Maric was in a poor mood when he woke in the morning. He was relieved that Jacques had survived the night, more relieved that he had thought he would be. Though he would never admit it to anyone, when the boy woke in the middle of the night, Maric nearly wept with relief. Knowing that Jacques would be fine, he was able to sleep for the rest of the night. However, sleep did not come as readily as he had hoped.

The nightmares were back. There was no denying them now. It’s been years since he’s been plagued with them. They were the only things he remembered about his past, if they were even about his past. That was the whole mystery, he couldn’t remember anything from before five years ago. All that he could were the nightmares that plagued him for months in the beginning until suddenly disappearing altogether.

But, three nights ago, the night he spent with Fabienne, they came rushing back. Maric hadn’t a night’s peace since then.

Maric thought about waking the boy, but Jacques needed another day’s rest at least. It was fine by him. He never got to settle down long in one place and Samuel’s farm had a beauty to it that reminded him of the Boucher’s farm. The sun was inching its way up across the sky casting the surrounding fields in bright gold. It was idyllic now that it was no longer overrun with basilisks.

Maric took in a deep breath. He could settle somewhere like this place, work the land, marry a country lass, and fatten her up with children. He smiled wryly to himself. Maybe in another life.

He heard the front door of the house creak open but didn’t turn. Jacques was awake and up on his feet, which was another good sign of his recovery. Another day or two of rest and the boy would be ready to continue on his journey home. Maric frowned at the thought. He was beginning to enjoy having company on the road. It was nice to talk to someone besides his horse (if he was lucky to have one) and, an added bonus with Jacques, to listen to the soft strumming of the lute at night before bed.

It will be lonely without Jacques. But, after what happened the day before, Maric knew Jacques would be a danger to both of them. In more ways than one.

***

Maric watched as Jacques slumped low in his saddle. They had been riding for the rest of the morning and most of the early afternoon and it was hours still until sunset.

“Let’s make camp,” Maric said, annoyed with himself and Jacques. The boy needed more rest, but at hearing Maric’s command, Jacques sat up straighter in his saddle, his shoulders squared.

“It’s still early,” Jacques replied, his voice resolute. Maric frowned. The boy was stubborn and Maric feared that he would keep riding until he fell out of the saddle unconscious. He was a fool. Maric was too, but he didn’t readily admit it to himself. He allowed himself to be baited by the boy, to lash out in anger. And, now he was putting both of their lives in danger. If they were attacked by man or beast or something else entirely… Maric didn’t finish the thought. It was best to get them off the road.

“We’re stopping,” Maric said as he rode up alongside Jacques and took his reins. Jacques didn’t fight him, his hands barely gripping the reins. Maric inhaled sharply when he saw the paleness of the boy’s face and the perspiration on his forehead. The shadows under his eyes made him look owlish. Without another word, Maric led Daffodil off the road and into the woods.

***

Rose fell asleep the moment they finished setting up camp in a small clearing next to a slow moving stream. When she woke again, it was late in the evening, and Maric was roasting trout over an open fire. The smell was intoxicating and she slowly made her way to Maric.

He didn’t say anything when he cut her off a thick slice of toasted bread and cheese and placed the tender white flesh of fish on top of it. She nodded in thanks and ate. It was soon gone and replaced with the same. She ate three before she felt full and relatively recovered.

“I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble,” she began. She knew that she needed to mend the fences between them, otherwise Maric would never let her stay with him. Rose still did not understand why she felt this compulsion to remain in his company. She thought it was because of the ballad she desperately wished to write, or the future she was avoiding, but then she would catch herself staring at him as if entranced.

Maric looked up from his own meal but said nothing. She continued, “But, I am not going home. There is no home to go to you see.”

“No mother or father?”

“No, they died a few years ago.” That part of the lie was easy to tell, after many years of practice doing so to every person she met. It was Athena who helped her craft her false past as the son of farmers whose parents died tragically in a fire. Fires happened often enough that no one would question her story. “Afterwards, I traveled with a troupe of performers, musicians, singers, dancers, the whole lot.”

“Gypsies.”

“Yes and, for the past couple of years, they became my family.”

“Where are they now?”

Rose shrugged. Athena said they were heading south for the winter, perhaps setting up camp outside one of the larger towns that could accommodate them. But, nothing was ever written in stone as long as you lived on the road. They could be anywhere and Rose did not expect to meet them again. Even though they parted amicably, Athena thought it was a huge mistake on Rose’s part to go it alone. But, Rose did not tell Athena what she had planned.

“Why did you leave them?”

“I needed to do something new, something different. And, that is why being with you is so important to me.”

Maric stilled, one hand holding a wineskin halfway up to his mouth. “It is not what you think,” Rose added quickly, her face flushed. “I can’t seem to describe it.”

Maric drank from the wineskin and handed it to Rose. She drank and was surprised to find it full of wine, dark and rich. She took a few more gulps before handing it back. Her body warmed as she felt the wine rush through her.

“I think I understand.” He hesitated, as if debating about how much he wanted to say, before continuing. “I left the only home I knew myself four years ago.”

“Your family?” Rose was instantly curious. Even though they have been together for the past few days, neither of them have spoken about their pasts. She had imagined Maric born as he was now straight from the ground. She could hardly imagine this dour man as a child.

“Not by blood, but more family to me than anything I can remember.”

Rose frowned. That was an odd way to phrase it.

“The Bouchers took care of me after an accident, or I believe it was an accident. I stayed with them for several months.”

“What happened?”

Maric paused again, this time for longer. Rose was unsure he would speak again until he did. “I don’t remember. I lost my memory. Pierre Boucher found me on the riverbank, half drowned, while he was out fishing. Him and his wife, Margot, nurtured me back to health. I was bedridden for weeks. And, it took many more to recover my strength.”

“So, you don’t know who you really are?” Rose said, before snapping her mouth shut. What was she thinking? A pained look passed over Maric’s face.

“No. For the past couple of years I hoped someone would recognize me. But, alas, no luck. I must have been a nobody.”

“Perhaps that is best. A new identity for a new beginning.” Rose wanted to confess it all to Maric right then and there. That he was not alone in being someone he was not. But, Rose kept her mouth shut. If he wanted to send her away as Jacques, he would certainly send her away as Rose.

***

As the fire began to burn down and their stomachs full, Rose felt drowsy as she strummed gently against the lute. Maric seemed to appreciate the music as he said nothing, but sat silently and listened. He watched her intently, but Rose pretended not to notice. When she paused to take down some notes of the melody she played, Maric cleared his throat.

“Tomorrow, we will begin our journey south.” Rose sat up, dropping the quill.

“We? So you will let me join you?”

“I don’t think I have any say in the matter,” he grumbled. “But, yes, I expect you to join me one way or the other, so you might as well know my plan. The constable in Pine Hollow told me a rumor of attacks on small farms and villages in the outskirts of the Valenris. More so, I believe it not to be rumors at all.”

“You heard more?”

Maric shook his head. “I can feel something dark growing there. Something powerful.” Maric stood and kicked dirt on the fire until it died. A chill swept through the woods, causing all the hairs on her arm to stand. It wasn’t wise to keep a fire lit in the woods during the night. Who knows who would come across them while they slept? A group of bandits would be just as bad as a curious bear.

Rose swallowed. Though, she couldn’t imagine anything more dangerous and evil than the basilisks.

“We should bathe before it gets too cold,” Maric said looking up at the sky. Their campsite for the night was in a clearing near a large stream, the same where Maric caught the trout. He began stripping off his leather armor and Rose quickly turned away.

Maric stood across from her naked and looked at her quizzically. “We may not have a chance again for a long while. There will be no hot baths on the road.”

“No, no, I will be fine,” Rose replied stammering. She turned herself away. She could hear Maric splashing around in the water and only turned back when he was standing waist deep. Rose bit her lip. The water had looked inviting. It had been days since her last bath, and she was still sticky with blood from the basilisk fight. Her hair was matted with grease. And, she knew she smelled sour with stale sweat.

Rose picked up her lute again and began to play as she watched Maric from the corner of her eyes. His shoulders were wide and well muscled. Her eyes trailed down his broad chest to his waist. She bit her lip imagining what laid just below the water.

She looked up to find Maric looking at her with one eyebrow raised. Rose quickly turned away and plucked randomly at her lute, causing a cacophony of twangs to resonate through the woods. Maric splashed some more as he bathed and after a few moments Rose worked up the courage to look again.

She gasped out loud at the sight of his back, which was lined with deep scars that criss crossed its entirety.

***

Maric heard Jacques gasp out loud and knew that he had seen the scars. Maric had spent endless hours wondering about their origin, but also thankful that he could not remember. They were red and purple and not an attractive sight. Once, a girl at a brothel even ran screaming out of the room when he undressed. Maybe this would finally deter the boy’s interest, Maric thought wryly.

With his broken nose and the long scar on his face, Maric knew he was not a handsome man. Sometimes, he would stare at his reflection in the mirror and wonder if there ever was one underneath the scars and his broken nose. Fabienne found him attractive enough to invite him into her bed, as did many others whenever he had the urge to, but Maric wondered if this was his true face. He had been travelling the roads for years and no one seemed to recognize him.

“What happened to you?” Jacques asked. Maric turned to see the boy staring at him wide-eyed. The boy, Maric thought, on the other hand was quite handsome, even beautiful. He would never have trouble getting girls to tumble with him in bed. But, from what Maric gathered, it wasn’t girls that interested Jacques.

Suddenly, Maric felt self conscious under the boy’s steady gaze.

“I cannot remember and am glad of it.” But, that was not entirely true. He was glad that he could not remember the pain. Maric gritted his teeth. The nightmares… they had something to do with the scars, but whenever he thought of them, his head began to hurt. Maric stepped out of the stream and reached for his clothes. Even though he was still wet, he pulled on his trousers.

He felt fingers lightly touching his back and he turned to find Jacques standing there, his fingers gingerly tracing the scars.

“They are deep. They must have been very painful,” Jacques said, his eyes turned up at Maric. They were filled with unshed tears and Maric gripped Jacques’s shoulder, pushing him away.

“They are not your concern,” he whispered harshly. “I am not your concern.”

***

By the evenness of Maric’s breathing and the slow rise of his chest, Rose knew that Maric was asleep. She laid there thinking about Maric’s scarred back. Something terrible happened to him and it pained Rose that he did not know what it was. Perhaps, he was a soldier captured by the enemy? A runaway slave? Whatever his past was, maybe it was best forgotten as he said. He may be happier without the memory. And, as he said, it was none of her concern.

Rose sighed and quietly she sat up and tiptoed away from the camp. She was glad the moon was out, which made the trip down to the stream much easier. She paused for a moment when she thought she heard something moving to her left, but when she heard nothing more, she kept walking.

Rose removed her vest and pulled the tunic over her head. As quietly as possible, she began to unravel the bandages around her chest. She breathed a sigh of relief once freed. Her breasts were numb and she massaged them gently. She felt the blood tingle them back to life.

Rose looked over her shoulder again before removing her trousers and stepped into the stream. She shivered. It was late fall. Winter was just creeping around the corner. In another couple of weeks, the whole forest would be covered in snow. She glanced back over her shoulder. Maric must still be asleep as she heard nothing from where they set up camp for the night.

Rose didn’t know what she would do when the winter came. In the past, the troupe would set up camp outside a village and wait until spring. This benefitted both the troupe and the village, as the Rose and the others would have warm beds and food for the winter while the villagers would have entertainment every night to stave off the darkness and boredom.

But, she left Athena and the rest of her friends early in the summer. Athena planned on heading south to new playing grounds, and, after spending five lovely years with her new family, Rose needed to be alone. She needed to think about her own future and what those choices may be.

And, prodding her from the back of her mind, she knew she had to go home. It was time.

But, then Maric came along. Rose sighed. She was a coward. She latched onto another adventure to avoid, what? The truth?

I’ll go home when this adventure is over.

Rose sank into the water, flinching at the coldness, but relishing the fact that she would no longer smell like a pigsty. She used a small bar of rose scented soap that she carried with her in her saddlebag. It was an indulgence, a dangerous one as most boys didn’t smell like flowers after they bathed, if they bathed at all. But, Rose was tired of being sticky and smelly. She was tired of pretending to be a boy. She was tired of Jacques.

She wanted to be Rose again if just for a moment.

“What are you doing?”

Startled, Rose sank down into the stream, clutching her chest. Maric stepped up to the bank and Rose could see him clearly as he surely could see her. He stepped closer to her, his sword raised, and his eyes peering into the dense woods around them.

“I needed a bath.”

“In the middle of the night?” He turned to her and began walking in her direction.

“No, stay where you are!”

Maric froze and his eyes ran down the length of her body. She could see the astonishment on his face.

“I can explain-”

Suddenly, Maric dropped his sword and screamed. He doubled over, his hands clutching his head as if in great pain, before collapsing.