Pursuit: Chapter 3

Roads

By the time I woke the next morning, Emrys was already up, poking at the fire with his stick.

“Thought I may have overdone it last night,” he said, with a note of relief in his voice. “Was beginnin’ to think I’d cast the wrong enchantment. But ye’re awake now, so all’s well. Where to, then?”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Dinnae worry, lad. All’s well and all that.” He waved it off. “Now, where are we headed?”

Later I would learn that he’d used some spell to force me into sleep, but had been half-asleep himself when he cast it, and wasn’t sure he’d done it right.

“I’m headed to someplace that will buy this crown, and then I can start a new life.” I hesitated. “Wait—what do you mean we? You’re the King’s man. Why would you go with me? Have you forgotten what I’ve done?”

He looked at me with something that unsettled me—compassion. “Aye, I ken proper well what ye’ve done, son. I dinnae what His Majesty means to do wi’ ye just yet, but I’m under orders to follow, wherever ye go.”

I wasn’t used to so much back and forth. Truth be told, I liked having someone to talk to. Though, with his thick speech, it was hard to catch every word. I didn’t feel threatened by Emrys—but maybe I should have.

“Fine,” I muttered. “No point arguing with the King’s man. Let’s go.”

And with that, we set off with no clear direction. I knew I needed to find a town and sell the crown, but I’d never left the village where I was born. I had no sense of how far it might be, or how treacherous the way.

We just walked. Fatigue didn’t wait long before joining us.

By noon the crown had grown heavier, and my arms shook with the strain. Each time I shifted it from one side to the other, the metal found a fresh place to bite. It had no mercy. Neither did the sun.

Emrys, though, seemed tireless. At one point he even produced a smaller hat, similar to his own, and placed it on my head. Pride made me want to give it back, but the shade from the sun’s onslaught was too welcome. I kept it.

Finally, we came to a fork in the road.

To the left, a broad way opened like a smile. Tall grass bent in a friendly wind. Blossoms nodded. Somewhere ahead, faint and inviting, came laughter and the clink of cups. The air smelled of warm bread and roasted meat.

To the right, a narrow track wound upward into thorns. It was not a road so much as a scar across the hills. Even the wind seemed unwilling to touch it.

I planted my feet at the crossroads and said, “This one.” I nodded toward the wide path. “It’s clear. Faster. There may be a village. There’s food.”

Emrys spat into the dust. “Aye, take it if ye like. Many folk do. It ends quick enough.”

My jaw tightened. “You’re welcome to your thorns.”

He gave a small, tired shrug. “I’ve walked worse.” Turning to the narrow way, he said, “I’ll be at the other end o’ this, one way or t’other. If ye’ve any sense by then, ye’ll come by the bramble gate. If not… well, I’ll no’ wait where a man cannae be found.”

He did not look back.

Anger flared. So did hunger. So did the ache in my bones. I stepped onto the broad way and felt the relief immediately. The grass cushioned my feet. The breeze cooled my face. The crown felt lighter, as though it had come to an understanding with me.

I laughed aloud. “You old crow,” I muttered, thinking of Emrys and his thorn road. “Enjoy your brambles.”

The path widened, smooth underfoot, drawing me forward with a gentle hand. The smell of food grew stronger—bread with crisp crust, meat glistening in its own juices, fruit sweet and heavy like rain-soaked branches. My stomach clawed at me.

A table stood beneath an oak, its branches holding the light like green glass. The cloth upon it was white as mist. Plates steamed. Cups brimming with red waited. No one tended it, yet it seemed more ready for me than any table I had ever known.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I muttered. Hunger, heat, and exhaustion dulled every suspicion. Somehow I reasoned it must be for me.

I set the crown on the table’s edge and tore a hunk of bread. It was perfect to the hand. I bit—and grit filled my mouth. My teeth ground sand. I spat, coughing. The meat fared no better; it tasted of smoke and copper. The fruit dissolved into bitter water.

I stared at the bread in my hand. It looked the same. The steam still rose. My mouth watered even as my tongue recoiled. I tried again, stubborn. Again, ashes.

Laughter lifted from the far side of the clearing.

Figures approached along the broad way—men and women in fine clothes, light on their feet as if their bodies were made of song. Their faces smiled, more beautiful than any I had seen. But when their eyes fell on the crown, their smiles sharpened.

I held the crown close.

Something in me shivered. Outwardly they looked human, but their presence was entirely wrong.

“Traveler,” one called, bright as a bell. “You look weary. You look hungry.”

“I had thought to eat,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “It seems the food is not as it appears.”

“Oh?” A woman with hair like wine stepped closer. She plucked a grape and rolled it on her tongue with a sigh of delight. “It looks perfect to me. Perhaps your taste is spoiled by the road. Sit with us. Soon enough, it will all taste good.”

Another man raised his hands in warmth. “It may be that weight you carry, friend. No sense eating with a burden in your arms. Set it down and join us.”

I drew the crown closer. The edges bit cold again. Their eyes flashed.

“No need for fear,” the man said, laughter easy as honey. “We are friends to strangers. We teach the secret of the Broad Way—how to travel light.”

“Light?” I asked.

“Lighter than air,” the woman said, smiling. For a moment she seemed to float. “Let us help you with that trinket. It seems too fine for such hands.”

A third voice, smooth as oil, slithered from behind them. “Sell it to us.”

Their movements jarred me—strange, jerky, as though pulled on invisible strings.

“Sell…?” I echoed.

“Why not?” the man said, tilting his head. “A crown is a crown. Gold is gold. No sense keeping what you can’t enjoy. Take our coin and go free.” He lifted his purse. It made a generous sound.

I glanced at the table. Steam rose in patient ribbons. My stomach twisted. The crown weighed like a millstone now in my arms.

“Is it yours to buy?” I asked.

“Is it yours to keep?” the woman replied. “All that matters is trade.”

Behind them, a branch shifted. An owl settled there, dusk-feathered, wide-eyed, silent. For a moment the clearing stilled. The owl’s gaze held me, unblinking.

The man’s smile tightened. “Pay the bird no mind. They see poorly in the day.”

“Strangely,” the woman murmured, “they see what matters well enough.”

I swallowed. “How much?”

He named a sum greater than I could imagine. He named freedom with it: a new city, a new name, a bed softer than clouds. His purse chimed again.

I looked at the crown, close to my chest now. The metal still shocking me with cold. The owl’s head turned, slow, full of knowing. It made a sound like a question.

“Hoo.”

“Do it,” the woman breathed. “You’ll be free by night.”

I moved to place the crown on the table. The weight dragged at my arms as though the earth itself clung to it. The tablecloth pulled. The plates slid. The whole scene trembled like a painting coming undone.

“Place it here,” the man urged, patting his purse. “The Broad Way is nothing if not fair.”

The owl cried again—one clean note, not loud, but it pierced me like frost. It sounded like my name.

I froze. The crown grew heavier. My breath thinned.

Then I saw it.

The strangers were marionettes. Strings glistened in the air, binding wrists and ankles, pulling mouths into smiles. My eyes followed the strings back into the trees—

And there it was.

A creature as large as a horse. Its man-like face swollen with too many eyes. Its body skittering on eight spindly limbs. Three of its limbs ended in human hands, each clutching strings with obscene delicacy.

I could not move. The crown dragged me down. A puppet lurched forward, hand outstretched for the crown.

The owl struck.

It descended in a fury of feathers and talons, tearing the puppet to pieces. Flesh and cloth flew. Before I could think, the owl turned on the master. Wings beat, claws raked, and the creature shrieked as its many eyes burst under the onslaught.

I staggered back. The clearing shook. Puppets collapsed, strings falling limp.

The Broad Way warped around me—the grass slicked flat, the air heavy and foul.

“Going somewhere?” one broken puppet croaked. “The Broad Way is not a door that opens twice.”

Shadows poured. More spider-things crawled from hiding with their many puppets.

I ran.

The ground shifted underfoot. Roots writhed. The oak’s shade clung to my legs. I stumbled. The crown slammed into my ribs. Laughter followed, no longer sweet—only hunger made sound.

“Careful,” a voice cackled. “You’ll fall.”

Something brushed my heel. The owl swept overhead in a dark arc, its wings like pages turning. It flew ahead, perched, flew again—as if marking a way.

I chased the beat of its wings.

Behind me the voices rose, not words but ravenous cries. The path dropped. I slid, dirt filling my mouth. I found my feet, found the owl, found the narrow places where light still gathered.

And then, all at once, the world opened. The fork lay before me. The narrow road climbed like a scar. The Broad Way sighed behind me like a dying lung.

Emrys sat on a rock, poking at the dirt with his stick. He did not look up at first.

“You’re still here?” I gasped, crown clutched so tight my hands were numb.

Emrys flicked a stone aside. “Och, I was wi’ ye the whole time,” he said, as if reporting the weather.

“You left me.”

“Aye. And I didna.” One corner of his mouth almost smiled. “Ye should listen better when owls cry, lad. They’ve more sense than men most days.”

“The owl,” I whispered. “That was you.”

He gave a small shrug. “A shape’s a cloak, no’ a lie. Besides, there’s times a man should keep quiet and let the trees do the speakin’.”

I sank to my knees, setting the crown in the dust. My arms sang with pain. “The food turned to ash. The wine to bile. Their faces looked right until they didn’t. And those spider-things—what were they? Are they gone?”

“Aye,” Emrys said. “That’s the way o’ it. Broad roads dress graves in garlands. They smell sweet till ye bite. We’ve only a moment before they’re on us again, lad. What will ye do?”

I stared at the narrow track. The thorns did not pretend to be anything else. They waited like honest enemies.

“I can’t carry it much further,” I whispered.

Emrys’s eyes softened, though his voice did not. “That’s nearer to truth than anythin’ ye’ve said since we met.”

“Will you carry it?” I asked, hating the plea in my voice.

He shook his head. “Nae. Ye stole it wi’ yer own hands. What ye need is no’ a porter but a path. A curse set by a son of Adam must be set right by one as well.”

“And if I take the narrow?”

“It’ll tear at ye,” he said. “It’ll cut what shouldna be kept. It’ll keep what shouldna be cut. But it leads where the King has walked. That’s the whole of it.”

A breeze moved through the fork, thin and cool. The Broad Way sighed behind me, disappointed. The narrow said nothing at all.

I stood. I lifted the crown. It was no lighter. My hands shook, but they did not let go.

“Come on then,” Emrys said, rising with the sound old men make. “If ye’re bent on living, best be about it.”

We stepped onto the narrow track. The thorns tore at my legs and did not apologize. The path climbed. With each step the Broad Way fell behind like a story that had never quite happened. Like a dream you can just barely remember. But you do remember it.

Emrys trudged at my side, silent, present, unhurried. The crown gnawed. My breath rasped. The sky opened by degrees, and for a moment the wind carried the faintest scent of water, clean and alive.

I did not trust it yet. But I kept walking.

At the turn of the hill, I looked back once. The crossroads lay small, the Broad Way dark as a mouth. Emrys caught my look.

“Eyes forward, lad,” he muttered. “There’s paths that mend a soul, and paths that thin it till it snaps. Ye’ve had a taste o’ both.”

We climbed until the light bled gold along the thorns. The day fading to twilight. The world went quiet in a better way than before. Not empty. Waiting.

We kept to the narrow.

“He restoreth my soul:
he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.“
Psalm 23:3