Becoming P.T. Lyfantod - 31
A serial fantasy novel
What follows is Part 31 of Becoming P.T. Lyfantod
If you missed Part 1, start there:
Chapter Nine:
Unanswered Questions
I arrived at school Monday morning feeling mighty pleased, my answer to Lightfoot’s trial tucked safely in a front pocket, which I routinely patted to reassure myself it was still there. Tom greeted us smugly, holding up his bag. “Right here, mates. Everything you wish you had.” He refused to show us what was inside. Stuart had finished as well, though it sounded like a near thing. Iain swore he had a plan underway, but was just as close-mouthed as Tom about what he was up to.
Merry wanted to hear none of it. Coming home at four in the morning might have been all right for us, but it was different for girls. After catching her sneaking in, her parents had restricted her movements to school, her bedroom, and the loo, indefinitely. She claimed she’d devised a foolproof strategy for Lightfoot’s trial, but when she’d be able to implement it was anyone’s guess. Waiting was torture. How was anyone supposed to focus on maths when a ghostly bard was waiting to teach them magic? But after Merry blew up at Tom at lunch for pressing her too once too often, we decided to keep our impatience to ourselves.
The stone called to me. I drew it in the margins of my notes, sketching rough approximations of Lightfoot’s knot which somehow never came out right. I stared at the back of Merry’s head, wondering how long I could be expected to wait. At night, I lay thinking about it, bound by guilt and shame from sneaking off to Clyne Woods alone, friendship and obligation be damned. Each morning I told myself this would be the day. Each night I crawled into bed, despairing of ever going back. But I held on. Though it pained me, I did. Till Iain phoned Thursday evening to end my misery. “It’s done,” he said. “Merry as well. Tomorrow, we go.”
Friday morning was Christmas, birthdays, and visits from my mam before I’d come to dread them, all rolled into one. A whole school day still stood before me, but this time tomorrow I was going to be… be… something amazing. And not even the gloomier-than-usual sky or the clouds threatening rain could dampen my mood. Today was the day.
Thirty seconds into Trigonometry, I remembered just how long a school day could be. The clock taunted me. When had the battery died?
History lasted long enough for a full reenactment of the Crimean War.
Chemistry took longer than the half life of Carbon-14.
English was like reading War and Peace.
Twice.
Tick…
Tock.
All the while, the sky continued to darken. Clouds loomed. Shadows deepened. Wind moaned…
The storm broke at lunchtime. The rain was torrential. It pounded the windows and splashed through doorways. The school grounds flooded, and twisting rivers of murky water rushed along the streets. I didn’t care. I’d swim to Clyne Woods if I had to. But it wasn’t just the weather I had to contend with. The others turned against me as well.
“It can wait, P.T.”
“We’ll literally drown!”
“He’s been there for centuries—he’ll still be there tomorrow.”
It was four against one, but I would not be moved. My rucksack wasn’t waterproof, so I’d found a plastic bag to protect my things, and the instant school was over I walked out into the downpour. I was soaked through in moments. The others huddled in the doorway as our classmates streamed past. I got more than a few “He’s lost his mind…” sort of looks.
“P.T.,” Iain pleaded. “Be reasonable. One day won’t hurt. We’ll go tomorrow. First thing.”
“I will not be reasonable. A promise is a promise, and I’m not letting a little rain stand in between me and…” I lowered my voice,“…destiny.”
“A little rain?” Tom spat. “This isn’t a little rain. It’s a deluge!”
“Deluge or not, I’m going. You can come along, or go back to your bedrooms and wonder what if. But don’t come crying when I show up on Monday with superpowers.”
“Show up with the flu, more like,” Tom muttered.
I crossed my arms.
Iain was skeptical. Tom thought I was mad. Merry wanted to come, but also had sense enough to not want to be out in this weather. That or she worried what her parents would say when she came home hours after school, wetter than the sea floor. And so, to everyone’s surprise—including, I think, his own—it was Stuart who decided it. He swung his rucksack around and zipped it inside his jacket, then plodded out to join me. He squinted skyward, water splashing off his cheeks. “I’ve got to know.”
Iain sighed and trudged forward. He wouldn’t let Stuart go on his own. And once Merry saw it was settled, she came willingly. Which left Tom, safe and dry in the shelter of the doorway, looking at us like a bunch of lunatics.
We waited.
At last, muttering to himself, he twisted around to fish inside his bag. Out came a collapsable black umbrella. He flicked it open and stepped out wearing an expression of pained resignation. “You’ve all gone mad.”
“Right then,” I said, then turned and started for the woods.
“Say, Rudy.”
“What?”
“My throat is rather parched. Would you scoop up some of that water for me to drink?”
“What, with my hands?”
“Well, seeing as we don’t have anything else—”
“Gross! You have legs, do it yourself.”
“I would! I would. Except…”
“Except what?”
“I don’t want to go over there by the edge. I’m…afraid of falling in.”
“That’s not my problem. If you want to drink…that…scoop it yourself.”
“Oh, all right. Move over…”
“BLEGH! It tastes like swamp water!”
“It is swamp water. Idiot.”
