What follows is Part 3 of Becoming P.T. Lyfantod
If you missed Part 1, start there:
Chapter Two:
Mynydd Pwll
It was dark. No lamp shone nor candle flickered in the village of Wrath. Not a single star twinkled in the sky above. The Bad Moon seemed to watch us, like the sneering, twisted doppelgänger of a familiar friend. Stillness and silence hung like an oppressive blanket over the world. The only light came from the orb at the end of Hurlin’s staff. A blue-white radiance he’d called forth with a word and a gesture, stout fingers digging into a pouch at his waist.
I would never grow accustomed to his casual use of magic, or the intimate relationship he appeared to have with his dwarven god.
We found the boat where Argon said we would, floating near shore, concealed behind a bushy alder. As Dona dragged it into the shallows, I regarded our reflections on the still water, pale and shade-like in Hurlin’s holy glow. Our deathly aspect felt like yet another ill omen.
I felt keenly the loss of Argon’s guidance. Our brave leader, brought low by a dimple in the soil. Who of us could replace him? Dona, for all that her head was as high as my navel, was the fiercest fighter I’d ever met. Her grass green eyes, her ruddy, flushing cheeks belied a warrior’s spirit, and I’d watched her face a mountain troll armed with no more than a sword some might’ve called a long knife, and naught for armor but her cloth shirt and breeches. But she was too hot-headed for command, ruled by her own fiery temper. Hurlin was old and wise, steady as the deep roots of a mountain. He’d a comical face, with a nose like an overripe plum and a beard like a besom broom, but beneath his metal cap his beetle eyes contained unfathomable depths. I’d no doubt whatever path he chose would be the right one, if only we could afford the age it would take him to weigh and measure every option. And I? I was least qualified to lead of all. An inveterate loner. A thief who’d stolen into the company of heroes.
The bottom of the boat scraped upon the narrow strand. Dona held it steady as Hurlin and I climbed inside before vaulting over the side herself. Having the longest arms, if not the brawniest, I took the oars. As we skated across the smooth surface of the lake, it seemed to me the water rippled less than it should have. As if the lake were endeavoring to live up to its name. I wished there’d been stars out instead of interminable black. It would’ve been beautiful, that.
“It doesn’t look like much,” said Dona from behind me, where she leaned at the prow of the dinghy.
“That’s what worries me.” Hurlin sat before me, gazing over my shoulder at the island. “If it looked like something, we’d be able to tell what it was. This place is wrapped up in too much mystery. Entirely too much.”
“Perhaps you should put out that light,” I suggested. “They’ll see us coming.”
Hurlin only shook his head, his long beard rustling. “It’s far too late for that. And I get the sense that it doesn’t matter. Seen or not, the island will know we’re here.”
“I do not like the sound of that,” I whispered mostly to myself. “No indeed…”
“I wish Argon had minded where he stepped,” muttered Dona. “I do not like going in blind.”
“We all wish that,” Hurlin agreed, “but I wonder if it could have happened any other way. I’ve a feeling we were meant to be a company of three, this time around.”
“Got a lot of feelings,” Dona grumbled and fell silent.
I went on rowing, conscious of the island growing at my back. It had a presence. A weight. One I didn’t believe was solely in my mind. Though I couldn’t see it without turning, it seemed to loom. A warning in my heart bade me turn away. Go back. Forget this place. Put as much distance and daylight between it and yourself as you can. Leave the heroics to another band of fools. But I did not heed reason, and stroke after stroke we drew closer to that inhospitable shore.
I nearly dropped the oars as the first thick tendril of fog wrapped around me. One moment my world was endless night, and the next it extended only as far as the light of Hurlin’s staff.
“Steady on,” Hurlin rumbled.
“What if there are rocks? We’ll never spot them in this—”
“We’d never have seen them anyway,” said Dona. “Not in this dark.”
“Nearly there.” Hurlin squinted at nothing.
He couldn’t have known, but no sooner had he spoken than there came a heavy scraping. Bent forward mid-stroke, I lurched backwards as the oars were jammed into my hands. It wasn’t rocks we’d hit, but gravel. By some miracle we’d made it. We’d landed at Mynydd Pwll.
Somehow, I didn’t feel any better.
“No point sitting around.” Dona climbed over the side and splashed into the shallow water. “Help me pull it ashore.”
I was loathe to enter that water, but I couldn’t very well let her do it alone. I stowed the oars and sprung over. Fortunately, the water didn’t reach the tops of my high boots, sparing me a night of sodden feet. Heaving and ho-ing, we managed to haul the boat onto land. Only afterwards did Hurlin deign to join us.
“That would’ve been a great deal easier without having to drag your ponderous bulk as well,” said Dona.
“No use in all of us getting wet,” he replied pragmatically.
“I hope this fog clears soon,” I complained. “Can’t see the nose on my face.”
“I’m going to scout the area,” Dona said from somewhere off to my left.
“We won’t be doing any scouting in this.” Hurlin appeared behind me, wreathed in light. “Better to wait for sunrise and hope the fog will clear.”
“He’s right,” I said. “We needed night to get here, but not to stay. Let’s get some sleep. Before someone trips.”
An eddy in the fog and Dona was before me, then shoving past. Her expression was characteristically dour. “Fine.”
I’d enough tinder squirreled away in my pack for a small fire. We made camp in companionable silence, as we’d done a thousand times. Once the fire was lit, Hurlin dismissed the holy light with a wave of his hand over the surface of his orb. The fire was a reassuring warmth and seemed to dispel some of the fog, enough that we could see our feet and one another. We sat around for a time, privy only to our thoughts, gazing into the flames, listening to the crackling of the dry wood.
Dona offered to take first watch, Hurlin second. The cleric was first to retire. After climbing into his tent, it was a matter of minutes before he was snoring. Dona winced. It was by some margin the loudest sound we’d heard since departing Hasten’s inn. There was nothing for it. You could take the dwarf out of the mountain. You could not take the mountain out of the dwarf.
It took me longer to find sleep. I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling I was going to wake to find the others gone. Eventually I did drift off to a fitful slumber, disturbed by sinister dreams which I afterwards forgot.
I love your narrator!
Our brave leader brought low by a dimple in the soil!! 😄 Delightful characters!