Leth had lied. It wasn’t a small lie, or a white lie either. He’d had one of those short, yet infinitely mortifying moments of pride versus admitting ignorance. Pride had won.

Stupid, stupid, stupid pride. I’ve no idea of how to tame the Cwylla.

He listened to the calm clop, clop, clop, of Anggret’s hooves along the ancient road, hoping for a flash of inspiration, or even genius.

What I need is a miracle.

“Feeling anxious about your big day?” said Weard.

Leth exhaled a nervous laugh, “A little.”

“Don’t worry, there’s no way the Duke will track us here.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m not!”

“If you ramp up your enthusiasm another notch you’ll explode,” said Leth.

“But we’re on the home stretch! We’ll hit the Wúduwésten centre, have us a merry rain dance or three, with extra hand waving for good measure. You’ll slip the Cwylla back into its bindings and we can go home, drink the new cider, and stuff ourselves with wild boar sausages.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Should I tell him outright? Weard has the weirdest insights. Maybe he’ll know what to do. It means admitting a fault, but it’s also a chance to end this gnawing guilt.

It is so difficult. I am supposed to be the leader, the man in charge. The troop has supported me the whole way without putting me down or playing up. Admitting I’ve lied will end their trust and the little friendship I’ve managed to gather.

Perhaps I could try a different tack and squeeze a few answers out of Weard in the process.

Leth hunched forward. He felt tense, even his jaw hurt. He ran a conversation through his head where he told Elewýs she’d come back to her dead home and all the emotions it entailed for no purpose. He eyed the bow stave slung across her back. The imaginary conversation ended… poorly.

“Would you stick your heart in a rock and live for a thousand years and watch everyone you love die so people you’ve never met can live a normal life?” said Leth.

Weard looked away, “Ask me in a few centuries and I’ll let you know.” He sounded much less flippant than his words implied.

Maybe it’s one of his strange jokes.

“That’s not funny,” said Leth, “or helpful.”

“Really? Well, look at it this way. It’s impossible to even understand the question when an answer lies so far beyond a person’s comprehension. Think of it like a blind man trying to describe colour to an animal that sees only in black and white. No matter the conclusion of their conversation, they will fail to comprehend each other because they experience the world in such fundamentally different ways.”

“What’s your point?” said Leth.

“There is no point.”

“An insight is not supposed to be meaningless.”

“If you’re not going to reach an answer, why bother trying? Let it go.”

“Oh.”

“Worry about something a bit more tangible, like which of the two Misthliþ sisters is prettier.”

“Milde.”

“Really? I think Clæfre is better looking.”

“Well, I admit they’re both pretty, but Milde is definitely the better of the two.”

Weard’s face slowly split into a wide grin.

Leth realised he’d been completely fooled, “You got me. Different ways of seeing the world, right? I do have more than one way of looking.”

Weard laughed, “I thought I’d be able to drag that out longer.”

Leth couldn’t stop the small smile pushing its way out, “That’s smart.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“One last thing,” said Weard. “When you’re standing at the Cwylla, wondering what to do, don’t let the black tendrils take root. They’ll change you and not for the better.”

“You’re not making sense again,” said Leth, but Weard waved and trotted off.

Mystic arse.

Leth snorted. Anggret copied him.

“That’s right girl, I’m no better,” said Leth.

Talking to my horse. Perhaps I should follow Weard’s philosophy before I’m completely swamped by my inner turmoil.

Leth pulled some rope from his saddlebags and tied himself on. He twisted round. Behind him, Péton was peering at the vegetation on either side of the road, looking more and more distressed every time he rode past something edible, without having the time to pick it.

As he passed a patch of oversized hallucinogenic mushrooms he leaned out of his saddle and nearly fell from his horse as he tried to grab a handful.

“Ow! Bugger. Missed them,” said Péton. He rubbed his thighs and licked his fingers, “They’d have made the soup much more interesting.”

Leth shuddered, Next time I eat one of Péton’s dishes I’ll double check the ingredients.

“Can you keep an eye on me?” said Leth.

Panic flashed across Péton’s face, then disappeared, “You taking a nap?”

Leth pointed up, “Something like that.”

Péton’s eyes widened, “How do I get you back?”

“Hit me.”

“You should ask Cempa.”

“When I return, I’d like to return conscious.”

Péton nodded, “I’ve just the thing in one of my leather tubes.”

I don’t want to know the details.

Leth closed his eyes. He took several slow breaths. His sore jaw and cramped shoulders receded. Leth drifted from his body as his horse carried it forward. The world blossomed with exotic colours.

A gentle yellow mist billowed across the ground. Every leaf, branch, and blade of grass was veined with gold. Puffs of blue and brown rose from the vivid vegetation and into the sky. He peered between the trunks, where thousands upon thousands of wisps frolicked in the shadows like fireflies.

Leth floated in front of Weard and flicked his ear. He didn’t even twitch.

Perhaps Weard can’t see magic after all.

Leth drifted to the front of the column and waved at Elewýs. She froze. Elewýs opened and closed her mouth a few times.

“Leth?”

He nodded.

“What are you doing?”

He mimed walking with two fingers and pointed at the clouds.

“You’re walking in the sky?”

Leth nodded again.

“Can I do that?”

He shrugged and shook his head.

“Will you show me how?”

He really shouldn’t, he was in no position to teach anyone anything, but Leth already knew he would try. It would be nice to have someone share his interest beyond confused and polite questions.

Leth nodded, pointed at the sun and drew an arc with his finger across the sky.

“Later?” said Elewýs.

Leth nodded again. His foot brushed against the Feorhhord Gimcynn embedded in the road.

“I’ll look forwa-”

Leth missed the rest as he was ripped into the earth and swept along the road. He panicked and tried to hold himself back from the flow. He stopped immediately. It was more of a shock than being dragged off in the first place.

Leth checked his hand. A small blue thread was tied to his index finger. His ring was working. I still have a way back.

Leth dipped his big toe into the yellow stone. This time, he let himself be pulled forward. Trees flashed by in silence, making the light flicker as though he were blinking extremely fast.

This is great!

A minute later he shot into the sky, thrust out of the ancient conduit by a milestone.

The sun shone through him. Feeling it should warm yet experiencing no heat was a bizarre sensation. Far behind him, the troop rushed towards the huge, fog filled crater. They’d reach it by sunset. He yawned. It had no effect.

I suppose there are some benefits to breathing.

Leth stared back the way they’d come.

Riders, pressing forward, two abreast, at speed. I knew the Heoruwearg died when the stone melted. That yellow puddle and grey lump of flesh were nasty. I wish it had delayed the Duke for longer.

He paused.

Should he ride the Feorhhord Gimcynn road and spy on them? Unless Hewelin Guntard has been killed by the Heoruwearg, I’ll be spotted.

Leth shuddered, splintering the light passing through him into several colours.

I don’t want to face someone who could kill that thing. Returning is safer, but what am I to tell the troop?

Leth glided back as fast as he could, his confidence draining with every yard. With the enemy approaching, he wouldn’t have time to prod and poke around the Cwylla, let alone wait for a miracle.

I’ll tell them about the Duke. We’ll have to run again, but at least I don’t have to pretend to know all the answers if we flee elsewhere, or I claim my plan for the Cwylla will take too long to implement.