Driving Blind

The ground progressively firmed. Clayton slowed, huffing, flopping down to sit atop a fallen tree.

Around them the forest was beginning to return. They had reached the opposite shore.

The karaoke Wisp now hovered in place, seemingly resting as well.

Anna joined Clayton atop the trunk, sitting down slowly, her lower body aching with exhaustion.

Neither said anything. A long silence persisted as they both stared into the bog. Somehow they had made it across. But not without a cost.

“Is he dead?” Clayton asked.

“Yeah.”

Nothing more was said. Nothing about karma or how justice was finally served to those who choose evil. Nothing concerning whether leaving him behind was the right choice or if abandoning someone to a terrible end was wrong.

“What do we do now?” Anna asked, staring into the fog of the bog. “I’m not sure how much further I can keep going.”

“It is still a ways to Runetown.” Clayton looked up at the sky, trying to gauge the time, taking a raindrop to the eye, making him flinch and rub it away. “We can probably make it by late evening if we keep walking at a slow but steady pace.”

Walking nonstop into the late evening sounded impossible, considering it was nearly twenty four hours since waking in the catacombs, living on edge ever since.

“Then what?”

“Eat, bathe, sleep, and make decisions with a rational mind rather than one running on empty.”

“You’re pretty sharp for sixteen.”

“My mother taught me well.”

The pair looked to the Wisp as it slowly started to drift away on its own.

“Thank you for your help back there,” Clayton said with a gentle smile.

The sphere stopped, responding with a distant laugh, like that of a child jumping into a humongous pile of freshly raked autumn leaves.

“Thank you,” Anna echoed, trying not to tear up.

The sphere flashed brighter twice, then hovered away, still laughing joyfully.

Both it and the sound it carried faded into the fog.

“There is still good in the world,” Clayton choked, fighting back emotion. “It may not feel like that at times, but there is.”

The two sat for a while, resting in the drizzle. They were too wet to care.

As they sat Anna could sense something. “What is it?”

“I think we need to leave it behind.”

“It’s harmless now.”

“Is it? You can still write with it. Magic is dangerous. And illegal.” Clayton gestured to the joey pocket. “You should leave both it and your apron behind. I cannot read what it says, but I know those are letters.”

“By wearing it you are telling others that you may be a witch. Runetown is no stranger to outcasts and minor criminals, but witches are generally reviled. Everywhere.”

Clayton pointed to the soft earth created by the overturned root ball of the tree they sat upon. “You should bury them. Leave the undead object to the undead.”

Anna shook her head slowly. “I may need it to return home.”

“The stick is from this realm. It is doubtful you will need it to return.”

Anna’s voice firmed. “I’m not leaving it.”

Clayton fell silent. Anna could sense his anger but he held it in check.

“We should start walking,” he said tightly.

The two resumed the journey, heading steeply uphill, the forest thickening. At the crest the ground descended gradually to a dirt road running parallel to the ridge.

“Do we take the road?” Anna asked. It would be easier than going cross country. Then again, anything easy lately seemed unsafe.

“The hunters will use it but we are well ahead of them. We will be fine using it until Runetown.”

The road went north, then turned west. Another road coming from the north merged with it. From there, the road continued west, fording a wide, shallow, gravel strewn stream.

In the middle of the stream a four-wheeled light wagon rested, the single harnessed horse stopped for a drink. On the front bench the driver sat hunched forward, wrapped in a dark wool cloak to ward off the drizzle.

“Finally some luck,” Clayton said with a sigh of relief.

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

The young man didn’t answer, instead raising his voice to call out to the driver. “Wait up!”

The individual seated on the front bench turned their direction and slowly raised a hand in greeting.

Clayton jogged over so the driver didn’t have to wait longer than necessary. “Excuse me, would you be willing to give us a ride? We have been walking since dawn.” He considered the harnessed mare, a former dark courser aged iron-gray, her coat scattered with black spots across the rump and flanks. “If it is not too much for her.”

The elderly driver smiled in Clayton’s direction, displaying his few remaining yellowed teeth. “Astra is more than capable young man.”

The driver’s eyes were milky with cataracts. “But you will have to ask her, seeing that she is doing all the work.”

“Do you think it wise to be driving?”

“She sees well enough for the both of us.”

Clayton stepped back with uncertainty.

As Anna approached, the mare caught her scent, sloshing a front hoof in the shallow water, chuffing with agitation.

“Easy Astra,” the elderly man soothed. He looked in Anna's direction. “The wise girl needs to greet you first.”

Anna considered the driver’s eyes then looked to Clayton, saying nothing, instead speaking with a worried expression.

“I will introduce myself first,” he said.

Clayton walked around the mare to face her directly. “Hello Astra. Would you give me a ride?”

The mare snorted in consideration, then nodded with a grand motion.

Stepping back and gesturing with his hands, the young man indicated for Anna to repeat the process.

“Hello Astra,” Anna said wearily, exhausted. “Would you give me a ride?”

The mare chuffed, pawing at the stream. She leaned forward, stretching out for the joey pocket, inhaling deeply at the apron’s scent.

“Astra is fond of honey bread,” the driver said.

“No sweets,” Anna answered.

The mare started nodding repeatedly.

“She says you have honey bread.”

“No,” Anna repeated softly, reaching in to pull out the stylus. “Nothing other than a stick.”

She paused to solemnly correct herself. “Stylus.” Dried mud caked the length of the sorry looking utensil. In the daylight the amethyst crystal topper appeared dull and unremarkable, beneath it the crown of tarnished silver black with age. The previous swirl of dark purple energies was absent, leaving the shaft as only plain black glass.

The old mare nickered, reaching out to nose at the object.

“Sorry Astra, this is mine,” Anna softly replied.

“Stroke her nose,” Clayton recommended.

Anna did so with her free hand while slipping the stylus back in her apron. The mare’s attention tracked to the joey pocket. “She didn’t nod, is that ok?”

“She did not bite you, so welcome aboard!”

Clayton helped Anna up onto the wagon. It was fairly narrow, making the front bench only reasonable for two. The cargo bed was covered with a large rectangular sheet of heavy oiled canvas, the edges tied down to hooks along the wagon’s sides.

“What are you hauling?” Clayton asked.

“An absolute bargain!” the old man beamed with a wide, gapped-tooth grin.

“Is it all right if one of us rides in the back?”

“Be our guest.”

Clayton looked to Anna. “It will be snug under the canvas, but dry.”

“I could really go for dry right now.”

Clayton nodded, untying enough of one corner that Anna could look in on the cargo. Six large, coarse hemp sacks laid flat on the wood bed. She clamored over the bench back, laying down atop the sacks. Clayton replaced the canvas, casting her world into darkness.

Under the oiled cover, the smell was strong of damp canvas, mare, wood, and flour.

The sacks made for a surprisingly comfortable mattress. Anna draped her wet pall over herself, her body finally at rest after a day and a half of constant movement. She shivered intensely from being soaked through.

The driver made a clicking sound. The wagon lurched forward, then started to sway as it rattled down the road. Rain pattering on the oilcloth above made for a soothing white noise.

It took little time for Anna to fall asleep.