Chapter 2: Rumors Have It

The tree towers over Lincoln. He stares at its yellow leaves and the dark branches that hold them. Its black trunk that keeps all of it together radiates ominous energy that he does not notice. Instead, he stares at it with wonder, to indifference, and not before long, resentment.

Lincoln starts punching the tree. Left, right he goes before both fists gushes red with blood staining the tree and the grass around it.

"Whyyyy?" screams Lincoln with every breath in him behind each word. His eyes illuminating with anger.

"Why?" this time softer, sobs muffle his words. He leans over against the tree. Tears stream down his cheek as his sobs keep coming escaping one breath at a time. He lets the question hang in the air, rhetorical as it is but his senses heighten as the wind brings a rustle from across the clearing.

Lincoln shifts his attention from left to right and back. He takes note of the grass blades' every movement, watching for any sudden changes in its dance. His guard is up, and he is ready for battle, but there is none.

He breathes a sigh of relief and puts his guard down. Lincoln sits underneath the tree, his heart still heavy, and tries to get some sleep but Lincoln panics as resounding laughter echoes from the edge of the clearing and climbs the dark tree, hiding in plain sight.

"I came by with the craziest story from last night," clowns a pudgy boy, the tallest among the four who are slowly approaching the tree where Lincoln is hiding. He is wearing a striking blue beaded shirt with feather patterns at the trunk and rainbow stripes where it hides his chest. Underneath is a plain white shirt.

"A kid was seeing shadows around this area last night," he continues, a smirk in his face, "Talk about crazy, right?"

Those around him respond with chuckles and warns him of Lincoln's presence.

"He might hear you, Andrew," one whispers.

Andrew looks up with a smug grin. Lincoln makes the mistake of peeking as Andrew looks up. Their eyes meet. His grin contorts into a full-blown smile.

"He doesn't mind," Andrew dares, "Here's a secret," he whispers, gathering the three around him after taking another glance at Lincoln, "He wouldn't even dare come down."

Andrew takes another look at the tree where Lincoln is hiding while the other three, laughs in mockery. In spite of developing a warrior composure, this touches Lincoln's pride. Huffing and puffing, his chest heaves deep breathes. Eyes wide, he has his foot down, trying to come down from the tree. This strikes fear in Andrew. He backs away the closer Lincoln is from the ground.

"Wait for meeeee!" screams a voice from the edge of the clearing.

This stops Lincoln's advances before he can come down.

On his way is a scrawny kid with freckles dotting his cheeks. His clothes too big for him, he runs and trips almost at the same time before he reaches Andrew and his friends.

"What'd I miss?" he asks, wiping his nose dripping with snot with the loose part of his sleeve. His buckteeth showing as he smiles and looks at the four full of admiration.

When he takes in Andrew's face, the kid added, "Are you alright?"

Andrew realizes the face he is showing and contorts it, erasing the fear he feels from Lincoln coming down from the tree after he looks up and notices that Lincoln has stopped his advance.

"What'd you mean?" retorts Andrew, "Of course I am," then pushing the kid to the ground without reason. The kid only chuckles and stands right back up.

Andrew signals to his group that they are leaving. Others argued, "I lost interest," he explains.

Those that are around him are at a loss for words and did not budge immediately.

"What are you guys waiting for?" Andrew mad, "Let's go!"

Without any more objection, they run towards him and follow him until all of them disappear into the forest. The scrawny kid goes in last.

(What was that smile for?)

Traces of his hurt pride lingers, but he decides to stay atop the tree for a doze. After a while, just when he is about to completely fall asleep, a hush conversation echoes in his ears.

"Did you see it?" an unfamiliar voice asks.

"I did not," replies a deep voice, in a hush tone, but, Lincoln is certain it is Dirkan. "The kid did," he added.

"And you believed him?" questions the other, doubtful. An awkward silence follows, and by this time, Lincoln is already awake. With his tone escalating to a harsh tone, he added, "You trust this family way too much. You did the same with his father."

"They, the kid, is worthy of anyone's trust," defends Dirkan.

"What good did that do to us?"

Dirkan opens his mouth, ready to retort, but he does not because he cannot, and just hangs his head low from embarrassment.

"You have to believe me," pleads Dirkan, regaining face.

Lincoln is now curious about who Dirkan is talking to.

He crouches on the branch to peek and sees a man in a black ensemble. He is wearing a thin trench coat, a large stockman hat, and a pair of leather shoes. On his back is a scabbard devoid of a sword, but right down his chest is a silver cross with a ruby at its middle and towards the at its tip is a shade of pink.

Just below it, however, are spots of red.

A handlebar mustache lines his upper lip and his eyes shifty. Left and right it goes. Taking note of the details that dot their surroundings as Dirkan drags their conversation that he already lost interest in.

"I am still partial," replies the man, whose name has not come up yet. His eyes grow increasingly shifty, and that is when Lincoln makes the mistake of crouching lower, catching the man's line of sight, even the slightest.

Immediately, Lincoln feels light-headed. His limbs get away from him, but before his sight fades completely, he catches a glimpse at the black outfit man clutching his left eye, looking in agony.

"What's wrong, Shinyo?" Dirkan asks; his guard up. His wrist featuring Buddhist bracelets that are radiating light as solid as Dirkan.

"Were we followed?!" Shinyo snaps, agitation rising in his neck. Pain carving its presence in his face.

"What?" Dirkan asks dumbfoundedly.

"WERE.WE.FOLLOWED?!!" Shinyo repeats himself, mad, clutching Dirkan around the neck, lifting him up in spite of his thin frame.

"No!" guarantees Dirkan, coughing, catching his breath as soon as his feet embraces the ground once more.

Shinyo starts whispering, his crucifix kissing his lips as his grip grows tighter. He gives Dirkan a sour look and reminds him, "Hope your tracking abilities have not diminished," about to finish with his prayers, and adds, "Otherwise, you only have that large body going for you."

Dirkan takes insult. His expressions tighten but backs down as soon as Shinyo gives him a piercing look.

"You have to believe me," Dirkan reiterates, going back to what their conversation is about.

"I am not convinced," Shinyo reiterates, "Do not call me again unless you have substantial information. Not just rumors."

"Is there any more substantive than what is around you?" urges Dirkan, his arms wide open.

A smug smirk reflects on Shinyo's face, but as he diverts his attention to the ground, his expression changes. He turns his eyes back to Dirkan and without warning, disappears out of thin air. Dirkan follows.