A loud bang woke Hoff, “Damn animals.” He groaned and sat up, “Guess I’d best check on them.” He pulled his blanket back, swung his legs off the bed, and rubbed his eyes. Hoff shuffled to the fireplace and lit a taper from the embers. He picked up the lantern hanging by the fire and after a little fiddling and lots of swearing, managed to light it.

Mésia wasn’t in their bed.

Perhaps she has already gone down to check. I’m already awake, might as well check.

He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and stomped down the stairs. A yellow glow flickered from one of the stalls. Hoff trudged across the cobbles and dragged the door open. Mésia jumped back and dropped the saddle she was about to place on a horse.

“Bit late for a ride,” said Hoff.

Mésia stared at him, then shrugged, “What’s it to you?”

“I’m your husband, you ruddy vixen. We’ve just got our daughter back and now you’re running off?”

“Elewýs this, Elewýs that,” she said, mimicking Hoff’s voice. “I can’t stand it anymore! At least when I thought she was dead I could pretend I’d once had a proper family. That girl dragged both her siblings to the wretched logging camp. Picture the monstrous creature she’s become; for all I know she killed everyone herself. How else do you think she escaped an entire town’s destruction?”

“We’re together, have a roof over our heads, and proper jobs. Life is good, why can’t you see that?”

“That! That’s the attitude which pisses me off so much. Does no one else see how crazy this all is? You, the soldiers, the knight. All of you accept beasts and giants like they’re normal. They’re not. They’re frightening animals who could turn on us at any moment and you were crazy enough to invite one in for tea! She might have Elewýs’s memories, but there’s no way that thing came from my womb.”

Mésia picked the saddle of the straw strewn floor and strapped it to the horse, “The Wúduwésten’s mad magic births monsters, not people. We lived by it for years, hoping it might spit out our children on a whim, and I’ve had enough. Even if we lived on the other side of Rícewelig it wouldn’t be far enough.

“You’re a deluded fool, Mésia Tessel, who can’t even find happiness when it’s left at your doorstep.” Tears tickled Hoff’s cheeks. “You know where I’ll be if you change your mind.”

Mésia scowled, grabbed the horse’s reins and led it towards the stall door.

Hoff blocked her, “Leave the horse. If you’re walking away from everything you can do it on your own damn feet.”

“It was taken from a raider. Make it a parting gift, Sir Wulfslæd can spare a horse.”

“I don’t want to see you hunted as a horse thief. You take that animal and I’ll be burying you by tomorrow afternoon.”

Mésia paled and dropped the reins, “Didn’t think of that.”

“Your brains have always been stuck in those weaving fingers yours, only working towards the next stitch rather than the whole pattern, I’ve always had to trace them out for you.”

Mésia pulled her pack off the horse. Hoff stepped away from the door. She placed her hand on his shoulder for half a second, then rushed across the courtyard. The gate creaked and slammed.

Hoff tidied the stall, returned the saddle to the tack room, extinguished the stall lantern, and secured the door.

He walked over to the gate and left the manor courtyard. He started down the road. He could neither see nor hear Mésia.

Hoff lent his back against the thick wooden gate and cried.

*

Cempa’s eyes flicked open. It was dusk. He brushed a leaf from his cheek. Cempa groaned and shifted. His scabbard clinked against stone. No wonder his back ached. Cempa sat up. Weard was ten feet away, wrapped in Elewýs doublet and nibbling salad from a muddy helmet.

Why is that weirdo half naked?

His eyebrows shot up as he recognised the shiny streak on the helmet’s side. “I hate you, Weard.”

“Evening Cempa. How are you feeling?”

Cempa patted himself down and splattered mud everywhere. He glanced from side to side. Apart from Weard and Elewýs, everyone was smeared with soggy sods.

“Why am I covered in mud and why are you eating salad from my helmet?” said Cempa.

Weard smirked, “We’re out of plates.”

“Where’s your helmet?”

“I dropped it.”

Cempa rubbed his back and shrugged, “You’d better wash it.”

Weard snorted.

“What happened?” said Cempa.

“Elewýs carried us all out.”

“Where is she?”

Weard pointed, “Asleep in a tree.”

Cempa noticed the eight on the milestone, “My gratitude can wait.”

“I’ve no idea how she did it,” said Weard. “Apparently the Cwylla turned almost completely black and we all fainted. Leth says it makes sense, what with the black Feorhhord Gimcynn and the Duke diving in. Something about foul vapours, or humors, and mystical buggery. Basically, we’d all have died if she hadn’t dragged us to safety.”

“Is she alright?”

“Not really. Elewýs is hardy, but the poisoned Cwylla has taken its toll. It nearly killed her. That and carrying your sorry backside.”

Cempa waved two fingers at Weard, “Did it work? Is the Cwylla sealed? Will we get a big bag of gold from the King?”

“Have a look for yourself.”

The eternal green of the Wúduwésten was gone. Instead, every tree was living through all four seasons at once, sending a steady stream of petals, seeds, and leaves to the ground. Green leaves, yellow leaves, red leaves, bare branches, and laden branches were all mashed together.

“Is this permanent?” said Cempa.

“Unless someone finds a way to fish Hewelin Guntard’s heart and Dolwillen Mánfeld’s body from the Cwylla, I expect it will remain like this,” said Weard.

“Now we know why the Galdorcwide spent so many years with their roads, obelisks, and creepy gutting rituals.”

“It’s as good a guess as any.”

“How’s Leth taking this?”

“He’s still out of it.”

“And the others?”

“Washing off, or dozing. Nothing to worry about there. How’s your hand?”

My hand? That’s the worst burn I’ve ever had. Why doesn’t it hurt?

Cempa scraped the mud from his hand with a handful of leaves. The skin beneath was pale, pink, and smooth. It looked like it was freshly peeled after recovering from fierce sunburn.

“Bloody hell,” said Cempa.

“It’s a good job you don’t wash your hands properly,” said Weard. “Otherwise it would have been really bad.”

Cempa knew what he was seeing was impossible, but he could guess to whom he owed his fingers.

“What about Leth?”

“He’s also suffering from a temporary lack of hygiene.”

“Thanks, Weard.” It was hard to tell amid the half light and falling leaves, but Cempa was sure he caught a little smile.

Later, Weard found a huge hare and roasted it over a large fire.

“That was good grub Weard, you should cook more often,” said Clæfre.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Péton.

“Never fear, my culinary skills usually top out at crispy squirrel bits on a stick,” said Weard. “So stay vigilant-”

“I thought it was all over,” said Milde.

“-against food poisoning,” said Weard.

Cempa sighed.

Tadhgán rummaged around in a pouch strapped to his waist and pulled out a small leather flask. He poured a trickle of liquid onto the fire. It flared, lighting up the troop’s tired grubby faces.

“One for Arnwald,” said Tadhgán. He took a swig, “And one for me.” Tadhgán passed the flask to his left.

Cempa took it, “To Leth.”

“What!” said Leth.

“You heard me lad. We’d be toasting each other on the other side if it wasn’t for your magic. You protected us all and neutralized the Cwylla. I’d say you’ve earned a little praise. Sir Wulfslæd will be proud of you when he hears what you did.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Cempa snorted, “I held your staff for little more than a second and nearly fainted. You hung on and repelled the Duke despite knowing what it would cost you to keep us all alive. Miraculously, you’re fine, but that doesn’t diminish what you did. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

“Too bloody right,” said Cempa. “Here,” he passed Leth the flask. “Your turn.”

Leth spluttered half his swig over the fire, singeing his eyebrows as the flame surged backwards, “Next time I see someone drink from a flask with a straight face, I won’t believe them.” He coughed, “On that eloquent note, my toast goes to Elewýs. We’d be dead without you too. Your strength saved us from my haphazard solution to a problem I didn’t understand and still don’t. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Milde slapped her hands together, “Alright, that’s enough mutual masturbation, toss me the flask.”

Leth secured the stopper and rolled the flask towards Milde.

“Really, that’s what you’re going with?” said Clæfre. “Actually, never mind. My turn.” She snatched the flask as it rolled past.

“How did you get us out of there?” said Péton.

Elewýs glanced at Weard, “I slung you over my shoulders and carried you out two at a time. It took a few trips.”

“How did you carry us so far so fast?” said Tadhgán.

“I-”

“It’s because she’s much bigger than you,” said Weard. “So I wouldn’t ask too many questions of the woman who saved you and that stupid, lucky stone of yours.”

Tadhgán laughed, “Alright.”