Young Writers Society

65 STRANGE COMPANY

As they forged a path through the forest, Christian remembered Narodnaya waiting for him nearby.

He could still feel her presence in his mind now and then, listening to his thoughts and gleaning information, although there had been a time late yesterday afternoon when she had been so absent he was sure she had gone back to her lands to assure herself of their well-being. Now he reached out to her. Her hesitation flooded over him.

They will fear me. They will try to kill me.

No, they wouldn’t, Christian thought, though he was not sure of that at all. Still, they were his friends too.

“I need to see a friend before we go,” he said.

“Which way?” Morrow asked.

“Just a bit to the left.”

He tried to push past them and lead the way so they would not be so astonished upon sight of the marsh-witch, but Morrow and the troupe strode ahead and Christian was not a pusher. After a moment of politely saying “excuse me” and “if I could just get through—” he gave up. They would see her soon enough, one way or another.

There was a shout from Morrow and the clang of his sword being drawn as she drifted out in front of them. Christian heard her voice in his head, confused more than anything—how is it possible? I slew him in the marshes—it is not possible—He darted forward, sidestepped the sword, waved his hands at Morrow and shouted, “No—no—this is my friend.”

“Indeed?” said Morrow, but he did not lower his blade.

He does not know me, Narodnaya said in bewilderment.

“This is Morrow the Younger,” Christian said, “son of Morrow the Elder.”

—who, he thought, was probably the one she had killed. He felt her dawning comprehension and a sense of relief, perhaps because the one she had killed had not somehow miraculously come back to life to seek his revenge.

“How do you do,” Morrow said warily. “And you are, madam?”

“This is Narodnaya,” Christian said. “She’s the, er, Keeper of the Marshes.”

Almost immediately he wished he had not said anything about that, for Morrow looked at her and said, “Then perhaps you would remember my father—a man about my height, very like me, in fact, who was in the marshes west of the mountains almost twenty years ago now. He crossed through them once on his way to Neva’s dwelling, but we haven't had word of him since he began his journey back.”

Narodnaya drifted silently before him. Christian wondered for a moment if she was speaking to Morrow alone, but then the Rover said, “Well?” and he realized she refused to say anything about it.

“She, er, doesn’t say much,” he said. “But I can assure you her intentions are good.”

“How? How can you be sure she isn’t with Goblin?”

“I’m sure. She’s been very kind to me. She saved me from some sirens when I was in the forest beyond the mountains.”

Morrow sheathed his sword at last, though his dusky brow was still drawn in suspicion. Rowan clapped Christian on the back and said, “Strange company you keep, Mr. Abernathy. But if she’s your friend then we welcome her.”

“Thank you,” Christian said.

Rowan bowed to the marsh-witch. “Call me Rowan, my dear lady. Pleased to make your acquaintance, and I hope you’ve not been troubling yourself too much on his account.”

The marsh-witch considered Rowan for a moment with her eyes blazing green and then returned the ringmaster’s bow with the slightest incline of her wild head.

No trouble whatsoever.

Apparently they all heard that one, for Morrow said uneasily, “Was that her?”

It was me. Narodnaya’s voice sounded faintly irritable. There’s no need to speak of me as if I were a dumb animal.

“Forgive me. I didn’t see you speak.”

And so you shall not. Her irritation increased as she spoke, but this time Christian didn’t know what she was talking about. There is no need for that. From what I hear, you are not such a pleasant companion yourself, most times.

A moment later, it became clear that her last words were in response to something Morrow had thought, for the Rover turned a bright shade of red and said again, “Forgive me.”

Liza poked her head out of the back of the wagon. “What’s the hold-up?”

Then she caught sight of Narodnaya. Her eyes widened, but before she could say anything, Christian told the marsh-witch, “That’s the friend I was supposed to travel with. Liza, this is Narodnaya. It’s her bog I landed in.”

He could see Liza’s mind whirring as the marsh-witch stared at her, could see her willing herself not to panic at the sight of this new creature who looked so frightening. At last, however, she swallowed and said, “Pleasure to meet you.”

Something like a smirk flickered across Narodnaya’s face. She bowed.

“Oughtn’t we to be moving on?” Liza said weakly. “The portal opens at dawn, and the fairies won’t keep it open if we miss it.”

Morrow had been gazing at the marsh-witch with a furrowed brow, but at Liza’s words he roused himself and said bracingly, “She’s right. We should press on. The portal is a little ways, yet.”

He seemed unable to help, as they walked, leaning close to Christian’s ear and murmuring, “Can your marshy friend hear our thoughts, then?”

“If she wants,” Christian said.

“I wouldn’t want to offend her.”

“Try thinking of tea,” Christian said.