The Last Scarecrow

15 | Clifftop

Twelve had rowed at lightning speed with the distraught cries of the wickermen and their deadly axes ringing across the Endless Blue.

Erin sat with her back to the scarecrow, staring at the horizon, the sun bleeding into existence. Even now, with Lazarus resting silently, the sounds of the Island of Trees shuddered through her, stirring uneasily.

She spun, staring at the scarecrow. "What is it?"

"I'm worried about Number Five."

"We all are."

"Will she be okay?"

"I hope so."

"That's not very reassuring," the scarecrow huffed.

"There's nothing reassuring about mortality," Erin said, a darkness coating her words. "Living things are always one false step or bad decision away from the abyss."

The scarecrow massaged her rubber-gloved hands together. "How do you live with that knowledge? Knowing that when you wake each morning, and look out upon the world, that it could be your last."

Erin shrugged. "It's best not to, I suppose."

She wondered where this darkness was coming from.

It was Raven's fault, she decided finally. The blackbird was always muttering on about the bleakest, most downright morbid things imaginable. But he was gone now. Erin had no idea where. All she did know was that he was not with them aboard Lazarus where he belonged.

Instead, they had Jack.

Lazarus sat a little lower in the water with the caped wickerman onboard.

He took some time adjusting to the motion of the boat but, once settled, sat with his arms and legs knotted around the mast. It looked uncomfortable to Erin, but Jack insisted that he was happier sat awkwardly on a boat in the middle of the Endless Blue than in the hands of his vengeful companions.

He shifted around the mast until he faced Twelve, his feathered cape pulled tightly around his shoulders. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"North," Twelve replied.

Jack nodded and looked out to sea. "What's in the North?"

Twelve took a long, silent pull on the oars. "Raven told us to head north," she answered. "So North it is."

Jack looked in all directions, including the panoramic sky that capped the world in a gradient of yellow-grey bands, dotted with faint, distant stars.

"How?" he asked. "Do you have a compass?"

Twelve nodded towards the sky.

"There," she said. "I'm following that star. The brightest star in the whole sky. The North Star." It looked the brightest right now but, as Twelve had discovered to her cost, that was likely to change.

Jack seemed confused.

"How does that—?"

"Don't worry about it," Twelve replied. "Raven said follow the stars, so we follow the stars."

"And Raven is who again?"

Erin spun, nestling up to the wickerman.

"He was, I mean he is, a blackbird. Friend, navigator, and speaker of dark truths."

Jack fidgeted. "A talking bird?"

Erin shrugged, an eyebrow raised.

"Whatever next," Jack went on. "And he was with you on the Island of Trees?"