On the forest floor, covered in mud, already host to the beginnings of a massive fungal growth, there laid a discarded set of warrior’s armor.

If you have been reading along with this story thus far, you likely remember this set of armor. Even if you haven’t—in which case, I must respectfully ask you to go back and catch up—I have no doubt you can figure out who the armor originally belonged to.

On the morning in which this chapter begins, a breeze moved lazily between the treetops, floating down to rustle the bushes. A breastplate strap twitched limply on the ground.

Then was promptly stomped into the mud.

The owner of the foot that did it hardly even noticed the mud-caked armor by the wayside as he ran past. When he did, he regarded it only as a reassurance that he was headed in the right direction. He did not stop to claim it—more accurately, he did not stop to reclaim it.

Atticus Fletcher simply kept running.

He had been running for days, fueled purely by fear. Yes, that is right—fear. It was strange, almost alarming, how easily he grew afraid these days. Not afraid for himself, though; not in this case.

Afraid for Tiffany.

He imagined she had been right about Douglas. Never had anything seemed clearer to him, at least not in recent days. He had been hesitant to believe the king of the Valley could really have known what lay beyond his kingdom’s borders. Could he really have known, and kept it from his own people? From his own daughter?

But the more Atticus thought about it, the more sense the theory made. If Tiffany was not Douglas’s daughter—if she had been found beyond the Valley’s borders as she claimed—then her very existence was proof of something to be found outside the small kingdom. Surely Douglas would have picked up on that, assuming he hadn’t already known at that point. And the odds of that, Atticus thought, were decidedly slim; while Douglas ruled with lax fingers in many ways, he had never wavered in enforcing the border laws. It was he who kept the Valley folk from venturing outside their lands, and what reason did he have to do so? What reason, if not to keep them from seeing what Atticus had seen, to hold them in endless submissive ignorance?

The very thought made Atticus angry, and he pressed onward. However, he could not pretend anger was all that came of it—for there was also the fear. The frantic terror that propelled his feet, spurring him to the defense of the woman who would almost certainly find herself in need of it frightfully soon.

Atticus had spent his entire life looking down upon the king, inwardly scoffing at the man for his apparent thick skull and slowness of thought. Intelligent as she was, he knew Tiffany had assumed the same of the man.

But if half of this terrible theory was true, then they had both been wrong, and neither of them had any inkling of Douglas’s real capabilities. And with no training, Tiffany alone could not hope to defend against him and his knights.

Atticus Fletcher could.

And to keep Tiffany from harm, Atticus Fletcher would.

Atticus found Tiffany two days from the Valley’s borders.

I will not go into detail with regard to all that happened over the course of the last two days of their journey, as I do not want to bore you with explanations of needless things like hiking, or laughing, or hand-holding…

(Got your attention with that one, did I? I’ll let you decide which of the two initiated it.)

For the purpose of concision, I hope it will be sufficient for me to say that when Atticus finally caught up to her, Tiffany was overjoyed to see him. They continued their journey together, eventually coming to the edge of the Valley, and they reentered their kingdom hand in hand with one another.

They were immediately spotted by Julianne (remember her?), who patrolled that segment of the fence that day. Being incompetent, it is only to be expected that she promptly dropped her sword in shock, and entirely forgot to pick it up. Without a word she ran back to the castle, weaponless.

“I expect Douglas knows we’re here, then,” Atticus remarked.

Tiffany nodded. “He will soon.”

Atticus watched Julianne disappear into the castle in the distance—as ‘distant’ as anything could really be, in a place as small as the Valley—and his eyes found her discarded sword in the grass. He bent down, reaching out with his right hand to pick it up, but as he bent forward he felt a force holding him back, keeping him tethered by his left hand. He looked back to find Tiffany, stock-still, glassy eyes fixed on the small castle Julianne had just run inside of. She was stiff, trapping his hand in a grip like iron, inadvertently pulling him back toward her side. She looked afraid… More than that, she looked sad.

Atticus abandoned Julianne’s sword to stand beside Tiffany once again. He thought about asking whether she was alright, thought about reassuring her that things would work out as they were supposed to. In the end, he said nothing, and merely stood there by her side, his hand still firmly locked in conjunction with hers. At some point, they started to move forward, no verbal cues necessary. It simply happened, both of them walking toward the castle, preparing themselves for the final confrontation. As they approached, three figures emerged to meet them. The sun was beginning to set, and their faces were cast in shadow, but Atticus knew them even still. One was a woman—that would be Julianne. The one shaped roughly like an eggplant turned on its side could only be Reuben the steward, and as such it stood to reason that the third…

“It’s him,” Tiffany said quietly. “It’s Douglas.”

Douglas crossed the distance at a full sprint, practically flying to his adopted daughter at a speed Atticus would not have believed possible of the unathletic king. Of course, there were a lot of things he would not have believed Douglas capable of; now, it seemed, he may have been wrong  on all counts.

“Tiffany!” Douglas cried as he came. “Atticus, son, you’ve done it!” He stretched out his arms to pull Tiffany into an embrace, but she recoiled, and in the same moment, Atticus sidestepped, placing himself between the king and the princess.

Douglas blinked. “Tiffany?” He looked into Atticus’s eyes, and whatever he saw there sent him one uncertain step back toward the castle. “What is this?”

Atticus felt Tiffany’s hand slip out of his as she stepped around him to face the man who had been her father.

“Liberation,” she said. “Your Highness.”

“Liber… Liberation?” For the first time, Douglas seemed to truly take in the sight of them. His eyes ran up and down the woman he called daughter, finally registering the change in wardrobe; the shorter, loosely tied back hair;  the ice-cold eyes. He took in Atticus’s new clothing—the jacket he had borrowed from Bridger, the cargo pants and boots Ash had thrifted for him during his stay in the motel. Then the king took another, more cautious step backward. “I… would appreciate an explanation.”

“Certainly, Your Highness,” said Atticus, but before he could launch into the explanation, Tiffany blurted out a sentence:

“We’ve seen the city!”

This, however, did not have the effect you might expect. Douglas opened his mouth, and then closed it, and then opened and closed it again before he managed to get the words out.

“You’ve seen what?”

“The city,” Tiffany said. “The outside world. We’ve been there, father. We don’t believe your lies any longer.”

And so the confrontation began.

You may be thinking to yourself: I understand now.

I believe I know why you are so inclined to believe this. Now that King Douglas’s lies have been revealed and the confrontation has begun, you think you have figured out my identity. I have already told you I am the villain; now you believe that Douglas’s deception makes him the villain, and Douglas and I are therefore one and the same.

I tell you now, you are wrong. On both counts, actually. I am not Douglas, and moreover, Douglas is not the villain.

Sorry to disappoint.

You see, as Tiffany confronted the king of the Valley, Atticus grew increasingly annoyed at Douglas’s insistence on playing dumb. Every time Tiffany brought an accusation upon him, he would claim ignorance. If he was to be believed, he had known nothing of the world outside of the Valley, and had merely assumed Tiffany came from one of the barbarian tribes in the mountains, the ones everyone told stories about. Atticus found himself frustrated by this, and was sure Tiffany shared his feelings.

At last, Tiffany finished her berating. And what Douglas did next changed everything.

He stood in silence, lips parted, unmoving. The three—plus Julianne and Reuben the steward—had migrated into the castle as Tiffany spoke, and though he stood within the walls of his own home, Douglas looked utterly lost.

Then he stumbled backward, sinking down toward the floor. Hurriedly, Reuben the steward whisked a chair underneath the king to catch him, and Douglas sat there, in the chair, his eyes staring ahead and seeing nothing. His shoulders slumped.

“I never meant to do this,” he whispered. “I thought they were happy. I thought we were all happy… I thought we were free.”

And it was at that moment that Atticus finally realized the truth.

“You didn’t know,” he said, voice betraying his shock. “All this time… you really didn’t know, did you?”

Douglas squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“That’s ridiculous!” Tiffany snorted. “Don’t fall for his lies, Atticus. How could he not have known?”

“Look at him, Tiffany,” Atticus said. He pointed to Douglas, whose head now rested in his hands as it hung forward in shame. “He didn’t know.”

She did not say anything more.

Meanwhile, Douglas was shaking his head slowly, hopelessly. “I did as my father before me, and as his father before him, and as has always been done. I thought… I was keeping us safe.” He looked up, and with a jolt Atticus realized the king had started to tear up. “If what you say is true, I have kept us trapped. I have failed my people.”

Suddenly, Atticus knew he had made the right decision, following Tiffany back to the Valley. He had been so afraid of losing this place… but there was nothing for him here now. Nothing, save for this one task.

And so, Atticus Fletcher fell to his knees before the king, gently taking his hand.

“Pardon, Your Highness,” he said, “but there is still a way to set things right.”

The whole process took two days, for the Valley was not a large place, and it took mere hours to spread the word throughout the entire kingdom.

Some of the Valley folk began packing immediately. Others took longer to commit to the journey, and hastily threw a few belongings and supplies into sacks at the last minute. Many others did not commit to the journey at all.

On the morning of the grand departure, Atticus Fletcher stood in the castle courtyard and watched the sun rise over his homeland for the last time. He was alone. Tiffany had only just awoken and hadn’t yet come down to join him; the rest of the Valley folk set to accompany them were no doubt already on their way.

No sooner had he thought this than a large party of Valley folk began to gather with him in the courtyard, all outfitted in boots and cloaks and carrying sacks over their shoulders. He did not speak to them, nor they to him. But he was not alone anymore.

“Hey.”

It was Tiffany. Atticus turned to face her, glad for the company. “Hey,” he replied, unable to keep a bit of a smile from making its way onto his face.

She smiled back, if a little nervously. “You ready for this?”

“Of course. You?”

“Guess I have to be.” Tiffany’s eyes swept the courtyard, glancing over the mass of Valley folk that had gathered there. “Is this everybody?”

“Just about. We’re waiting on Reuben and Douglas—”

“Oh, here’s Reuben now!”

At her exclamation Atticus turned, and sure enough, the short, wide-bodied man was exiting the castle, huffing and puffing as he struggled to carry his sack of belongings. But something was wrong; Reuben shouldn’t be coming out alone.

“Reuben,” Atticus said, taking the sack from the steward and slinging it over his own shoulder. That earned him an out-of-breath whisper of gratitude. “Where is the king?”

Reuben drew his lips together, looking down and shaking his head. “I am sorry, Sir Atticus, sir. He… is not coming.”

“What do you mean, he’s not coming?” Tiffany demanded. “He’s already packed!”

“Yes. It was a last-minute decision, and one I am afraid he will not be talked out of.”

Tiffany started through the door, but Atticus took hold of her wrist. She looked back in surprise, frowning as she tried without success to shake herself free of his grip. “Atticus, let go. I’m going to talk some sense into him.”

But Atticus shook his head. “No. Let him be.”

“We can’t just—”

“Tiffany,” he said quietly. “It is his choice.”

So it was that when the traveling party began their journey, King Douglas did not come with them. Atticus and Tiffany led the charge, walking at the front of the group as Reuben and the other Valley folk followed behind. Tiffany remembered the way to the motel well. She would be their guide, Atticus her assistant and companion.

The Valley shrunk even further that day, losing just over a third of its inhabitants. As for what happened to the nearly two thirds who stayed, I apologize, but I cannot tell a story I do not know. I was one of those who left the Valley, following the guidance of Tiffany, my former princess. My knowledge of the happenings within that little kingdom stops here.

One interesting thing I observed as we neared the border fence—neither Atticus Fletcher nor the former princess ever looked back.

They led the Valley folk up to the fence, and one by one they passed that barrier, the whole mass of them marching away into the face of the rising sun.



Back to Episode 9

Forward to Epilogue

Tune in next Friday, November 22 for the final installment in Atticus Fletcher’s story…