said—were they even coming back?

When the rain began, it sounded like more leaves rustling. Robyn had to listen closely to be sure of what she was hearing. Fat droplets plunked against the wood.

The radio hissed and hummed and soon Nessa Croft's voice filled the small room. Robyn curled up close to the speakers, grateful for the moment to feel a little less alone.

“. . . Have you heard about the market truck heist?” Nessa Croft was saying. “The taunting hoodlum Robyn just jumped to Number One Most Wanted, displacing our own Charles Lorian and, of course, yours truly . . .
”
The broadcast cut in and out. The old technology struggled to carry its signal through the raging storm.

“. . . fast work, I'd say. Keep it up, little one. The hope of the ancients is alive in you . . .” Nessa's voice reached through to Robyn, warm and strong and sure.