by Lisa Rector
Catrin squinted into the forest. By her recollection, traveling through the forest to the Great Ridge took at least a week, and the distance to travel from the north to south took two weeks. Finding the tegyd village deep within the trees might take several days. She could leave immediately, but it’d be foolish to go without provisions—and without Meuric.
He’s the key. I can deal with him. I can do this.
A new determination filled Catrin, and she stood, eager to return to the village. Snow had melted into a pool around her, along with her anxiety, which had given way to purpose. She was going home one way or another.
***
Catrin entered the hut to find Meuric stretched out before the fire with his hands behind his head. Irritation twinged through her. How could he act as if nothing was the matter?
Meuric didn’t bother turning his head but stared blankly at the ceiling. “Feel better?”
“How can you be unperturbed about this?” Catrin moved closer and plunked onto a stool.
“I can do nothing about my current discomforts, though I’m making myself useful as a housewife. Ask Betrys. I dusted while you were gone, and I plan to chop vegetables for dinner.”
“Far beneath your usual duties, I imagine. You should have kept your boots instead of leaving them in the ocean. Or better yet, use your light! I’ve never met someone so pigheaded.”
“Never?” Meuric sat up and turned his body to face her. He narrowed his eyes into a penetrating stare.
Catrin leaned forward. “Never!”
“So what did you decide while you were out fuming in the forest?”
Catrin frowned. She hated how Meuric was monitoring her. Of course, tracing her path of light and knowing where she’d gone would have been all too easy with his mind.
Meuric leaned back, bracing himself with his hands. His linen shirt gaped open, revealing his curly chest hairs. Her face flushed, and her eyes darted to… something else, anything else—a pair of Dewydd’s mucky old boots near the hearth.
Meuric looked down, and a cheeky grin passed over his face before he pulled the opening shut. “Oops, I forgot you’re easily distracted.”
Her foot kicked out, striking him on the thigh. Meuric grabbed her ankle, and Catrin tried in vain to shake his grip off. His fingers tightened slightly as Catrin kicked harder.
“If we’re going to be spending time together”—Meuric grunted—“as I gather we need to if we want to return to our current time, then you need to stop abusing me.”
She sent light into her foot, making it as hot as possible. Meuric held on, but he was evidently hurting. Catrin did not yield.
“Come on, Catrin. Play nice. I made you a promise. Now make me one!” Sweat ran down Meuric’s face.
“You brute! Do you want more pain?” If he squeezed any more, she’d blast him across the room.
“I’ll break your ankle. Don’t tempt me!” Meuric’s eyes grew dark.
“By all means, make no attempt at chivalry!” Catrin wondered if he was restraining his darkness. She wanted to see him try to release it.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Catrin. Promise me!”
For some reason, his words shocked her. All this time, she had been assuming he wished her ill. Curse him. “Fine!” She threw her hands up, and Meuric let go.
He turned away from her, cradling his burned hands.
“Was my oath worth burning your hands?” she asked.
Meuric stared at the floor. “Yes. If it means you aren’t going to abuse me anymore—yes.”
This exchange revealed something about Meuric, but Catrin couldn’t name it. “I don’t understand you.”
“Don’t try because you never will.” His voice was soft, as if an ancient wound had reopened—a fresh reminder of reality’s pain. “If you lived inside my twisted mind, you’d go mad in a day.” He slunk over to a bucket of fresh water in the kitchen’s corner. Meuric dropped to his knees, submerged his hands, and sighed.
Guilt washed over Catrin. She hoped Meuric was too preoccupied with his pain to notice. “That’s nothing to brag about. That’s sad.” She shook her head, moved across the small hut, and sat next to him. “Let me see your hands.”
She reached for them when he didn’t respond.
Meuric hissed. “I didn’t ask for your help. They’ll be healed by tomorrow. I do have some light within my unchivalrous shell.”
Catrin reached into the bucket and lifted his hands out. Meuric didn’t resist. She turned the palms up. Blisters covered his dripping hands. She had really burned him. This would take more than a day to heal.
She laid his hands on her leg and gently touched a palm to both of his. Even though his skin was rough and hot against her smooth fingertips, she didn’t flinch. In Gorlassar, burns from dragons were commonplace, and she had healed many injured emrys.
Pretending she couldn’t feel the chest hairs that had started this debacle, she placed her other hand on Meuric’s shirt, over his heart, and closed her eyes.
Catrin reached into her heart-center and pooled part of her light’s energy into her palm before pushing the energy into Meuric’s chest. She registered the degree of his burn and the sting he felt, including the fluid under the pockets of bubbling skin and the extra heat that stayed in the burned flesh. The light absorbed Meuric’s discomfort as it moved from her palm into his. Tiny pockets of damage, each charred cell, renewed with life, closing up the wound.
The process took a few minutes. Neither Catrin nor Meuric moved.
Nothing stirred.
No one made a noise as Catrin harnessed the ancient art of healing, the sacred power of the Master of Light. When she finished, Catrin dropped her hands.
A wave of nausea passed over her, and she clenched her stomach. That’s never happened before. After the feeling passed, she opened her eyes to find Meuric staring at her.
He lifted his hands and slid them one over the other, not shifting his gaze from her face. “Thank you, Catrin.” His smooth and syrupy voice—like a spoonful of honey—stung Catrin at the base of her neck.
Meuric was thanking her as if his healing meant something far greater to him than Catrin realized.
“Well,” she whispered, lulled by the moment between them. “The vegetables aren’t chopping themselves.”
CHAPTER TEN
NEW ADVENTURE
The next morning, Catrin enlisted Meuric’s help to explain the situation and the ramifications for the Eilian.
“Meuric, you do understand what this means. Their village will be destroyed. This will happen today or in ten months. I’m not sure when we are. They must begin preparations and move inland.” Catrin sat at the table in the kitchen, rubbing her hands over the wood grain. Dewydd was fetching the chieftain and the elders.
Meuric sat across from her, tapping his fingers rhythmically over the table’s surface. “You understand this won’t be easy. These are farming folk. Everything inland is forest. Spring is coming. They need to plow their gardens.”
His fingers continued to dance.
Catrin caught herself before her hand came down on Meuric’s fingers. Instead, she closed her hand and screwed up her face. Meuric’s cheeks rounded briefly, but relaxed as he suppressed his smile.
“If the ocean upheaves and evaporates to a crispy wasteland, there won’t be a need for plowed fields,” she said. “They’ll be dead.”
“Fair enough. How do we convince them?” Meuric stopped drumming.
Catrin sighed. Why did he have so much nervous tension?
“I’ll explain what I know about how they live in our time. The tegyd will help them. Now that I think about history, I believe this is how the Eilian built their homes in the trees. They had help. When our provisions, and your clothes”—she smirked—“are ready, we’ll seek the tegyd out and enlist their aid.”
“You have my support, Catrin, but have you considered the details?”
Catrin shut her eyes, wishing the blue in Meuric’s irises wasn’t so capti
vating. “I have no inkling how we’re accomplishing this.”
Led by Dewydd, seven little men, Chieftain Mihangel included, entered the hut. They busied themselves by sliding armchairs out of the way before sitting in a semicircle around the fire. Their faces glowed, showing weatherworn creases. Since the hut didn’t have an inch of room to spare, Meuric baked in front of the fire, and Catrin perched on the stool behind Dewydd.
Meuric told their story—how they fell from the sky, having been torn from a harrowing battle, and how the little men fished them out of the sea. Everyone laughed when he explained Catrin’s feisty nature with animated detail. Dewydd shushed them, and Meuric proceeded with tales of the amusements on the boat, up to the examination of the maps.
He finished by citing evidence that proved he and Catrin had traveled back in time.
Each little man nodded in understanding, appreciating the embellished story. Catrin hoped that, to them, this wasn’t another tall tale.
Catrin picked up the story with the War Between the Masters. The Eilian needed to understand the seriousness of the future. The Masters would fight. The land would be altered. They were in danger.
Mihangel spoke when Catrin finished. “Ya’re suggestin’ an adventure?” His ancient face shone as his features lifted.
Catrin exhaled. As might be expected, they would think of this as an adventure, just as their forbearers. “Yes, an adventure! My dear friends, such is your heritage. A great journey promising new possibilities.”
“This will be difficult. You realize what this entails. You’re leaving your homes forever,” Meuric said.
Low murmurings washed over the room. A stout man sitting near Catrin spoke up. “The travelers have been thrust in our lives for a purpose, and since when has any little man or woman scoffed at a challenge. Remember Alun the Steadfast. He stood against a giant thrice his size and brought him to his knees with one pinprick to his thigh. Saved the village that year, he did.”
Heads bobbed with approval, and a chorus of affirmation resounded.
Meuric wouldn’t let this go. “You’re leaving your homes. There’s no coming back. How can you accept what we say without further questioning? This is madness.”
“Would ya rather the alternative, my dark friend. If we stay, we drown,” Dewydd said.
Catrin glanced from Dewydd’s face to Meuric’s, hoping to send Meuric a subtle feeling of acceptance and approval. Don’t confuse them, and don’t make them worry. They had enough on their hands. If the council accepted their suggestion to move the town, then all would be well. She was sure of this.
Meuric acknowledged her feelings with a wink.
Catrin looked away.
Smugness wafted across the room toward her. She wasn’t sure how much more of Meuric she could take.
She chanted her new mantra. I can do this. I can do this. Meuric couldn’t be much more of a burden than his inflated ego made him appear. Except she remembered what he said. You’d go mad in a day. His ego was nothing more than an act.
After a half hour of debate, Chieftain Mihangel called for a show of hands. They’d move the village inland—into the forest. The vote was unanimous.
***
The fourth morning in the Eilian village opened with a bustle of excitement. Catrin woke when the seamstresses and the cobbler entered, carrying bundles of fabric in their arms and two pairs of boots. Catrin was impressed they finished so quickly. They must have worked day and night. Meuric rolled off his pallet, eager to see what the Eilian brought.
Iefan approached Catrin. With the dignity of a nobleman, he presented the boots of soft brown leather with laces, fur peeking out the tops, and a sturdy, flexible sole for ease of hiking. He gestured for her to sit on the stool. After requesting a gray stocking from a seamstress, he proceeded to slip it onto her foot and up her calf. The tight-knit stocking fit Catrin’s foot snugly. The cobbler opened the laces and gently grasped her heel to slide on the boot. Gone was his playful demeanor and pinching of her calves from the other day. He laced her boot up and lifted her foot for all to see the craftsmanship. Pride filled his eyes. Catrin wriggled her toes and flexed her foot. These were fine boots indeed.
Iefan waited for a response, so Catrin leaned in and kissed him on the cheek without saying a word. As she pulled away, his face turned bright red.
A tsk from one of the other ladies in the room drew Catrin’s attention. The seamstresses busily fussed over Meuric. Whoever tsked had gone back to work. Catrin mused—somebody had a particular fondness for the cobbler. That was clear.
Catrin and Meuric dressed in their new clothes and boots. A knee-length tunic hung over thick leggings to keep out the wind. Meuric’s woolen trousers and padded coverlet with high collar kept the cold off his neck. The little people had also sewn fine woolen cloaks, which they eagerly presented.
Catrin followed Meuric outside but bumped into him when he abruptly stopped, spread his chest broad, and rolled his neck around. “I never thought standing straight and stretching would feel this good.”
She prodded him in the back before sidestepping him. “We should gather our provisions and head out today. The sooner we find the tegyd, the better understanding we’ll have of our timeline. They might have received knowledge regarding the sequence of events. They could already be making preparations.”
“How do these tegyd know the future? Are you sure they’ll help us?”
“I don’t know how it works, but they know things. My mother is the same way, and her intuition is always correct. Yet, the tegyd don’t say outright what the future is. The way they word phrases sort of sets you on the right path.”
Meuric lifted his chin, looking pensive. “You’re anxious to find the tegyd so you can figure out a way to return home. Are you eager to abandon our little friends?”
“That’s preposterous,” Catrin said. “I’ll make sure the Eilian are safe before we find a way home. I’m not so selfish. I’m following my intuition with the circumstances, and I feel we should move forward with our travels.”
Meuric held up his hands, “Easy, Blondie.” He flicked at her braid, and Catrin backed off. Meuric stamped his feet in the snow. “They really made sturdy boots. I’m quite impressed.”
“Are the clothes thick enough to keep your dark heart from freezing over?”
Meuric shrugged and crunched forward through the snow. “They’re perfect.”
“Don’t run off. We have to gather supplies.” Catrin called after him as he strode away. “You promised!”
“I don’t break my promises, woman. Give me a few minutes to breathe the fresh air.”
Catrin watched him stalk away leaving footsteps in the snow.
***
Two hours later, a mass of little people followed Catrin and Meuric to the edge of the village. Children pranced in the snow, and ladies waved handkerchiefs. Catrin and Meuric each carried a bundle filled with more of the dried jerky and flatbreads Catrin loved, in addition to fruit leather and squares of cheese. They each carried a waterskin as well.
They explained to the Elders their plans and reasons for finding the tegyd. In the meantime, the Eilian would pack up their homes, filling carts and packs, and prepare to move out within a week’s time. They’d assemble tents for shelter, figure a way to herd their animals safely, and gather the food in their larders. The list of chores was endless.
Catrin felt guilty for leaving them. Not one of the little people asked where their new home would be. The Eilian had more faith in Catrin than she had in herself. What if she uprooted their lives and led them away from their homes for nothing? With spring on the way, at least the weather would warm, and they could be settled with new homes built by the upcoming winter.
A seamstress ran up to Meuric, clutching something small in her hand. He stooped down to speak to her. Meuric had shaved his face—several days’ worth of stubble was gone, revealing smooth olive skin. His hair appeared darker since it had grown.
The woman smiled shyly and open
ed her clutched fist, revealing a knit cap the color of dirty white wool. Meuric tilted his head. The lady slid the cap on and adjusted it over his ears. She stepped back and beamed.
“Thank you, Dylis.” Meuric touched the cap and touched his heart. Dylis sobbed and fell into his arms.
Catrin warmed. The little people were easy to love, and they had charmed Meuric. Flabbergasted, Catrin realized Meuric might have a softer interior than she first thought.
Catrin and Meuric waved to the Eilian and turned to the open gate. Meuric stepped beyond the fence, and Catrin followed. Many of the little people poured out behind them to watch them trek away.
The calls of goodbye and farewell suddenly stopped.
Catrin’s heart leapt in her chest.
The forest had changed. In two days’ time, since she had last laid eyes on it, the trees had grown, doubling in circumference and stretching twice as high into the sky.
Catrin’s mouth fell open. The group gasped all around.
Meuric spoke. “Did I miss something? I assume everyone is dumbfounded for a reason.”
“The forest has grown,” Catrin whispered.
“That would explain it.” Meuric shuddered. “It’s tangible—the thickness and the vibrations. Can you feel it? Magic is at work.”
That would explain it. Catrin rolled her eyes. “It has begun. The tegyd are working their magic. There’s no turning back. Time is of the essence.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DESTINY’S PATH
As the day stretched on, Meuric followed Catrin past tall trees casting fingered shadows. This part of the world was entirely foreign to him and, technically, to Catrin as well. At least she was comfortable enough to lead the way, so he let her, crunching ever farther through the snow in a northwesterly direction.
A grim foreboding crept through the forest—a peculiar aura of magic in the air, something akin to the atmosphere created when Meuric’s sister called on the elements with the Dark Master’s power. The deeper they moved into the forest, the stronger the sensation became, making Meuric’s skin tingle and causing him to long for home. He had not forgotten about Rhianu or the battle they’d left. When the Masters finished with their fun, Meuric hoped they’d see fit to send them back to their own time.
