The Traveller's Path

Chapter 1

The men herded Thomas down the path, his hands bound behind him. The gag was still in place. That, and the knot of anxiety that had settled in his chest, made it hard to breathe. Mist curled around the dunes, lifting its shadowy fingers from the ground in long tendrils.

Thankfully, his captors had not burned him to death on the spot. Thomas had gleaned enough from their conversations to know Raedmund wanted a larger audience for his revenge. But they headed north, to Goswick, not south towards Bebbanburg. Raedmund did not want to risk a repeat of the Ordeal and the chance for Thomas to be declared innocent.

The thegn led the group, grim-faced, his eyes glittering with feverish anticipation. Dunn tromped beside Thomas, occasionally poking at him with his spear to make Thomas go faster. His eyes, too, were lit with an unholy light, his smile even more malicious than normal. In fact, all the men seemed driven along by something more than anger or fear. They occasionally muttered to each other in low voices that he heard as smattered snatches of words: free Maida, or sorcerer, or blood. Thomas sensed the stink of the Undying’s influence as a miasma that surrounded them along with the mist. The dark shadow of the Undying had fallen over them; a subtle hand directing their will.

Thomas had no intention of being burned to death, but he didn’t see a way to stop them. And time was running out. Most of the day had passed while he lay unconscious. At least they were heading in the direction he needed to go: Merton’s holding was north of Goswick, along a river that emptied into the sea.

I will do it. Thomas stumbled as Odda’s voice whispered through his mind. A vivid flash of memory jolted through him.

Odda sat beside him, his face frightened but determined. Horror filled Thomas, a frantic denial springing to his lips.

He gasped as the memory disappeared, and no matter how he strained, he could not retrieve any more.

It was part of the lost time between when he had freed Odda from the Binding and when Thomas had woken up afterwards. That time had remained a blank in his memory. Why, now, had this piece returned? And why not all of it? What had Odda meant to do? He gritted his teeth against the helplessness that grew as the mist thickened and the growing darkness as the sun dipped towards the horizon.

The men cast a fearful gaze around them as the fog swallowed them, muffling all sounds and blotting out their vision.

Raedmund turned. “Pick up your feet,” he snarled. “It’s not far.”

The men glanced at each other. Maida’s father gave Thomas a shove from behind as they quickened their pace to follow the thegn.

Thomas fought down the fear that grew with every step. Christ before me, Christ behind me. He wielded the prayer like a weapon against his creeping despair and forced himself to think. There was about an hour to dusk, as far as he could tell. He had to keep focussed. All this was just a distraction. A pretty major distraction, granted. There was still time, if he could just get free of the humans—

The thought acted like a handful of ice water dashed in his face, waking him up. If he could just get free of the humans. That was the problem. He had forgotten who he was. What he was. Humanly speaking, it would be difficult to get himself out of this situation. But I am Fey.

He could use his Gifts to escape. Not Travelling, but Speaking. An icy lump formed in his stomach at the thought, but he ignored it. He had learned much since he had inadvertently Bound Odda. He had more control.

As they rounded the next dune, the mist thickened, billowing around them and blotting out all but their own shadowy forms. It was now or never. Thomas gathered his power to him in a dizzying rush and lowered his shoulder, barrelling into the man ahead of him. Surprised, the man stumbled forward, colliding into Raedmund with a startled yell. As a minor scuffle broke out, Thomas spun around to Maida’s father, who held a spear at his back.

He lifted the spear to shoulder height, his face twisted in a snarl as he prepared to attack.

NO! Thomas’ command was as forceful as he dared to make it.

The man froze in place.

You’ll let me go.

Thomas felt the man’s confusion and fear as his grip on the spear slackened. He took his chance, pulling on more of his power as he dodged through the milling group of men, the surge of power making him more nimble than usual. One man grabbed at him, but he avoided him, skipping away and fighting through their grasping attempts to stop him. With a final effort, he wrenched free and plunged into the mist.

He is gone, he threw at them, the contact with all of their minds, overwhelming him for a panicked moment until he roped in the power and withdrew.

He ran blindly, trusting that God would lead his steps.

The mist parted before him and closed behind him as he pounded away from the men. But he couldn’t run blind forever. After a few moments he stopped, panting. He strained his ears to hear any sounds of pursuit, but there were none, only muffled sounds of alarm through the mist.

They wouldn’t follow. He had disappeared into the mist, and it would take a stronger man than any of them were to plunge into it after a sorcerer on this Solstice eve. They would go home and barricade their doors against him and the other sceadugenga who might lurk in the dark, seeking their blood.

Triumph surged through him, and he almost laughed aloud. Feel the Force, Luke. Hah. But his glee at his trick quickly faded at the memory of their fear. He grimaced, squelching his guilt. They would have killed him without hesitation if he hadn’t taken matters into his own hands.

Dizziness swept over him as his headache pounded in time with the furious beats of his heart. He felt wrung out. The slight use of his power and the blows from the men had taken a toll. Which was probably the point of all this. Wulfram and the Undying had ensured that Thomas would either be dead and unable to stop them, or weakened and more easily conquered. But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He had to get going.

He looked around, straining to see through the thick fog. A spike of panic pierced him. Come on, Tommo, think. The answer came immediately. Once again, he was thinking as a human. He didn’t have to see. He could find out where to go, even in this blinding mist.

He closed his eyes, seeking Wulfram’s Call. At first, he heard only a jumble of confused voices, both Domech and Wulfram Calling the Fey to their Gatherings. He concentrated, blocking out Domech, and soon Wulfram’s voice flared in his mind. Come to me. Come, my brothers!

Thomas’ eyes snapped open, recoiling from the Unseelie Call. But as he had hoped, it left behind the exact location. It would lead him like a beacon, even through the mist. But not just him, of course. Others would come.

Thomas set that thought aside. He had accepted that he might not survive this night. If it came to that, he could only pray his sacrifice would not be in vain.

I will do it.

Odda’s voice, again. Thomas whirled around, but he saw nothing. Odda was not there. Why did he keep hearing him? Why this memory, now? He shut his eyes, searching for more, but there was nothing. He heaved a breath through the gag. First things first. Cut his bonds with a rock or something else he could rub them against. He tried to push the gag off with his shoulder, but gave up in frustration.

He forced himself into motion, straining to remember if there was another holding before Goswick. If he could find one, it would be easy enough to use a sharp-edged tool and free himself without being seen, thanks to this fog.

Thomas felt cut off from everything and everyone, a growing sense of dread enveloping him. So many times in his dreams he had been walking towards his doom, fighting fear. Now the odd sense of déjà vu that had haunted him since leaving Bebbanburg returned full force.

But something else other than déjà vu assailed him. A sense that he had left this world entirely and had stepped into another. Much like when he had been at the standing stone near his father’s holding and the mist had rushed in. Or when he had sought Odda out when he freed him from the Bond.

It was hard to gauge the passage of time other than the shadows growing as the sun went down. But he didn’t need that outward sign to tell him that the sunset was approaching. Power awakened around him, gathering for the surge that would accompany the day’s disappearance into night.

He recited the lorica under his breath to the pace of his steps, concentrating on the words to dispel the unease that crept around him on questing fingers like the mist. God’s hand to guard me, God’s shield to protect me, God’s—

A sudden chittering noise startled him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see a shape swooping towards him out of the mist. He ducked instinctively, and a sense of another Fey prickled over his skin. He whirled around.

A shape materialized out of the fog. His heart slowed as he recognized Cadán Longshanks, his golden armband muted by the swirling fog. Relief and fear rushed through him at the sight. As always, he wasn’t certain if Cadán was friend or foe.

“We are long parted,” Cadán said with some amusement as his gaze travelled over Thomas. He held up a hand. “I wilna hold your lack of reply against ye, wildin".”

He stepped forward quickly, drawing his knife, and Thomas stumbled back, fear piercing him. But the other Fey deftly cut the gag and stepped behind him to cut his bonds.

Thomas sucked in a breath, relieved as he rubbed his sore wrists. “Thanks,” he muttered. “What are you doing here? Did Wulfram send you?”

Cadán snorted faintly. “Ach, he has no hold on me. I told ye before. I serve Raegenold.”

Thomas studied him. More than likely he spoke half-truths, indulging in the game that all the Fey, Seelie and Unseelie alike, loved to play. “So Raegenold wants you to help me?”

“I wouldna have freed ye, else wise,” Cadán retorted. “My king has no love for Wulfram, ye know that full well.”

Thomas wasn’t sure he did know that, but he kept that thought to himself. No use antagonizing Cadán. “Fine. Let’s go then.”

Cadán fell into step beside him. “What do ye plan to do?”

Thomas glanced at him. The question seemed sincere. But he wasn’t sure how much to reveal, especially since he wasn’t sure of Cadán’s loyalties. He might be loyal to Raegenold. But he also might be playing both sides, and in league with Wulfram, too. He couldn’t risk having the Unseelie communicating everything he said to either of them. “I guess you’ll find out.”

“I canna help ye if ye dinna tell me more,” Cadán protested. “Come now, wildin’. There are more than a dozen Unseelies gathered with Wulfram. Do ye think ye can vanquish them all by yourself?” He scowled. “Powerful ye may be, but not that powerful. Especially since the foul sense of the Undying hangs over the holding like the breath of hell.” He blew out a breath, exasperated. “Nectan is no comin’ to rescue ye this time. They’ll be none to stop Wulfram from snarin’ ye and Bindin’ ye to his purposes, not with the Solstice power and the Undyin’ to help him.”

“So why are you here? Are you going to help me?” A thought struck him. “Is Raegenold nearby? Is his Court coming against Wulfram?”

But before Cadán could answer, a muffled shout from ahead suddenly broke the mist-wreathed silence, followed by the unmistakable steel-on-steel sound of blades clashing. A fight had broken out on the path ahead.

Thomas halted in his tracks, straining to hear. A sudden premonition seized him, and he broke into a run towards the sounds, slapping away the hand Cadán had held out to stop him.