Chapter 5
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Making Friends
Far above the world of Gaius, sitting on nothing and warming by an everburning flame, I watched the boy, Eoin, with rapt attention. I had been resting here in my feline body, spying on the part of me that chose to live a mortal life with none of my knowledge or power and, for years, it had been boring. Now, I thought as my tail swatted away a rock that had somehow ended up in orbit, everything was happening at once.
Eoin, the man in which a part of my soul resided, had found and befriended a wind elemental - and not a young one either. To have that level of cognizance it must be at least several hundred years old. As always, the exact knowledge of that particular elemental’s entire life floated at the edge of my mind as soon as my attention turned towards it but I ignored the information. It was no fun watching something when you knew so much about every variable that you could almost certainly see what would happen next.
With the blood of that wolf soaking into him, Eoin would no doubt suffer from the demonic taint that had driven it so desperately mad. That was, of course, if the human me could survive his self-inflicted injuries.
The cut on his left arm was not incredibly serious, but if not tended to he would bleed out. I relaxed in my heavenly perch when I saw Reithe, his companion, pull off the man’s second best scarf and wrap it tightly around the wound; stopping the bleeding. Eoin would survive. I settled in to witness the aftermath.
It took longer than I expected for him to come to. By which time, much had happened. Reithe, the dutiful and caring companion, had removed the wolf’s body from on top of Eoin - dragging the carcass into the woods. He then lay next to Eoin, keeping his friend warm.
The wind elemental, being a fickle and temperamental creature, only waited a short while before floating away. Although Reithe couldn’t see it, he watched the ripple in the pine needles as what he assumed to be Eoin’s saviour fluttered through them.
Though he was grateful to the elemental, he was also cautious of something that could decapitate a highland wolf with a completely invisible blade. He let out a breath of relief when the wind swept away, off through the forest.
By the time Eoin finally awoke, the great blue sun which illuminated Gaius was setting. What little sky that could be seen through the needly canopy of the pine forest was a dark and foreboding purple.
Eoin’s first thought was not of the wind elemental that had just saved him, it was not of the wolf that had been smothering, it wasn’t even of his ram friend. When Eoin came round, his first thought was seized by the pain which gripped tightly his left forearm.
“Ahh,” the young man let out through clenched teeth as he tried to sit up. Reithe, who had been cuddled up next to him on the path, shot up when he heard his friend’s pained outburst. With the air of a mother hen, the ram looked Eoin over trying to ensure that, besides the injury, the man was alright.
Once the pain had subsided, and he had assured the ram that all would be okay, Eoin set right to work finding a place to spend the night. Reithe objected, but Eoin knew the first thing he should figure out was shelter.
After a few minutes of stumbling through a darkening forest, Eoin found the perfect spot. A rocky hillside created an overhang that was so great the snow hadn't managed to intrude. It was protected from two directions and if Eoin had the time or strength, he would have covered the third with fallen branches. Thankfully, the wind came from one of the protected sides, so it wasn’t too much of a concern.
Eoin, tired of Reithe’s constant fussing, sent the ram out to gather firewood whilst he cleared the ground in preparation. Eoin’s task was over much quicker, so he used the extra time to open his new bag and look for anything that might be useful.
Whilst he searched, he gulped down his waterskin. Eoin had only intended to take a small sip, but as soon as the cold liquid touched his lips he realised just how thirsty he was; two thirds were gone in seconds. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to reserve some for what must come next.
When Reithe returned, a mouth full of fallen wood, he got to witness Eoin with his makeshift scarf-bandage removed and blood covering the injury he was so intensely focusing on. In a moment of panic, Reithe dropped the logs, but it only took another second of watching for him to realise that Eoin was stitching up the wound.
The ram had seen his friend use that bone needle and gut to occasionally help one of the sheep that was stupid enough to get badly hurt. Eoin heard the noise of falling wood and looked up, nodded at his friend, then grimaced as he returned to the painful work.
By the time he was done cleaning, stitching, and bandaging the bloody but straight stab wound, courtesy of the supplies his father had been thoughtful enough to pack, the sun was almost set. Although Eoin’s hand was painful, now that it was properly tended to, he discovered that nothing had been seriously damaged. His arm may be slightly weaker but it could still move as normal.
Using this repaired arm, Eoin set to work starting a fire. The task was practiced and, even injured, he was able to accomplish the feat with little effort. His coat was damaged and still needed mending but that could wait a day, Eoin was too tired.
The nightly snows began as soon as the sun fully disappeared beyond the horizon, as if they had been waiting. The fire was roaring away, a pot filled with leftover potatoes frying in some lard within, and when Eoin had wrapped himself up in his wool blanket, the pair finally got to talking.
The heavy silence that lay between them was broken by the occasional question. Reithe “Baa’ed in such a way that expressed concern. Eoin assured him everything was fine, though both could tell something was wrong.
Eoin voiced his thoughts, “Should we go back?” he asked, somewhat hopeless. Reithe didn’t answer immediately, true to his nature - he took the time to think it over. Ensuring he knew why Eoin was asking this, the ram posed a question of his own.
Was this because of the wolf attack? Of course, actually getting Eoin to understand what he was asking was a game in charades that the pair was, by this point, quite used to.
When Reithe finally got the affirmative he had been expecting, he went on to convey that, this was nothing more than a freak occurrence. A mad wolf was a rarity but it wasn’t like people hadn’t encountered them before. It was just as likely to have happened here as it was on the farm back home.
Eoin agreed with his friend's conclusion, although he had posed the question it was more out of concern for Reithe. Sheep were the natural prey of wolves after all. No one in Shearford had ever returned from their journey early and he didn’t know if he could bear the shame being the first would bring.
Eoin’s spirits rose as he turned the conversation to the wind elemental that had saved him. He was eager to learn more about the thing. Reithe, on the other hand, seemed rather uncomfortable when talking about it. Eoin pressed and discovered that, despite the fact the wind elemental had saved him, Reithe had felt a sinister feeling that started right after it had attacked the wolf.
Reithe asked if it was anything to do with the thick black smoke he recalled steaming up from the dead wolf, shortly after its death but that appeared to be yet another thing the ram couldn’t see, much to his annoyance.
They continued talking, and miming. The conversation drifted to more pleasant things. They spoke of pranks they had pulled, adventures they had had on the mountain, and the scoldings they had gotten for the aforementioned. Both Eoin and Reithe laughed as they remembered and their minds were put at ease.
After a filling meal and a well deserved dessert of honey on toast, the pair snuggled together for warmth and drifted off to sleep.
Despite the content mood Eoin had found himself in at the time of his departure to the land of Nod, his dreams were not good. It wasn’t the strange vision of birth that had come to him on the night he turned seventeen, but was equally disturbing.
It started in a world that was covered by a thick red fog. Larva rose in geysers and pillars of basalt emerged from nowhere. The earth here was barren, not even a poppy could grow. Something plucked the body that wasn’t his own from this hellish place and threw it at a big blue ball that seemed to float in nothingness.
The sphere grew closer and closer and closer, until it filled Eoin’s entire view. It was impossibly big. A white fog cleared and, when he was on the other side, he found he was falling towards an island from miles above. It took Eoin a moment, but once he recognised the shape of the wooly mountains he knew this vision was of Caorah.
Before he could strike the ground and no doubt wake in a start, Eoin was plucked from the air by a strong, clawed hand. Looking along it to the owner of the deadly instrument, Eoin found the scariest creature he had ever seen.
Large, bat-like, skin-covered wings emerged from its back and spanned more than a pine tree’s length from tip to tip. Taught red skin, the colour of arterial blood, gripped tightly onto the muscular frame of the giant figure.
From the waist down, this bipedal thing was covered in thick black scales that glinted in the blue white light of the sun. Grey, hawk-like talons took the place of feet and the hand that gripped Eoin by the back of the neck played host to strong claws that would be able to gut a horse.
Looking up, Eoin saw the face of the beast that had captured him. It was almost human, in a perverse sort of way. The ears were pointed, and one was half missing. Two giant, twisting, black horns emerged from its head. The teeth were bucked and bedraggled and each came to jagged points. It had no hair, save for the eyebrows whose fiery anger seemed to sear Eoin’s soul.
It spoke in a language that the human couldn’t understand but that sounded like a mixture of barks, howls, and screams. It waited for an answer but Eoin was frozen in fear. It shook him about wildly then asked again.
Eoin tried to reply, he tried to say that he didn’t understand what was going on, where he was, or what was happening.
Nothing happened. He couldn’t say a word. The eyes which he peered through were not his own, and neither was the mouth. It was as if he had possessed another.
The great terror looked about to cast Eoin’s host away, leaving him to fall to his fate, when it caught sight of something. It peered hard at Eoin, trying to see.
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Just as strands seemed to be emerging from the invisible to the visible, much as the wind elemental had when Eoin first saw it, the creature stopped whatever it was doing and they disappeared once more.
Eoin thought he was safe, but then it looked straight at him. Not at the body he was seeing through, but at him. It laughed, the sound a mix between the yelps of a dying dog and a mountain collapsing.
It spoke, but this time it was a word that he did understand. The voice was harsh but whispered. It said, “Eoin.”
✯
With a start, Eoin awoke. He shot out of the blanket and straight to his feet. With wild eyes he looked around, expecting to see the monster. His good hand wandered around in the dawn light, looking for its sword. It found something behind him that he wasn’t expecting.
Panicked, the young man spun, only to find Reithe, right in position to wake him up and looking disappointed that he had done so on his own. Once the ram saw the look on his friend’s face however, that disappointment morphed into concern.
It took Eoin a good few moments of frantically searching the campsite, before he realised it had been a dream. Reithe “Baa”ed questioningly.
“It’s alright,” Eoin reassured, after he got his heart rate under control, “It was just a dream.” The words didn’t settle Reithe’s mind so he pressed for more details.
Eoin relayed what he could recall but the memory was fading fast and it had soon slipped away. He rubbed at his chest, the place where he had felt a connection with the beast, as he spoke.
Once Reithe heard the story, he was at a loss as to what to Baa. If this had happened a few days ago he would have dismissed it as a nightmare but with all that was going on, he didn’t know anymore.
The ram stayed quiet as Eoin shook off the experience and started breaking camp. The young man looked down at his torn coat, fingered the holes, and decided it could wait until they set camp tonight. The sun had already risen and daylight hours were short in the winter.
They set off once more. In an effort to inject some of their prior levity back into the journey, Eoin started a game of eye spy. Eoin spied a pine tree. As they left the wooded section and returned to the hilly terrain, Reithe spied a clear sky. Eoin spied a falcon and Reithe spied a sheep.
Despite being more than a day away from home, neither spied another person. No one traveled this deep into the winter. There were the occasional farmsteads but all were well back from the path. Some homes were out of sight entirely, hidden by snow in this winter wonderland. The only evidence of their existence, the smoke that rose from their chimneys.
The pair’s mood went through stages. At first, they were on edge, ready for another attack. Eoin kept his good hand on the pommel of his sword, a sword that he had untied not long after the fight. He intended to get someone to teach him how to use it as soon as they made it to a town. The injury on his left arm was a painful reminder of how little he knew of fighting.
Once they had relaxed slightly, the game started to have its intended effect and spirits rose. They saw more than they had expected. Although it looked much like the foothills below Shearford, there were subtle differences. The hills were, on the whole, smaller and they could see further. There was more farmland and less livestock and the river which they still followed was too large to cross.
Eventually, the novelty wore off and they became bored. Still, they walked on, half heartedly spying things as they did. Just as Eoin was about to give up, he spied white rapids. The river was squished in on itself as it pushed down through rock and the water moved with such ferocity that he could hear it a mile away.
They took some time to marvel at the treacherous natural occurrence, sitting by it and having a lunch of oats. Eoin refilled his waterskin and then they pressed on.
The path diverged from the river as it tunneled through a gorge with no room either side for pedestrians, let alone the carts that occasionally came this far out. Following the road, they found themselves climbing a hill, far steeper than any of the others. Reithe wanted a race to the top and even though Eoin knew he’d never win, he agreed.
With heart pumping, and a chill nipping at his ears and nose, Eoin made it to the peak of what turned out to be the last of the hills. Reithe was already at the top though he didn’t turn to mock Eoin as he usually would. The sight before him took the ram’s entire attention.
A sprawling flatland of water and mud sprawled out before them. The river, far to their left, fell straight into this at great speed. Pooling up, then meandering its way through several smaller paths that criss crossed this bog.
Hoofstuck Marsh was larger than he had expected and, even from atop the hill, Eoin could smell it. Only on the horizon could he see the land rise once more and he knew beyond those far hills was the ocean.
There was supposed to be a village in the marsh where reeds were cut for houses but with the blue sun’s reflection on the pools of water, and more immediately Reithe’s horn caps, he couldn’t see it.
After Reithe had bloodyed them in the battle, he had relentlessly polished them on the bracken, and Eoin had to admit he had done an outstanding job. They looked as good as new.
Once they had done drinking in the wondrous new sight, Eoin proposed a race back down the hill and into the marsh, that way he would have a chance of winning. Reithe vehemently rejected the notion and reminded Eoin of what his father had said:
“Ye should never, I mean never, leave the path when ye enter Hoofstuck. The path’s the only safe way through. Ye step anywhere else and ye’ll sink down into the depths of the earth never to be seen again.”
Eoin still seemed eager for a second competition until Reithe reminded him of how the last downhill race had gone. This time, they wouldn’t plunge into a potentially deadly river but sink into a definitely deadly marsh and here there weren't even any people who they could call to for help.
Eoin was sure the wind elemental was somewhere, watching them, and would likely help out in the unlikely event of another snowball incident. He didn't voice this thought, however, as Reithe didn’t seem to trust it for some reason, and was set on being extremely careful through this bog.
So, they set off at a slower and more cautious pace. Once they had lost the high ground, it would have been nearly impossible to tell which area was the snowy path and which was disguised, sucking mud, if not for the cairns that had been built every few hundred paces. Following a straight line from one to the next, they found their footing sure, not sinky.
As the sun passed its zenith, a fog began rolling in. Eoin was used to low hanging clouds covering the mountain and at first he thought, This fog is nothing, I can even see the next two cairns. And while he was correct, the visibility through this fog was far greater than the clouds he was used to, he hadn’t understood the eerie effect it added to the marsh.
Clouds on the mountain passed in no time, one just had to wait. Here however… Toads creaked, insects buzzed, water dripped, all of it heard, none of it seen. Reithe and Eoin unconsciously began walking closer together.
Despite the constant sound, the still mist lent a quality of sedation to the marsh. Amongst all this life there was an air of death.
A shiver went down their spines at the sucking sound that came from out in the bog. Two heads spun to look in that direction. They waited, Eoin’s hand gripped tightly on his hilt. Nothing happened, so they relaxed slightly and continued.
Every so often a new sound, the cracking of a twig, the squelching of mud, or small feet running across a puddle of water, would capture their attention; each time they would wait to see if anything would come of it. Nothing ever did.
Even so, the tension in the party rose with each new unidentified disturbance. A feeling of foreboding had taken root and nothing they could do would dislodge it. They tried starting another game to ease the mood but all attempts sputtered out with little effect.
A sound, like the exhaled cry of some long dead creature, came from directly in front of them. Again, the pair froze, waiting to see if anything would happen. Again, nothing did.
Eoin gulped down his fear and pressed on. Something besides the whiteness of snow emerged on the edge of the mist. The pair stopped. The black lump didn’t move. It hadn’t come from the fog, they had simply moved close enough to see it.
Eoin drew his sword and Reithe got ready to ram as they approached the object. As more details resolved themselves, Eoin thought it might just be one of the cairns, fallen on its side.
That was until it moved. They stopped, watching the dark mound. Every second or so it would rise and fall in a rhythmic fashion. A sound like air blowing through a crevasse came from it in time with its movements.
Finally, Eoin caught sight of a face. “It’s a person!” he exclaimed, dropping his sword and rushing to the figure’s side. Reithe was so shocked by his friend’s recklessness that he wasn’t able to stop him.
Thankfully, instead of turning into the horrid swamp creature the ram had feared, it appeared to genuinely be a human boy, a young man about Eoin’s age. Reithe picked up the sword by its handle and trotted over to his concerned friend. With a disapproving snort he dropped it by the young man.
Eoin barely noticed the sheep’s discontent as he sheathed the weapon. In the short time it took Reithe to come over, he had already checked to see if this young man was okay.
His pale skin was clammy and covered in sweat. His breathing was hoarse and ragged. He looked gaunt and whatever Eoin did he wouldn’t wake. He wore all black, as if he had been at a funeral. His clothes were thin, not suited for the time of year. Despite this, the stranger wasn’t cold; it burned Eoin’s hand to touch him.
Eoin looked down at the straight black hair that matched the colour of the ill man’s attire. He looked at Reithe questioningly but the ram only shrugged. It was up to him what to do.
Eoin peered out through the mist. He called, trying to see if this man was alone. It appeared he was; no one answered. Looking down the path, at the next cairn, the young man could just make out a ring of stones.
These were used to mark out safe spaces to camp and the pair had passed two of them already. As well as using rocks to show the areas that had solid ground, someone had planted small shrubs and bushes that would guard against the wind and could be used as firewood.
Without a second thought, Eoin chose to help this stranger - it was how he had been raised. Do unto others as you would have done unto yourself. With great effort, the continuous young man heafted the unconscious man over his shoulder and started towards the campsite.
Eoin wasn’t particularly tall, though he wasn’t short. That said, this man was well above average height. His slender body, when draped over Eoin, nearly touched the ground with both his feet and fingers.
Despite the short but jostlesome journey to the campsite, this newcomer still didn’t wake. Though there were still a few hours of daylight left, they weren’t moving fast in this fog, so it didn’t hurt to set camp now.
Before long, there was a fire raging. Eoin wrapped the feverish man in his blanket but didn’t think that would be enough. Reithe suggested they use a trick a wandering man-at-arms had taught them, when he was in the village of Shearford. He did this by beginning to dig a person length trench.
Eoin quickly caught on to what his friend was doing. First the snow was removed. Then the earth was dug up and set to one side. The fire was built up nice and big; Reithe saw some small amount of colour return to the sleeping man’s face.
Once much of the inferno had died down, the still hot charcoal was used to fill the pit then a thin layer of dirt was placed back on top. They moved the sickly man over the warm earth and the change was immediate; his breathing eased and he seemed to fall into a less fitful sleep.
When the pair made dinner, Eoin had an idea he thought might help this stranger. Placing the glass bottle of wine he had got for his birthday next to the fire, he waited till it was perfectly warm.
With a teaspoon, he ladled nearly a full glass into the ill man drop by drop. With each mouthful his condition seemed to improve further but still, he would not wake.
Somewhat disappointed, Eoin recorked the bottle and set it down beside the man before returning to the fire. After a supper of bread and cheese, Eoin returned his attention to his torn coat.
Reithe watched through half lidded eyes as Eoin set about mending by firelight. The sun had set by this point and the ram could see that the boy was struggling.
Like any proper man, Eoin had been taught how to sew and would always keep a sewing kit on him along with; a knife and at least one Tri-Tunnag. Despite this, and the fact he was a dab hand at stitching up wounds, he wasn’t actually all that good at sewing.
He struggled as he tried to recall how this particular type of strong but invisible stitch was supposed to go. Eventually, he just chose to put the needle over the thread and hope for the best.
“Under, it should go under,” a dry and weak voice said from directly behind him before he could pull the thread tight.
“Thanks,” Eoin replied absently before correcting his mistake. A second passed, then it set in; he didn’t recognise that voice. Spinning in his seated position, Eoin found the man he had rescued snuggled into his blanket and holding the half empty wine bottle in his hand as he watched him work.