Chapter 4
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An Adventure
So it was that Eoin found himself spitting out snow again as he walked across the field, ready to go on an adventure. He had been nervous about this traditional right of passage, the thought of being away from home for a year when he had never been gone for more than a day had twisted his stomach into knots for weeks. But now he was actually leaving, Eoin didn’t know what he had feared, he felt great.
The blue sun was bright and the sky clear, the perfect conditions for a journey. Even though snow had worked its way into every crack and crevice when he fell - nothing could dampen his spirits. This was going to be a proper Adventure.
As he walked across the sheep field, a spring in his step and a ram by his side, Eoin thought about where he should go.
He had, of course, asked his friends and family where to head to but no one had given him a direct answer. The point of this tradition was not only to learn about the wider world, but also to become self-sufficient. Eoin would have to make his own way.
Eoin and Reithe had discussed it and decided that they must visit Yarnmouth - the only real city on Caorah. It was widely considered the capital but none ruled this island so nothing was official.
The pair came to the end of the field, hopped the stye, and stepped onto the mountain path. Going left would lead them up, over the mountains, and towards the river Yarn. Right led down, past Shearford and towards Hoofstuck marsh.
They went right. Although the left path would be quicker, it was impossible to cross The Wooly Mountains when the snows were set as firmly as they were.
Eoin walked with energy, but without urgency, as he traced his steps from the day before. When he came to the cut-off which led through the copse of pine trees and across the gap, he remained on the path. Eoin was in no mood to take a short-cut on the road of life and wind up dead - yesterday was too close.
As Eoin followed the road, he found his new sword bumping around and constantly getting in the way. He tripped twice and fell once before Reithe grew tired of his clumsiness and guided the young man’s hand to the weapon’s pommel. As it turned out, by keeping a hand on the sword while they walked, Eoin was able to guide the blade and he soon found walking with the weapon almost as natural as without.
“Thanks,” Eoin said earnestly, a big grin involuntarily plastered across his face. He couldn’t help but think of himself as a warrior now that he could walk unimpeded with a sword at his hip. Reithe rolled his eyes at the juvenile human.
It didn’t take long for the pair to make it to Shearford. The people who were going about their daily lives in and around the village at the foot of The Wooly Mountains were more enthusiastic in their greetings as Eoin and Reithe walked through. Everyone knew this would be the last time they would see the village's only teenager for an entire year.
One old woman, who Eoin had helped collect firewood, called him over and pressed a Tri-Tunnag into his hand for good luck. He tried several times to refuse the gift, as was polite, but eventually Eoin was forced to relent. He threaded the metal ring onto a leather cord that lay around his neck, joining the others underneath his clothes - pressed close to his skin.
Leaving the village, on its far side, Eoin found himself at the top of a grassy slope. The path led away from Shearford and out of the mountains. It wound in and out of several miles of rolling, grassy hills, stubbled with trees, following the growing river all the while.
Looking down at this beautiful land, speckled with crop fields and dotted with cows, Eoin couldn’t help but reflect on how it contrasted with the harsh and mountainous terrain near his home. Only a few miles away and already it looked so different.
Not that the sight was new to him, only the eyes which saw were - given a fresh perspective by the adventurous mindset Eoin had chosen to adopt. He had been all the way to Milka’s farm, which hid behind a few more hills. This was still home turf.
An idea struck him as he shielded his eyes from the sun's reflection, which bounced off a far away pond and temporarily blinded him. Looking down at his animal companion, he could see by the glint in his eye that the pair were thinking alike.
“Ready.”
“Baa.”
“Go.”
The two took off, shooting down the hill like lightning flowing from the heavens. Eoin started to pull ahead, the incline less of an imposition for his two legs. Reithe breathed heavily, steam pumping out from his mouth as he pushed himself to go faster.
At the bottom of the hill, the path crossed an arched bridge. So as not to slow down, Eoin jumped to the middle of the hump and sprinted down the otherside, desperate to maintain his lead.
It was hopeless. As soon as the stoney path started to climb up the next rise, Reithe couldn’t help but pull out in front. Each one of his four legs added to his speed. His mountainous nature meant that his hooves were well placed and there wasn’t a chance of slipping as he drove up the hill, accelerating all the while.
The race was far from over. They went down one hill and up another, trading pole position, passing; Puntri’s house - surrounded by gourds, Willith’s shack - the one that moved from left to right with the wind, and Conova’s maze field - filled with nothing but snow covered stumps.
As the pair ran up and down, the river wound in and out. At the base of each hill there was a new stone bridge that got larger in tandem with the Shear river.
Although the hills rose and fell, the overall trend was downward as they headed towards the sea. This was the only reason that Eoin was still in the race - he could never beat the speed of a sheep on level ground.
Eventually, they came to what would be the last rise of their competition, and a good thing too. Eoin reached the crest of the final hill and barely had time to look upon the cow-filled, grassy field and the grand house and dairy down near the river, before he saw the distance Reithe had managed to gain.
Reithe was already a quarter of the way down this final descent when Eoin came over the top. Desperate, the young man took larger and larger leaping steps, gaining on his friend little by little. Just as it looked like Eoin would pass Reithe and take the win, he tripped.
A stone, larger than the usual gravel of the path, was hidden under the snow. Eoin, as hard as he was pressing, didn’t stand a chance. One second he was sprinting, full pelt, down the hill, the next he was rolling, tumbling, twisting.
Snow started to build up around his flailing body as he gained more and more speed. Reithe looked back, and in less time than anyone could believe, he saw a giant ball of snow chasing after him.
The ram, not wanting to be squished, put on an as yet unseen burst of speed. It wasn’t enough. Tired from their run, he couldn’t muster the energy to out pace this accelerating ball of snow and boy. Just as it was almost upon him, Reithe closed his eyes and hoped for the best.
The snowball swallowed him whole. The wailing and bleating sphere continued the race, getting faster and faster as it descended towards the river.
This was their agreed upon finish line for two reasons. Milka’s family’s dairy, which stood here, by the river, was the furthest the pair had gone in this direction.
And, the second, more pressing reason, was that between Shearford and this farm the road was straight - at least when looked at from above. When it came to a hill, it rose over it. When it came to a copse of trees, it ploughed through them. When it came to the river, it bridged over. That wasn’t true for the section of river that lay before the screaming white ball that grew with every passing second.
Milka’s farm marked the point at which the path curved, following alongside the river. This meant that Eoin, Reithe, and the gathering snow were headed straight for an open body of water - no bridge to save them from the icy liquid.
Both the man and his sheep were on the same page. As they rolled, they flailed desperately, trying to get their snowball’s trajectory to change. Unfortunately, although they were on the same page, they weren’t reading from the same book. Eoin strained to get them to move left of the path and into a cow barn. Reithe wiggled them over to the right, towards a pine tree.
Stolen story; please report.
Just as it looked like they were headed straight for the river, a damp beginning to what was supposed to be their manly adventure, fate intervened. The calm day was broken by a sudden gail which bowed the trees and scattered hay in the air. An empty cart was blown out into the middle of the road.
Backward, Eoin saw the hilly path - devoid of snow. Down, Eoin couldn’t see anything. Forward, a sudden cart appeared out of nowhere. There wasn’t even time for him to cry out before. Thump. Poof. Snow flew in all directions and Eoin and Reithe came to a very abrupt stop.
Though the world was spinning, Eoin thought he saw a flash of green in the corner of his eye, darting across the sky. Before he had the time to recognise it, he collapsed.
✯
For the third time in two days, Eoin found himself picking snow out of unwanted parts as he walked with his friend, down the unfamiliar path. Unlike the human, Reithe only needed to do a doggy shake and the white powder glode off, like an orphan down an oiled blanket.
“Did you see that?” Eoin asked with a surprising amount of exuberance for his sorry looking state.
Reithe gave him the side eye in a manner that Eoin inferred to mean, See What?
“Right as we were about to go into the river, that thing I told you about before - near the gap - it came back and moved the cart to save us!” Eoin exclaimed.
The ram snorted in dismissal.
“No, Really!” the young man insisted, “How else do you explain that sudden gust of wind? It came out of nowhere, and it's been completely calm the rest of the day - not so much as a light breeze.”
Reithe, being a creature of logic, only believed in what he could see, and he hadn’t caught sight of this strange, translucent, glowing green ball about the size of a fist that Eoin described. Still, the ram didn’t have an explanation for the miracle that stopped them from rolling into what may have been an icy death.
“You’re being stubborn. There’s more than enough proof at this point. You can’t simply brush me off as mad. This thing that I see and you do not - it's very much real,” Eoin went on, somewhat trying to convince himself.
Reithe, being a creature of reason, listened to his friend’s comments. Picking a blade of grass that had poked through the snowy blanket, Reithe began to chew as he mulled over the issue. When solving any problem, it was important that he first start by acknowledging any biases he may have. Was he biased?
The ram spat out his grassy snack grumply, before thinking better of it and plucking another. He was. Reithe wasn’t looking at this objectively. Magical wind spirits were the stuff of stories, told by beggars to entertain and maybe make a few pennies.
When he was still a lamb, Reithe had listened to such fairy tales and, filled with the exuberance of youth, had gone off with Eoin to search up and down the mountain for elementals, or spirits, or magical phenomena, or other such nonsense. They had never found anything.
Reithe could admit that, if something truly magical had appeared, his bitterness at not being able to see it would cloud his judgment.
Reflecting on the facts, Reithe couldn’t help but admit that Eoin’s explanation of events was the most likely. Having come to this conclusion, the ram let out a breath, turned to his friend, and nodded slightly.
Eoin, who had been waiting anxiously for Reithe, whooped with delight. With his friend having accepted his words, they could put their heads together and figure out what had happened.
The next few miles went by quickly. Although they had never been this far before, the terrain was much the same as they were used to and the novelty soon wore off. While walking along the frozen, muddy, and snow covered path, they engaged in a debate.
Simple words and phrases, the pair had signals for. Nodding one's head for yes, shaking for no, crossing the legs in an X to show ten, and many more. A more complex discussion about the mysteries of magic - widely thought to be fictional in Shearford - was a more difficult affair.
Eoin posed yes or no questions until Reithe’s opinion was finally teased out. After a lengthy back and forth, it was concluded that the creature Eoin had seen was, most likely, a wind elemental.
Although the stories of their kind painted them as anything from an angry storm to a seductive woman who blew kisses that granted good luck, there was simply nothing else the pair could think of that even vaguely matched the green ball(who had long since left and couldn’t be studied)’s description. As to why it helped them, they could only assume that it was returning the favour Eoin had apparently done in removing that black shard.
The only thing they were truly able to determine was that neither of them knew anything about magic. But that was fine in Eoin’s view, it gave them a goal. Something to learn whilst on this manly adventure. Reithe, on the other hand, was not pleased. He loved a puzzle, but only so long as he could solve it.
They walked for most of the day, stopped for a light lunch of oats and water, then continued on. They now found themselves in a patch of pine forest about a mile in width. Reithe was about to try and convey that unknown magical things following them might be dangerous and that they should be careful, when a rustling caught his attention.
The sun was about halfway down and, under the forest canopy, it was dark. Despite this, Reithe was able to catch a glimpse of something in a batch of bracken off to their right. That was all the ram needed for his instincts to kick in. Before he could think, Reithe rammed into a still speaking Eoin - forcing the air from his lungs and stopping him from going on about the possibility of pixies.
Reithe acted just in time. Seconds after Eoin was sent flying across the path, a wolf jumped out of the underbrush; pouncing right at the place where he would have been.
Eoin was momentarily stunned. He looked down and saw that there were two rips in his leather coat. He was about to chide Reithe, clearly the ram wasn’t used to his horn enhancements, but then he looked up and saw the fierce creature with its hackles raised, snarling at them.
In that eerie calm that sometimes results from a sudden shock, Eoin asked his wooly companion, “It’s two vs one, do we fight or flee?” He spoke in a soft voice, so as not to spook the beast who was slowly stalking towards the pair - furious that its first strike hadn't landed.
Reithe took in the situation in the space of a breath. Wolves were nothing new to the mountain dwellers, they would show up from time to time and hunt the sheep but were usually scared off by humans.
Eoin said there was only one but Reithe had seen them hunt. They never strayed far from their pack. Except, looking about, the ram couldn’t see any sign of other wolves and the one that was slowly pacing towards them hadn’t called for back up when its initial attack failed. Reithe wondered why?
He didn’t wonder for long, as the beast that was a head taller than the ram and coloured a dirty grey, jumped at the pair, and they dodged in opposite directions, Reithe got his answer. A fleck of spittle landed on his snout as the wolf streamed by. He followed the trajectory of the globule and saw, dripping from the creature's drawn back lips, a white, frothy foam. The thing was completely rabid!
Seeing this, Reithe knew there was only one option. Eoin was still waiting for a response so he decided to give him one.
Surprising both the wolf and the man, Reithe charged straight at his foe, not waiting for them to attack again. Although the wolf wasn’t expecting the move, and although its mind was addled by whatever disease had maddened it, it was still a wolf and far faster than a sheep. It pranced aside and was just about to pounce at Reithes exposed flank when something hard was shoved in its mouth.
The beast bit down on Eoin’s sheath, before shaking its head back and forth rapidly. The young man had tried to draw his sword but in the moment he was unable to undo the knot Michael The Blacksmith had tied. Determined to help his friend, Eoin shoved the still sheathed blade in the beast’s maw, blocking it from using its most dangerous weapon.
While he was still being shaken about by the manic wolf, and while Reithe was still turning around for another charge, Eoin had a brilliant idea. Drawing his knife from his belt, he stabbed at the beast. His aim was true and the wild thing released its bite, shooting back, blood dripping from its missing eye.
Just as the creature was about to unleash its fury on the young man, Reithe came, once more, to the rescue. His second charge struck true. The wolf was distracted by its anger at Eoin and didn’t see the ram as its metal capped horns punctured its side and ripped up. Reithe stood tall atop the creature, proud of his victory.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. All Eoin could hear was blood rushing in his ears. He straightened, lowering his weapons. The fight was over—
The beast surged to its feet, knocking Reithe away, and charging straight at Eoin. He tried to get the sword and knife in front of him to defend but there wasn’t time. Not familiar with fighting two-weaponed, the dagger slid along the sword's sheath as the wolf landed with its full weight on top of him, knocking the young man to the floor and causing him to stab himself in the lower arm.
Reithe scrambled to his hooves, cursing his arrogance and hoping he could make it to his friend in time. The wolf was atop him and its heavy paws held Eoin’s arms by his side and no matter how much he struggled he couldn’t get them free.
The beast snarled scornfully before opening its mouth wide enough to swallow the man’s head whole. Reithe was still three times his body’s length away from the interlocked fighters when the wolf leaned down - ready to deliver the coup de grâce. The ram's eyes widened and he let out a furious battle “Baaaa” as he pushed to stop the inevitable.
Eoin watched, helpless, as the hallowing, stinking teeth drew closer and closer. The pain of his fresh stab wound the only thing stopping panic from overcoming him. This was it, the end. He had just set out on his journey and already it was over. He closed his eyes, waiting for the cold embrace of death.
Death, as it turned out, wasn’t cold. It was warm. It felt like a slightly sticky and coppery smelling rain. Eoin opened his tightly screwed shut eyes, expecting to see the head of a feral beast but… There was no head.
Looking to his left, he locked eye with the wolf. Looking up, a fountain of blood continued to pour onto his face from the stump of its neck. Looking further up, Eoin could make out the shape of a very familiar green ball.
Blurring his vision was a black mist that seemed to spew from the corpse and felt just as slimy and as off putting as the shard that had been embedded in the elemental.
The green grew more bright and he felt more than heard it question, simply,
“You. Okay?”
Eoin had just enough strength to raise a hand in affirmation before darkness crept in rapidly from the edges of his vision and he fell into unconsciousness.