Becoming P.T. Lyfantod - 19
A serial fantasy novel
What follows is Part 19 of Becoming P.T. Lyfantod
If you missed Part 1, start there:
“You know, P.T.,” said Stuart, “you’re pretty persuasive when you want to be.”
“Yeah,” Iain muttered. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.” He paused. “How is this supposed to show Merry I don’t need her again?”
We’d gone by Stuart’s house, then mine, to grab our bikes and tell our respective guardians that we were having game night after all, at a house that wasn’t theirs. I think they were all pleased to have us gone. Now we pedaled side by side down neighborhood streets.
“Because,” I repeated for the umpteenth time, “you’re out in the world. Doing things. Without her!”
“Right.”
“What you want to do,” I explained, “is make her feel like she’s missing out. So the next time we see her, when she finds out we went on adventures without even inviting her, she’ll be jealous. She’ll remember all the fun she’s had with us. With you. And she’ll start to wonder if she hasn’t made a terrible mistake.”
“She has,” said Iain decisively, “but tell me again why you want to go digging around Clyne Woods after dark?”
I cleared my throat. “Truthfully, I’d happily do without the after dark bit.”
“Me too,” said Stuart. “Maybe we could come back tomorrow.”
I shook my head. “There’s no time to waste. We’ve got to find the first standing stone of Cyril Lightfoot.” I slowed to glare at Stuart behind Iain’s back. And get Iain out of the house, remember?
“And who’s he again?” Iain was oblivious.
“A famous bard.”
“Like Shakespeare,” Iain drifted ahead, taking the lead out of habit.
“Not at all like Shakespeare. He was a singing warrior-storyteller who fought against the Fomorians from the sea.”
“Bards have a long tradition in Wales,” said Stuart. “They’re connected with the eisteddfodau. I never heard about them being warriors though. I thought they sang about how great the king was and how his enemies were oafs.”
“Well, this one was. It’s all in the Book,” I said falling back to file past a woman with a pram.
The wind carried Iain’s voice back to me. “And what’s supposed to be so special about this rock that we need to find it?”
“Standing stone. And if you can’t see why we need to find it, you haven’t been listening. He used magic weapons and song spells to fight mythical beings from the ocean!”
“So what?” Iain turned right when he should’ve been turning left onto Sketty Park Drive.
I pedaled faster. “So what if it’s true? If the stone is real, we might be able to prove the existence of magic!”
“I’m not sure I believe in magic.”
“Even after I told you about the man in green?”
“I can think of about a thousand explanations that don’t involve him being a faerie, and as I recall, you said you didn’t know if he was connected to this stone at all.”
“Which is why we’ve got to find it and find out. Where are you going? Clyne Woods is in the opposite direction.”
“I want to check something,” Iain muttered. I got the feeling he was being deliberately obtuse.
“Check? Check what?”
“It isn’t far. Don’t worry. It’ll be quick.”
I looked at Stuart, who shrugged. What the hell? I leaned toward Iain, who was pointedly not looking at me. “Check what?”
“I want to pass by Joe’s, that’s all.”
“Joe’s Ice Cream?”
“Yeah.”
I shook my head. “Why do you want to go there?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” I pointed backwards. “We’re cycling a mile in the wrong direction. What are you going to check?”
Iain mumbled something I couldn’t hear.
“What?”
“I just want to see if Merry and Tom are there.”
“Why would they be there?”
“You said it.” Iain thrust his chin at me. “She’s probably out with him, getting ice cream.”
Untrimmed tree branches thwacked at my forehead. Sputtering, I swiped them away. “I—that was a metaphor. A figure of speech.”
“Technically—” Stuart held up a finger.
“You know what I mean! They aren’t getting ice cream, Iain. I was making a point!”
“You made it, and I agreed with you.”
I wanted to bite something. “Fine,” I growled. “We’ll check. But I’m telling you, they’re not going to be there.
