First Night in the Woods

The crude map in Reagan’s hand fluttered in the breeze. It showed a detailed outline of the village, complete with the traveling marketplace, but the forest surrounding the outskirts of the village was a vague approximation.

“According to the map, if we head due east, we’ll reach Louthe,” Reagan said. “Eventually.”

Liam hovered close over his shoulder, his chin almost touching the brown strap of Reagan’s satchel. “By my estimation, it’ll take around three and a quarter days.”

“Really?”

“No, I pulled that out of thin air.” He backed up with a laugh that rang between the trees. “You’re far too gullible.”

Heat rose to Reagan’s face, and he swiped at Liam with the map. “If we get lost, it’s your fault.”

“If we get lost, it’ll be thanks to your awful sense of direction. You were going south until I said something.”

“An hour into the forest.”

“I thought you’d figure it out on your own. Clearly, I was wrong.” A mischievous grin spread across Liam’s face.

Reagan grumbled but couldn’t think of a response. Instead he rolled up the map and shoved it haphazardly into his satchel, effectively ending the conversation.

The pair walked in amicable silence until mid-afternoon, when Reagan opted to take a short break. Setting down his satchel, he settled against the trunk of a large beech tree, looking up through the canopy of orange and red leaves. Birdsong drifted down between the branches, riding on the falling leaves. A slight breeze swirled the tops of the trees, but little of it reached Reagan.

He withdrew the cheesecloth package from his satchel and ate a piece of cured beef and a chunk of bread. The flavors were mild, but the comfort of home wrapped around him like a warm hug.

Liam sat beside Reagan, pretending to lean against the trunk of the same tree. “What’s the forest like?” he asked.

“Clammy,” Reagan said through a mouthful of bread. “It smells of wet dirt and decaying leaves.” He struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat and gave up on the snack. You should be beside me, able to smell it too.

“The forest used to scare me,” Liam said, looking up at a sliver of blue sky breaking the orange haze. The color matched his pale eyes. “I’d heard Dad talking about monsters in the forest, and I had so many nightmares about it.”

“I remember those. You woke me up with your screaming once, and Mother came rushing in with Father’s sword.”

Liam laughed. “And then, I mistook your mom for the monster and crawled under your bed to hide.”

“She made me crawl under there to bring you out,” Reagan said. He managed a smile at the memory, but not much more. The blurred memory of his mother’s face brought a twinge of pain to his chest.

As the conversation lulled, Liam rose and said, “I’ll go scout around a bit.” Despite not being in any danger himself, his voice was tinged with fear. He tried to cover it with a chuckle, but it died on his lips.

“Even if you encounter monsters,” Reagan said, looking up at Liam. “We’ll be fine.” He nudged the sword sheathed at his side, the worn longsword he’d spent years practicing with. “Your father taught us well.”

Liam gave a small nod before leaving, half-walking, half-flying between the trees. Reagan watched his translucent form disappear, then gave a sigh and rested his head against the tree trunk. He looked at the silver tether attached to his right hand. The end of it disappeared seamlessly into the base of his palm, close to his wrist.

I have to bring him back, no matter what. I owe it to Michael and Helen. And Liam. He closed his hand around the thread.

“No monsters in the vicinity, but there’s a clearing and a little pond out that way,” Liam said from behind Reagan. “Might be a good place to set up for the night.”

With night falling earlier by the day, few hours of daylight remained, so Reagan acquiesced and let Liam lead him to the clearing. It was smaller than he imagined, with a shallow pond taking up most of the space between the clusters of beech trees. A blanket of orange leaves floated atop the water and gathered along the shore like beached fish. The smell of silt rose from the surface to tickle Reagan’s nose.

He paced the perimeter until he found a patch of grass that had escaped the damp, rotting leaves, and he set his satchel and sword down. Then, heading over to the edge of the lake, Reagan cleared a space on the surface and knelt down in the cold mud.

“Will you try scrying again?” Liam asked, hovering above Reagan’s shoulder. His faint reflection wavered in the water.

Reagan nodded and dipped a hand into the frigid water. Within seconds, the cold ached down to his bones, but he didn’t move. Shivering, he closed his eyes and focused on picturing a familiar face. His lips hardly moved as he recited the spell.

Warmth traveled down his arm from the crook of his elbow. It gathered in his wrist before pooling into the palm of his hand, chasing away the aching cold.

Reagan opened his eyes to Helen’s face in the pond. The area around her was a blur, but her face was clear. She looked down at something Reagan couldn’t see, her thin lips pulled into a frown. Worry creased between her brows.

“She looks so sad,” Liam said, trailing off. His face beside hers matched the expression. They had the same thin, dark brows, the same blue eyes, the same dimples.

As the image in the water faded, Liam moved away. Forcing a smile on his face, he said, “You’ve finally mastered that scrying spell.” Beneath the joy in his voice lay the weight of sorrow. “Now maybe you can find Dietfried.” This time, a hint of excitement danced between his words, and he returned to Reagan’s side.

With a deep breath, Reagan closed his eyes and concentrated, letting his mind travel back. He dared not linger long on the faces of his parents, of Liam when he was alive, or the memories of those carefree days. Instead, he focused on the figure in black, welcoming him and his family into a manor he couldn’t remember.

The figure was impossibly tall, towering over him. Large hands reached down and lifted him into the air. Reagan heard his own voice, high-pitched and cheerful, giggling. He was only inches away from the face he needed to remember, but it was a blur. Dark eyes and blond hair, and he knew the face was smiling, but he couldn’t see the smile.

The voice, too, was indistinct. Low, a little rough, with a laugh that brightened the room.

All he remembered was the warmth of those hands, and the way they used to lift him up or ruffle his hair.

As the memories faded, so did the heat in the palm of his hand. It retreated up his arm, letting the cold of the pond bite deep into his skin. He opened his eyes to see the water before him turn murky and obscure Liam’s reflection.

Liam sighed, moving away. “Maybe Dad was right,” he said hesitantly. “Maybe searching for Dietfried isn’t the best idea…”

Reagan stood with an annoyed grunt. He returned to the small patch of grass, ignoring Liam’s eyes on him. “That doesn’t mean anything,” he said, dropping down beside his satchel. “I haven’t seen him in over ten years. I can’t remember much about him, let alone clearly picture his face. This doesn’t mean he’s dead.”

But despite his strong words, as he lay down and forced his eyes closed, he couldn’t shake the fear that he would fail.

That after all the years of telling himself he could make things right, the opportunity would slip away alongside his magic.