ã€ŠDemon In The Highlandsã€‹


 Maps

Map of Gaius

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    Map of HomosSupport creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

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    Map of Caorah

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 Chapter 1: Eoin of Shearford

    Chapter 1

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    Eoin of Shearford

    On a planet named Gaius, near a continent named Homos, there is an island. It is a relatively small island, sparsely inhabited. Being to the north of the continent, its winters are long and harsh, and very little can grow on its mountainous land.

    Then why might anyone want to live there?

    There are, in truth, many reasons. Some, like that this remote place is half the world away from any proper civilization - they like not to be bothered. Others moved this far away from the rest of Homos in order to run from their problems - be they criminal or betrothed. But there is a small group that moved here for an entirely honest reason.

    It was true, the island, Caorah, lacked much that might attract folk, but it did have one thing. Sheep. Caorah was known across the continent for their lamb, mutton, and most importantly, wool.

    Kings and queens would have their winter wardrobe stuffed with garments made from the exceptionally soft and warm material.

    Caorah sheep had been taken to the mainland, in an attempt to industrialise the production of this wondrous wool that seemed to shrug away snow like quicksilver, but it had never worked. The rams would turn sterile and the sheep become sickly if ever they left the island.

    This was a bane to enterprising Merchants but a gift to Shepherds. With only a small flock they could live quite comfortably. Because of this, a community sprung up on Caorah, centred around sheep. Blacksmiths made shears, Weavers worked wool, Butchers cut mutton, Tanners cured lamb leather, and their Lords were Shepherds.

    Over several generations, larger farms had grown, profiting off the bleating bounty of Caorah, slowly buying out the smaller holdings. But one or two still held on.

    Sean and Sian were such farmers. They had been married for a decade, and with a couple dozen ewes and a ram they thought themselves well off.

    For years, Sean¡¯s family had owned a little plot of land, halfway up a hill, near the village of Shearford, along the river Shear. And for years, they had escaped the machinations of the other Shepherds of Caorah because they were on the other side of the Wooly Mountains.

    That was not to say they had not received offers. Mr Ewing, who called himself a Shepherd but whose family had not touched a sheep in three generations, owned six farms - totalling twelve dozen ewes and a dozen or so rams.

    The Ewings had sent a messenger every ten years to the farm near Shearford, asking if they were ready to sell. Though that was all they received. Unlike the closer steadings, they weren¡¯t harassed, undercut, or robbed - they were simply too far out of the way to bother with.

    Ten years ago, the couple had laughed away the Ewings¡¯ messenger. Why would they, a young couple in their early twenties, with their spry body¡¯s and a future full of children, ever want to sell their family¡¯s way of life?

    That was then, now¡­ Ten years had passed, joints began to ache, just a tad, and that future hadn¡¯t come to pass. Although Sean had brothers, they moved with their families off the island many years ago, and since he and Sian couldn¡¯t have kids it looked like there was no other choice but to sell the farm.

    On the morning the messenger arrived, Sian was sick. she thought it odd as nothing had managed to ever upset her stomach but she dismissed it - ¡°everyone threw up sometimes¡± Sean assured, in his usual tone deaf manner.

    When they sat across the table from the Ewings¡¯ man and asked to negotiate, he was surprised. The trip over the mountains had become more of a right of passage for Ewing¡¯s staff - he never expected anything to come of it.

    As the young man tore apart his knapsack, trying to find the parchment, Sian spotted a strip of lamp jerky and snatched it up without thinking. Both Sean and the messenger were stunned. Sian had never liked the preserved meat, always thinking it too salty, but at that moment there was nothing she wanted more.

    The young man, eager to make a deal and rise in the Ewing household, laughed off the incident. Sean asked if there was something wrong with his wife¡¯s stomach but she didn¡¯t respond - she felt too tired to think straight.

    Talks began, and though she sat at the table and heard the offers and counter offers, Sian was trapped in the lethargy of disbelief. This couldn¡¯t be happening. She was unable. For years they had hoped¡­

    Just as her husband raised a quill she snatched his wrist, spilling ink on the table.

    ¡°What was¨C¡± Sean began, but stopped when he saw the mixture of shock, delight, fear, and disbelief swimming across his wife''s face - dancing like oil on water.

    ¡°I¡¯m pregnant!¡± Sian exclaimed with a manic grin.

    The couple¡¯s dream had come true, a miracle had occurred and they were pregnant. The young servant of the Ewings was sent away, dejected by his loss but understanding of it.

    For the next few months, the pair were all in a panic. Although they had made a childs room when they married, once they knew that would never happen, it was filled with items that had no other home. A great ugly rug that had been given by an aunt, an old set of chisels inherited from Sian¡¯s father who was a joiner, a rusty scythe, and more, much more.

    Sean, with the help of some friends from the village, built a shed to hold it all. When the junk was moved, they found, underneath, there was still a crib - made by Sian¡¯s father, dusty from neglect.

    Corners were blunted, fresh paint was applied, dust was swept away, and by the time lambing season rolled around, the pair had about tired themselves out. A midwife had come from across The Woolies and had been waiting in their farm house for only a day before Sian went into labour.

    That night was long and hard, a winter storm had swept across the island and only added to Sean¡¯s frayed nerves as he paced outside the bedroom.

    Eventually the door opened, and he was let in to finally see his newborn son. The question of name was not a question at all - the pair had long wanted children and had discussed it at length. Since it was a boy, this new soul would be called - Eoin.

    That new soul was no ordinary soul however. It was my soul, or rather it was a soul that a part of me inhabited. The other parts of me were within everything that has and will ever exist, and a cat.

    I watched from above, through feline eyes, as the other me - unaware of who we are - began to cry in the loving arms of a sheep farming couple. I sighed, that other part of myself had simply done this to prove a point to some mortal - I couldn¡¯t understand it. Which was odd because our minds were one and the same - the only difference was this part had been confined within a cat.

    Did the vessel we were in affect the way we thought? My cat-self wondered, and with that thought in mind, I set to watch the new child - Eoin of Shearford.

    Over the next dozen years, nothing much happened. The life of a Caorah Shepherd was hard but simple. Eoin grew up with two loving parents and, for all intents and purposes, was a completely normal child. He was very observant and would often imitate what he saw - though without a thought for the consequences. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    When he was ten, he had seen his father cut out a lamb from its mothers womb when the ewe had caught The Rot and would surely die. So, two years later, when Eoin found a gimmer lying on her side in the field with obvious signs of The Rot, he didn¡¯t hesitate.

    Instead of calling for his Ma or Pa, he went straight into the imobile ewe with his pocket knife. In seconds, the young ram she was carrying was out - whole and in one piece. Except, there was a problem. The infant sheep was small, far too small, and could barely breathe. Panicking over the dying baby in his arms, Eoin finally called out.

    His father was soon on the scene and, although he was surprised by his son, he was proud of his decisive action. That said, the ewe had passed on and Sean thought the ram wouldn¡¯t be far behind. Being a farmer, he told this to his son straight.

    The boy didn¡¯t accept it however and, through tears, vowed to do anything in his power to save the young life.

    He took the baby into their house, and sat with him by the fire - breathing air into its lungs when he thought the creature couldn¡¯t do so itself. His mother had thought of getting him to stop, the ram wouldn¡¯t survive the night but she let him keep trying as she couldn¡¯t bring herself to stop him.

    In fact, when young Eoin did fall asleep, and could no longer support the lamb, his mother, Sian, took his place. She even made sure it had plenty of sheeps¡¯ milk. For three days and nights Eoin sat by the fire and helped that baby ram as it teetered on the edge, between life and death.

    On the fourth day, Eoin awoke to a nuzzling. The wee lamb had gotten to its shaky feet and was bumping into the boy, bleating for milk.

    It was yet another miracle, so, when the young man asked to keep the ram as a pet, his parents did not object. With their permission, he named the lamb Fluffy - but the creature gave him a look of grave disapproval and rammed into his shin. With his fathers help, a better name was found - Reithe.

    Four more years passed and the sixteen year old boy and his ram became the best of friends. They went everywhere together, around the field, up the hill, across the gap, and into Shearford. Reithe quickly became known to the village as an oddly studious but loveable ball of wool.

    The pair would often listen to the stories of travelers as they came through, Eoin would bombard them with questions and Reithe would listen to the answers. Together, they would both learn all they could.

    ?

    Eoin awoke, as he did every morning, in a straw filled cot wrapped in sheep¡¯s skins. He groaned as a winter wind brushed against his face, his mother opened the door and called:

    ¡°Time to get up.¡±

    She shut the door and seemed content to let Eoin take his time rousing and he was content to shrink away under the covers and take as much time as he could.

    Reithe was not so patient. He slept on the floor beside Eoin, long since having outgrown the bed. He was also woken by their mother¡¯s call.

    Eoin tumbled out of the nice warm and onto the nasty cold. A sheep skin rug broke his fall but that did nothing for the horn shaped mark that had been rammed onto his backside.

    ¡°Reithe you bustard!¡± Eoin howled, rubbing his rear and clambering to his feet.

    ¡°Language,¡± his mother called from the main room.

    ¡°Sorry Ma,¡± Eoin grumbled, staring daggers at the innocent looking ram as he got dressed.

    On top of his linen undergarments, he wore: green woolen trousers, grey woolen socks, leather shoes, a belt made of lamb¡¯s leather - lined with sheep¡¯s skin, a long-sleeved blue cotton tunic, and a knee length sheepskin coat, wrapped overtop to stave off the chill.

    When Eoin was finally ready, Reithe herded him out of their room and into their house''s main chamber. The building was a simple construction, made from stone with wooden floors. There was only one story and three rooms. His parents'' bedroom, Eoin and Reithe¡¯s bedroom, and the mainroom.

    In this main room, there was a great big fireplace and the makings of a kitchen to one side. Directly in front, were a few wingback sheepskin chairs. Being on an island renowned for its sheep, sheepskins were all over the walls and floors, acting as insolation.

    ¡°Morning Ma,¡± Eoin greeted groggily, rubbing at his eyes.

    ¡°Morning dear, your father¡¯s already up and eaten, do your chores and I¡¯ll give you some breakfast, then you should go and give him a hand.¡±

    ¡°Yes Ma,¡± Eoin agreed without debate. He opened the front door and pushed aside the young ewe who only seemed to like eating the grass that grew right in front of the entrance.

    Maybe it likes the heat from the fire? Eoin wondered as he trudged past, the ankle deep snow crunching underfoot. Reithe trotted along behind, uninterested in the other sheep who seemed content to stare off blankly and keep chewing. He sniffed in derision as they passed.

    First were the chickens, their coop was a foot off the ground and filled with clucking hens, just waiting to be let out. The sun was already two fingers into the sky and they were getting impatient.

    Eoin opened the hatch and a half dozen chickens came bursting out, flapping unhappily in his face and nearly knocking the young man over. Thankfully, Reithe was right behind him and was able to stop him from tumbling.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Eoin said, reluctantly patting his friend on the head. The ram preened at the attention it was getting. Eoin sighed.

    While the chickens clucked off to strut around the garden, Eoin poured out the snow that had filled the trough and emptied a sack of grain into it. The hens, which had left him so eagerly came scurrying back at the sound of food. The lad watched them with a satisfied smirk on his face.

    Reaching a hand into the nest, he gathered up the eggs and walked back to the house. Seeing that his hands were full, Reithe coaxed the rather docile sheep - who had moved back in front of the door - out of the way and jumped up to unlatch it with his horns.

    ¡°Thanks Reithe,¡± Eoin said, more genuine than before.

    He placed the eggs in their holders and received a kiss on the head from his mother that he did his best to squirm out of, but to no avail. Leaving once more, and moving the still chewing ewe who had yet again trotted right in front of the front-door, Eoin returned to his chores.

    Next was the barn. The cow wanted her hay and needed to be milked. The pig had last night¡¯s leftovers and Reithe wanted a scratch behind the ear before it was all over.

    Going back inside, after moving the recurring sheep out of the way once more, Eoin sat at the dining table. He felt more awake than before, thanks to the cold air, but that just made him even more hungry.

    He didn¡¯t have to wait long to eat as a bowl of porridge was placed before him.

    ¡°Made with cow''s milk, honey, and apple, just the way you like it,¡± his mother said, ruffling her son¡¯s curly blond hair before retreating to the sink to wash up.

    Eoin scooped up a spoonful, moaned in delight, then opened his eyes and squinted at his mother¡¯s back.

    ¡°What¡¯s the occasion Ma?¡± Eoin asked. Despite the sweetness of the honey, he couldn¡¯t get the sour taste out of his mouth.

    ¡°Sharp as ever,¡± his mother said over her shoulder with a chuckle. Continuing to scrub away, she answered, ¡°Pa is checking the sheep''s hooves for The Rot today, he¡¯s been rounding up the flock since sunrise.¡±

    Eoin groaned and consoled himself with another mouthful of the delicious breakfast. Reithe made a sound that might have been a laugh if sheep could make such sounds, only lifting his head for a moment before returning to his own bowl of oats.

    ¡°It won¡¯t be like last time,¡± his mother said, holding out a wooden mug to Eoin. He took it and tried to drink from it but nothing was inside.

    Turning the cup upside down and tapping its bottom, he asked, ¡°What¡¯s this? It¡¯s empty.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not for drinking out of,¡± his mother said, with a grin.

    ¡°Then what is it for?¡± Eoin asked, confused.

    Reithe took the opportunity to surface from his bowl once more and let out another weezing ¡°Baa¡± of a laugh.

    ¡°Well, we don¡¯t want what happened last time happening again,¡± his mother said leadingly. Eoin thought for a moment, remembered the sheep that had kicked him when he was checking its back hoofs, and stuffed the cup down his pants as a red flush overtook his cheeks.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he mumbled.

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk with your mouth full,¡± his mother chided, wrapping his knuckles lightly with her wooden spoon. Eoin nodded in apology as he scarfed down the rest of his porridge and got up to leave. Reithe was already waiting by the door, no matter how fast he ate, Eoin could never inhale food like his ram.

    Just before he was able to reach for the handle, intent on leaving to help his father, his mother called out:

    ¡°Put a scarf on,¡± in that serious tone all mothers possess.

    ¡°But I¡¯ve warmed up now Ma,¡± Eoin complained.

    ¡°Eoin,¡± his mother replied sternly.

    ¡°But Ma, I¡¯m already wearing my winter coat.¡±

    ¡°Eoin.¡±

    ¡°But Ma¡­¡±

    ¡°Eoin,¡± Eoin¡¯s mother said, and won the argument.

    Relenting, Eoin replied, ¡°fine,¡± before turning, head hung low, facing towards the door.

    ¡°Eoin,¡± his mother said, this time more softly. ¡°Come here.¡± At her behest, the young Shepherd walked into his mothers open arms and gave her a hug.

    Once that was over with, he went, once more, to the door. Pulling the scarf from a hook beside it, and making a show of wrapping it tight, he opened the door with a flourish. Eoin tripped over a sheep and landed flat on his face in the snow.

 Chapter 2: Future

    Chapter 2

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    Future

    ¡°Ba. Bla. Pehw,¡± Eoin grumbled, spitting out a mouthful of snow. Even by the time he was halfway to the sheep pens, Reithe by his side, he still seemed to find bits of the white stuff in new places.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I did that,¡± Eoin complained to Reithe. The ram bleated in commiseration.¡°Well, at least I was able to check her hooves for The Rot, since she escaped the flock.¡±

    At this, Reithe looked up at Eoin questioningly.

    ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± he replied - knowing what his companion wanted to ask.

    It didn¡¯t take long for the pair to make it across the field and to the sheep pen. The small square of stone walls, whose stones had been placed by Eoin¡¯s grandfather''s hands, was stuffed to bursting with wooly white bleaters.

    ¡°Morning Pa,¡± Eoin called out to the man just in front of the gate. He was letting one sheep out at a time and checking their hooves before letting them run off. Eoin¡¯s greeting was accompanied by a ¡°Baaa¡± from Reithe which startled the ewe, whose foot was aimed at Eoin¡¯s Pa¡¯s face. With practiced skill, Eoin¡¯s father pushed the leg up and ducked down in his crouched position to dodge the kick.

    ¡°Ye Finally up!¡± Sean, Eoin¡¯s father, exclaimed with cheer - as if he hadn¡¯t nearly had his teeth knocked out. Now that the man was sure the sheep was clean, he let go of its leg. The startled animal scurried away.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Eoin replied, reluctantly opening the gate and coaxing out a sheep, handing it off to his father, then getting another for himself.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Sean said as the pair got to work. Eoin¡¯s father was a man of few words so, once the greetings were over with, the pair worked in silence. Checking the hooves for The Rot.

    Occasionally, one of them would have a stone that had become lodged deep in the foot, or another sore of some kind. In those cases, one or the other of them would alleviate the pressure with their knife then bandage up the hoof - sometimes placing a wooden block under the good toe so they couldn¡¯t stand on the bad one, until the block wore away.

    When only a few sheep remained, and there had been no signs of The Rot this year, Eoin finally spoke up. He had been trying to hint at his discontent for some time, with a weary sigh or a wistful exhale. Eoin had no idea why, there wasn¡¯t a chance in uffern that his Pa would pick up on something so subtle.

    ¡°Pa,¡± Eoin began.

    ¡°Yes son,¡± Sean replied distractedly, slapping a ewe on the arse to send her on her way.

    ¡°Why are we doing this today?¡± Eoin asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s been about a year and it needs doin¡¯,¡± Sean replied simply, not looking up from his work.

    ¡°No, it''s been¡­¡± Eoin trailed off and looked at Reithe who crossed his legs to make an X, ¡°It¡¯s been ten months, not a year. Why are we doing this today, of all days?¡± Eoin pressed.

    ¡°I know what ye were askin¡¯, you wanna know why I¡¯d have ye doing ye least favorite job the day before ye leaving,¡± Sean said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I will leave on my seventeenth birthday,¡± Eoin replied, looking down at the ground.

    ¡°And that¡¯s exactly why ye should,¡± Eoin¡¯s Pa insisted, surprising the lad. ¡°Look,¡± Sean went on, finally setting aside his work and looking at his son. ¡°It¡¯s been tradition in these parts for a man on his first birthday as such, to leave for a year and see the world. I can tell you how great ye has it here, but ye ain¡¯t gonna be believing me till you see it for yeself. Ye are unsure now, you¡¯ll forever be unsure, it¡¯ll eat you up for the rest of ye life,¡± Sean finished, smiling at his son as he checked the last of the sheep.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ surprisingly smart¡­ for you,¡± Eoin said, ending with a cheeky grin. He dodged the playful swat that came for his head and the pair laughed.

    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong, those were ye mother¡¯s words - nay mine,¡± Sean confirmed.

    ¡°Eitherway, it made me feel better,¡± Eoin reassured.

    ¡°Now, I had Michael work something up for you down at the village - I think you should go an¡¯ pick it up.¡±

    ¡°Michael, the Blacksmith?¡± Eoin asked, confused.

    ¡°Aye,¡± his father replied, getting to his feet with a groan and looking off up the hill, ¡°I have somin¡¯ needs be doin¡¯ so ye better hurry - days is short this time a year.¡±

    Eoin shrugged, though he would usually feel inclined to ask questions, and indeed he still did, he thought better of it. It would be his birthday tomorrow and whatever his father was doing was no doubt related. He wouldn¡¯t want to ruin the surprise.

    ¡°Come on Reithe,¡± Eoin said, nudging his pet who was lying on the snowy ground with his legs tucked under him. The Ram didn¡¯t respond. Eoin looked closer and found that his friend was gently snoring.

    ¡°Hypocrite!¡± Eoin declared, pulling a disgusted face. Reithe didn¡¯t wake.

    ¡°What! Where?!¡± Sean asked, looking around the sky frantically. Still, Reithe didn¡¯t wake at his outburst.

    It took Eoin a moment to catch onto what his father was doing, ¡°Not hippogryph, hypocrite - it means someone who does what they say not to do,¡± Eoin explained, calming down his father.

    ¡°Mmm,¡± Sean coughed, as if he hadn¡¯t just been panicking, ¡°yep, well, one of ye mother¡¯s fancy words - I told her nothing good could ever come of the sort a language¡­ don¡¯t tell ye mother I said that,¡± Eoin¡¯s Pa pleaded.

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Eoin laughed, before turning back to his companion. Reithe still hadn''t woken. It was time for a little payback. Pulling his foot back as far as it would go, Eoin let loose a full-force kick aimed squarely at the Ram¡¯s backside.

    ?

    Eoin decided it was about time for a run. He took off at full speed, blazing across the field - chased by his father''s laughter, through the open gate, down the mountainous parth, and along the river. This sudden want for exercise was a decision made entirely by him and had nothing to do with the enraged sheep which nipped at his jacksy the entire time. At least, that is what he told himself.

    It wasn¡¯t until the pair made it to the gap, a scar in the earth that was twice Eoin¡¯s height across and many more times in length (resembling the sword strike of some giant), that Reithe finally gave up the chase. As much as the ram would like to get back at his friend, he was the one to start it, and ramming into someone this close to the gap was a recipe for disaster.

    Eoin also recognised the chase was over and collapsed into snow angels as he took the opportunity to catch his breath - that was until Reithe, seizing the opportunity, jumped on top of his chest - knocking the wind out of the lad.

    After a spirited bout of wrestling, which nearly ended with an unfortunate drop into the gap, the pair both disengaged and let bygones be bygone.

    Eoin, picking up and retrieving his tie, walked over to the fallen tree which spanned the gap, ready to cross. He couldn''t count the number of times either Ma or Pa had told him not to use this slippery and half rotted shortcut - but it was just that, a shortcut.

    If he followed the parentally approved route to Shearford, it would take far, far longer. What with all the twisting and turning the river, and accompanying path, did to get down the mountain. The gap was quicker.

    Eoin balanced on a fallen tree that spanned the mountain¡¯s scar, arms outstretched, and began to walk with speed and confidence.

    Reithe, who was far more stable on uneven footing than the clumsy human, nearly rammed into the back of his companion when, out of nowhere, Eoin stopped in the middle of the log - directly over the seemingly bottomless crevasse.

    The nearly-a-man froze. Something felt¡­ well he didn¡¯t know how to describe the sense as it was unlike any of his other five and he had never felt it before. His eyes, locked dead ahead, only saw the stump of the tree on the far side. His nose only picked up the scent of fresh snow and the edge of the pine copse that surrounded the gap. His skin only felt the biting, twisting, whirling winds that almost cal¡­

    Eoin¡¯s ears heard cracking and, remembering where he was, he finished his short walk with haste. Whatever feeling had momentarily paralysed him was gone, and for the life of him, he couldn¡¯t remember what it felt like, let alone guess at what had caused it.

    Reithe, who had remained silent while they were crossing the gap, ¡°Baa¡±ed questioningly at his owner.

    ¡°Hmm, what? Oh, it was nothing,¡± Eoin replied distractedly. The memory of the event faded fast and, with a shake of his head, the questions in Eoin¡¯s mind dissolved. Eoin would have had a thousand questions, and might have dived right into the gap just for answers if all recollection of the event hadn¡¯t just blown away on the wind.

    The Blacksmith, he has a surprise for me,  Eoin reminded himself, feeling out of sorts but not knowing why.

    The rest of the journey to the small highland settlement of Shearford was uneventful. Reithe kept a close eye on his companion but nothing more happened. Still, the ram was suspicious.

    He hadn¡¯t felt what Eoin had, but there was something about the gap today that hadn¡¯t sat right with him - though he couldn¡¯t say what. Well, he couldn¡¯t say anything but that was by the by - all the ram knew was that his wool had stood on end when they were over that impossibly deep cressent.

    The pair entered Shearford from the south. Calling the collection of squat buildings, made from hand placed stone, thatched with reeds from Hoofstuck Marsh, and stinking of the greyness which coloured both them and the rock that surrounded them - huddling these shops and homes in close to the river and protecting them from the harsh Caorah weather - a village, may be an insult to the name.

    The structures were short, half their height dug into the ground; protected from the elements. The village lacked colour because all of its vibrance was internal. The homes and shops were decorated with a myriad of colourful fabrics on their insides - showing the great wealth the sheep of Cosrah brought to the island, but not doing so openly.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    This attitude was reflected by the people who lived there. To an outsider, they may be callus and harsh and appear poor in their simple wool clothes. But to an insider, the folk of Shearford were both loving and open, always willing to help out a neighbor. And since Eoin lived on a farm only half a mountain away, he was considered a neighbor.

    Folk smiled at him as he hopped over the knee high wall that protected Mr. Thread¡¯s cabbages, wove between the greens in question, and vaulted the second to make it to the back entrance of the Blacksmith¡¯s shop.

    People would scratch the uncommonly friendly ram behind the ear as he trotted along. Eoin blushed as he passed Milka, a milkmaid who lived on a dairy farm not too far away. She had a new hoof-pick and a smile on her face and a wave in her hand as she looked back at the Journeyman Blacksmith, Michael¡¯s son Mitch.

    For a time, Eoin had had a bit of a crush on Milka, though it never would have worked so he didn¡¯t tell her. Still, he would blush whenever she was near. Milka was seven years his senior and everyone expected her and Mitch to wed. But despite that, Eoin had formed somewhat of an infatuation, mainly because there was no one else to ogle at.

    The generation to which Eoin belonged was all older by, on average, a decade. So, as a child, he never had anyone to play with, until Reithe came along. Despite that, he had a passing friendship with the previous generation that fit in an odd sort of category.

    When he was younger, as the child of the group, Eoin was never a part of the inevitable inappropriate banter and mischief the older kids got up to. When the next generation came along he had no one his own age to engage in that self same shenanigans with - save Reithe.

    This meant, while Eoin, Milka, and Mitch were friends, there had always been a level of distance between them and him.

    Milka gave a greeting as she passed but seemed to be in a hurry. Mitch looked up from his hammering and said:

    ¡°You¡¯ll be being here about that thing that be being made by my father; he¡¯s be been being making that for near a fortnight now.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I imagine it¡¯s not easy, what with all the engraving,¡± he said, fishing for a clue as to what his father had sent him here to collect.

    ¡°You ain¡¯t taking me for a fool, I might be older than you but I ain¡¯t a has-been yet,¡± Mitch said, laughing. Eoin sagged, having gained nothing from the ploy.

    While the pair went back and forth; making small talk and waiting for Michael the Blacksmith, Mitch¡¯s father, to return, Reithe looked around the smithy - silently studying the place. The ram had been there a number of times over the years, and through watching the Blacksmith and his son at work, he was able to ascertain a relationship between the tools and what was being made.

    Laying across the anvil was a flat-headed hammer, so whatever had been made for his friend''s birthday had flat edges, not the best clue.

    There was a smell of burnt wood in the air that seemed strange to Reithe. The forge burned charcoal which had a completely distinctive aroma. Reithe assumed that whatever had been made somehow involved burning wood.

    He recalled this scent from when Eoin and he had watched Mitch make Eoin a new knife after his broke. The oak handle charred and smoked when the Journeyman Blacksmith had pushed the red hot tang into the wood to get a perfect fit.

    Reithe noted that the whetstones were still wet. They had also been used in the making of Eoin¡¯s knife.

    After an examination of the evidence, Reithe was fairly sure that the most likely thing Eoin was going to get for his birthday was a knife. Quite possibly a very fancy one given the time and effort apparently put into it. The ram couldn¡¯t understand why they didn¡¯t just use horns for their cutting, opening, and chopping needs but each to their own he supposed.

    When Reithe was younger, he would have butted into Eoin, incessantly trying to get him to understand his findings and summations but it was frustratingly difficult without the ability to speak. With a few years on him, he was content to sit in the warmth of the smithy and see if his conclusions were correct.

    After the usual topics of small talk - the weather, the price of bread, and one¡¯s health - were out of the way, Eoin returned to his normal style of conversation. For the next few minutes he bombarded the villager with new questions about his trade and blacksmithing tools. An impressive feat, since he had asked a thousand questions of Mitch before.

    ¡°What¡¯s the price of iron at the moment?¡±

    ¡°Six and three per¨C¡±

    ¡°How many ingots can you carry?¡±

    ¡°Well, that depends¨C¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the specific heat capacity of steel?¡±

    ¡°...What?¡±

    Finally, the Journeyman was rescued by the return of his father.

    ¡°Eoin, ye¡¯ve got perfect timing ye ¡®ave,¡± Michael said, entering through the front door.

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± Eoin asked, not missing a beat. Mitch let out a sigh, finally given a break from Eoin¡¯s interrogation.

    Reithe studied the large man who had just entered and noted that both his hands were behind his back.

    ¡°Your ¡®er cause yur old man told yous I¡¯ve been bayed a make somethin¡¯ fors ye. Ain¡¯t that right?¡± the Blacksmith asked, with a great big sooty grin. It took Eoin a moment to pass Michael¡¯s uncommonly thick accent but when he puzzled it out, he answered:

    ¡°Yeah, he said you were making something for me. Is it a present for my seventeenth?¡± Eoin asked, enthused.

    ¡°Well, what with ye bein¡¯ a man tomorrow and having ta spend a year aways from here, out in the dangerous world, ye father wanted yous ta¡¯ave summin¡¯ what ye could protect yeself with¡­¡± Michael ended leadingly, waiting for Eoin.

    At the mention of his year long leave however, Eoin¡¯s head dipped and he didn¡¯t ask the expected question.

    ¡°Wats a matter?¡± Michael asked, surprised by the change in mood.

    ¡°Oh nothing really,¡± Eoin began, convincing no one, ¡°it¡¯s just, everyone says this is something I have to do. To become a man. To appreciate what we had here on Caorah and to learn what¡¯s out there. They seem to think I should be thrilled at the idea, and don¡¯t get me wrong a part of me is but¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh lad,¡± Michael said sympathetically, taking one hand out from behind his back and ruffeling Eoin¡¯s hair. The overly large hand smeared his curly hair with oil but Eoin appreciated the sentiment.

    ¡°I wus more nervous than ye when I went out on me journey. My Pa had a drag me from the forge kicking and screaming and drop me off in Yarnmouth without no way back, but ye know what?¡± the Blacksmith asked.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I is thankful to ¡®im for that everyday. Yes, I learned more of me craft. Yes, I better appreciate what we ¡®ave ¡®ere but there was a more important reason for going.¡±

    ¡°What was that?¡±

    ¡°I found out who I am. Stayin¡¯ here, safe and warm never tested me like life out there in the rest of the world. Only when ye press yeself, when theres danger, can ye find out who ye is. Who ye heart make ye,¡± Michael said, poking Eoin in the chest to emphasise his point, ¡°Now, speakings o¡¯ danger - that¡¯s wa this is for,¡± the Blacksmith concluded in a lighter tone, whipping his other hand out from behind his back and displaying the item Eoin¡¯s father had asked him to make.

    A sword was presented to Eoin, and what a sword it was. At first glance there was nothing too special. The scabored was plain but supple brown sheep¡¯s leather, with oiled wool inside. The guard was a simple bar of iron with slight points at either end that were vaguely reminiscent of the points of Reithe¡¯s horns. The grip was ordinary oak neatly wrapped in strips of supple lambs leather dyed dark blue. Still, there was a sense of mastery in its simplicity.

    Eoin took the weapon with reverence and slowly drew the blade. It was slightly longer than a one handed sword but much shorter than a longsword. The handle had room for one hand comfortably and two with the other partially on the ram¡¯s head pommel.

    Just holding it in his hand, Eoin could tell this was special. Though he knew nothing about swords, the balance felt such that he could swing all day without feeling at all tired. There was something about it, the way it sat in his hand, it was just right.

    ¡°This is¡­¡± Eoin began but for once, found himself at a loss for words. Seeing this, a beaming grin of pride bloomed on Michael¡¯s face. Eoin hugged him.

    The Blacksmith warned the young man not to draw it unless he felt there was no other choice and tied the scabbard closed before Eoin belted it on. Michael advised him to learn how to use it safely before unknotting the binding he had placed upon it.

    Eoin hugged the big man once more then shot out of the shop, eager to thank his father. Reithe followed after, content in the knowledge that he was right. After all, what was a sword if not a big knife?

    Eoin bounded back up the mountain. He couldn¡¯t believe his father had actually gifted him a sword. No one round here had one, he was surprised Michael even knew how to make them - let alone one so good.

    The lad moved with lots of energy up the slopes and out of Shearford - getting appreciative looks from the locals as he passed, sword on belt. Although he seemed to bounce from rock to rock up the mountain, Reithe kept up with no apparent effort - the power of a home field advantage.

    Several times the ram tried to hurd the boy back towards the river but Eoin insisted on taking the shortcut over the gap. Reithe didn¡¯t force his friend to use the other route as there was no real reason to do so. Still, he couldn¡¯t help but feel there was something wrong with that place.

    When they came to the scar in the earth, Reithe was proven correct once more. Eoin vaulted the roots and jumped onto the fallen tree, intending to scamper across.

    He never got the chance. A great cracking filled the woods. Eoin cried out and disappeared from Reithe¡¯s sight, falling into the gap as the fallen tree split in two.

    ?

    ¡°Baaaaa,¡± Reithe cryed, galloping to the edge and skidding to a halt. Peering over, he expected the worst. Thankfully, Fortuna - the lesser goddess of luck and the daughter of Le? the goddess of life and Magus the god of magic - was on Eoin¡¯s side. When Reithe looked down he saw his friend, not tumbling into endless darkness, but dangling from a rock that jutted out from the edge; hanging from a strip of fabric around his neck.

    As Eoin flailed around for a grip, one hand holding onto his scarf and trying to stop it from strangling him to death, Reith fetched a fallen branch. Holding the larger end in his mouth, the sheep lowered the other over the precipice.

    Eoin grabbed on, though he didn¡¯t pull himself up with it, fearing that would only serve to pull his friend to his death. Instead, Eoin used the stick to push against and swing himself back over to the wall. When he was close enough to grab on, he did so, grasping the rocky protuberances for dear life.

    While Eoin was sucking in air, he ripped the scarf off his neck and let it dangle where it was caught on the rock. His neck was red, sore, and would probably bruise but at least it hadn¡¯t broken.

    Reithe, shaken by the ordeal, kept prodding Eoin with his stick, trying desperately to get him to climb up. After a moment to take a breath, he realised he wasn¡¯t helping the situation and let go of his branch; watching it fall into the abyss as the tree had before it. Rather morbidly, the ram noted that there still hadn¡¯t been any sound to indicate that the tree had reached the bottom; all he heard was Eoin¡¯s panting.

    As Eoin clung to the rock, slowly getting his breath back, it finally hit him - he had almost died. If not for the scarf his mother had made him wear¡­

    It was in that weird surreal state of mind that comes right after a near death experience, before it has truly set in, that Eoin remembered. He remembered the feeling he had when he crossed the gap earlier that day.

    He remembered because it had returned, but far stronger. He could even see where it was coming from¡­ well almost. A strange haze of transparent green whipped about a nook in the rock next to him, moving with the mesmerising wind - as if it were attuned to the element.

    Eoin clambered up the gap. As soon as his top half was over the edge, Reithe bit the back of his leather coat and dragged the boy about a tree''s length away from the gap, making a line in the snow.

    For a time Eoin didn¡¯t say anything and Reithe thought he was in shock. The ram paced back and forth, trying to walk off his nerves, and that was when he saw the real reason for his friend¡¯s silence.

    Eoin had pulled himself up to sit, leaning on a tree. In his hand there was something invisible to Reithe that captured Eoin¡¯s entire attention, his eyes seemed glued to this ineffable thing that whipped the wind around it tussling his hair.

    To Eoin¡¯s eyes, with each second that passed, this hazy green ball which the winds loved, became more and more visible. It solidified in his sight, taking the form of a green sphere whose edges were wind made manifest. As the invisible became visible something changed forever in his mind; something had been unlocked and he swore he would not forget this. He could never forget this feeling again.

    The green thing moved about in his hand, or it tried to. Now that this creature was fully visible to Eoin, he could see there was a shard of something black embedded within it. Slowly and carefully, as Eoin might pick a thorn from a sheep¡¯s hoof, he plucked this black shard from the green ball.

    The effect was immediate, the little ball of green darted about, zipping around Eoin¡¯s head several times, bumped into him, then disappeared - carried away on the wind somehow making Eoin think whatever it was, it was grateful. The black shard also disappeared, seeming to seep through the layers of reality until it was completely gone.

    From Reithe¡¯s point of view, Eoin had been staring at his empty hand fixedly, pinched that emptiness, then the wind picked up out of nowhere and his friend whipped his head back and forth; his eyes moved as if tracking something. Trying to get his friend back to his senses the ram did the only thing he knew how to, he rammed.

    After sitting back up and looking at Reithe accusingly, Eoin explained what he had seen. Reithe, assuming the shock of his near death experience was still in control, rammed him in the side once more.

    Eoin, without truly understanding what had happened, gave up on trying to explain it to his friend. Instead, he just hugged the ram, pulling his wooly warmth close.

    After some time to gather themselves, the pair continued up the mountain, taking the longer path. By the time they made it back to the field in which their house was situated, the sun was nearly set. The winter days were short and cold. The bite of the wind - which Eoin now seemed to possess a greater feeling for - was sharp on his already painful neck.

    Tired, but regaining the excitement that had previously overwhelmed him, Eoin placed his thumb on the latch and opened it. As he pushed the door wide he was greeted by a chorus of:

    ¡°Surprise!¡±

 Chapter 3: Into the Unknown

    Chapter 3

    <hr>

    Into the Unknown

    Ma, Pa, Milka, Mitch, Michael, Martin, Kevin, and Cellesta were all present for Eoin¡¯s surprise birthday party. And it was a surprise. Eoin had not expected it at all. His birthday was tomorrow. As far as Eoin could recall, everyone had their seventeenth parties, a celebration for coming of age, on the day itself rather than the night before.

    With his near death experience, followed by all the weirdness with the green ball of wind, Eoin was tired. He found the sudden switch in social attitude, a party like this required, mentally taxing.

    A chicken had spent most of its day, whilst he was out, roasting over the fire and had filled the house with an intoxicatingly rich aroma that did much to bolster Eoin¡¯s spirit. He talked with the nearly-friends his parents had invited, appearing perfectly amiable and even laughing on occasion to help cover how shocked he still felt. It seemed to work, no one so much as looked at him funny.

    Milka explained that, when she had seen him earlier, she was in a hurry because she had been getting his present. A blush filled Eoin¡¯s cheeks as he stressed how she needn''t have gone to the bother. She patted him on the head, as she had so often done when they were smaller and he was half her height.

    The act, thankfully, helped Eoin to squash his unwanted feelings. It showed, despite tomorrow marking his first day as an adult, Milka still saw him as a child.

    She reached into her sheepskin bag and retrieved a wheel of cheese, about the size of his splayed hand. Milka went on to explain that: on his coming travels, he would need something that could keep - and that tasted delicious.

    This was the first wheel of a new batch that she had been experimenting with. First, the cheese was smoked over applewood. Then, it matured for several months. Apparently, the flavour was a mix of smokey and salty with an undercurrent of appley sweetness and the wax should keep the taste locked in for years if he chose to keep it for some special occasion.

    Eoin couldn¡¯t lie, this gift was amazing. He had always loved cow¡¯s cheese far more than the sheep¡¯s cheese that was so prevalent in these parts and how she described it had made it sound simply divine.

    Mitch, though he hadn¡¯t told Eoin earlier, was actually working on his present whilst the pair was in the workshop and if Eoin hadn¡¯t run off so fast he would have given them to him then and there. He had created two steel horn caps for Reithe - since everyone knew they would be traveling together.

    Mitch, after revealing the horn enhancements engraved with curving square patterns, set right to work attaching them to the ram using a small hammer he had brought with him, and the heat of the cooking fire.

    First, the metal caps were warmed in the fire. Then, he used what he called pocket-tongs to place them on Reithe¡¯s horns. Mitch tapped them into place. As the spiked weapons cooled they shrank and Reithe was left with some rather dazzling accessories that he seemed inordinately proud of.

    After the mammal had pranced around the room with his head held high, and received the appropriate amount of praise from the party goers, Reithe turned to Martin and Kevin - a pair of twins who had been friends with Eoin¡¯s father for as long as anyone could remember - and looked at them as if to say, what have you got for me.

    Martin looked apologetic but Kevin spoke first.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he apologised.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have anything for you,¡± Martin chipped in. Kevin rubbed the sheep on its head in consolation.

    Whilst this was happening, Martin turned to address Eoin, the birth-next-day boy, ¡°But we do have something rather special for you,¡± he said, rubbing the young man¡¯s head the same way his brother was rubbing Reithe¡¯s.

    The ram loved his scritches but Eoin did not. He politely moved the older man¡¯s hand aside. If there was not a present on the line he may have acted more aggressively in response to the patronising gesture but as there was, he could put up with it.

    Martin reached into a burlap sack and retrieved an amphora as large as a human torso. Kevin, fetched an empty glass bottle, two pints in size. Martin lifted the top of the amphora to reveal a dark red fluid with what looked like dried flowers and rolled up bark floating in it.

    It took a moment for Eoin to recognise the rare liquid for what it was.

    ¡°Is that¡­ mulled wine?¡± Eoin asked, amazed. The spices used for the drink came from hundreds of miles away so the winter beverage was rather deer.

    ¡°Sure is,¡± Martin affirmed with a wink. As he spoke, Kevin filled the bottle to the brim then corked it. The action made a satisfying popping sound.

    ¡°This is probably the most you¡¯ll be able to take with you,¡± one of the twins said, wiping down the still warm glass vessel and passing it to the slack mouthed boy.

    ¡°What on earth are we gonna do with the rest,¡± the other twin said, with a mischievous smile.

    Eoin looked to his mother for permission. Growing up, he had only been allowed to drink a small cup of something at mid winter, or for a celebration. Now he was a man, his mother couldn¡¯t stop him. In answer to his questioning look, Eoin¡¯s Ma filled a mug with the warm spiced-wine before anyone else could. Turning around to see her son gaping she shrugged as if to say, you snooze, you lose.

    After a refreshing sip of spicy delight, Cellesta - Ma¡¯s friend, Martian¡¯s wife, a leather worker, and the last of the guests - approached Eoin and pressed her gift into his hands without saying anything.

    The item, which Eoin silently accepted from the timid woman who did not meet anyone¡¯s eye, was perhaps his favorite present thus far - save his sword, of course. Thinking of the sword, Eoin had expected his mother to be opposed to his father¡¯s gift but that wasn¡¯t the case at all. When Eoin had asked what she thought of the weapon she had said it was an unfortunate necessity in a dangerous world.

    Eoin shook his head to curb the wandering thoughts and returned his attention to the item in his hands. Cellesta had made a satchel for him. Naturally, it was made from sheep''s leather, with the interior lined with sheepskin.

    The exterior was what caught his eye however. It was covered with amazing designs that were engraved into the leather. Patterned knotwork was liberally used, the signature of the highland style. In the braided design, Eoin could make out a recurring theme - a ram. The dark stained engraving which covered the satchel and its strap was so clever and intricate that every time he looked at it, he could see something new.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°How did you think of this?¡± Eoin asked, pointing to one pattern that, if looked at from left to right, looked like a ram¡¯s head but if looked at from right to left looked like a curly haired boy walking with a stick.

    ¡°Or this?¡± Eoin asked, wondering at another part. ¡°This bit is incredible, I don¡¯t understand how you managed to get it to loop around so well. Wait, is the back just the front but reversed and upside down? It looks so different.¡±

    Cellesta did try to answer a few times but her quiet voice wasn¡¯t able to break through Eoin¡¯s constant stream of questions. In the end, she settled on smiling and nodding, grateful her work was being so thoroughly appreciated.

    When Eoin finished badgering the woman with questions that were less questions and more exclamations at yet another thing he had discovered in the bag¡¯s beautiful design, his mother approached - already slightly tipsy - and handed her son the present she had made for him.

    Somehow, over the past few weeks, she had managed to create a hat for Eoin without his knowing. It was a dark green flat cap made from felt and lined with silk - a scarce and expensive material imported into Caorah.

    Although the present his Ma gave him looked like nothing too special, especially when compared to Cellesta¡¯s gift, his opinion was instantly changed when he put it on. It felt as if his head had poked through the clouds and was resting on the Pillar of Heaven. He closed his eyes, briefly in bliss.

    His mother, knowing her son would no doubt attack her with questions as soon as the immediately paralysing comfort wore off, used that moment to dish out the dinner. As soon as he opened his mouth to ask how she had made it fit so perfectly over his curly hair, she filled the opening with roasted chicken, roast potatoes, and mulled wine.

    Despite how he had felt when returning home, it ended up being a brilliant night. After the meal, games were played. Made all the more fun by the buzz the twin¡¯s wine had provided.

    Michael shouted out his own prompt in charades when he was getting frustrated but no one was able to determine what he was saying with his thick accent. Reithe somehow ¡®Baa¡¯ed in such a way that everyone could tell he was impersonating the salt merchant that often weaselled his way into Shearford. Fun was had all round.

    Before the night drew to a close, each guest took a moment to discreetly press strings of Iron Tannag into Eoin¡¯s palm when they thought no one was looking. These were the lowest form of currency used in the highland kingdoms and by extension Caorah but Eoin had never seen as many of the iron rings as he did that night. Most of the trade in Shearford was nothing more than an exchange of goods or services so seeing money at all was rare.

    At some point, everyone fell asleep. Because it was already late in the night and dark due to winter, all the guests expected to sleep over. It was cramped in the main room of Eoin¡¯s family home with all those people strewn about haphazardly, covering the sheepskin rugs but it was nice.

    With a warm feeling in his heart, Eoin drifted off, Reithe laid by his side. Given how content he had felt as he was falling asleep Eoin expected his dreams to be pleasant but that couldn¡¯t be further from the truth.

    That night, he had an incredibly vivid dream that was so lucid, he felt it must be real. First, there was darkness. The faint beating of a heart pulsed all around and Eoin could feel liquid moving. A woman was screaming in pain, the sound reverberated through him. He was forced out of this wet cocoon head first. There was a flash of light. Searing pain then, nothing. Only the endless void. A void that seemed familiar¡­

    ?

    Thump, thump, thump, thump.

    ¡°Errrr.¡±

    Stomp, stomp, stomp.

    ¡°Grrrr, stop that,¡± Eoin moaned, still half asleep.

    Thud, Thud. The sound of hoof-on-wood grew louder and closer.

    ¡°Quiet,¡± Eoin groaned, clutching his head and rolling around on the floor, his eyes still closed.

    Thwack!

    ¡°Owww,¡± Eoin howled, stumbling to his feet with the rear assist that had been so generously given by Reithe. Eoin immediately regretted his outburst, he clutched his head and bemoaned the pain that overcame it.

    Reithe, spry and full of energy, expected his regular chiding for his normal method of morning alarm, but seeing that the young boy, no, man, was not in the mood, he nuzzled him in apology.

    Eoin wasn¡¯t grateful for his friend''s attempt to improve his mood. The combination of his dizziness, tiredness, and the feeling of rough wool on his hand made him feel sick.

    Before anything could come of the feeling, a warm mug was placed in his hands. With his eyes half lidded, Eoin didn¡¯t see who had put it there, but he recognised his father¡¯s voice when he said ¡°drink¡±.

    Eoin drank. A bolt of lightning coarse through him. Starting with an impossibly sour and bitter taste on his tongue, the sensation shot up to his head, bouncing around his brain until it was clear. Then it coursed down his body and awakened every single cell one by one.

    ¡°That was fucking discusting!¡± Eoin exclaimed, his eyes now wide open and staring accusingly at his father, who wore a slight smile.

    ¡°Language,¡± a muffled voice said.

    Eoin replied, ¡°sorry Ma,¡± reflexively, before looking across the main room, barely illuminated by the rising sun, to see his mother was still asleep in the pile of bodies and had chided him in her sleep. The only ones awake were Eoin, Reithe, and Sean.

    ¡°It is pretty horrible isn¡¯t it,¡± his father said in a quiet voice, conscious of the still sleeping guests.

    ¡°If you know that, then why did you give it to me?¡± Eoin asked in a hissing whisper as he spat out everything he hadn¡¯t swallowed then scraped away at his tongue with his fingernails, desperately trying to get rid of the after taste.

    ¡°Ain¡¯t no better way to get rid of a hangover,¡± Sean replied without remorse. Eoin thought about it a moment, then realised he was right. Although he had never felt the after effects of an overindulgence in alcohol before, he knew that was what he had been experiencing. ¡°Had,¡± being the operative word.

    Just seconds ago Eoin had felt on the edge of death but now he was fine, better than fine, he felt great. Ready to go out and explore the world.

    ¡°What was in that?¡± Eoin asked, eager to learn the cure for an affliction he suspected he might contract a few more times before his year away was over.

    ¡°Yellow Cowanus,¡± Eoin¡¯s Pa replied, and the look of anticipation dropped from Eoin¡¯s face. That plant had gained its name for a reason. Getting within ten paces filled once nostrils with the worst possible smell and the scent only got worse as one got closer.

    His Pa then proceeded to press a clay jar into his hand that had been stoppered and sealed several times with tar, stopping the vile smell from leaking out. He explained that this was his gift and what he had spent yesterday searching up the mountain for.

    Eoin thanked him then questioned, ¡°Why are you up Pa?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to get you up before the others,¡± he explained, ¡°Ye Ma don¡¯t like goodbyes. She says if you stick around to say farewell she may hold on ta ya and never let go¡­ so go on, get,¡± his father concluded with a shooing motion.

    Eoin was taken aback for a moment. He looked over at his mother, touched by her love until he saw her fart in the face of the burly blacksmith whilst still asleep. Turning toward the door, Eoin spotted his new satchel, filled to the brim.

    Taking a peek inside, Eoin saw that, while he was asleep, his Pa had packed everything he could possibly need.

    Walking over to his father, he surprised him with a hug. The older man was taken off guard, but, after a moment, he reciprocated. After the quiet embrace, Eoin picked up his bag, attached his scabbard sword to his belt, did up his coat, and pulled his new hat down onto his head.

    Reithe ¡°Baa¡±ed goodbye. Eoin picked up his spare scarf, a threadbear red affair that had seen its best days long ago, and wrapped it around his neck. He opened the door, ready to step out into the unknown.

    Whilst he looked back at all he had ever known, the house he had grown up in, and the few people he could call family - his flat cap pulled down to cover watering eyes - the newly made man started off. He didn¡¯t look in front of him. He didn¡¯t see the dozy sheep who was yet again munching in the doorway. Its white wool blended perfectly with the snow.

    ¡°Oof!¡± Eoin exhaled as he tripped over the ewe and landed once more on his face, ear-deep in the snow.

    A Tri-Tunnag

 Chapter 4: An Adventure

    Chapter 4

    <hr>

    An Adventure

    So it was that Eoin found himself spitting out snow again as he walked across the field, ready to go on an adventure. He had been nervous about this traditional right of passage, the thought of being away from home for a year when he had never been gone for more than a day had twisted his stomach into knots for weeks. But now he was actually leaving, Eoin didn¡¯t know what he had feared, he felt great.

    The blue sun was bright and the sky clear, the perfect conditions for a journey. Even though snow had worked its way into every crack and crevice when he fell - nothing could dampen his spirits. This was going to be a proper Adventure.

    As he walked across the sheep field, a spring in his step and a ram by his side, Eoin thought about where he should go.

    He had, of course, asked his friends and family where to head to but no one had given him a direct answer. The point of this tradition was not only to learn about the wider world, but also to become self-sufficient. Eoin would have to make his own way.

    Eoin and Reithe had discussed it and decided that they must visit Yarnmouth - the only real city on Caorah. It was widely considered the capital but none ruled this island so nothing was official.

    The pair came to the end of the field, hopped the stye, and stepped onto the mountain path. Going left would lead them up, over the mountains, and towards the river Yarn. Right led down, past Shearford and towards Hoofstuck marsh.

    They went right. Although the left path would be quicker, it was impossible to cross The Wooly Mountains when the snows were set as firmly as they were.

    Eoin walked with energy, but without urgency, as he traced his steps from the day before. When he came to the cut-off which led through the copse of pine trees and across the gap, he remained on the path. Eoin was in no mood to take a short-cut on the road of life and wind up dead - yesterday was too close.

    As Eoin followed the road, he found his new sword bumping around and constantly getting in the way. He tripped twice and fell once before Reithe grew tired of his clumsiness and guided the young man¡¯s hand to the weapon¡¯s pommel. As it turned out, by keeping a hand on the sword while they walked, Eoin was able to guide the blade and he soon found walking with the weapon almost as natural as without.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Eoin said earnestly, a big grin involuntarily plastered across his face. He couldn¡¯t help but think of himself as a warrior now that he could walk unimpeded with a sword at his hip. Reithe rolled his eyes at the juvenile human.

    It didn¡¯t take long for the pair to make it to Shearford. The people who were going about their daily lives in and around the village at the foot of The Wooly Mountains were more enthusiastic in their greetings as Eoin and Reithe walked through. Everyone knew this would be the last time they would see the village''s only teenager for an entire year.

    One old woman, who Eoin had helped collect firewood, called him over and pressed a Tri-Tunnag into his hand for good luck. He tried several times to refuse the gift, as was polite, but eventually Eoin was forced to relent. He threaded the metal ring onto a leather cord that lay around his neck, joining the others underneath his clothes - pressed close to his skin.

    Leaving the village, on its far side, Eoin found himself at the top of a grassy slope. The path led away from Shearford and out of the mountains. It wound in and out of several miles of rolling, grassy hills, stubbled with trees, following the growing river all the while.

    Looking down at this beautiful land, speckled with crop fields and dotted with cows, Eoin couldn¡¯t help but reflect on how it contrasted with the harsh and mountainous terrain near his home. Only a few miles away and already it looked so different.

    Not that the sight was new to him, only the eyes which saw were - given a fresh perspective by the adventurous mindset Eoin had chosen to adopt. He had been all the way to Milka¡¯s farm, which hid behind a few more hills. This was still home turf.

    An idea struck him as he shielded his eyes from the sun''s reflection, which bounced off a far away pond and temporarily blinded him. Looking down at his animal companion, he could see by the glint in his eye that the pair were thinking alike.

    ¡°Ready.¡±

    ¡°Baa.¡±

    ¡°Go.¡±

    The two took off, shooting down the hill like lightning flowing from the heavens. Eoin started to pull ahead, the incline less of an imposition for his two legs. Reithe breathed heavily, steam pumping out from his mouth as he pushed himself to go faster.

    At the bottom of the hill, the path crossed an arched bridge. So as not to slow down, Eoin jumped to the middle of the hump and sprinted down the otherside, desperate to maintain his lead.

    It was hopeless. As soon as the stoney path started to climb up the next rise, Reithe couldn¡¯t help but pull out in front. Each one of his four legs added to his speed. His mountainous nature meant that his hooves were well placed and there wasn¡¯t a chance of slipping as he drove up the hill, accelerating all the while.

    The race was far from over. They went down one hill and up another, trading pole position, passing; Puntri¡¯s house - surrounded by gourds, Willith¡¯s shack - the one that moved from left to right with the wind, and Conova¡¯s maze field - filled with nothing but snow covered stumps.

    As the pair ran up and down, the river wound in and out. At the base of each hill there was a new stone bridge that got larger in tandem with the Shear river.

    Although the hills rose and fell, the overall trend was downward as they headed towards the sea. This was the only reason that Eoin was still in the race - he could never beat the speed of a sheep on level ground.

    Eventually, they came to what would be the last rise of their competition, and a good thing too. Eoin reached the crest of the final hill and barely had time to look upon the cow-filled, grassy field and the grand house and dairy down near the river, before he saw the distance Reithe had managed to gain.

    Reithe was already a quarter of the way down this final descent when Eoin came over the top. Desperate, the young man took larger and larger leaping steps, gaining on his friend little by little. Just as it looked like Eoin would pass Reithe and take the win, he tripped.

    A stone, larger than the usual gravel of the path, was hidden under the snow. Eoin, as hard as he was pressing, didn¡¯t stand a chance. One second he was sprinting, full pelt, down the hill, the next he was rolling, tumbling, twisting.

    Snow started to build up around his flailing body as he gained more and more speed. Reithe looked back, and in less time than anyone could believe, he saw a giant ball of snow chasing after him.

    The ram, not wanting to be squished, put on an as yet unseen burst of speed. It wasn¡¯t enough. Tired from their run, he couldn¡¯t muster the energy to out pace this accelerating ball of snow and boy. Just as it was almost upon him, Reithe closed his eyes and hoped for the best.

    The snowball swallowed him whole. The wailing and bleating sphere continued the race, getting faster and faster as it descended towards the river.

    This was their agreed upon finish line for two reasons. Milka¡¯s family¡¯s dairy, which stood here, by the river, was the furthest the pair had gone in this direction.

    And, the second, more pressing reason, was that between Shearford and this farm the road was straight - at least when looked at from above. When it came to a hill, it rose over it. When it came to a copse of trees, it ploughed through them. When it came to the river, it bridged over. That wasn¡¯t true for the section of river that lay before the screaming white ball that grew with every passing second.

    Milka¡¯s farm marked the point at which the path curved, following alongside the river. This meant that Eoin, Reithe, and the gathering snow were headed straight for an open body of water - no bridge to save them from the icy liquid.

    Both the man and his sheep were on the same page. As they rolled, they flailed desperately, trying to get their snowball¡¯s trajectory to change. Unfortunately, although they were on the same page, they weren¡¯t reading from the same book. Eoin strained to get them to move left of the path and into a cow barn. Reithe wiggled them over to the right, towards a pine tree.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Just as it looked like they were headed straight for the river, a damp beginning to what was supposed to be their manly adventure, fate intervened. The calm day was broken by a sudden gail which bowed the trees and scattered hay in the air. An empty cart was blown out into the middle of the road.

    Backward, Eoin saw the hilly path - devoid of snow. Down, Eoin couldn¡¯t see anything. Forward, a sudden cart appeared out of nowhere. There wasn¡¯t even time for him to cry out before. Thump. Poof. Snow flew in all directions and Eoin and Reithe came to a very abrupt stop.

    Though the world was spinning, Eoin thought he saw a flash of green in the corner of his eye, darting across the sky. Before he had the time to recognise it, he collapsed.

    ?

    For the third time in two days, Eoin found himself picking snow out of unwanted parts as he walked with his friend, down the unfamiliar path. Unlike the human, Reithe only needed to do a doggy shake and the white powder glode off, like an orphan down an oiled blanket.

    ¡°Did you see that?¡± Eoin asked with a surprising amount of exuberance for his sorry looking state.

    Reithe gave him the side eye in a manner that Eoin inferred to mean, See What?

    ¡°Right as we were about to go into the river, that thing I told you about before - near the gap - it came back and moved the cart to save us!¡± Eoin exclaimed.

    The ram snorted in dismissal.

    ¡°No, Really!¡± the young man insisted, ¡°How else do you explain that sudden gust of wind? It came out of nowhere, and it''s been completely calm the rest of the day - not so much as a light breeze.¡±

    Reithe, being a creature of logic, only believed in what he could see, and he hadn¡¯t caught sight of this strange, translucent, glowing green ball about the size of a fist that Eoin described. Still, the ram didn¡¯t have an explanation for the miracle that stopped them from rolling into what may have been an icy death.

    ¡°You¡¯re being stubborn. There¡¯s more than enough proof at this point. You can¡¯t simply brush me off as mad. This thing that I see and you do not - it''s very much real,¡± Eoin went on, somewhat trying to convince himself.

    Reithe, being a creature of reason, listened to his friend¡¯s comments. Picking a blade of grass that had poked through the snowy blanket, Reithe began to chew as he mulled over the issue. When solving any problem, it was important that he first start by acknowledging any biases he may have. Was he biased?

    The ram spat out his grassy snack grumply, before thinking better of it and plucking another. He was. Reithe wasn¡¯t looking at this objectively. Magical wind spirits were the stuff of stories, told by beggars to entertain and maybe make a few pennies.

    When he was still a lamb, Reithe had listened to such fairy tales and, filled with the exuberance of youth, had gone off with Eoin to search up and down the mountain for elementals, or spirits, or magical phenomena, or other such nonsense. They had never found anything.

    Reithe could admit that, if something truly magical had appeared, his bitterness at not being able to see it would cloud his judgment.

    Reflecting on the facts, Reithe couldn¡¯t help but admit that Eoin¡¯s explanation of events was the most likely. Having come to this conclusion, the ram let out a breath, turned to his friend, and nodded slightly.

    Eoin, who had been waiting anxiously for Reithe, whooped with delight. With his friend having accepted his words, they could put their heads together and figure out what had happened.

    The next few miles went by quickly. Although they had never been this far before, the terrain was much the same as they were used to and the novelty soon wore off. While walking along the frozen, muddy, and snow covered path, they engaged in a debate.

    Simple words and phrases, the pair had signals for. Nodding one''s head for yes, shaking for no, crossing the legs in an X to show ten, and many more. A more complex discussion about the mysteries of magic - widely thought to be fictional in Shearford - was a more difficult affair.

    Eoin posed yes or no questions until Reithe¡¯s opinion was finally teased out. After a lengthy back and forth, it was concluded that the creature Eoin had seen was, most likely, a wind elemental.

    Although the stories of their kind painted them as anything from an angry storm to a seductive woman who blew kisses that granted good luck, there was simply nothing else the pair could think of that even vaguely matched the green ball(who had long since left and couldn¡¯t be studied)¡¯s description. As to why it helped them, they could only assume that it was returning the favour Eoin had apparently done in removing that black shard.

    The only thing they were truly able to determine was that neither of them knew anything about magic. But that was fine in Eoin¡¯s view, it gave them a goal. Something to learn whilst on this manly adventure. Reithe, on the other hand, was not pleased. He loved a puzzle, but only so long as he could solve it.

    They walked for most of the day, stopped for a light lunch of oats and water, then continued on. They now found themselves in a patch of pine forest about a mile in width. Reithe was about to try and convey that unknown magical things following them might be dangerous and that they should be careful, when a rustling caught his attention.

    The sun was about halfway down and, under the forest canopy, it was dark. Despite this, Reithe was able to catch a glimpse of something in a batch of bracken off to their right. That was all the ram needed for his instincts to kick in. Before he could think, Reithe rammed into a still speaking Eoin - forcing the air from his lungs and stopping him from going on about the possibility of pixies.

    Reithe acted just in time. Seconds after Eoin was sent flying across the path, a wolf jumped out of the underbrush; pouncing right at the place where he would have been.

    Eoin was momentarily stunned. He looked down and saw that there were two rips in his leather coat. He was about to chide Reithe, clearly the ram wasn¡¯t used to his horn enhancements, but then he looked up and saw the fierce creature with its hackles raised, snarling at them.

    In that eerie calm that sometimes results from a sudden shock, Eoin asked his wooly companion, ¡°It¡¯s two vs one, do we fight or flee?¡± He spoke in a soft voice, so as not to spook the beast who was slowly stalking towards the pair - furious that its first strike hadn''t landed.

    Reithe took in the situation in the space of a breath. Wolves were nothing new to the mountain dwellers, they would show up from time to time and hunt the sheep but were usually scared off by humans.

    Eoin said there was only one but Reithe had seen them hunt. They never strayed far from their pack. Except, looking about, the ram couldn¡¯t see any sign of other wolves and the one that was slowly pacing towards them hadn¡¯t called for back up when its initial attack failed. Reithe wondered why?

    He didn¡¯t wonder for long, as the beast that was a head taller than the ram and coloured a dirty grey, jumped at the pair, and they dodged in opposite directions, Reithe got his answer. A fleck of spittle landed on his snout as the wolf streamed by. He followed the trajectory of the globule and saw, dripping from the creature''s drawn back lips, a white, frothy foam. The thing was completely rabid!

    Seeing this, Reithe knew there was only one option. Eoin was still waiting for a response so he decided to give him one.

    Surprising both the wolf and the man, Reithe charged straight at his foe, not waiting for them to attack again. Although the wolf wasn¡¯t expecting the move, and although its mind was addled by whatever disease had maddened it, it was still a wolf and far faster than a sheep. It pranced aside and was just about to pounce at Reithes exposed flank when something hard was shoved in its mouth.

    The beast bit down on Eoin¡¯s sheath, before shaking its head back and forth rapidly. The young man had tried to draw his sword but in the moment he was unable to undo the knot Michael The Blacksmith had tied. Determined to help his friend, Eoin shoved the still sheathed blade in the beast¡¯s maw, blocking it from using its most dangerous weapon.

    While he was still being shaken about by the manic wolf, and while Reithe was still turning around for another charge, Eoin had a brilliant idea. Drawing his knife from his belt, he stabbed at the beast. His aim was true and the wild thing released its bite, shooting back, blood dripping from its missing eye.

    Just as the creature was about to unleash its fury on the young man, Reithe came, once more, to the rescue. His second charge struck true. The wolf was distracted by its anger at Eoin and didn¡¯t see the ram as its metal capped horns punctured its side and ripped up. Reithe stood tall atop the creature, proud of his victory.

    For a moment, there was nothing but silence. All Eoin could hear was blood rushing in his ears. He straightened, lowering his weapons. The fight was over¡ª

    The beast surged to its feet, knocking Reithe away, and charging straight at Eoin. He tried to get the sword and knife in front of him to defend but there wasn¡¯t time. Not familiar with fighting two-weaponed, the dagger slid along the sword''s sheath as the wolf landed with its full weight on top of him, knocking the young man to the floor and causing him to stab himself in the lower arm.

    Reithe scrambled to his hooves, cursing his arrogance and hoping he could make it to his friend in time. The wolf was atop him and its heavy paws held Eoin¡¯s arms by his side and no matter how much he struggled he couldn¡¯t get them free.

    The beast snarled scornfully before opening its mouth wide enough to swallow the man¡¯s head whole. Reithe was still three times his body¡¯s length away from the interlocked fighters when the wolf leaned down - ready to deliver the coup de grace. The ram''s eyes widened and he let out a furious battle ¡°Baaaa¡± as he pushed to stop the inevitable.

    Eoin watched, helpless, as the hallowing, stinking teeth drew closer and closer. The pain of his fresh stab wound the only thing stopping panic from overcoming him. This was it, the end. He had just set out on his journey and already it was over. He closed his eyes, waiting for the cold embrace of death.

    Death, as it turned out, wasn¡¯t cold. It was warm. It felt like a slightly sticky and coppery smelling rain. Eoin opened his tightly screwed shut eyes, expecting to see the head of a feral beast but¡­ There was no head.

    Looking to his left, he locked eye with the wolf. Looking up, a fountain of blood continued to pour onto his face from the stump of its neck. Looking further up, Eoin could make out the shape of a very familiar green ball.

    Blurring his vision was a black mist that seemed to spew from the corpse and felt just as slimy and as off putting as the shard that had been embedded in the elemental.

    The green grew more bright and he felt more than heard it question, simply,

    ¡°You. Okay?¡±

    Eoin had just enough strength to raise a hand in affirmation before darkness crept in rapidly from the edges of his vision and he fell into unconsciousness.

 Chapter 5: Making Friends

    Chapter 5

    <hr>

    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. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    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.

 Chapter 6: A Witch

    Chapter 6

    <hr>

    A Witch

    Darkness enveloped the marsh. Mist moved glacially in the low lying wetland and clouds obscured the stars far above. Muddy water bubbled as gas rose from the depths. The only light were the green flames of willow wisps who tempted lost travelers into a murky grave.

    The only light that was, safe for a small campfire deep in Hoofstuck Marsh. Warm orange light danced and sparked as it happily chewed through the dry winter wood that had been fed to it. This bastion of light marked a haven in the deadly bog. Sheltering in its protection were three figures.

    The first was a proud ram with a full and luscious fleece who, at that moment, was not acting at all prideful. He pretended to sleep whilst he kept an eye on the other two.

    The second was a young man, only just turned seventeen, who¡¯s curly blond hair flapped about, his new flat cap doing little to prevent the movement. His piercing green eyes examined the newly awakened third person; ensuring he was doing everything he could to aid the sickly figure.

    This third and final person was new to the group and the reason Reithe the ram¡¯s weary eyes were wary. The pair had found this newcomer, dressed in thin, black clothes, unconscious in the middle of the bog with no one else around for miles.

    Reithe had thought it suspicious but Eoin the blond jumped straight in to help. He gave this other black-haired young man his blanket so that he may warm. He started a fire so that he wouldn¡¯t freeze. He even spoon fed the unconscious man the spiced wine that had been gifted to him for his birthday.

    Despite all this, Eoin was no saint. He was startled to find that this stranger in black had consumed half of the valuable bottle whilst Eoin thought the man unconscious. He was angry, and barely stopped himself from striking the presumptive invalid. Instead, he settled for snatching back his bottle and replacing it with a water-skin.

    Once the other man realised what he had done, he apologised profusely. He explained that he awoke with a deadly thirst and the wine was the only thing to hand. When Eoin heard the dryness in the man¡¯s voice he stopped downing the rest of the drink out of spite; he could tell that this man was  being truthful and it made Eoin feel guilty, vis-¨¤-vis the anger he had felt.

    ¡°My name is Dorcha,¡± the black haired man introduced once he had swallowed enough water to repair his voice. Dorcha sat up as much as he could whilst swaddled in Eoin¡¯s blanket and offered the man a hand to shake.

    Eoin didn¡¯t hesitate, feeling ashamed of himself for not being the one to offer an introduction, he shook vigorously and proclaimed, ¡°Eoin.¡±

    Dorcha¡¯s hand wasn¡¯t as soft as Eoin expected. Based on the exceptionally pale skin and the fine but unsuitable back shirt, trousers, and tailcoat, Eoin had assumed that this man came from money; the sort of person who had never done a hard day¡¯s work. But the calluses told a story of shoveling, raking, and even shearing.

    ¡°You¡¯re a Shepard!¡± Eoin blurted without thinking. Dorcha¡¯s silky black eyebrows shot up in surprise. A complicated mix of emotion flickered across his face. There were so many and they changed so quickly that neither Eoin nor Reithe, who was still spying on the conversation, could tell quite what the statement had dug up in the man.

    After a moment of silence, in which Dorcha was clearly debating what to say, he cracked.

    ¡°I owe you for saving my life, I would have frozen to death if not for your intervention, to say nothing of the wine.¡± Dorcha took a hesitant breath then continued, ¡°My great grandfather was a Shepard, My father was a Shepard, I¡­ I am not.¡±

    There was a pause and, not fully understanding the gravity of the man¡¯s words, Eoin pressed, ¡°You¡¯re not?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Dorcha responded rather firmly and with bitterness behind his words. He took a couple of breaths, then softened his tone, ¡°I don¡¯t mean to be rude, but this is a very raw wound.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± Eoin responded, raising his hands and backing up, ¡°I don¡¯t need to know.¡± Though his mouth said one thing, his eyes said another. Dorcha saw the curious hunger that lay behind them.

    ¡°I at least owe you an explanation,¡± Dorcha replied, his eyebrows furrowed, ¡°Just¡­ just, give me a moment.¡±

    Eoin sat and waited for the other man to compose himself and appeared to be perfectly content to wait until the cows came home but Reithe knew otherwise. The slight clicking of the nails and the overfast blinking of the eyes were the steam rising from the boiling kettle of questions that was Eoin¡¯s mind.

    A few more seconds passed as the other man thought about where to start.

    ¡°I was born on a sheep farm. My father was a Shepard. My mother was a seamstress. We were happy.¡± Dorcha began, his sentence abrupt and to the point, as if it pained him to recall.

    Another pause ensued and Eoin strained to keep hold of all the questions straining to escape him:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">How many ewes and rams did your farm have?</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">How long had the farm been established?</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Why do you speak of your parents and your happiness in the past tense?</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Earlier you corrected the stitch I was trying to do, did your mother teach you how to sew?</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Why are you out here alone?</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Why are you dressed like that?</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Why aren¡¯t you continuing?</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">¡­</li>

    </ul>

    Despite Eoin¡¯s best efforts, one question did manage to slip out. Well, it was less of a question and more of an encouragement to continue speaking.

    ¡°And?¡± Eoin asked/prompted.

    ¡°It all started a year ago,¡± Dorcha finally opened up, ¡°We lived near a village on the warp river, near the end of the wooly mountains. One day, a plague struck. At first it was the animals.

    The sheep were throwing up from both ends, they couldn¡¯t keep anything down. They wasted away and there was nothing we could do to stop it. Before a week was through, the whole flock were little more than thin carcasses left on the mountain side; food for the birds.¡±

    Dorcha¡¯s words slowed Eoin¡¯s whirling mind. As the son of a Shepherd, he knew just how bad this was. He could imagine how he would feel if this were to happen to his flock. Or rather, he couldn¡¯t. It was just too horrible. But that wasn¡¯t the end of it.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t the end of it,¡± Dorcha went on, ¡°if that had been everything, we would have recovered. Animals are expensive but farming Caorah sheep is profitable, we had enough set aside to start over.¡±

    Eoin nodded along with Dorcha¡¯s words. Although the thought of what he was describing turned the young man¡¯s blood cold, Eoin knew that his family would similarly be able to bounce back with enough time. The land was what mattered after all; the sheep much preferred living on the mountains and the fleeces of such sheep were always of a higher quality.

    ¡°....Like I said, the animals were only the start,¡± the man in black continued, ¡°The first person to get sick was Peshek, the miller. No one thought too much of it. He was known for his deplorable behaviour and his getting illnesses was deemed his own fault.

    ¡®It would never happen to us,¡¯ they said.

    It did happen to us. Next to go was the Priest of Homos, shortly followed by many of the village''s children and elderly. The weak were taken first. Word was sent to Yarnmouth for aid.

    My father isolated us in our farm. We had our own food and we drew our own water from the river and never met with anyone from the village. It didn¡¯t matter, my father became sick all the same.

    My mother and I were desperate; my father would only have a few days to live. When a magician came to the village, attached to a dispatchment sent by Mr Ewing, we thought we were saved. We weren¡¯t. His services were not free and even with all we had saved it wasn¡¯t enough for his potions.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    My father was stubborn, and even as he lay dying, he insisted he was fine and not to worry about him. That was until my mother fell ill. He sent me to fetch the magician. So, I did.

    Whilst bedridden, my father talked to the magic doer. I wasn¡¯t privy to the negotiations, all I know is the result. He signed away our farm for one vial of the cure. He didn¡¯t tell me this and when the magician left with his white cloak swishing behind him, I assumed all had been solved - by the look on my parent¡¯s faces.

    They made me drink the vial, saying they had already had theirs and it would just take a day or two to have its effects. I sat beside them in their bed, tending to them the whole while and waiting for the pair to recover. Within three days they were dead.¡±

    Another silence swept through the camp and this time it remained unbroken until Dorcha picked back up with far more weight and conviction in his voice:

    ¡°Anger rose inside me, and I stormed off to confront the Magician. I assumed his cure had failed. When I marched into the village chief¡¯s hut that Ewing¡¯s men had been using as a base for their work I was immediately knocked down by an armed and armoured man.

    As I sprawled on the ground, I could see but not do anything about the sword that was headed straight towards me. Just before this knight could cut me down, his arm was stopped by the very man I had come to kill.

    With a single word from the Magician, the man-at-arms stood down. I was at a loss for what to think. Before my anger could work its way back to the surface, the Magician - an older and kind looking man than I remembered - seemed to recognise me.

    He made me follow him and, dumbly, I did. He showed me the next room. It was filled with beds. Tens of villagers were there, and all were dying. This Magician was tending to each of them, not with magic but by hand.

    This was at odds with the image of the man which I had built up in my mind. Dumbfounded, I asked:

    ¡®If you wish to help these people, why don¡¯t you use potions?¡¯ To which, he produced the contract on which my father made his mark. I can¡¯t read so when I asked, he read it out. That was when I learned of the price he had paid and that it was in return for only one potion.

    The Magician went on to explain that he had made no money from the arrangement, that was simply how deer the ingredients were. He explained that this plague likely had magical origins which made it more powerful but also meant it would be short lived.

    I listened to very little of the man¡¯s explanations. With no target for my anger, it simmered down and the world fell out from beneath me.

    I don¡¯t remember much of the following days. The plague ended. The Magician left and several days later I received a message from one of Mr Ewing¡¯s runners saying that he had bought the deed to what used to be my farm.

    Not even that could stir anything in my empty heart. In truth, Mr Ewing behaved admirably. He let me keep my family home, even though the land was his. He even went so far as to arrange a funeral for all those who died in the village.

    It was at that somber ceremony that the cause of the plague was uncovered. While drunk, the village chief revealed that three weeks before any of it, he had received a caller. A starving and elderly woman, covered in warts. She asked for food, for water, for money. She begged on hands and knees but he refused to give her a thing.

    She then dissolved into dust and cursed the man saying, he should head deep into Hoofstuck marsh and repent for his lack of charity by severing his ear or, she promised, he would regret his decision.

    Naturally, he was strung up on the hanging tree by an angry mob. But, when I asked, with newfound fire, whether any of the villagers would join me in seeking vengeance on this crone, they all hesitated.

    Furious, I cursed them all before leaving alone, without even a second to prepare. And, to cut a long story short, that is why I am here, still dressed in the clothes of that day.¡±

    ?

    ¡°A Witch! She¡¯s a Witch!¡± Eoin exclaimed with fear and a healthy dose of respect for the black-haired man. Witches and Magicians were only things that made it to shearford via story. Until this moment, Eoin wasn¡¯t even sure that they existed. That said, if they did there was one thing that was commonly known about Witches, they were evil.

    Whether it be boiling baby soup, cursing cripples, or sucking out souls; Witches were the enemy in every story.

    Eoin and Docha continued talking but Reithe wasn¡¯t listening. Something about this whole situation felt off to him, though he couldn¡¯t place his hoof on what. When the ram returned to listening in on the conversation, to his horror he found that Eoin had already vowed to help this man on his quest for justice.

    Eoin had told the other man of his own, very similar, upbringing and the pair became fast friends. They chatted long into the night, planning out how to vanquish this evil witch whilst Reithe spent his night fretting about the trouble his human friend was needlessly getting them into.

    At some point, sleep swept through the camp and the silence of the night was restored. Since the guest, Dorcha, was using Eoin¡¯s blanket he snuggled up next to Reithe for warmth.

    The next morning came quickly and, as usual, the ram was the first to wake. Instead of his normal means of waking Eoin, he chose to gently nuzzle the man to consciousness because he wanted a moment to confer in private.

    Reithe expressed his unease. He couldn¡¯t put it together in a coherent manner, but there was something wrong with gallivanting off after a Witch at the word of a stranger. Despite his warnings, Eoin was convinced helping this stranger was the right thing to do. His mind was set and nothing could be done to change it.

    Reithe resigned himself to his fate. Dorcha woke soon after and his condition was much improved. The only thing that had been ailing him was the cold and, now that that had been treated, he was back in tip top shape.

    While they were breaking camp, the pale man noticed Eoin¡¯s sword and reacted in the way all lads of that age seemed to when seeing a proper weapon; with admiration and excitement. When Eoin revealed that it was a gift for his coming of age a strange mood came over the lad.

    When pressed, he revealed that he had forgotten his own seventeenth birthday. It had come and gone in the days leading up to the funeral and he had completely missed it. Feeling bad, Eoin gifted the other boy what little wine that remained, to try and help with the slight headache the night before had caused.

    He refused at first but when Eoin revealed he had a cure for such ailments he relented. Pinching his nose, Eoin opened the jar his father had given him and with a single drop of the nasty fluid, felt as right as rain.

    Eoin, being a generous young man, also allowed Dorcha to keep his blanket and use it as a cloak. In return, Dorcha, being the son of a seamstress, helped Eoin finish the repairs to his coat. Reithe, despite his doubts, had to admit that part of the story was no doubt true. When he was done, no marks were left from what had been a nasty tear.

    Dorcha seemed surprise by Reithe. He hadn¡¯t thought much on it last night as other things occupied his mind. Caorah sheep were more intelligent than other breeds and some people did choose to keep one as a pet, much like a dog.

    That said, Reithe seemed particularly smart. It unnerved Dorcha that his saviour¡¯s pet listened to every word that was said and acted as though he understood them. The man in black never saw Eoin issue any commands but when he complained of thirst, a waterskin smacked him in the face and Reithe seemed to laugh at the look of indignation his owner shot him.

    When the camp was well and truly broken and everything was packed up, they set off once more. The mist had passed and the swamp could be seen. It was far less spookey when one could see the source of sound, be that a ribbiting toad or a babbling brook.

    They followed the cairns for several miles and talked about their shared experience as Shepherds. Dorcha grew more open and his glower mood seemed to rise.

    After a few miles of snowy bog, they made it to a small, dead tree and Dorcha stepped off the path without a second thought. Before Eoin could follow behind, also without thinking, Reithe bit onto his coat and held the man back. It took Eoin a moment to understand what Reithe wanted.

    ¡°How do you know this is the right way to go to find this Witch?¡± Eoin said, asking Reithe¡¯s question.

    Dorcha looked at the ram strangely before answering.

    ¡°On my way there I stopped by Hoofstuck village. They had heard of the Witch and some of the washerwomen told me that they came here seeking love potions,¡± he explained in answer.

    This seemed to satisfy Eoin and he continued on, asking the next benign question that had come to him - as was his way. It wasn¡¯t sufficient for Reithe however. The way he walked along the unmarked path with confidence was, to him, suspicious.

    Looking ahead, Reithe could see the faint outline of footprints covered by last night''s snow and an idea began to form. When Dorcha jumped straight to the only section of solid ground in a patch of completely snowed over mud, talking with Eoin all the while, it only added to Reithe¡¯s conclusions.

    Before long, they came around a thicket of dead and spiky bushes that could be seen straight through and somehow found a cottage on the other side, complete with herb garden. Eoin exclaimed in surprise but Dorch did not. Resolve firmed his features and he took a step towards the house.

    Before he got too close, the door was slammed open with such force that the smoke puffing out of the chimney was stymied for a moment.

    There, standing in the doorway, was a beautiful middle aged woman with dark, greying hair, and a working dress whose sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong forearms.

    It wasn¡¯t what Eoin had expected from a Witch but that wouldn¡¯t stop him from vanquishing the evil that killed an entire village. Whilst Dorcha stopped and gulped, Eoin drew his sword and charged.

    The woman looked at him with derision and pulled back a hand. Reithe, appalled by his friend¡¯s recklessness, started charging after him.

    Eoin expected a fireball, or blast of wind, or a lightning bolt, or another hundred things that the stories of witches had included. Reithe expected much the same and rushed even faster to stop his friend. All the while, Dorcha stood back, frozen.

    The woman closed her fist, likely some part of the spell. Eoin continued his charge, ready to cut the Witch in two. He was ten paces from her. Seven. Five. Three. He blinked.

    Out of nowhere, a fist appeared right in front of his face. Before he could react he was punched so hard that he was sent reeling. Reithe, who couldn¡¯t halt his charge, collided with Eoin and sent him spinning three times before hitting the floor.

    He looked up through stars to see that his sword was gone. He turned to the Witch who had just recklessly stabbed the weapon into the ground. Eoin then realised that not once had she truly looked at him. Even now, she was staring at the frozen Dorcha with an odd expression twisting her face.

    Seeing Eoin sprawled out on the ground, Dorcha finally stepped forward. Ready to confront his family¡¯s killer.

 Chapter 7: Mentor?

    Chapter 7

    <hr>

    Mentor?

    Something was wrong. Reithe had seen it coming a mile away but Eoin was only now realising. With his bell well and truly rung, and with him too dizzy to get up, Eoin was, ironically, able to see things more clearly.

    Eoin wasn¡¯t as sharp as Reithe but, with the ram in question guarding his sprawled out body, he had the time to think. Reithe had charged after Eoin but once the man was sent flying, he spun and followed after, ignoring the supposed Witch.

    She did much the same, her attention locked on the young man, Dorcha, who was over and again charging at the woman. He would get knocked down only to run at her once more, all the time unarmed and far worse at fighting than this Witch.

    Speaking of the ¡®Witch¡¯, Eoin thought she looked like nothing of the sort. Now that he no longer saw red, the young man could make out that the middle aged woman was wearing a frilly green dress with yellow flowers embroidered on it. The garment hugged her form and was of exquisite quality, the sort of thing a noble lady may wear - or at least that¡¯s what Eoin assumed.

    This woman might have been a foreign noble, her posture was impeccable and her face, which Eoin had first thought looked cruel and cold, was, in fact, completely impassive. If not for her broken nose and clear penchant for brawling, she could definitely be of noble blood. Dorcha was again sent tumbling through the air and again not so much as one of the lady¡¯s eyebrow hairs was moved by his screaming assault.

    No, for just a moment, when the man in black collided with a flowering hedge, whose flowers were small and yellow, her face twisted. It was so slight and brief that Eoin thought he may have imagined it. But no, when Dorcha fell once more into the hedge it was there again, the fleeting expression of¡­ Annoyance? Disappointment? Eoin couldn¡¯t tell.

    Looking more closely at the battered foliage, a revelation struck the young man. It was winter, how could it be flowering? There was snow everywhere¡­ wait, how hadn¡¯t he noticed? It wasn¡¯t. Inside the borders of this quaint cottage¡¯s garden, spring was in bloom.

    Honeysuckle climbed up one side of the one-story brick house and Ivey the other. The two contracting shades of green were pleasing to the eye. Neatly kept rows of flowers bordered the trimmed grass, save for the east area, which was filled with herbs - some of which Eoin had never seen before.

    Something clicked in the young man''s head with the sensation of cracking one¡¯s knuckles. The feeling that had been suffusing his body and forcing him to walk the razor¡¯s edge between fight and flight disappeared. Colours, more saturated and vibrant than ever before, tugged at his eyes.

    Eoin cried, out holding his seeing spheres in pain as water leaked from the tight-shut orbs. Reithe, who had been watching the fight wearily and putting his body between it and Eoin, turned back with concern. He nuzzled his friend''s hand, trying to understand what had happened.

    Unlike the two humans, Reithe had not experienced the same rush of adrenaline that caused Eoin to attack this strange woman without hesitation and Dorcha to freeze like a buck in the lantern light. He didn¡¯t know what was affecting the pair and he hated the feeling of being useless.

    Between cries, Eoin pointed and said, bush. Reithe looked at the bush with yellow flowers. Besides the obvious magic that hid this spring time paradise, he saw nothing special about it but as Eoin continued to point he knew what he must do.

    By this point, Dorcha was foaming at the mouth with anger. His face was beat red and tears leaked from his eyes as he cursed the impassive woman who still had not said a word. Despite the fact she was fending off the rabid young man, she had spent a full minute studying Eoin after his fit began. In the end, she sighed and turned back to her attacker.

    Reithe assumed this bush with brambly thorns, star shaped leaves, and small yellow flowers to be what was causing Eoin so much pain and forcing him to keep his streaming eyes shut. Looking around, he sought a solution.

    When the woman had exited the house, she had left the door wide open and Reithe could see inside. He charged in, passing scattered paper, vellum, and bookshelves overflowing with leatherbound knowledge, he made his way to the roaring fire.

    Singeing his nose slightly, he retrieved a partially burned log from the flames and charged back out. Emberes dripped from his still burning torch and caught on the flammable scholarly tools, turning meticulously written notes into flames.

    For a moment, the ram, charging out of her house with fire in his mouth, caught the Witch¡¯s attention but when she looked back and saw that her house was on fire her perfectly controlled mask shattered. Anger overtook her and, for a moment, all three, Reithe, Dorcha, and Eoin¡¯s hearts stopped.

    It passed and she got control of herself as the chaos of the scene resumed. Now, however, she wasn¡¯t simply content to wait for it all to just play out. She stamped her brown leather riding boot on the ground and a shock wave spread through the earth.

    Eoin howled in pain and grabbed at everything when the wave reached him. Dorcha stumbled, prepared to charge, and fell waist deep into dirt that closed around him - holding the raging lad in place. Reithe wasn¡¯t even slowed in his rush towards the bush that had hurt his friend. He was a Caorah sheep, raised in the mountains, his footing was more sure than death and taxes.

    The Witch, having detained what used to be her biggest headache, headed straight into the burning building. As she marched, dark storm clouds coalesced above her head, reflecting the stormy anger which she had suppressed.

    Reithe lobbed the burning log in front of him at the bush. Before he could impact with the human height and lengthy treelets, Reithe curled up into a ball like an armadillo and instead bounced off the bush, right as it was starting to catch.

    As soon as the magical flower realised it was on fire, it exploded. For a brief moment, a fireball in the shape of a shapely woman with fiery red hair and a grin that was both innocent and malevolent, burst out from the combusting plant.

    The humanoid went up in smoke, leaving behind nothing but a joyous tinkle of violent laughter. Reithe had been stunned. His eyes now also watered from the blast of heat. He peered through the blurry haze at where the bush used to be, only to find there was nothing of it remaining, except a blackened root in the center of a crater. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Good, he thought, turning back to his companion to see if vanquishing whatever that was had cured him. Eoin was not moving. Reithe stumbled over, his legs shaky from the woman-shaped explosion.

    Was Eoin alright?

    Reithe slumped his head onto the man¡¯s chest. He waited. Finally, he found it. His heart was beating regularly. Eoin was fine, he was just asleep.

    Reithe relaxed, letting out a ¡°Baa,¡± of relief. Now that concern no longer drove him, the sheep collapsed beside his friend - that blast had taken more out of him than he realised. He needed a nap, surely a short one couldn¡¯t hurt.

    As it transpired, seconds before the inciting bush caught ablaze, Dorcha had worked himself into such a frenzy that he fainted, leaving the three failed Witch hunter¡¯s to be claimed by darkness as they fell into unconsciousness on the Witch¡¯s lawn.

    ?

    I chuckled to myself, the purring laughter somehow echoing in the vacuum of space. I hadn¡¯t before seen such a display of ineptitude. My humour was tempered however when I remembered that Eoin and I were a part of the same whole, his mistakes could be said to be my own. Slightly stymied, I turned my attention to the Witch as she got the flames under control. I was curious what she might do to the three idiots who had intruded on her domain.

    Celyn Cailleach, or Cel as she was known by her friends¡­ if she had any¡­ was a Witch. It was not something she had chosen, it was something she had been born as. That said, the pursuit of magic was her choice.

    It was one thing to have the talent, but one must first be awakened before they can be taught in the ways of the arcane. As a Witch, her teacher was mother nature though she was helped out by an older, more experienced Witch.

    She had learned to call down the water of the heavens, which she now used to extinguish her house but soaked what books remained. She had learned to command the earth, as she had done to trap the overzealous black-haired boy. She had even learned how to use the power of the gods. Lightning crackled between her fingertips as she debated whether or not to use it on those two morons and their sheep.

    Cel did not kill them as they slept. Instead, she let out a breath through cracked lips and allowed the electricity to harmlessly return to the earth. She was angry, really angry, but there was no one to blame but herself. As the fires of the house died down, so did the fires of her heart and, bit by bit, she released her anger.

    She had planted the flower of Ath? - goddess of war. It was an exceptional plant with a number of miraculous qualities. The spiky leaves could cure most infections, though they would give someone an incredible fever.

    It was impossibly flammable. The root could be used for its rich and spicy flavour and had the effect of raising one¡¯s libido. The tiny yellow blooms were the most precious however as they could heal someone from nearly any wound, increase someone¡¯s strength ten fold, and make them nearly impossible to kill for a short time.

    That said, the golden flowers weren¡¯t without their flaws. When consumed, they would make someone completely blind with rage until the effect ran its course - about a day or so. During that time nothing could calm the person who had consumed it; they would attack anyone indiscriminately.

    The fragrance alone had been enough to send these boys mad with rage, though strangely not the sheep. Even she had to keep a strict control on her emotions whenever the flower of Ath? was in bloom. Cel walked over to the blackened stump that once was a very rare and very expensive plant and sighed - letting the last of her anger leave.

    Looking back at the interlopers without malice in her tired eyes, she examined them. She was too old for petty grudges, that said, they would have to be taught a lesson. The one that had a ram sleeping on his chest was perhaps the most interesting.

    He had a talent for magic, more than that he had awakened when he tried to see the power that surfused the flower of Ath?. It wasn¡¯t all that surprising, when Celyn had awakened, it had required mother nature to send the biggest storm she could - one completely saturated in mana.

    Someone had to be completely surrounded by dense mana in order to stand a chance of awakening. If the process didn¡¯t kill you, you would then be able to see the flows of mana that passed through all living things. The density and amount of mana possessed by a plant blessed by the goddess of war would be more than enough.

    At least, seeing mana flows had been what happened in Cel¡¯s case. There were so few people that were born with enough talent for magic to awaken that Cel couldn¡¯t say if that was the case for everyone.

    Those who did possess an ability for magic - and Cel had only met five in her over two hundred years of life - never talked about the process. If this kid managed to survive and wake up, he may just live long enough to pay off the debt he had incurred.

    Turning her attention to the other boy, the one dressed in black, Cel rubbed a boney finger against her temple. What to do with him? This one had been here before and like last time had first frozen then attacked her - screaming something about a plague.

    He clearly blamed her for something but she knew not what. It was something important however as after she had thrown him out of her garden, when he was on the edge of having a rage induced aneurysm - thanks to the flower of Ath?¡¯s pollen, she had not expected to see him again. And yet he was back, this time with backup.

    The silver lining was that, now that the plant was gone, she could try and actually talk to him about it. For some reason these backwater islanders were exceptionally superstitious of Witches - despite, to her knowledge - there never having been a witch born on Caorah. Still they would happily blame anything on a Witch.

    Crop harvest failed, cursed by a Witch. Sheep have The Rot, Witch¡¯s hex. Baby dies in childbirth, Witch offered its soul to some demon or dark god - it was ridiculous. Despite all this, the people in the surrounding villages would still come to Cel, asking for help curing a disease or bolstering a harvest. Not that doing so would garner her any good will, the second the next travesty happened it would be her fault and she would have idiots like these come and try and kick down her door.

    She should have known she was expecting guests. The flower of Ath? only ever bloomed when there was violence or death nearby. When Celyn used to live in the highland kingdoms, that was nearly constant. But here, it no doubt marked some great catastrophe that was somehow her fault.

    Sometimes Celyn missed the mainland. Wistfully, she recalled how her and her teacher - an even older witch who went by the title, Granny Crone - would be praised by the highlanders. She missed the celebrations the city would throw in her mistress¡¯s honour. She missed her husband. She wondered what her two boys would have been like had they survived¡ª

    Celyn cut off that line of thought before it could become too much for her to bear. She looked down at the two boys and briefly wondered if her own sons would have been just as stupid as these two. Knowing her husband, they would have been twice as reckless and thrice as brave.

    With fondness, she plucked the unconscious boy from the earth like a weed and slung him over one shoulder before scooping up the second and putting him over the other. The sheep stirred slightly as his head struck the ground, bereft of its human pillow. Celyn plucked it up by the back of the neck and walked with ease to her house; as if they were as light as feathers - the strength of an oak bolstering her muscles.

    The interior had been burned and blackened but the fire hadn¡¯t lasted long enough to damage the structure and hadn¡¯t spread far enough to make it to the beds. Celyn dumped the sleeping trio on the bed before making her way over to her alchemy desk. She would need to make some potions to insure these two rapscallions would be compliant when they finally woke up.

 Chapter 8: Dreams

    Chapter 8

    <hr>

    Dreams

    It was all too much for Eoin. From the moment that something clicked within his mind, everything changed. Where before, he had to peer through an invisible soup to make out things of a magical nature, now it was all just there as if it had always been.

    When he first discovered the wind elemental, who seemed conspicuously absent from their current predicament, Eoin had had to make a great effort to see the swirling green patterns which made up its form. Again, when Eoin was forced into another''s dream, he had spent minutes trying to detect some kind of thread that the monster had manipulated.

    Now, it was as if his eyelids had been peeled back and he could see the world without effort. He shut his seeing orbs and screamed in pain as this new sense continued to assail him.

    To say it was a sense, would, in truth, do the sensations a disservice. If this were limited to but one sense, he might have simply ignored it in the same way as sight or sound or smell; he may have been able to block out or ignore the bombardment of feelings which now attacked him.

    It would be more accurate to say that something in his perception had cracked and the secrets of the world were spilling out in all forms - not hiding their brutal truths from the young man.

    In the short time his eyes were open, Eoin saw an angry red mist which swirled all around the garden; dancing desperately to the tune of death, in the shape of humanoid figures. The blood that splattered the shrubberies and grass in this mesmerising illusion, burned up - becoming an even deeper shade of red. In its more violent state, this magical mist was easily able to suffuse the bodies of Dorcha and himself.

    Reithe and the Witch were somehow able to keep this enraging miasma out of them, and with but a thought, and having been able to only steal a glimpse before becoming overwhelmed, he was able to repeat the feat.

    Instantly, the blinding fog of fear and anger, emotions which surrounded violence, was lifted. The overloading of Eoin¡¯s mind was lessened, if slightly. Struggling against the nausea, Eoin forced one eye open to find a familiar and panicking ram looking at him.

    With the sound of magical plants growing, the rush of air, the chiming of something in the distance, the dark gong of the ground, and the slow rumble of the soil, accompanied by the flute like water of the marsh that assailed him; it was nearly impossible for Eoin to concentrate on his friend. The sounds of the world which were heretofore unknown to the young man were almost too much.

    Even so, he struggled, searching around with the one eye he had managed to open. The most overwhelming thing, the thing that came creeping back, knocking back, and slamming back at Eoin¡¯s consciousness was the thick red smog, which somehow took the form and dynamic flow of a battle.

    Eoin¡¯s eye roved about manically, tracking this translucent and insisting gas to its source. He ignored the ominous black tendrils that he could see wisping off himself; though ominous, he had no time for whatever that was right now. He ignored the blinding and deep green aura which he could see surrounded the Witch - verifying her identity. He ignored the light trails of translucent green which he could see crisscrossing the sky.

    Eventually, Eoin found the area with the highest density of blood mist. It was so thick that the swirls and drifts - formed by an unseen wind - resolved into vague outlines of fighters. They were all short women with evil grins and a love for bloodshed. Their somehow innocent faces were the most off putting thing to Eoin¡¯s mind and when he peered closer, he could see that each of the heads of these figures which were hacking the limbs off one another with joyous abandon were, in fact, the heads of tiny yellow flowers.

    Eoin was forced to slam his eye shut once more as one of the insane women saw him looking at her, and beckoned him forth with a finger. The pressure on his mind from the malevolent miasma doubled as it bade him butcher or bandire. Combined with the smell of stone and the taste of the air, whose magic Eoin had never sensed, it was all the young man could do to shout, ¡°bush!¡± to his companion.

    He had no idea if Reithe had heard or understood his shouted instruction as he couldn¡¯t open his eyes to check. At that moment, he was focused entirely inward.

    On top of being opened to the world and awakened to its secrets, Eoin was simultaneously being bombarded by a bush that had far more power than should be possible. As he struggled against its violent impulses, he discovered something. The more he grew angry or frustrated with the encroaching red anger, the more of a foothold it would gain in their internal struggle.

    Just as he was about to be overwhelmed, and would no doubt bellow like a berserker as he rejoined the fight with a woman that was unquestionably a Witch, attacking over and again without regard for his body - much as Dorcha was doing, Eoin used this new discovery and simply relaxed.

    The army of armed angry women which had been marching through his mind, pulling up his compassion and kindness as if they were weeds, were swept away by a refreshing wave of serenity as he calmed. Instead of the defeat he had feared by the lack of resistance, these representations of violence suddenly found themselves with nothing left to hold onto as they were pulled away by a current, backwards, out of his mind.

    Eoin returned to an overstimulated state of normalcy - caused by all the new sights, sounds, smells, tastes, et cetera, that he could now feel. Before a full breath of relief could escape the discombobulated lad, something new assailed him.

    It sounded like the battle cry of a cliff, all falling rocks and streaming slurry. It smelt like the settling of dust after a landslide, clawing and oppressive. It felt like a wave made of solid stone, undeniable and unstoppable.

    Eoin screamed. The sound escaped him without his knowing, or, frankly, caring. As he was thrown into the air by the indirect magical attack, he clutched at his ears and felt droplets of blood seeping out.

    The young man rolled around on the floor, but before he could recompose himself, another mass movement of mana matriculated him into the school of pain as it swept over the man. His eyes were pried open and he was forced to bear witness as a massive image of the woman in the red mists, her bust burning in the air around the remains of a screaming bush, laughed seditiously.

    There is a mechanism within the human mind. Whenever it is excessively and relentlessly taxed, it does as any sensible poker player would if their hand were an eight and a three - offsuit. It folds.

    Although it is true - Eoin¡¯s mind was technically not human; whilst constrained within this human body, it behaved in much the same way as a mortal¡¯s. He slipped into unconsciousness; A darkness filled with fitful dreams.

    ?

    As I watched Eoin twist and turn in his slumber, I became curious. Raising a paw, I scratched the air lazily. In the wake of my attack, a rip appeared in reality - leading to T¨¬r Bruadar, the plane of dreams.

    Feeling Vasti, the goddess of space, approach, I quickly veiled the tear in a bubble of time. I saw her - her body nothing more than a silhouette of a woman filled with the night¡¯s sky - as she came to the place where I and the portal had been, but, seeing nothing, she scratched her head and teleported away.

    I cursed myself for nearly compromising the god experiment by wanting to observe the human one. Creating a hole to another plane - whilst not as difficult as punching through to a corner of space - still created enough of a spatial disturbance that I should have expected Vasti to notice.*

    Shaking my head, I returned my attention to the gap in reality. On the far side was T¨¬r Bruadar, the place minds ventured to in their sleep - where anything was possible.

    Despite my eagerness to discover what was causing my other self such fitful dreams, when I found Eoin, he was enduring a perfectly bland and boring experience, based on a memory:

    It was a pleasant spring day, like any other, and the mountain on which Eoin had been reared was just waking up from winter. Shoots pushed their way out from rock and water started to trickle down from the mountain¡¯s white winter caps.

    A thirteen year old Eoin, bright eyed and bushy tailed, was bouncing around the rocky and grassy slopes, fascinated by every new insect and leaf. His attention was fleeting and as soon as he reached one item of curiosity, another would steal his attention and he would go bounding off towards whatever it was, much to the annoyance of Reithe.

    Reithe was, at the time in which this dream was set, only a year old - a ram lamb, a ramlet if you will. Despite the great energy his youth provided, he wasn¡¯t able to keep up with Eoin¡¯s rapid shifts in attention.

    Just as the boy would jump over to a large rock, turn it over, and uncover a woodlouse then scarper off to the next oddity, Reithe would just be coming to the insect and would want to spend his time studying and understanding it. He never had the time as before long Eoin would inevitably call out, worried he''d lost his friend. Even though Reithe was the younger of the two, he couldn¡¯t help feeling like he was babysitting.

    ¡°Arrhh,¡± an elderly voice called up from aways up the mountain with the affectation of one who had just rolled an ankle - in pain but not direly so.

    Eoin¡¯s head shot up like a doe hearing footsteps and his head spun about rapidly as he looked for the source of the noise, his curly hair flopping around like a wig. Reithe, who had been listening more carefully, started off across the field and towards the mountain path; the nubs he called horns leading the way.

    After a quick dash up the rocky assent, and around a bend, the pair soon found themselves face to face with two others. One was a grey haired old man who wore a blue wool-coat and merchant¡¯s cap. He sat on a rock by the side of the road, nursing his ankle (Things usually go as one expects during a dream¡­ until they don¡¯t).

    The other was a boy, slightly younger than Eoin, dithering beside a two-wheeled, hand-drawn cart, not knowing how to help. Each time he tried to approach with one medicine or another from a case within the cart he was waved away by the older man.

    ¡°Mr. Marsanta, are you alright?!¡± Eoin immediately questioned as he skidded to a halt, followed shortly by his ram.

    ¡°Just stepped funny, give it an hour an¨C¡± the older man, Mr. Marsanta The Merchant began but was cut off.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Eoin asked the boy who he had never met before, taking both of his fretting hands in his own as he shook them. The frantic motion made the confused and slightly worried looking boy¡¯s brown bowl-cut bob up and down.

    ¡°That¡¯s Reic, my grandson,¡± Mr. Masanta replied, quickly speeding up to match Eoin¡¯s energy as any good salesman might, ¡°You should get to know him; when I retire, he¡¯ll be the one buying your farm¡¯s wool and selling it in Yarnmouth.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what the cart¡¯s for?¡± Eoin asked.

    ¡°Ye¨C¡± Reic Masanta tried to answer but wasn¡¯t fast enough.

    ¡°Can you walk on that ankle?¡± Eoin asked Masanta senior senior.

    ¡°Just about, but not whi¡ª¡± Mr. Marsanta started but was again interrupted, not that he minded.

    ¡°Not while pulling the cart. We¡¯ll help!¡± Eoin offered enthusiastically.

    ¡°We?¡± Reic asked and let out a little cry of surprise when he found a ramlet was already positioned behind the pull bar, ready to get moving.

    While Eoin had been fluttering about, Reithe had taken a second to assess the situation and had assumed this would be what would happen. So, whilst Eoin hogged the attention, he simply walked into position, unseen by the oblivious wool merchants.

    In short order, Eoin, Reic, and Reithe were behind the bar and pulling the cart down the mountain path. Reithe felt he was doing all the actual work, Reic was as thin as a twig and Eoin was busy spewing out questions in all directions like a sprinkler:

    ¡°How much wool do you get before returning?¡±

    ¡°How much money do you make?¡±

    ¡°Is the business growing?¡±

    ¡°If I were to take our farm''s wool directly to market, wouldn¡¯t I get a better price?¡±

    ¡°What does the balance of your business look like, vis-¨¤-vis, liabilities vs assets?

    Somehow, Mr. Masanta was able to slip in a question of his own as he hobbled along behind the trundling barrow.

    ¡°Do you trust me?¡± he asked in a voice that was slightly stilted. Eoin didn¡¯t notice the peculiarity as he answered instantly. Thinking of what to ask next, Eoin replied absently:

    ¡°Of course, your family has been selling our family''s wool for generations and everyone says you give us a fair shake. And as soon as spring comes and the snows melt you¡¯re always here in two shakes of a lamb¡¯s tail so I¡¯d say that makes you pretty trustworthy.¡±

    Although Eoin had not cottoned on, even in Eoin''s dream Reithe had immediately suspected something.

    The boy felt inclined to join his ram in turning to look at the merchant. Perhaps it would be more apt to say he felt the wooden bar slam into his pelvis as Reithe, the only one actually doing any work, had stopped. Eoin looked down at his companion and saw him staring back, so he turned to the old man.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be so open with your trust, not all is as it seems,¡± the elderly man said in a voice that became more ominous as he spoke. It morphed by the second, changing from the melodic but aged voice of a sixty year old Caorah man to something harsh and whispery.

    The boy and his sheep watched in horror as what was a man changed. He raised his arms, and as short brown fur sprouted from them. Black, skin-like wings merged from his underarms. His nose shrank into his face, replaced with a grotesque, pug-like protuberance.

    A silent scream left Eoin before the transformation could complete. The sun winked out and he was plunged into darkness. In the sunless void, a voice rumbled forth ominously. It called, it beckoned, it teased, it said:

    ¡°Eoin.¡±

    ?

    In the pitch black, a flock of bats assailed the now fifteen year old Eoin. He held up his arms to protect his face and let out a cry as they passed. When the creatures fluttered off, further into the darkness of the cave, Eoin was left with nothing.

    His eyes saw nothing; there was no light this deep in the earth. His ears heard nothing; what little sound there was bounced off miles of tunnel and was distorted to the point of uselessness. His nose smelled nothing; save the somehow stale yet musty air of the underground. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    In this void, Eoin was scared. He fell silent as his surroundings seemed to demand. He had been thrust into yet another memory and he could no longer remember the grotesque events of the first.

    The boy¡¯s mind whirled around as the disorientation of his surroundings was replaced by an influx of memory.

    Why was he here?

    Eoin crouched down to lay his hands upon the cave tunnel¡¯s rocky floor. Sweeping them back and forth, he found the edges of the confined space but not what he was looking for, what he and Reithe had ventured into this ¡®shallow¡¯ cave for - mushrooms.

    The pair had visited the village hall in Shearford. A bedraggled storyteller had been staying there on his way across the land and he told a tale for his supper. It was one of fairies and the fae. Such stories Eoin and Reithe had heard before but when attacked by Eoin¡¯s questions, this old man capitulated. In the treasure vaults of his memory they found a horde of information men, whose livelihood was not based upon fairy tales, did not know.

    Through his interrogation, the pair learned that fairies came to the mortal plane through things called fairy rings. Circles of mushrooms that opened a portal to the fae realm. The old storyteller conveyed a story; one of trickery and mischief which led to the fae making a deal with Vasti, the goddess of space.

    As soon as Eoin heard this, he shot out of the village and up the mountain in a flash. He knew exactly where to find mushrooms. There was a shallow cave halfway up the mountain that Reithe and he had explored many times in the past. Mushrooms grew plentifully there and they would occasionally take some home for their dinner.

    Reithe had bleated something at Eoin as he entered the cave but the young man had ignored his friend as he shot into the darkness. He regretted that almost immediately as this was not the opening in the earth he had thought it to be. Within a few steps he slipped, fell in a hole, and disappeared into the underground.

    Eoin was alone, he had tried calling for his ram a few times but there was no reply. All he was doing was alerting anything within the underdark to his presence, so he stopped, choosing instead to listen.

    Nothing, just as there had been before. No, wait, there was the faint drip, drop of water but the underground passageways he had been thrust into mangled and reverberated the sound so much that it was impossible to tell what direction it was coming from.

    Eoin moved his hands to the walls and felt them. The dripping, being the only thing in the dark, also reverberated through the stone - if barely. Slowly rubbing his hands against the course and dusty surface, first one direction then the other, Eoin was able to determine which way the sound was coming from¡­ probably.

    Truth be told the difference was so minute that he may be tricking himself. That didn¡¯t matter however as now he had a direction, a purpose. It helped to quell the panic which boiled just beneath the surface.

    Many a tale was told of fairies and, though he had never seen one, they were supposed to be mischievous and sometimes even evil - but only in a drown your cow sort of way. The creatures that stalked in the underneath¡­ suffice to say the stories of them were the only thing that still gave him nightmares at fifteen.

    With that in mind, Eoin moved slowly and carefully; one hand on the wall at all times. His ears strained and he stayed still, wincing, every time his foot sent a pebble skittering along.

    Nothing but the drip, drop, dripping filled his ears - growing louder as he approached its source.

    A faint corona of light edged the corner he was edging towards and slowly, ever so carefully, Eoin edged round the bend. On the other side, there was an open chamber, with light. Not much light, but just enough to see by.

    It danced its silvery dance across the surface of a pool as drips dropped into the water. The faint light flickered around the small opening and played around the rock of the cavern.

    Tenderly, Eoin stepped closer. Looking where he placed his feet. Despite the presence of the light, it wasn''t enough to see the small rock fragments that littered the floor and he sent another skittering across the cavern.

    Clenching tight, he held firm, waiting to see if something would come of his mistake. Something wet touched his back and he broke the silence by letting out an ear piercing scream. He spun around, finding a very familiar silhouette.

    ¡°Reithe, don¡¯t do that!¡± Eoin chided, clutching his heart and forcing it back down his throat. The ram¡¯s only response was to Baa, but within that sound there was a mix of emotions. Most prevalent, the self righteousness that came with such a statement as ¡°serves you right,¡± but under that Eoin detected the concern and worry that had plagued his friend.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Eoin soothed, squatting down and ruffling what wool remained after the spring shave.

    Although the lad could barely see the sheep, the sheep didn¡¯t seem to have the same issue, he guided Eoin¡¯s hand to the scruff off his neck, intending to lead them back to the surface. Eoin trusted his friend and together they traversed the tunnels, Reithe somehow knowing exactly where to go

    Eoin understood that Reithe could see better in the dark than he did but he hadn¡¯t realised that the ram could walk so confidently in complete darkness. Occasionally, when there was a sliver of light from some unknown source, Eoin could see the red reflection in the back of Reithe¡¯s eyes that granted him his sight.

    Red? Wasn¡¯t it blue?

    Eoin¡¯s wondering was cut short as Reithe stopped and pressed them into a nook in the rock. Trusting his friend, Eoin squeezed in and waited, though he knew not what for. Just as he was about to ask why they were pressed in so tight, he felt something.

    A movement of air, warm like breath, passed his cheek. No sound accompanied the feeling and he froze like a rabbit hearing a fox. For the first time since he had reunited with the ram, he was grateful that he wasn¡¯t the one able to see the source of this rotting meat smell.

    Eventually, the hairs on the back of Eoin¡¯s neck stood down as whatever it was that he couldn¡¯t see nor hear moved on. Still, he waited for Reithe to urge him before moving again, and even then, tentatively so.

    After that encounter, he stayed closer to the ram and kept both hands on him at all times. It was difficult to do so as they pressed through the narrow caves that lead ever upwards but he felt he must.

    Before long, light could be seen down the tunnel, proper light. Not the silver illumination of the waters of the deep but the golden radiance of the sun. It burned away the young man¡¯s fears; soon he was the one leading his friend as he sprinted towards the surface.

    Eoin let out a breath of relief and inhaled the mountain air when once again he was on top. Smiling, he turned to where he was still holding onto his friend. He was not holding on to his friend.

    Instead of the lovable ram, with his white fur and dark face that Eoin was so used to seeing, he now saw what could only be described as a demon, in the shape of his friend.

    Its horns were crooked, the colour of crystallised blood. Where there should be wool - wool that Eoin could still feel beneath his touch - there was a tough red skin which captured muscles - muscles that no sheep should ever have.

    In place of hooves, it had two curved claws on each foot. Instead of the head Eoin had been expecting, not Reithe had scales from the neck up. This thing¡¯s head looked not like a proud ram but bore a likeness to a cold-blooded lizard.

    Sensing something was wrong, it cocked his head and looked up at Eoin in a gross imitation of the sheep. It ¡°Baa¡±ed exactly as Reithe would, the sound sounding wrong coming from the creature.

    Eoin reeled back in disgust, which made the grotesque perversion of his friend step closer - trying to give the appearance of concern. Eoin, in his attempt to back up further, tripped and fell back into the darkness, screaming all the while.

    As he fell, his eyes clamped shut and air rushing past his ears, a voice reverberated all round him - slithering in through his pores like a rhino.

    ¡°Eoin!¡±

    ?

    Eoin hit the ground with a light thump. Despite the duration of his fall, his rear was only slightly sore. The young man who felt to be about the same age as his present self, pushed against the grass; he tried to come to his feet but the sword, scabbarded about his waist, complicated the normally routine manoeuvre.

    With one hand rubbing his soreness and the other shielding his eyes from the spotted light that pierced the lone mountain ash he had oft slept beneath, Eoin examined his surroundings. The memory of the last two dreams returned as if they had never tried to flee and now with them retained, the Shepherd expected this to be yet another recollection, twisted in some manner by a demonic influence.

    He did not remember the scene. It was a pleasant summer day on the mountain he called home. As he looked down the slope at a field and farm that would one day be his, Eoin could not for the life of him mark this day in his memory.

    The young man looked about his immediate area, a semi sheltered cutout halfway up the mountain, in which this solitary tree grew. Failing to find his friend, Eoin called for his buddy. No response. The only thing that filled his ears was the wind which swept up the hill. It was eerie.

    He couldn¡¯t place his finger upon it, but something wasn¡¯t right. As he strained to hear his friend respond from wherever he was on the mountain, Eoin was able to place the source of his unease.

    It was quiet, too quiet. Although his high perch only afforded him a good view of his own farm with the others acting as a backdrop to the scene, the Shepherd expected to hear something. The faint moo of their cow, the clucking of hens, or most telling, the bleating of sheep.

    It was not only the ram that was absent, but the couple dozen ewes who would normally dot the grassy precipices were also missing. Animals knew when something was wrong. Eoin looked towards the peak for answers.

    This was no memory. The sword was the first clue, though easily overlooked. The giant dark cloud with red flashing edges was harder to miss. It¡¯s sinister shades of reality, which were only now visible thanks to Eoin¡¯s awakening. He remembered that moment, seconds and a lifetime ago, when the world shifted and he was forever changed.

    In the past dreams, he had not recalled the real world and all its problems, but now he was lucid; awake in the land of dreams. It was¡­ disconcerting. The force that normally drove dreams forward was absent and Eoin was left alone to decipher the way forward on his own.

    The storm that would come with those terrible and rapidly approaching clouds was not something he wished to be caught up in. So, it was with haste he descended the mountain towards his home.

    The stillness which had roused him to cognisance prevailed within this land he knew to be a dream. With nothing but the familiar trail beneath his feet, Eoin couldn¡¯t help but turn back time and again to look at the oncoming storm. This was partly to gauge whether he was outpacing the thundering giants and partly because the magic it contained fascinated him.

    There was magic everywhere, even in the grass and rocks; Eoin wasn¡¯t able to see it in his past two visions, but that was the past, he hadn¡¯t awakened back then. Strangely, the onrush of sensations wasn¡¯t present within this dream.

    He could still hear as the mana within the ants made its impossible squeak as they constantly communicated with one another. He could still feel the regenerating power within every droplet of water that touched his skin from the mists of rain that acted as a prelude to any proper storm. He could taste the fixing, popping, gliding mana of freedom which was ever present in the air. He could see the subtle shades and glowing coronas which ringed and suffused everything.

    The only difference, in this dream it was completely bearable. The unwanted sensations simply slipped into the back of his mind until he focused on them instead of constantly assailing the young man. Eoin, realising this, took a moment to remember this feeling; he would need to gain this ability in the real world if he ever hoped to control himself.

    The moment of internalisation slowed his stride and he was caught by the first of the real storm. With only the field to cross before he was home, ominous red lightning struck the peak of the mountain and black sheets of water fell from on high.

    The heavens opened and Eoin was drawn back to his dream-self as the weight of the downpour pressed on his shoulders and soaked him through to the bone. Visibility dropped to naught; the storm covered the sun. That mattered not to Eoin, he knew the way from here¡­ Or he thought he did?

    There was a darkness to this storm, one he had not seen when it was distant. As Eoin came to the place the house should have been, there was nothing but open grass. Peering out into the blackness, now dark as night - only illuminated by threatening red flashes, Eoin saw nothing.

    But why?

    The mana, present in all things, was thick within this watery darkness. It¡¯s black and misty presence pulled at him like kin. A tendril, unseen in the hammering rain, had slithered through the surrounding black mist which helped to obscure the young man¡¯s vision. It shot straight through his chest and was tugging at his heart.

    As soon as Eoin noticed, he panicked. In one smooth motion, he withdrew his sword and chopped straight through the misty tentacle. Nothing happened. This was not a physical thing.

    Something rolled out across the mountain, a sound that fit perfectly with the heavy drumming of rain: a low, rumbling laugh. The voice was one Eoin recalled.

    Now he was truly scared. Something happened in the blink of an eye. An idea, taken from his saviour, the wind elemental, solidified in his mind. Though he could only just see the floating green ball when they had met, there was an intrinsic understanding of wind mana in its movements and Eoin drew from that.

    Eoin swung again at the tentacle of darkness wrapped around his heart. As it tugged at him, pulling him towards something with vile tenacity, Eoin¡¯s strike landed. The sword glowed green for a moment. He made the over exaggerated swing and it parted the thread that had such a hold of him.

    As soon as he was no longer attached to this dark magic, the same magic felt within the storm, it was as if a blanket had been removed from his mind and he felt the full force of the fear which had been attempting to grip him.

    The range of his sight was the puffs of steam which came with every breath. Eoin followed his footsteps back to the place he had been led astray then sprinted towards where he knew the house to be. His fear was not only that of self preservation but a sinking feeling deep within his gut told him his family was in danger.

    As he sprinted through the pouring darkness, a whisper swept down the slopes. Sounding both far and near all at once. From both the peak of the woolies and from right in Eoin¡¯s ear, it said:

    ¡°Eoin.¡±

    The armed Shepheart practically knocked the door of its hinges as he burst into his stoney home. Though he charged in, sword in hand as he fled the storm, the darkness still hung thick in the air and Eoin couldn¡¯t see a thing.

    Once or twice he had been the first to arise on a winter morn, so it didn¡¯t take him long to fumble his way to the fireplace. A tension pressed in on the young man, squashing his reason and narrowing his focus.

    It was getting closer. His hands shook as they fumbled about for the flint, in its cubby by the fire.

    His hands slipped about something sticky and he could not find the firestarter. It mattered not, he always kept one on his person - the fear whose source he could not name had caused him to forget that fact.

    ¡°Eoin,¡± the monster said, and although its callus whisper was impossible to judge the distance of, the young man knew that it was closer.

    He found his flint and yanked it from his pocket. Two quick strikes was enough to set the already set fire ablaze. For a moment his attention was taken completely by the mesmerising comfort of the familiar flames but the pressure Eoin felt meant that didn¡¯t last long. He looked at the main room of his family home.

    Black and red. Black as dark as the abyss and with the tint of an eternity of torture. Red, the evidence of life, and the proof of death. What remained of his father, of his mother¡­

    Eoin vomited, extinguishing the fire he tried so hard to start. That was not enough, all that he had ever eaten and more spewed forth, leaving Eoin along with his innocence.

    ¡°Eoin!¡± the voice of the demon said, not a whisper but a shout, filled with jubilance and malice.

    Something stamped down on the wooden floorboard as he simply walked through the door as if it were made of leaves, sending splinters as long as Eoin¡¯s arm flying across the room. One nicked the young man in the cheek but he couldn¡¯t notice.

    A strike of demonic red lightning illuminated the horrible scene and silhouette of the demon for but a moment.

    Why are you doing this?

    What did my family ever do to deserve this??

    How could you???

    What the fuck!!??!!

    Questions, thought but not given voice to. Now was not the time for conversation. Eoin snatched up the sword his father had commissioned and shot at the figure. As he had managed before, it glowed green with the power of the wind.

    The weapon clattered to the ground and a stillness overcame him. Looking down, Eoin saw a giant muscular arm disappearing into his chest. It had been far too fast to react to. With another flash of red, Eoin coughed blood.

    A giant hand, able to hold his head in its palm like an apple, turned it to face the blood and twisted remains. Eoin struggled, but he stood no chance against the creature''s impossible strength.

    ¡°Eoin,¡± it growled with menace, ¡°When the last peddle of spring¡¯s blossom has fallen, and the heat of hell has declared this summer campaign, you shall meet me here and you shall die by my hand. Lest this be their fate!¡±

    With that pronouncement, it withdrew its demonic claw from Eoin¡¯s chest, leaving pain to flood the void. He screamed as, dangling from the hand that still held his head firm, the blood covered hand peeled open his eyes with surprising care as he was forced to look upon the grizzly sight of his parents terrible death.

    Black and red. White spots filtered in as the pain became too much. The cold warmth of death¡¯s embrace was slow in coming but when it finally did Eoin welcomed it with a stinging heart and tear-filled eyes.

    *An Aside:

    The Multitudinous planes are a curious thing. Whilst all reality can be thought of as being on one flat, two dimensional plane, this doesn¡¯t tell the full story. Anywhere, the demon plane, the fae realm, the sea of endless mana, and even the creeping desolation that I like not to think about, can be reached by picking the right direction and traveling.

    The distances are inconceivable to most but that doesn¡¯t mean that it isn¡¯t possible. One could even travel through the entire universe in a straight line - assuming they could travel faster than instantly.

    The Planes come about when one thinks of the universe, not as a two dimensional surface - like a map - but as a three dimensional object - like a cube.

    In this example, assume the mortal plane - the area of space in which the planet Gaius resides, the demon plane, and the fae plane, occupy three sequentially adjacent faces of a cube - such that the mortal and fae planes are opposite one another. One could travel across the surface of the shape and make it to the fae plane, but they would have to first traverse the area of space known as the demon plane. This is how the first and furthest means of travel gets things done. Instead, one can punch through the center of the cube and make it to the fae plane far quicker.

    One might assume that they would require greater energy to punch through the center, but this is a false assumption. The cube is a 3D representation of a 4D reality and the two opposite sides are, in fact, adjacent. The way in which they are connected is, however, inconceivable to a self identified 3D life form.

    This simplified view helps demonstrate the idea of planes, however the reality is far more complex. Instead of a near infinite number of surfaces of something approaching a sphere, it would be more accurate to think of it as a twisting shape with faces that come in layers and the furthest and closest points being near equidistant.

    To add to the complexity, the universe isn¡¯t 4D. At times it¡¯s 5D, 6D, 12D, and in some places 2D or even 7E or 9F!

 Chapter 9: To Err Is Human

    Chapter 9

    <hr>

    To Err Is Human

    T¨¬r Bruadar is an odd realm. A corner of space in which almost anything is possible. It is at the nexis of the planes of possibility and impossibility, of material and immaterial, of cognisance and incognisance. Truly, it is an incredible place, full of possibilities and dangers; both of which are often overlooked as it is also the place which sleeping souls venture to in their dreams. Familiarity, it is said, breeds contempt.

    I was surprised, therefore, when I witnessed a demon - a creature who is soulless, able to attack Eoin in his sleep. My whiskers rose in startelement when this demonic general appeared and transfigured what would have been a sweet dream, filled with wistful recollections, into a twisted nightmare, designed to confuse and torment.

    To top it off, this interloper used the tenuous connection that had been formed when Eoin killed the wolf, infected with a demonic madness, to not only torture my human-self but also threaten him in such a way that, despite the realms natural defence of forgetfulness, he would still recall it when returning to the waking world.

    As soon as I asked myself, why can this soulless demon enter the plane? I knew the answer. Demons were like leeches that stole the souls of those they killed; destroying them, tearing them into shreds and digesting them.

    In this way, they were able to gain the perverted illusion of a soul, the strength of which was used to classify and compare. The more souls one destroyed, the higher in demon society they became and the more power they gained.

    This allowed demons of sufficient power to enter T¨¬r Bruadar, though not without difficulty as sleep was not natural for their kind. The demon who, for some reason, was so fixated on killing Eoin, had tracked him down in his sleep and imposed upon him a deadline. A time by which they should meet and fight to the death, lest his family be slaughtered.

    Why?

    This time, there was no answer forthcoming, no information dancing irritatingly at the edge of my awareness. For although I comprised the entire universe and everything in it, the thoughts of others were not within my domain. Thoughts, afterall, are not physical, they do not exist within this reality - if they did, I would have been destroyed at the turning of the age, when the void was both nothing and everything.

    I found the absence of immediate knowledge at once both exciting and unnerving.

    Excitement sprung from the unknown; throughout my short existence I had been trying to limit myself. Hell, the body of a cat which I had chosen to inhabit was one such limitation which added a new perspective to the universe.

    It was unnerving as, up until this point, I had found nothing that, if I tried, I couldn¡¯t bend to my will. That said, surmising this demon general''s motives from his past actions was well within my abilities¡­ and yet, I hesitated to do so.

    I was curious as to why an invader on the planet of Gaius was targeting my human incarnation when, truth be told, he was nothing special.

    Eoin wasn¡¯t impressively strong, he wasn¡¯t skilled enough with a sword to come close to threatening the demon, and, although he was gifted with great magical potential, he knew nothing about the art of the arcane. The boy was years away from even being considered competent by the lacking standards of the relatively young civilizations of Gaius.

    Unless¡­ There was only one thing about Eoin that was particularly special, his soul. The part of me that had created it had done so with the intention of it being able to endure a hundred mortal lives without being washed clean in the cycle of reincarnation.

    But if the demon was after his soul, why not just hunt him down and try to take it? Why the theatrics? I wondered, as I tore open a hole back to my perch above the world of Gaius.

    I decided to ponder this as I returned to my vigil. Eoin was just waking up and my curiosity was roused. What will he do next?

    ?

    Eoin came to, not in a burst of fright and adrenaline as one might expect, but in slow stages. The memory of his nightmare was fleeting, the details fluttered away long before he was fully continuous, but one memory remained. He had to return home for the first day of spring, he had to fail his quest.

    A year spent away from home, seeing the wider world firsthand, was said to turn a boy into a man but no man would turn his back on his family. Eoin recalled the barest edges of what that towering demon had subjected him to and, as the layers of sleep slowly peeled away, tears filled his closed eyes.

    The feeling of watery frustration slowly unwelding his sleep filled eyes and dripping down his cheek was the first thing Eoin was conscious of. The second was the shuffling wool that moved beside his entire length as he stirred. Its roughness was harsh against him but its warmth, comforting.

    Eoin was grateful for Reithe¡¯s presence. He took several minutes to put his mind in order before it could truly accept he was awake. Once the trauma of the night had settled, for the time being, Eoin was able to question where he was and what was happening.

    The last thing the young man recalled, he had agreed to join another seventeen year old, a Shepherd like himself, in a journey to find the cause of the plague which took his parent¡¯s lives. To that end, they had traveled to the hidden home of a Witch who had been blamed for the ordeal.

    That was when things became hazy and Eoin¡¯s head hurt as he struggled to remember what happened next. After a moment, the fog of recollection cleared. He had been engulfed in a miasma of rage and, as a result, had attacked the woman Dorcha claimed to be a Witch without hesitation. Now, with a clear head, he felt horrible for his actions.

    Eoin had drawn his sword. Before he could work himself up into a panic, he recalled the events that followed. Despite being attacked by a deadly weapon, he had been bested easily by the unarmed woman; blood rushed to his cheeks as guilt was replaced by embarrassment.

    The rest of the events that occurred slowly returned in the minutes that followed. Eoin had thought that his head was hurting from struggling to remember the day before, but even when he relaxed, having regained most of his memories, the pain persisted.

    In fact, it grew as the layers of unwakefulness finally fully subsided. It was the overwhelming sensation that came with his awakening to the magical world.

    Eoin¡¯s now open eyes stared up at the rafters and he could see the faint yellow glow of, what he assumed was, some kind of life mana that still resided in the wood. His ears assailed by the spinning winds which licked across his skin with each sleeping breath Reithe took.

    Speaking of his skin, it too was inundated with sensation. The straw of the cot, into which both he and his sheep were squished, pricked at his skin - the feeling of its mana a mix between the tickle of gentle summer grasses mixed with the stale dryness of a sandy desert.

    The shout of crackling fire enticed him with its inflammatory secrets, even in this quiet room at night, it was nearly too much.

    Eoin closed his eyes once more, seeking a respite from the overwhelming nature of this magical world which had continued to attack his mind with its vastness. Surprisingly, after a moment to breathe, the pain that had been building in his head - a sensation much like a hangover - receded somewhat, until it was bearable.

    Somehow, Eoin¡¯s mind was able to ignore the overstimulation he was feeling, though if he was distracted by any of the sights, sounds, or smells that the mana of this world gave off, the headache would begin to return.

    Eoin had no idea how he achieved this, the technique just seemed to come to him. However the young man had gained the skill, he was not inclined to look too closely into the mouth of this gift horse.

    Now that all the new sensations were able to be ignored, Eoin focused back on his regular senses. He looked out over the edge of the bed and into the room in which he found himself.

    It was small, no larger than his own home¡¯s main room, though it was much better appointed. Eoin recalled that this building was made of clay brick, an oddity in Caorah - an area filled with slate.

    The inside walls were clad in wooden panels, stained a dark colour. This gave a far more grand appearance than the sheepskins which coated his walls back home. There were even glass windows, through which Eoin would have been able to make out the night¡¯s sky if another fog hadn¡¯t rolled over Hoofstuck marsh.

    Beneath the window was another straw filled cot, in which Dorcha slept soundly. Eoin let out a sigh of relief, glad the lad was unharmed.

    There were a series of wooden cabinets and tables made as a part of a set, with ivy themed carvings skirting their edges. It spoke to the occupant''s wealth, as did the silver jug and mug that had been placed on a table near the head of his bed. The polished pair reflected the warm light of a fire that blazed beyond the foot of his bed in its stone-surrounded place.

    Feeling an acute thirst, Eoin reached a hand out of the bed and poured the contents of the jug into the chalice-like mug. As he did so, Eoin noticed that he wasn¡¯t wearing his thick winter coat, and that after several days on the road his armpits had become quite ripe.

    The liquid that poured forth was crystal clear and made Eoin feel the dryness of his throat as he swallowed. The sound of the water drew his attention to the other sounds in the room. Eoin concentrated, not wanting to open his ears to the constant whispers that the mana in all things gave off.

    Besides the pouring of water and the crackle of fire there was another sound, one unfamiliar to him.

    Tick.

    Tock.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Tick.

    Tock.

    Tick

    Tock.

    The sound came in a slow and rhythmic mana. Eoin¡¯s curiosity one out over his thirst and he set the silver drinking vessel back on the side table as he scanned for the source of the noise.

    After a moment of searching, unwilling to leave the warmth of the rather cramped bed, Eoin finally concluded whatever it was, it wasn¡¯t coming from his side of the room.

    With a sigh, he heaved himself onto an elbow, so he might look over his sleeping friend, to the other side of the room.

    From right to left, there was:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">A charred bookshelf, filled with the sodden remains of books.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">A map of the Island of Caorah, about his height in size, plastered to the wall.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">A desk covered in scraps of paper, again showing signs of both fire and water damage.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">A Witch sitting in her arm chair and staring at him intensely.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">A large brass pendulum which swung freely and clicked at the apex of each swing.</li>

    </ul>

    This last was the source of the mysterious ticking he had been hearing and it stole Eoin¡¯s attention. The young man had never seen anything like it. It was held off the floor by a simple wooden frame and was attached to a dial by a series of gears¡ª

    Wait? Eoin thought as his tired mind finally caught up to the second to last thing on his list. Slowly turning his head back to the left, Eoin confirmed that he wasn¡¯t mistaken. There was indeed a Witch, the same one who he had attacked and whose house this no doubt was, staring straight at him.

    Eoin paled as guilt filled his heart, and he found himself unable to meet the woman¡¯s eye. He looked over the rest of her face, trying to determine her mood, but her features were stoney and no matter how hard he tried he couldn¡¯t break through the facade to see the emotion beneath.

    After she confirmed that he was looking at her, she patted the chair next to her, indicating that he should sit.

    Not wanting to disobey the woman, not only because of her power but because she had clearly been hospitable to both himself and Dorcha - despite the fact that they had attacked her unprovoked - Eoin pushed himself out of bed with a silent groan and plodded his shoeless feet over around the room and towards the Witch.

    His steps were shuffled, his eyes shifty, as he approached the nobly dressed woman, uneager to learn his fate. When he came within a few paces, into an area defined by its two plush, red armchairs with a table between and a woven carpet beneath, Eoin noticed an odd sensation brush over his skin.

    It took him a moment to realise that the sensation came from his new found sense, that of magic, and it took him a moment more to relax his rampant mind as it began to question just what that feeling meant.

    Luckily he was able to reign in that impulse before the splitting headache could get any worse. The woman, whose name Eoin didn¡¯t know, cocked her head when she saw him wince in pain as he crossed the boundary, she muttered something as he awkwardly sat.

    A silence fell upon them as she dropped the matter and returned to staring at the young man icily. The guilt of his actions weighed heavy on Eoin as he sat there, squirming. He was shaking by the time she finally spoke.

    ¡°I am Celyn Cailleach,¡± she began.

    Eoin sighed inturnaly, relaxed slightly, and mopped at the cold sweat that had formed upon his pale brow. If she was introducing herself, that probably meant she wasn¡¯t planning to eat him.

    ¡°The Witch,¡± Celyn finished.

    At this, Eoin¡¯s back straightened and he felt like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a wolf. Up until this point he hadn¡¯t been sure but now she had confirmed it he didn¡¯t know what to think. Witches were evil, everyone knew that. The stories the hardy people of Caorah told always said so. There couldn¡¯t be smoke without fire, there had to be a reason they had such a reputation.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Eoin stammered, the mixture of fear and guilt forcing the words out.

    Nothing up until this point seemed to have fazed the stern woman but this actually seemed to startle her. Mrs. Cailleach¡¯s stoney exterior cracked slightly. Seasing the opening, words began to pour out of the young man like water from a carafe:

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I never meant to attack you, I wasn¡¯t even supposed to draw my sword unless I was in a life or death situation, I don¡¯t know what came over me, I mean I saw that angry red mist but I don¡¯t understand what happened, please don¡¯t hurt me or my friends, I was just trying to help, Dorcha over their, he¡¯s like me but not, I heard his story when I found him, I mean I found him and I wanted to help, his family, they all died and there was a plague and the people said it was a Witch and I¡¯ve heard the stories, everyone knows a plague is exactly the sort of thing a Witch would do and I¡¯m sorry and I didn¡¯t want to hurt anyone¡­¡±

    Once the dam was broken, everything spilled forth and Eoin had to hold himself back from tears. Although he was now officially a man, he was still young. The events of the past day, combined with the vague outline of the dream that still lingered at the back of his mind, all conglomerated. It was just too much for the young man.

    Celyn was taken aback by this sudden onslaught and now she looked to be the one taken aback, uncomfortable with her situation. That was until Eoin stopped rambling, sucked up a tendril of snot and asked a question.

    ¡°Why can¡¯t they hear us?¡± Eoin asked, having noticed that, despite his outburst, neither Reithe nor Dorcha had stirred in their sleep.

    Venting like that had actually helped the young man and as soon as his mind was given the slightest bit of room it started thinking of an endless stream of questions once more.

    ¡°Errr,¡± Celyn began adroitly before her face hardened and her cold demeanour returned. ¡°That is because of the sound ward that surrounds us, you noticed it as you walked in.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Eoin replied, trying not to think about it, knowing if he pondered too long on the spell which surrounded them he might try and peer once more into the unseen. Not wanting another bout of migraines, Eoin changed back to the topic at hand.

    ¡°Despite not being in control of my actions, I¡¯m sorry for what I did and I am prepared to accept any punishment you deem necessary,¡± Eoin said sincerely, bowing his head to the Witch.

    ¡°Any punishment?¡± Celyn asked, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Eoin confirmed, without hesitation. Now that much of the emotion which grasped his heart had streamed away, he was far more resolute.

    The Witch, Celyn Cailleach, was actually impressed by this boy''s response, though one wouldn¡¯t be able to tell from her expression. Having briefly lost control after being caught by surprise at his apology (as long as she had lived in Caorah she had never received such a thing) Celyn was determined not to allow her schooled features to slip once again.

    She had been planning to force him to work as an apprentice until she decided whether or not he was suited to her style of magic, the potion she had made would insure compliance, but upon seeing that he was offering himself up she wondered if she should be more lenient. Maybe she could pay him for the work she would have him do?

    Eoin was starting to squirm in his seat as the silence dragged on, he was never one to sit still at the best of times. Unable to take it, he asked another question.

    ¡°What is that thing?¡± he asked, pointing at the swing pendulum.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Celyn said, returning from her pondering, ¡°Oh, that''s just a Pendulus Magicuni, that¡¯s what my teacher called it,¡± she said, somewhat offhandedly.

    ¡°What does it do?¡± Eoin followed up after another brief pause.

    ¡°It swings in time with the amount of mana in the area, the more, the faster it swings. It nearly broke with the events that transpired yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Eoin replied, then murmured, ¡°guess that means the sound ward only works one way.¡± The continued ticking had drawn his attention in the quiet of the firelit room.

    Celyn smiled slightly at that, though it was nearly imperceptible.

    ¡°I have decided upon your punishment,¡± she declared, before Eoin could get distracted by something else, ¡°You serve as my apprentice for a year and a day, in that time you shall do everything I say, without question,¡± on this point she was rather firm.

    Eoin moved about uncomfortably when he heard the judgment.

    ¡°If you have something to say, then do so,¡± Mrs. Cailleach said, with some flinty hardness entering her voice, ¡°Do you not stand by your word?¡±

    Eoin tried to say something but found his throat quite dry. He swallowed. Noticing, Cailleach poured a goblet of water from the jug on the table next to her and thrust it into the young man¡¯s hands. Eoin was going to protest, but when he looked over to the cup he had already filled, it was missing.

    Furrowing his brows, Eoin drank the refreshing liquid before dismissing the issue.

    ¡°I fully intend to honour my word, and that¡¯s the problem,¡± Eoin began, ¡°I promised Dorcha that I would help him find the cause of the plague that spread through his village and I can¡¯t do that if I¡¯m stuck here.

    Don¡¯t get me wrong, I would be delighted to learn from you - it feels more like a reward than a punishment. I know I have some connection with manna and I would like to learn to be safe, I have already experienced what it is like to use a weapon you don¡¯t know how to,¡± he said, looking at the bandage on his arm.

    Tick.

    Tock.

    Tick.

    Tock.

    ¡°It¡¯s a struggle just to ignore all the sights, sounds and feelings I can only assume are connected to magic. And you don¡¯t seem as evil as I was expecting, I mean you didn¡¯t ask me to fetch newborns for your supper,¡± Eoin said with a chuckle, trailing off when Celyn didn¡¯t respond.

    Tick. Tock.

    Tick. Tock.

    Tick. Tock.

    Tick. Tock.

    ¡°Yes, you do seem to have some aptitude for magic,¡± Celyn began and Eoin¡¯s face lit up, ¡°And you will need to be trained, so you are not a danger to yourself and others¡­ any more than you already are,¡± his face fell slightly at the reminder of his actions.

    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean I would keep you locked up here doing chores. When your friend, Dorcha, came here the first time he said that this plague was magical¨C¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s been here before?¡± Eoin asked, confused.

    ¡°Yes,a few days ago,¡± Celyn responded, before continuing and ignoring the look of shock and puzzlement that crossed the young man¡¯s face upon hearing this, ¡°As I was saying, a magical plague is exactly the sort of thing I, as a Witch, am duty bound to investigate. We get our power from nature and something like this twists it, it cannot stand.¡±

    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

    Eoin took a moment to pass what she said. When he did he replied, ¡°Then I can agree to your terms, there are no other conflicts,¡± he did not however disclose his plans for the coming spring. The thought of it made his stomach drop, he would have to learn everything he could about magic in the short time he had to hopefully stand a chance against that demon.

    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

    ¡°Is it just me, or is that Pendus Macani thing getting faster?¡± Eoin asked, finally recognising the sound.

    ¡°Pendulus Magicuni,¡± Celyn corrected before thinking about what he said, ¡°That is curious, I can¡¯t think of anything that would¨C¡±

    Before she could finish the thought, something caught her eye. A black mist was slowly seeping out of Eoin¡¯s body, only visible to the magical eye. Its aura, heavy and sinister.

    As the Ticking and Tocking grew louder and more insistent, Eoin¡¯s nerves began to rise. Was this another dream? When he turned back to Celyn, intending to ask what she thought the cause of this was, he was shocked to see that her eyes were glowing a bright purple.

    As he watched, lightning began to crackle around her arms as a thunder cloud manifested above her head.

    ¡°Wait,¡± Eoin said, raising his arms in a feeble attempt to protect himself. Has he been wrong about her? Was she just playing with him? That¡¯s certainly something the sort of Witch he knew from the stories would have done.

    Before Eoin could act, electric death burst forth and enveloped him.

 Chapter 10: To Forgive Divine

    Chapter 10

    <hr>

    To Forgive Divine

    Eoin found it hard to forgive the Witch, Cailleach, for attacking him unprovoked, as ironic as that was. Eventually however, he was forced to admit that forgiveness, even gratitude, was the proper course of action.

    Her lightning spell, the witnessing of which would have, only days ago, made his entire year, frightened the life out of Eoin. That said, it didn¡¯t so much as singe a hair on his head. After all, Eoin was not the target of the Witch¡¯s spell.

    After being subsumed in the surprisingly refreshing sparky torrent, the young man noticed the incessant Ticking of the pendulum had diminished, returning back to its steady pulse. Whatever Celyn had done stopped it.

    When he calmed down and stuffed his heart back down his throat, Eoin asked:

    ¡°What just happened?¡±

    ¡°Something dark, something very dark indeed,¡± Celyn said in a sombre tone. Though lightning no longer danced in her eyes as she had dismissed the spell, there was an intensity in her gaze that caused Eoin to shrink back in his arm chair as she stood, leaned in close and began looking him over.

    She poked and prodded him, taking out odd lenses and sticks from cupboards and probing the young man with them. It took Eoin a goodly while of this odd testing before his inquisitive nature finally, and inevitably, reared its head once more.

    ¡°What are you looking for? That lightning you called down, it stopped the Pendulu Mancuni¨C¡±

    ¡°Pendulus Magicuni,¡± Celyn cut in the clipped tone of a teacher.

    ¡°Pendulus Magicuni,¡± Eoin repeated, struggling with the unfamiliar words before pressing on, ¡°So you must have destroyed whatever was setting it off.¡±

    ¡°I did,¡± she confirmed, ¡°But that won¡¯t stop it from returning, if whatever it is can do so. ¡°Hold out your hand,¡± the Witch ordered in such a tone that Eoin had his hand out, palm up, before he knew what he was doing.

    ¡°Owch!¡± the young man exclaimed, withdrawing his hand from the sting of the pin prick. Cailleach wore her regular stoney expression as she looked through comically large glasses at the drop of blood on her needle.

    She did something magical, Eoin could feel it, though he had blocked out that part of his sight for his own health. The young Shepherd desperately wanted to learn magic, and wanted nothing more than to ply this strange, possible evil Witch with questions. Now wasn¡¯t the time however, if he were to be her apprentice, there would be time.

    ¡°What¡¯d you do that for?¡± Eoin asked, sucking on the tiny hole in his finger. She didn¡¯t answer, the result of her working spoke for itself. The blood crystalised, turned black, and began letting off wisps of a very familiar dark vapor.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen that before,¡± Eoin said, opening the part of his sight that could see the manamus secrets of the world and confirming that it was indeed the same.

    ¡°You know what this is,¡± Celyn asked with sternness, her eyes pinning him in place, not allowing the young man to avoid the question. He felt no inclination to do so, answering freely.

    ¡°The other day, me and Reithe were attacked on the road by a feral wolf. After we killed it, with the help of what I think was a wind elemental¨C¡±

    ¡°A wind elemental?¡± Celyn asked, with what might have been the faintest hint of surprise, though it was difficult to tell.

    ¡°Yes, errmm, you¡¯d know more about this than me. It¡¯s a ball, about the size of my hand, made completely out of some pale glowing light - winds move about it and it seems to be able to use its command over them to attack. It was the one which severed the wolf¡¯s head from its shoulders.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s strange¡­¡± the Witch said ponderously, as she looked off into space - freeing Eoin from her gaze and allowing him a chance to breathe. ¡°That does sound like a wind elemental, though it is strange that it would help you, they¡¯re flighty at the best of times.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s because I helped it with something that connects to what I was saying about the wolf. This blackness that¡¯s¡­ coming off my blood,¡± Eoin said, suppressing a shudder at the connotations, ¡°It was present when the wolf was killed, rising up like steam from its headless stump.

    I also saw something that looked the same when I stumbled upon the wind elemental for the first time. It had a spike embedded in it that looked similar. Say, it ''s some kind of dark magic I suspect, why could I see it? Or the wind elemental for that matter? Reithe couldn¡¯t see either and I hadn¡¯t gone through whatever that was yesterday.¡±

    ¡°An awakening,¡± Celyn informed, ¡°It is not uncommon for someone to see specific instances of magic before an awakening if it''s particularly strong or you have an affinity with that type of mana. It¡¯s one of the signs a magic user will look for if they are seeking an apprentice. You might think of it like this: a light is shining bright enough on the other side of a curtain that you get an idea of the shape of its source. Awakening draws back that curtain and lets you see what¡¯s on the other side, unimpeded.¡±

    The Witch proceeded to ask Eoin a series of questions about this darkness that he had seen and he answered to the best of his ability. When she received the young man¡¯s responses she noted them down on some scrap parchment - it looked like it was the only thing she could find to write on after the fire.

    Once the interrogation had concluded, Eoin was ignored. The Witch continued doing tests and taking notes. After some time, the young man grew impatient and asked what on earth that black magic meant.

    Celyn said that she had some ideas but was uncomfortable saying until she could be sure. When Eoin followed up with more questions, Caileach eventually got fed up and told him to go to bed; he would learn more in the morning.

    Eoin tried to unburden himself of the growing weight of questions but Celyn''s patience drew thin. She reminded the young man that he had agreed to be her apprentice and as such had agreed to follow her orders without question or complaint.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    With his pride as a Caorah man at stake, Eoin moped like a child as he trudged back over to his bed to snuggle up next to his still sleeping companion.

    He intended to stay up all night and watch all the tests which the Witch performed with her endless odd array of gadgets. He fell asleep in seconds, tired from a very long day and having had an unrestful night.

    ?

    Eoin didn¡¯t dream, his mind was too badly in need of rest. He awoke to a familiar stinging sensation in his rear. Daylight streamed through the windows and by its light the young man caught a glimpse of his attacker before he tumbled off the bed.

    Reithe didn¡¯t have his usual expression of smug satisfaction however, instead it appeared he had woken Eoin up for some serious purpose.

    The Shepherd was briefly overwhelmed by the new sensations he was open to, until he managed to recall the technique he had used to shut them out. He had to sort of just encourage the parts of his mind which dealt with such things to become catatonic.

    Once the throbbing of his head and the spinning of the world had ceased, Eoin leaped to his feet - worried Reithe had awoken due to some kind of attack. That was not the case, or at least he didn¡¯t believe it to be so. Reithe was standing between Eoin and Celyn defensively, the latter of which had returned to sitting in her chair, staring.

    Eoin¡¯s heart leaped into his throat at the sight of her intense gaze, he wondered, for a moment, if he had done something wrong and Reithe was trying to protect him from her ire.

    ZZZZZzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzzz

    Her snoring said otherwise.

    ¡°She sleeps with her eyes open?¡± Eoin mumbled groggily, not quite understanding what he was looking at.

    Reithe nudged him, as if to say, ¡°¡®Baa¡¯e quiet.¡±

    Eoin looked at his friend inquisitively, trying to understand what the ram was planning. Once Reithe was sure that he had his friend''s full attention, he began stepping slowly and carefully towards the door on the tips of his hooves.

    It appeared the sheep¡¯s plan was to leave whilst the Witch still slept. Except Eoin could not leave, he had agreed to Celyn¡¯s punishment, to be her apprentice, and a Caorah man¡¯s word was not something given lightly.

    The ram¡¯s attempts at stealth, funny though they were as his hooves kept clopping against the wooden floor no matter how hard he tried, were fruitless. Eoin laid a hand on his friend¡¯s shoulder. Reithe turned back questioningly and the young man shook his head. The ram looked towards the still sleeping Dorcha with exasperation.

    ¡°No,¡± Eoin began with no attempt to be quiet, making Reithe wince, ¡°If I were to try and escape, we would take him with us, no matter how much of a burden you clearly think he is.¡±

    The ram cocked his head, catching on to what wasn¡¯t said.

    ¡°And no, I can¡¯t run away,¡± Eoin confirmed. The sheep stared daggers into the man, from his perspective, they were trapped in the house of an evil and powerful Witch whose intentions were unclear. For all he knew, she was saving them for her supper.

    The ram looked almost panicked when the sound of stretching came from across the room. Eoin, on the other hand, was unfazed, this gave Reithe some level of comfort. Even so, the ram subconsciously manoeuvred himself between his friend and the waking Witch.

    It took some convincing to calm Reithe. Eoin explained the arrangement and was corroborated by Celyn, though her lack of expression did nothing to reassure the ram.

    Once that was settled, Eoin asked eagerly after the results of the Witch¡¯s tests. There was only disappointment on that front. Apparently she was performing a mana leaching cycle on the sample of Eoin¡¯s blood that she had taken and the results wouldn¡¯t come in until another day or so. The device used to do this looked, to the young man, like nothing more than a small round box - about the size of his palm - though he could sense there was magic about it.

    Eoin, of course, asked if there was a way for him to turn down the intensity of the sensations he was feeling so that he might get a better look at the magical device. The Witch''s answer was a decisive no.

    According to her, it was best to wait a while after one''s awakening to try anything with mana, much to the Shepherds disappointment and the sheep¡¯s relief. Reithe held a natural suspicion for anything he couldn¡¯t understand and all this magical stuff Eoin had told him about, and yet he couldn¡¯t see, fell squarely into that category.

    Eoin then asked what the plan for the day was, expecting perhaps chores - cutting logs and the like. That was not, in fact, the case. Celyn suspected that this strange dark magic had a connection to the Plague that had caused the other young man¡¯s quest to begin. Magical disease was exceedingly rare and she felt it was unlikely that whatever had infected that wolf, and then apparently him, wasn¡¯t connected to this.

    To that end, she had him eat some concoction of herbs that was supposed to destroy anything that remained of this dark magic within his system. Reithe stopped him before he could slug it down, clearly fearful of poison.

    The young man reminded his friend that this woman had bested him whilst unarmed, with only one strike - would need had she for poison. Reithe did not find this convincing however and still tried to stop his friend but the young man ignored him - he was bound to follow her orders after all.

    Eoin felt something when the potion went down. As the lingering taste of earth and peppermint fizzed on his tongue, it was as if a pressure was lifted from his core, as if a set of invisible claws had released him. There was no visible effect but he felt better for it. After he didn¡¯t keel over, Reithe backed off, though he wasn¡¯t happy for being ignored.

    Eoin¡¯s first task as an apprentice was waking up Dorcha. The young man had information about the village the Witch wanted to investigate.

    Eoin wasn¡¯t sure how he felt about the other young man. He could understand his position, to some extent. It was an impossible situation, Dorcha blamed the Witch and yet Eoin was now sure she had nothing to do with it. On top of that, he had lied to him, Dorcha had been here before. Eoin could think of a dozen reasons he might have done that, though he would have to ask the other man to know for certain.

    Before he approached the other young man, Celyn handed him a silver pitcher that looked to be filled with water and told him to give it to Dorcha if he can¡¯t get past his preconceptions. Apparently, the fluid inside made the drinker compliant, they would follow any instructions for about a day.

    Eoin recognised the jug, it was the one which had disappeared from beside his bed. He looked up at the woman with a mix of horror and disgust. She smiled back, the expression looking completely out of place. A shiver went down the young man¡¯s spine, perhaps this Shepeard in black had the right of it. Why would he ever trust a Witch?

    Alas, he did. As much as the existence of such a substance scared him, he had to admit that his actions perhaps warranted its use. That said, he was determined not to use it on Dorcha.

    He approached the other bed, unsure how to awaken the heavily sleeping man. Luckily, in this area Reithe was an expert. Before Eoin could ready himself, Dorcha was sent sprawling across the floor by the ram.

    Reithe looked up at his master with too much pride in his eyes. Eoin sighed and turned to the other man. Much like himself, Dorcha had awoken with a panicked start - flailing about and looking around wildly.

    Eoin kneeled to be on his level, looking the other man in the eye, grasping his shoulders and affecting a calming demeanour.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, it me,¡± Eoin said and continued when the other man didn¡¯t seem to recognise him, ¡°I¡¯m Eoin, the Shepard, I found you next to death the other day¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes, I know who you are. What¡¯s going on? Where are we? And why does it feel like I¡¯ve fallen and landed with my arse on a rock?¡± Dorcha said, rubbing at the area in question and looking back at a grimming ram with menace.

    What followed were a series of heated words about how stupid Eoin was being and that they should just kill this Witch already. When Eoin looked back at the impassive woman, she only pointed at the jug. Determined not to use that concoction, Eoin felt he had but one resort.

    ¡°Dorcha,¡± he began, earnestly, ¡°I have sworn to help you find the cause of your family''s death, and a Caorah man never goes back on his word. To that end, I make an oath, here and now. On my life, this Witch had nothing to do with that plague - she will even help investigate its cause. If I am wrong, I will be honour-bound to take my own life.¡±

    All in the room were shocked.

 Chapter 11: A lesson

    Chapter 11

    <hr>

    A lesson

    Dorcha agreed to trust the Witch, though begrudgingly. To give a life oath, as Eoin had done, was not something taken lightly in Caorah; the grieving Dorcha was given no choice but to trust Eoin, without absolute proof that the Witch was the one who caused the plague. If he did not, Dorcha would be forced to demand Eoin forfeit his life.

    The atmosphere was rather turbid as the group set off from the Witch¡¯s home, back into the marsh. Celyn, or Miss Cailleach as she insisted on being called now that she was Eoin¡¯s Master, led the way. Reithe was not far behind, he made sure to stay ahead of Eoin. The ram was distancing himself from the lad after his stupid and reckless actions.

    That left Dorcha and Eoin in awkward silence at the rear. They didn¡¯t look, let alone talk to one another as they crunched along the frozen muddy path, hidden by snow.

    Miss Cailleach returned Eoin¡¯s sword, which surprised the young man. Though maybe he should not have been; he had failed to even graze her with it when they had fought.

    Being his Master, the Witch promised to show Eoin how to use it when they stopped for the night. Truth be told, the promise was more of a threat. When she heard the Eoin had cut himself with his own blade, she seemed to take it as a great personal insult and vowed to insure nothing like that would ever happen again.

    Alongside magic and hand to hand combat, Eoin¡¯s Mistress also knew how to wield a sword. When asked why, she had simply replied:

    ¡°The world is dangerous, one can never be too careful.¡±

    Although her demeanour was just as impervious to scrutiny as ever, Eoin sensed that there was more to those words, more she was not saying.

    Dorcha tripped on a slippery rock hidden beneath the snow. He stumbled into Eoin, who was barely able to keep the pair from tumbling off the safe path and into the treacherous bog. Neither Reithe nor Eoin¡¯s new mistress looked back.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Dorcha mumbled, his black hair covering his eyes.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Eoin replied, noncommittally.

    Several more similar interactions occurred as they continued along the treacherous path, each time it seemed to make Dorcha more and more annoyed. Without having an evil Witch to be the target of his anger, Dorcha was becoming more surly and unpleasant.

    That was not to say that he didn¡¯t still hold some resentment for the woman he believed responsible for his parents'' deaths. He would shoot deadly glares at her back from time to time and when ever she used any magic, be it a gust of wind to scrape of the snow that was piling up on her shoulders, or a spark of flame to warm the hands, Dorcha would start mumbling sullenly; swearing vengeance and death.

    Dorcha did not yet know that Eoin was supposedly ¡®awakened¡¯ to the world of magic; a mage of some kind. If he did, Eoin imagined that the grouchy lad wouldn¡¯t be best pleased.

    He was already lashing out with petty acts, the young man how might Dorcha react if he learned that Eoin had agreed to apprentice under a Witch. Given that they were traveling together, he would find out, sooner or later¡­ preferably later. Eoin would do his best to hide the fact.

    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re walking!¡± Dorcha complained, when Eoin was the one stumbled, this time over a frozen clod of earth and into the other boy.

    Miss Cailleach turned back. Although her face looked the same as ever, she seemed to hold an air of disappointment as she said:

    ¡°Aren''t you Awakened, you should be able to sense the obstacles through the snow.¡±

    Eoin cringed when he saw the confused look on the other man¡¯s face but replied, ¡°I thought you told me not to do anything with¡­ you know,¡± he replied, trying to be covert.

    ¡°I said you shouldn¡¯t do anything with mana for a while, now that you¡¯ve awakened you should have a vague sense for the earth mana in the ground, enough that tripping should not be an issue,¡± she explained.

    ¡°But it hurts to look at,¡± Eoin tried to explain.

    ¡°Hurts?¡± Miss Cailleach asked, genuinely confused. Unfortunately that line of questioning didn¡¯t go any further as it was just then that Dorcha burst out in an enraged outburst.

    Sadly, although not familiar with magical nomenclature, Dorcha was not stupid. He accused Eoin of colluding with the Witch, of hiding something from him, and of planning behind his back.

    This, in turn, sparked a heated argument, in which Eoin aired his own grievances. Eoin asked why the other man hadn''t told him that he had been to see the Witch once before. At this, Dorcha was actually embarrassed. He revealed that he had withheld the fact that he already failed, had he told Eoin, Dorcha feared the young Shepherd might not have come with him.

    This then led Eoin to question, in a shouted tone, why Dorcha hadn¡¯t warned him about the enraging effect that existed when entering the Witch¡¯s domain.

    At this, the orphan blanched. As it transpired, the young man did not know. He thought he had become so overwhelmed with righteous anger upon seeing his parent¡¯s killer that he had blacked out¡­

    Seeing it was time to fight, Reithe bowled the pair over; partially because he felt like it and partially because Celyn had not stopped with the others and was nearly a half mile ahead. Unfortunately, moves made in anger are never wise.

    There was no appearance of a mysterious wind elemental this time and the ram was left to pull the two mug covered boys out of the bog on his own. Then, he had to hurd the humans so they would catch up to the Witch.

    Despite Dorcha''s obvious outrage at what, to him, was the betrayal of someone whom he had felt an immediate kinship with, he still chose to follow. In spite of his anger, Dorcha still did not directly question Eoin¡¯s life oath.

    The trip proceeded in a tense silence.

    All of a sudden, there were more tripping hazards as the pair sought an excuse to push at one another. This back and forth would only die down when a cloud formed over Cailleach¡¯s head; then they would subside for a time, but the temperature would inevitably rise once more. It took a few light shocks for the teens to agree to each stick to their own side of the path.

    Miss Cailleach, for her part, didn¡¯t seem to care about the young men¡¯s arguing, she just liked peace and quiet.

    On the bright side, Reithe felt bad that Eoin was covered in mud, thanks to him, so he stopped giving his friend the cold shoulder. When they sat down for lunch, Eoin offered the ram an apple he had taken from the Witch¡¯s larder, and that was enough for the pair to make up.

    That said, Reithe still refused to walk near his friend because of the pungent aroma of bog that hung about him.

    So it was that a strung out party entered the village at the heart of Hoofstuck Marsh, imaginatively named Hoofstuck. The group kept their distance as they followed the Witch and apparently they weren¡¯t the only ones.

    Hoofstuck was what Eoin assumed a normal Caorah village to be, based on his limited experience. Like Shearford, the buildings were squat and huddled together. Here though, they were even lower down, as if they had sunk into the sucking mud.

    Each house seemed to have a larger roof than was necessary, as if showing off the reeds which thatched most of the roofs on the island and that were all grown here in the marsh.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    As for the people, they were also much like those of Shearford; just as cold as the harsh Corah winters.

    It felt strange. Eoin had forever been an insider in Shearford, and as such he sore the warm hearts the people possessed on full display. Whenever a traveler or unknown merchant came to the village, Eoin had seen the people turn shifty eyes upon the outsider, walk well clear of them, and generally act hostile towards them.

    It was just how one treated a stranger and Eoin had never thought twice about it. But now that he was that stranger, it felt different, isolating.

    It wasn¡¯t until they rounded a corner, saw a group of children freeze in the middle of some kind of game involving a ball made of a sheep''s bladder and run away screaming, that Eoin realised he might be being treated more harshly than ordinarily.

    The kids¡¯ cry of ¡°Witch,¡± gave a clue as to why. Although the woman Eoin had agreed to work under didn¡¯t fit the typical image of a Witch. She wasn¡¯t wearing all black, she didn¡¯t go around cackling, and she didn''t have a long nose covered in warts, Miss Cailleach seemed to be somewhat familiar to the people here. Her dress was unseasonable, covered in flowers as it was, and her pointed hat, made of the same fabric, definitely said: Witch.

    Despite this, Eoin was uncomfortable with the glairs of the village folk and sought to act more warmly towards strangers in the future.

    The three humans and a sheep eventually came to a large stone building near the heart of the village which stood apart from the others. It was thrice the size of the average house and Eoin knew it to be the Village Hall, a space used for the community.

    In Shearford this meant housing religious events, celebrations, and, most importantly to the residence, it was a place to get drunk in the evenings, play games, or generally have fun. More relevant to their present needs, a Village Hall also had a few spare cots open to any who might need them.

    The sky was darkening and, after returning to sleeping in a cot for just one night, Eoin realised the novelty of camping had already worn off. That said, given how hostile the people here seemed to be, Eoin was unsure if they would be allowed to stay the night.

    Miss Cailleach, however, seemed to be oblivious to the scowls and whispers of all the villagers as she burst into the Hall, disturbing the men and women sitting at tables drinking and playing games with stones and chalk.

    She strode confidently over to a bar that was sat against one wall. As in Shearford, someone had been entrepreneurial enough to realise that a space like this would profit greatly from the direct sale of drinks.

    Celyn saw the person she was looking for drinking at the bar and marched straight towards him without any hesitation. The person in question, a large but strong man with clothes slightly cleaner than the other people of Hoofstuck, forced a grimacing smile onto his face as the woman stomped over.

    ¡°Witch Cailleach, to what do we owe the pleasure,¡± the man asked in a way that made it seem anything but.

    ¡°Me and my group are staying here tonight,¡± Celyn replied without giving him room to oppose her. At this, the man who Eoin assumed to be an elder of the village given his greying hair, looked pained.

    Noticing this, the Witch slammed something onto the bar.

    ¡°For the village,¡± she explained. As Miss Cailleach removed her hand from atop the item, Eoin caught the brief gleam of reflected gold in the firelight before whatever it was that she had offered disappeared into the elder¡¯s hand.

    His smile became slightly less strained as he nodded. At his signal, the rest of the villagers returned to what they were doing. Although the village folk were no longer actively staring at Eoin and his party, the newcomers were clearly still not welcome.

    Dorcha tried to sit at the bar and order a drink but the two people next to the stool he had chosen got up and left as soon as he sat down and the bartender ignored the man who would traveling in the company of a Witch. That and he was still covered in now dry mud.

    Failing in his endeavour to get drunk, and having tried and failed to start a conversation with any of the marsh folk, Dorcha moped over to Celyn and Eoin who were each claiming a cot at the edge of the hall by placing their belongings upon them.

    For a time, the two teens were left standing awkwardly while Miss Cailleach fiddled a small box that glowed to Eoin¡¯s sight, seemingly oblivious to the world around her. After a few breaths, the container made a soft chime. Celyn looked at it with definite displeasure and shook it as if unhappy with whatever it was telling her.

    Before Eoin was able to ask about it, Miss Cailleach turned her cold eyes upon the young man and said:

    ¡°Apprentice, it¡¯s time for your first lesson.¡±

    Eoin cringed once more at her directnes and Dorcha, who had suspected something before, paled as the exact nature of Eoin and Cailleach¡¯s relationship was revealed.

    ?

    After the inevitable argument, which the villagers appeared to pointedly ignore, Eoin left the Village Hall with Miss Cailleach .Dorcha remained behind to cool off. Reithe also chose to stay and keep an eye on the lad and Eoin¡¯s satchel.

    Eoin followed Miss Cailleach on a brief but swift walk out of the village and through a thicket of trees. Pines seemed to cluster in copses around the village, likely providing the stability the land needed to house the homes of the marsh folk.

    When Miss Cailleach deemed they were a safe distance from the town, she sat Eoin down on a stump; preparing him for his first magic lesson. He couldn¡¯t sit still, he was just too excited. Questions boiled about in his mind, he was a pressure cooker without a valve, ready to explode.

    Before he could vent his tide of inquiries, Miss Cailleach asked him a question that caught the young man short.

    ¡°Earlier, on the way here, you said looking at mana hurts; Explain.¡± she demanded without preamble.

    Confused and sitting on a kettle of questions, Eoin simply replied, ¡°It¡­ well¡­ you know¡­¡± When his Mistress indicated that she did not, in fact, know, he tried to elaborate, ¡°Like, it hurts my eyes, but not just my eyes, all the senses, but at the same time¡­ not?¡± Eoin asked, unsure of himself.

    That wasn¡¯t enough for Miss Cailleach so she prompted him, ¡°Be more specific.¡±

    Eoin took a breath and really thought about how to answer her. He had just assumed that she would know what he was talking about, she was clearly Awakened herself; how else would she have played with the elements like she did, unless¡­ Eoin slapped himself on the cheek to stop his mind from wandering down tangents and instead remained focused.

    ¡°Pain is perhaps not the best way to describe it. It''s like I¡¯m seeing, hearing, and even smelling too much all at once. It''s so overwhelming that I can¡¯t tell what¡¯s going on,¡± the young man tried.

    Due to Miss Cailleach''s general impassivity, it was very difficult to tell if he was getting his point across but when she asked a follow up question he relaxed.

    ¡°Did this happen with anything in particular?¡± she asked.

    ¡°How do you mean,¡± Eoin returned.

    ¡°Does it happen when you look at water or hear fire or what not?¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Eoin replied, not understanding what she was getting at, ¡°It just is, all around me all the time.¡±

    ¡°Then why aren''t you overwhelmed now?¡± Miss Cailleach asked with what might have been genuine interest.

    ¡°I just¡­ sorta ignore it, like I can switch the sensations off, except not. They''re still there but I¡¯m just not aware of them, unless something catches my attention or I lose concentration on ignoring it, if that makes any sense?¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Celyn replied, followed by a long pause. Silences didn¡¯t seem to bother her in the least but Eoin soon became antsy.

    ¡°What does it mean?¡± he pressed.

    ¡°Hmm. Well, it sounds like you¡¯re already using a concentration technique called Oblivence, it¡¯s quite advanced and usually requires someone to sit for a month with a candle on their head until they can walk around without even noticing it. At least, that¡¯s how I was taught.¡±

    ¡°What possible good could that do?¡±

    ¡°It teaches someone to maintain focus on a spell for a long period of time, indefinitely in some cases, without failing due to distraction, or even keep it up in their sleep. It is good you have gotten a grip on the idea already but that¡¯s not really what¡¯s interested me.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Eoin asked, curious. Miss Cailleach stood from her hunched position and summoned a lightning cloud to stave off the coming darkness before answering.

    ¡°No. What you¡¯re describing sounds like what happens when someone has a very high affinity with a type of mana. I, for example, as a Witch have a strong connection to the types of mana nature has control over. Earth, water, wind, to name but a few.

    This meant when I awakened, those types of mana seemed clearer to me than others, they would divulge their secrets more easily. But the mana of weapons and other man made items is nearly invisible to me and I would be hard pressed to gain any level of proficiency with them.¡±

    ¡°Does that mean I have a high affinity for lots of stuff?¡± Eoin asked, excited.

    ¡°Likely. Is there anything in particular you felt more inclined towards, drawn to, if you will.¡±

    Eoin shook his head in response.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Cailleach repeated.

    ¡°You sound concerned, wouldn¡¯t it be good if I had a high affinity for lots of things?¡±

    ¡°Not necessarily.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. I have a friend in the east, she¡¯s a pyromancer¨C

    ¡°Where are you going with this?¡±

    ¡°Zip it!... Good. Now, she is a pyromancer, that means she primarily uses fire, but in her case that¡¯s all she can use. That said, she has a ridiculous affinity with fire. She can sing it to her will and do nearly anything I can do with fire alone.

    But it wasn¡¯t always that way. When she was six, she burned down her home and became an orphan. Not out of any malice, she was simply a child who had lost her temper. It took her years of diligent practice to remain in control and she still occasionally has slip ups, it is in fire¡¯s nature to burn after all.¡±

    Eoin was silent, not knowing how to respond.

    Miss Cailleach continued, ¡°I¡¯m just saying we¡¯ll have to be careful is all. Now, for this evening''s lesson¡­¡±