The wooden walking staff in Branu’s hands felt slippery.

“What? Now, son, I’m sure that’s not what happened, why don’t you tell me -”

“I buried her,” Vinthan cut in, still shivering, “I carried her to the outskirts, to the fields and buried her there. Others will come looking for me soon...”

He looked up at his father with glazed eyes.

“And I’ve brought them here,” he whispered, “I’m sorry Ava.”

Branu moved slowly to the back of the hut and did the simplest thing he could think of. He picked up a glass, dipped it in an earthen pot of water and drank from it. Then, refilling it, he shuffled back to the cot and dropped down on it next to Vinthan, silently offering the glass.

He took the glass almost automatically but didn’t drink from it.

Branu’s mouth was still slightly open in disbelief and confusion. His mind instinctively thought of Aima, who would have surely known what to say or do, with her quick wit. But she wasn’t here, and all his son had was him.

“Son… I don’t think I understand what you’re saying. Who are you talking about? Was it someone from our village? Who has come here with you? If you explain it to me slowly, I’m sure we can think through things calmly together, we can sort things out,”

Vinthan nodded and drank from the glass, gulping it down. He set it down and wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt and started talking in a low whisper.

“I borrowed money from some people in the city for… for an investment,” He licked his lips in hesitation and continued, “I lost it. Lost it all. I told them I would pay it back, but they wouldn’t listen.

“They said they could not lose face, an example would have to be made. I escaped, and ran, and hid… so many months spent hiding... Finally I came here, thinking I had lost them, but they still found me. I thought I was smarter than them, that I could cover up my tracks and hide myself with Light-casting, but she… the bounty hunter… she still found me…

“I took her by surprise. I don’t think I could have managed otherwise. I’ve never killed anyone before now. I thought it would be hard… but it was… it was so easy…” he shook with a manic laughter.

Vinthan looked up and spoke urgently now, “I didn’t mean to bring them here Ava! More of them will follow!”, he said as though realising it only now, suddenly. He looked out into the darkness, eyes wild with panic. Branu quickly placed a hand on his back to soothe him.

“I saw no one around the hut, or anyone unknown in the village, I would surely have noticed if anything was off,” he said in what he hoped was a calming voice.

Vinthan shook his head.

“You don’t understand. The Touch-Tellers who work for them… Ava, they are unimaginably strong. Stronger than even me. They can read the slightest hints of Touches, and once they have your signature they can trace your movements down to the last step, even if you never Touch again.”

He buried his head in his palms and clutched his hair.

“I’m sorry Ava,” he moaned.

Branu placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“How… how long do we have?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe a day, maybe two?” he rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think they sent more than one. I can move much faster than any of them, and she was the fastest they had. But more are sure to follow, and they will find me eventually. I can’t hide from them all…”

They spent an hour or more talking but Branu learnt only a little more about Vinthan’s situation. He still seemed reluctant to reveal more details about what he had been doing in the city. All he was clear about is that these were not people to be taken lightly.

Branu had heard enough horrors of life in the cities that the descriptions of his pursuers didn’t surprise him. To Branu, cities were magnets for the worst of humanity, nests of vipers, ready to prey on the innocent, and thugs like these would be aplenty there. But to think his own intelligent, capable son would fall to them…

He tried to talk about plans of escape, and where they might run to. But Vinthan seemed to think that nothing would work. He explained how he had already tried hiding, he said, spending all those months carefully covering up his tracks, and rarely using Touches. But it hadn’t worked: they had followed him all the way back to this remote place.

Eventually, Vinthan’s eyes started to close and his speech grew slurred.

“You said we have at least a day,” said Branu finally, attempting to force some confidence into his voice, “we can think of something. But first, you must rest, get your strength back”

Vinthan’s eyes snapped open. “No! I can’t afford-”

“You must! You will only make more mistakes if you try to plan in this condition! Listen to me, you are exhausted. Sleep for an hour, I will wake you when it’s time.”

Vinthan mumbled something, but his body started to droop. As though in a trance he laid his head down on the cot and closed his eyes.

Branu watched his son drift into an uneasy, mumbling sleep. He tried to think through his numbness and confusion. His first thought was to call for the police, but Panota, the local policeman, was a mere glorified watchman. Branu had little faith in his ability to handle something like this. In fact, he didn’t trust any of the other villagers in the least, his self-serving, mocking neighbours.This once at least Branu would have to protect his son himself, keep him hidden. But how? Vinthan was probably the strongest, smartest person he knew, and if even he was terrified of the unknown assailants, what could his weak father do?

He wasn’t skilled, didn’t know anybody of influence. He certainly wasn’t clever enough to develop any crafty plans. He was just an old fool who had let his son down by not setting better examples. He should have been more firm with the boy, put his foot down and ensured he had never left his sight. No… he had tried that. It was his stubbornness that had pushed him away. Maybe if he had been more accommodating and understanding, Vinthan would have come home long ago.

Seeing the dishevelled man sleeping on the cot, brought a choking sob to Branu’s throat. His little boy, his child had come back to him only to be taken away.

If only I had acted differently.

The weight of that thought crushed down on him. He felt the last few pages of his life turning, and he was helpless, ineffective to stop the inevitable end. All he could do was wait until the weight of the last leaf finally smothered him and his son.

And then, a thought slowly occurred to him: a dangerous, desperate thought.

Touch-Tellers, he had said, who would be able to track him down no matter where he went.

He turned and looked at the black outline of Mandarotta silhouetted in the starlight, the mountain’s peak dark and foreboding.

He might not be strong enough himself, but maybe there was another way.

Am I really foolish enough to believe in legends and demons? He asked himself. But he knew the answer. He had seen legends and demons with his own eyes. And they had once made him a promise.

The campfire flickered as Branu finished his meal and prepared for the ultimate leg of the journey. The sun was low in the sky and clung to the horizon, as though the day was reluctant to let it sink, eager to squeeze out every last drop of light before it plunged into night. Branu was of a similar mindset. He quickly put out the campfire, packed up and started walking again with some renewed vigour.

The trails at this height grew rockier and narrower. At points, the path shrunk to no more than a few feet in width, with one side turning into a perilous drop down the mountain side. Branu remembered walking up and down those treacherous paths so casually, with a basket balanced on his head. At that time, his feet had known every bump and pebble by memory, and he could have walked the mountain blindfolded..

But coming back up here after all those years reminded him how difficult it really was, made no easier by his age. In one aspect, this difficulty was a welcome distraction. Traversing the trail required all his attention, and kept fears, remorse and doubts away from his mind.

He passed the most difficult section just in time, as the last bit of twilight winked out, and breathed a sigh of relief. The remaining stretch would be a little easier, and could still be made in the dark. He fished out a rag cloth and a small bottle of oil and fashioned a makeshift torch using a tree branch. Setting it alight required just a pinprick of intense heat from his fingertip.

In the insufficient, yellow light, the winding path leading up to the Oldbone temple seemed to stretch on forever. Branu sincerely hoped the flame was enough to keep predators at bay.

Doubt started creeping back into his head. How was he going to find the stone creatures? Would they even be here, after decades of silence? And even if they were, what guarantee did he have that they would answer his call, that they would remember one dark night in a thunderstorm? In the end, was he going to be just another witless human venturing into the Oldforest at night?

Either way, it was too late to turn back now. Branu forcefully reminded himself why he had made this foolhardy choice. Vinthan waited for him back home, and his time was slowly running out. Yes, on second thoughts, it wasn’t a choice at all - it was the only way forward.

Branu walked on until he reached the cobblestones of the temple. It was the first time he had seen it in complete darkness. The firelight made it look unrecognisable from the old ruin he once used to shelter in. The pillars and fallen stone were cast into deep contrasts of black and yellow, into flickering, fleeting shadows. Here and there, Oldbone carvings gleamed white, like watching eyes.

From behind the despairing columns and disrepaired walls of the temple, another set of columns and walls rose up, towering into the night. Columns of wood and leaf, walls of green, foreboding bush and bramble - the Oldforest. The birthplace of all legend.

Branu went around the ruins, straight to the imposing lurk of the trees and beheld them in the torchlight. The trunks stood wide and strong, shoulder-to-shoulder, forming an ancient, living barrier between the mundane and a world of unknown myth, superstition and - hopefully - salvation.

He pushed forward through the bushes to a point where the gap between the trees was the widest. Brambles and branches clawed at his clothes, scraping his cheeks and knocking at his turban until the cloth unwound itself and fell untidily around his head. Branu panted heavily with the effort and pressed on. He called out to his imagined hosts.

“O Forest Lords! I have returned! Many years ago I protected one of yours, and you made a promise! I’m here to seek that favour now!”

The feeble torchlight made little impression on the darkness around him. He groped frantically with his free arm, pushing aside the thick foliage to squeeze ever forward. Around him things slithered, rustled and crackled. He dared not stop to think of anything other than his mission.

“Please heed me!” he shouted into the dark, “Won’t you keep your word, Masters of Stone, Keepers of the Old temple?”

His words fell upon the forest and disappeared without the slightest echo, as though the leaves were soaking up the sound, eating his voice as the forest swallowed him whole. Branu kept moving and shouting, aimless, directionless. There was no more any difference between forward and backward, left and right. All was equal, disorienting, crowded, dark. Branu kept at it until his legs were quivering, unable to keep up the pace. He breathed in ragged gasps through his mouth, his throat dry.

“Please,” he screamed hoarsely, through tears of exhaustion and desperation,

“Take my soul as payment and help me protect my child as I did yours!”

The final exertion proved too much.

His knees finally gave way and Branu fell to the forest floor in a grunt of pain. The torch rolled away and snuffed out, completing his immersion in the cold darkness.