Noctivagant (Chapters 1-3)

Author's note - The first part (and first draft) of my maiden attempt at a multi-chapter story. Please be gentle with me!


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1 - Awakening

He woke early, but gradually, in instalments, almost, going from the darkness of the unconscious state, to a kind of dreamy half-awareness, where little registered except the warmth and softness of the woollen blankets that enwrapped his small, naked body, before the pre-dawn composite of sights, sounds and smells began to come into focus, through his senses and into his young mind. He loved this time of day, because he was almost always the only one in the house awake before sunrise, so that as long as he remained quiet, he could imagine himself as head of his family, maybe even headman of the sept like his tall uncle. Most of his family members and friends seemed to be afraid of the dark, but he never had been, even as a very young child, enjoying the stillness and calm, sometimes even, greatly daring, creeping to the door of the house, weaving his small feet between the sleeping bodies, to see if the cloudy skies typical of his part of the world might have cleared enough to allow a glimpse of the moon's silvery face, its glowing pallor amidst a field of tiny points of light, like the inside of a huge, velvet lined treasure chest, a sight which never failed to fill him with a sense of awe and wonder. There would be no such pleasure on this morning, though, the boy could hear raindrops pattering on the thatched roof high above his head, so he merely pulled the blankets over his head, savouring the denser shade of darkness within the imaginary cave, in his mind's eye heroically wielding a sword to fight off the legendary monster dwelling within, saving his family from the terrible fate which would await them in the creature's lair.

"Victor!" A sharp voice invaded the boy's domain of darkness, broke into his vivid daydream of derring-do. "Come out from under those blankets, you'll hurt your eyes!"

The youngster tried to pretend he hadn't heard his mother's enjoinder, but a second, still more insistent enunciation of his name brought his head popping out into the grey gloom of the morning, blinking a little in response to the sudden change of light intensity.

The woman continued, a little less vehemently. "You know you shouldn't lie underneath, I've told you often enough before. It's bad for your eyes, you don't want to end up blind, do you?"

"No, mother, but I like it in the dark sometimes, it makes me feel brave."

"It's not where we should be, people live in the light, worms and woodlice live in the dark, you don't want anyone to think you're like that, surely?"

"No, but...." His voice trailed off uncertainly.

"But what?"

"But....why does everyone think the dark is so bad? There's nothing there to hurt anyone, is there?"

The woman began to feel uneasy, surely her only son wasn't....of course, it couldn't be, that was stupid, their sept, their family, had never had to endure that curse, that....shame, never, in anyone's memory. She repeated the mantras she'd heard since her own childhood, the code her society had lived by for generations, the sacred law which maintained the order of all things.

"Evil things live in the dark, my child. The power of darkness blinds us all, unless we hold to the law, once we are blind, we are helpless, all our defences will be destroyed, chaos will reign. You will understand better when you are older, but we cannot see through the veil of darkness, so we must avoid it."

"Darkness doesn't blind me, mother...."

Her sudden anger, seemingly emerging from nowhere, apropos of nothing, shocked the boy to his core.

"Silence, child, don't dare to speak such blasphemy in our house. Darkness blinds us all. All except the damned ones, the Noct...."

The boy hardly dared to speak, but the word she'd begun to say, and then bitten off, what was that, what did it mean?

"Who are the 'Noct'. mother?"

"Silence, I tell you, child! Don't you dare use that word under your father's roof! You will bring shame to us all!"

The boy was abashed, but completely uncomprehending. All he'd done was to speak the truth, as he'd been told he should since his earliest memories, his night vision was good, even on the darkest nights, he could see enough to navigate his way through the sleeping house. Why was that wrong? Why would his mother not tell him?

****

Victor was the youngest member of the family, although the only son, young enough, as his eighth midsummer approached, to be indulged by being free from too many chores during the long days. He had his little tasks, feeding the chickens and collecting their eggs, taking food and drink to the men fishing in the estuary and working in the fields at midday, fetching and carrying small items to and from the storehouses for his mother. Much of the time, though, he could ramble and play in the woods and on the hills surrounding his valley home. Few other children had his degree of freedom, so he often played alone. One friend he had made, though, was the son of the man widely thought of as the most important in their scattered community, ranking even above the various sept headmen - the Clergyman. Victor didn't really know what the Clergyman did, but he was aware of the respect and deference with which he was treated, making the young boy fearful of speaking in his presence, on the very few and far between occasions events had brought him into contact with the man. His son, Jacob, though, was completely unlike his father with his foreboding presence, a happy, friendly, talkative boy a year or so older than Victor, and who he'd met by chance on a Spring afternoon the previous year, when Victor had made one of his rare expeditions to the eastern flank of the valley.

It wasn't that he was forbidden to cross the stream, but he thought of the far side as outside his domain, someone else's territory, although during his occasional incursions into that territory, he'd rarely seen anyone at all beyond men from the neighbouring sept working in their fields. On the day of his disquieting exchange with his mother, though, the movement of the afternoon sun had left 'his' side of the valley in shadow, while the opposite slopes were still bathed in golden light. Victor thought the blue-skied warmth too good to waste, such sunny days were all too rare, clouds and rain rolling in from the nearby ocean being the characterstic weather of the area, so he crossed the little stone bridge where the old village of Ford, people said, had once stood, and from where Victor's sept took their name, and climbed up the steep, rough track to the open grassy area he knew lay above, with its view across the wide tidal river to the hills of the peninsula beyond. As he breathlessly reached the top of the hill, he was thrilled to see Jacob running down the gentle slope of the upper meadow, trailing a brightly coloured diamond of fabric on a long string behind him. A kite! Victor had only once before seen kites flying, at a wedding feast half a lifetime ago, when his family had travelled for hours to meet up with his mother's sept who lived in the inland hills, to celebrate the marriage of her brother. Now here was Jacob, twisting and turning the string around his wrist as he ran, causing the magical thing to flick and climb, bob and dive against the wind, like some kind of huge, iridescent bird showing off its aerobatic skills. Victor stood, watching entranced as his friend continued to draw patterns in the sky as he ran along the lower boundary of the field, until Jacob finally came to a stop, panting, some twenty paces away from the younger boy. Jacob noticed Victor's presence after a few seconds, and smiled happily.

"Jacob, you're so lucky, your kite is amazing, I loved watching it fly."

"Thank you, my father made it for me, as my midwinter present last year. I haven't been able to use it much, but Father showed me what I had to do to make it fly, and he said I could try it today, as it's such a nice day. Shall we make it fly again?"

"Oh, yes please, can I help you?"

"I'll show you what to do," the older boy replied, "then you can try."

"Oh, wow, thank you, Jacob, you're my very best friend!"

Jacob beamed once more, and put his arm around Victor's shoulder. "And you're my best friend, too. Come on, let's go up to the top of the hill, then we can run down from there."

The boys ran up, down and around the short grass of the meadow for some time, Victor learning to fly the kite under his friend's tutelage, watching in his turn while Jacob improved his own skills, until both of them could run no more, and flopped down at the lower boundary to rest from their exertions. They hadn't seen each other for a few weeks, and chattered away, as reuniting friends do, catching up on their respective news. After a time, Victor fell silent, thoughtful, wanting to ask his friend's opinion, but not knowing quite how to begin. Jacob quickly noticed the hiatus in the flow of conversation, and glanced over at his friend, who was suddenly looking serious.

"What's the matter, Victor?"

"I....I don't know. It's....something my mother said was wrong, but she wouldn't tell me why. If she won't answer me, I can't think of anyone else to ask, my father never really speaks to me much except to tell me off, so I'm scared to ask him. It's something I can't understand."

"I know what you mean. I love my parents, and they love me, but they're very strict, and it's hard to talk to them sometimes."

Victor nodded. "Yes, that's just how things are with me. My mother got really angry this morning, though, when all I did was to tell the truth. It was almost like...." The boy's voice faltered, as the uncertainty in his mind was transmitted to his vocal cords.

"Like what?"

"Like....she was frightened of me, frightened because of me."

"How could that be? What did you say to her?"

Victor's mouth was dry, he looked at his friend nervously. "I don't know....if I can tell you." While his mother had given no explanation beyond quoting the tenets of her beliefs, she had given the boy a strong impression of his doing wrong, even being wicked, and he didn't want his best friend to think of him that way.

"Is it a secret?"

"Sort of...." Victor hesitated again. "I....I'm different from other people, I think. It....scares me sometimes."

"Different? How?"

"Jacob, can I ask you a question?" His friend, wide-eyed in his curiosity, nodded eagerly. "Jacob....are you scared of the dark?"

"Darkness blinds us all, evil things live in the dark." The same words his mother had said, now coming from the mouth of this young boy. "Everyone is scared of the dark, everyone hates the dark. You do, don't you?"

Victor's fear and confusion was close to betraying him into tears. He sniffled, and kept his eyes cast down.

"What's the matter, Victor, why are you so sad?"

"I just don't understand, I don't understand why I'm different from everyone else. I'm scared."

"You're not different, you're just like me. You're my friend. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm....I'm not....scared of the dark. I....like it."

Jacob's expression began to change, from sympathy and curiosity, to something....fearful?

"C...can you s...see in the dark?"

Victor, his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper, gave the answer his friend most feared. "Yes."

Jacob's eyes started wide again, but this time in terror. Terror of the thing he'd been brought up to believe, from his earliest memories, that would destroy the world and all the people in it. He leapt to his feet, and began to run, even forgetting his treasured kite in his panic. He shouted wildly as he ran, words falling like a storm of arrows into Victor's ears. "Stay away from me, you're one of the evil ones. Stay away from me....Noctivagant."

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Victor stumbled back down the path towards Ford bridge after Jacob's headlong flight with tears in his eyes, still uncomprehending, not remotely understanding the reasons behind his friend's terror, just holding onto those words, 'You're one of the evil ones'. My mother thinks I'm evil, my best friend thinks I'm evil, the boy thought with misery, who will be the next - my father? The boy quaked at the prospect of the man who ruled his family with stern discipline turning even further against him. He thought for some moments about whether he should go home at all, about running away, but where could he run to? He knew almost nothing of the world beyond this one small valley, the short distance from the upper meadow to the ruined castle, and from the estuary to the Clergyman's tower at the top of the steep, steep hill which climbed from Ford bridge, this tiny pocket of landscape had formed the boundaries of virtually the whole of his young life, and he found it hard to even imagine being anywhere else. The late afternoon had already begun to decline to evening, the sun had long since disappeared behind Castle Hill, and the next stacked up piles of rain-bearing clouds were rolling in from the ocean, soon to cross the the hills of the peninsula, promising a wet night. He had to go home, little as the prospect appealed to him.

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2 - Accusation

Victor's night had been unsettled, he'd awoken on numerous occasions from dreams which seemed just beyond the edge of perception, and faded quickly, but had seemed to be full of indefinable dangers and threats, leaving the boy fearful of falling back to sleep. He finally woke irrevocably at first light, but, on this occasion, he was far from being alone. A group of men were talking at the front door of the house. Victor's father, his uncle, the headman, and, most disturbingly for the boy - the Clergyman. They were speaking in undertones, so that he couldn't hear the words, but Victor knew they were talking about him, about what had happened between himself and Jacob yesterday, he just knew it. Fear welled up inside him, like a volcano, what would they do to him, now they knew his secret? He had to run, to hide, somewhere, anywhere! He reached out to grab the clothes he'd left beside his bed last night, but felt....nothing! His clothes had gone! He scrabbled around frantically, trying to defy the evidence of his senses, but it was impossible, he had nothing but the blanket he had slept beneath to cover his nakedness. His fear now mounted to blind panic, he tried to wrap himself up, using the blanket like a cloak, he had to get away, but the scuffling noises he was making had already attracted the attention of the adults on the threshold. They turned to look at him as one, their expressions telling the boy everything he needed to know, everything he knew already. His father was particularly stony-faced, coldly regarding Victor as he might a hostile stranger rather than his only son. The Clergyman looked as stern and implacable as he always did, only his uncle, taller than both of the others by several inches and standing behind them, from the boy's viewpoint, seemed to have anything in his demeanour to offer the terrified youngster even a crumb of comfort - as his eyes locked with Victor's, he seemed to be trying to send a message, trying to break through the boy's all-consuming fear, telling him to calm down, it's not so bad as you think. Victor looked at the tall man beseechingly, wordlessly seeking his help, and his uncle responded with a slight nod, just as Victor's father began to speak.

"You, boy, you have brought shame to our house. You will remain inside today, I absolutely forbid you to leave for any reason. Tomorrow, important people will come, you will be...." The man hesitated, as though he could barely bring himself to say the word, as though the word itself had the power of death and disgrace in and of itself. "You will be....appraised." The tone of his voice changed, from shame and anger towards the boy, to something akin to despair. "This has never happened before, in the history of our sept, what have we done to call this punishment upon ourselves?"

"Courage, Gareth," the Clergyman said, "you have done and you will do what is right, I am sure of it. You are a good man, this is no judgment on you yourself, or your family and sept. There is no pattern to these events, it is simply the will of nature. So long as you follow the law of the Book, you have nothing to fear."

"I don't think we need discuss this in front of the boy." The headman spoke out with the authority customary to his position. "The child is scared out of his wits, surely you can see that?"

Gareth glared towards his older brother, looked as he was about to let loose some angry words, but checked himself in the face of the determination etched on the tall man's features. "It is all well and good for you to speak in that way, James, it's not your family that's involved."

"True, brother, but it is my sept, as well as yours, and it will be difficult for us all. And most difficult of all for Victor himself. Can you imagine how you would have felt, at his age, to be in his position?"

"I wasn't one of the...."

James cut his brother off abruptly. "Have some consideration for the boy, will you? He is entitled to be treated fairly, that is one of the tenets of the Book, is it not, Clergyman?" The man nodded, and made as if to speak, but James cut in again with the same resolution. "He is your son, Gareth, and I have no wish to undermine your authority in your own home, but I don't feel he would be treated fairly here at the moment, your emotions are overcoming your judgment. I propose to take charge of him for today, I will keep him safe in my house and return him to you an hour before sunset, so he is here for the arrival of the....appraisers tomorrow."

Gareth once more appeared to be on the point of losing his temper completely, but felt the gaze of the Clergyman as well as his brother upon him, the boy all but forgotten for a moment as the fisherman struggled for self-control. "Very well, but I expect you to do as you say, and return him to me before nightfall. He must be here when....they....arrive, I must fulfil my obligations under the law."

"Of course, Gareth, I would be breaking the law myself if I were to do anything else. I will speak to him today, ensure that he understands he must tell the truth, and nothing less. I will stand as his advocate tomorrow, as he is below the age of majority, as I would for any other of our young kinsmen. Could someone help Victor find his clothes, so we can go back to Old Pool. Gareth, please speak to the Clergyman about what will happen tomorrow, I'm sure he, as a man of the Book, will know far more than either of us about the procedures of the law. I will speak with you again when I bring Victor back here later."

Victor's mother had emerged from her sleeping area, carrying the small bundle of garments the boy had been searching for so despairingly just minutes before, her husband having removed them from Victor's bedside after the arrival of his two unexpected early morning visitors, and their explanation of the reason for their visit. She handed them to the boy, wordlessly, and he dressed quickly, also in silence. As soon as he'd pulled his boots on, and tied the laces, his uncle beckoned to him.

"Come along, Victor. I'm sure your aunt will be able to find some breakfast for you."

Even in his preoccupation, Victor remembered his manners. "Thank you, Uncle, I'd like that. Goodbye, Mother, Father, I'll see you this evening." Neither of his parents returned his farewell.

"Gareth, Rose, Victor and I will see you again later. Clergyman, I'll speak with you tomorrow." The headman took his nephew's hand in his own, and they left the riverside cottage, three pairs of eyes staring fixedly after them.

****

Victor normally enjoyed his frequent visits to his uncle's home, just ten minutes' walk from his own. His uncle, while an important man in the neighbourhood, and always seemingly busy with his either his own occupation, farming the fields on the western slopes of the valley, or with the business of the sept which came to him as headman, always seemed to find time for Victor, and even spoke to him in what seemed to the boy as a much friendlier way than his own father ever did, while his aunt was a happy, bustling bundle of energy, with a smile for everyone, and, often, a pancake or a biscuit for the boy, flavoured with the delicious sweetness of the honey collected from the hives of the bees she kept. Victor had often wished that he could exchange his hard-working, but sombre and disapproving parents, for the lighter place that his uncle's household seemed to offer. On this morning, though, the boy found no pleasure in his arrival at Old Pool, named for the tidal pond, hemmed in by massive stone walls, and thick wooden sluice gates, which encompassed several hundred square feet of the river frontage of the ancient house. Victor had learned to swim, and to fish for the small creatures that were often trapped by the falling tide, within the relative safety of the pool walls, but all of that was far from his mind at that moment. All he could think of were the events of the past day or so, and of the ordeal, for such it seemed, little as he knew about what was going to happen to him, he would have to face a day hence. His uncle led him into the kitchen area of the house, and set a stool beside the rough wooden table for the boy to sit down.

"Wait here a moment, Victor, I'll go and find your aunt."

"Yes, Uncle."

Sitting alone at the table, the enormity of his situation seemed suddenly to catch up with the boy, and before he knew it, waves of despair swept through his small body, so that by the time his aunt and uncle came through the kitchen door, the youngster had slumped forward, his forehead against the tabletop, and was crying as he'd never cried before in his life, huge, breathless sobs racking his slight frame, tears streaming from his eyes. The woman immediately swept the child up, resting his head against her shoulder, enfolding him in her strong arms, whispering soothing words into his ear.

"Hush, sweetheart, don't cry so, things will be alright, you'll see. Ssshhh, darling, you're safe here."

The emotional storm began to subside gradually, the wretched, abandoned sobbing declining into fitful weeping, as Victor's aunt gently stroked the boy's head and back, reassuring him with her touch as one might a frightened animal. Her husband had explained the boy's situation, evoking, in contrast to the fear and shame of the boy's own parents, nothing but sympathy for the child's plight, and a wish to help the terrified boy in any way she could. But how, she thought, could anyone help Victor in the face of....those who were coming to his home tomorrow. Her heart ached for the child in her arms, this little boy, for that's all he was, who would be judged, and likely condemned, without hope of reprieve, for something over which he had no control at all. How cruel this world can be, how cruel, she thought, but what could she, as one simple woman, do about it?

A little later, after Victor's aunt had gently dried his tears, washed his face and induced him to eat a little smoked fish and bread by way of breakfast, the imposing figure of the boy's uncle reappeared in the kitchen.

"Come to the pool with me, Victor, we need to talk."

The boy followed his uncle out of the house, obediently but mutely. The tide was low, so the man and boy sat down on the landward wall of the pool, dangling their legs towards where the water would return in just a few hours. They remained silent, side by side, for some time, but both knew that there were things that needed to be said.

"Victor," the boy's uncle began, "I have to tell you the truth and say that I know little more than you about what may happen tomorrow. As your father said, this has never happened within our sept before, certainly not to my knowledge. I hope he has asked the Clergyman the necessary questions, indeed, I hope that the Clergyman himself knows the answers, because I have heard nothing of him being involved in such matters before. You do know, though, as well as I, that the Book instructs us to always tell the truth, I know your parents have taught you to follow the law of the Book, so you will remember that, won't you?"

The boy nodded miserably, and mumbled in a low voice, "Yes, Uncle." There was a long pause, but then the boy screwed up his courage, and spoke again. "Uncle, I don't understand why everyone thinks I'm so evil. I haven't done anything wrong, have I? I'm still the same Victor I was before. What's changed?"

The man sighed sadly, indicative of his own uncertainty in the face of what was a new situation for him as well. "Victor, in some ways, this is as hard for me as it is for you to understand. You're not evil, I can't believe that, and I don't think you've done anything wrong. When people have been taught all their lives that certain things are true, though, it's difficult or even impossible for them to think any other way, they don't really think at all, they react. That's where your mother and father are at the moment, something unexpected and shocking has happened in their life, and they don't know what to do. They're not bad people, Victor, any more than you are, they're just confused and frightened and ashamed."

"What will happen to me, Uncle? When these important people come tomorrow, I mean."

"They will ask you questions, and your parents, too, and probably me as well. I will be there to help you and speak for you, as far as I can, because the law allows those below the age of majority to have an advocate, and it is part of my duty as headman to be that advocate. I would do it, even if it wasn't my duty, Victor, because you are my kin, we share the same blood, and I care for you, almost as much as I care for my own children. You, and I, and anyone else they choose to question, must answer truthfully, then they will make their decision according to the law of the Book." The man knew he was evading the boy's real question, but he didn't want to think about the likely outcome himself, and he certainly didn't want to lay any extra burden of fear and suffering that the knowledge of that outcome would entail onto the child.

"Will they send me away, Uncle?"

"I don't know, Victor - it's possible, but I really don't know. If I knew what was going to happen, I'd surely tell you, but no-one can see the future. Sometimes things happen that nobody expects. I will do everything I can for you, you can be sure of that." The tall man placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, and smiled kindly. "Let's take a walk, Victor, I need to check on what your cousins are up to, up by Castle Fields. They're supposed to be tidying the hedges, but I'd be surprised if they're not playing games - shall we can see if we can catch them out?"

For the first time on that traumatic day, Victor managed to smile. James felt such mixed emotions - happy that he'd found a way to take the boy's mind off of his troubles, but desperately sad that this could be Victor's last day as an ordinary little boy. As he followed the child towards the side gate onto the lane, he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

****

3 - Summons

The Carpenter had received a message, one that he'd both wished for and feared over the years. A message from The Miller, in a language the vast majority of the members of the scattered, surviving pockets of humanity could no longer understand - written English. As with all such messages, it had been delivered by night, by an unseen hand, discovered by The Carpenter at dawn, as he opened the door to his workshop. It was a short, simple message, but it gave the man all the information he needed.

"Parish of Stephen

Victor, son of the fisherman Gareth

Ford sept

Tomorrow"

He immediately began preparing himself for a journey. One that would take him most of the time available, but one he must make within that time. To save one of his own kind from being plunged into perpetual darkness, as he had been saved himself, many years ago. 

The Carpenter's home and workshop was what had been a farmhouse, an untold time in the past, the farm having been part of a large country estate, the property of an absentee landowner. Now, since The Tipping Point, there were no estates, no landowners, few people of any kind, just far-flung, smashed fragments of what had been 'civilisation', ekeing out a precarious living on the land and from the sea that would have been familiar to their 14th or 15th century ancestors. And like that medieval society, there was an all-pervasive controlling power regulating that life, one that in many ways had assumed the outward trappings of the old Catholic Church, but with a different end - The Clergy. This new elite was interested in one thing, and one thing only - maintaining their own relatively privileged lifestyle, and power over others. With the breakdown of civil society had come a return of forces which were always close to the surface, even when technological advances had apparently overcome many of humanity's physical problems - superstition, xenophobia, fear of the 'other', all feelings nurtured by The Clergy, as instruments of manipulation and control. An unforeseeable genetic event, driven by chance, and whose spread had been greatly magnified by the relatively small but interlinked groups that now constituted most of the population, had proved to be their greatest weapon. A strain of Homo sapiens with few, if any, functional rod cells in the eyes, what a medical scientist in those far-off times when such people existed might have recognised as 'congenital stationary night blindness'. A community of nyctlopes, allowing humanity's primal fear of darkness to be harnessed to the aims of an oligarchy, deflecting the discontent, the fear and anger which might be directed towards a self-appointed, self-sustaining, self-interested 'ruling class' being turned instead towards an unseen, almost spectral target, a coven of night-stalking, other-worldly enemies, moving invisibly to kidnap, rape, despoil, destroy all that 'normal' people hold dear. They had a name, this band of nocturnal predators, a name never uttered by decent, Book-fearing folk except when unavoidable, and then only in secretive undertones - The Noctivagant, the night wanderers.

****

The Carpenter strode out, purposefully making his way along the green lane which led away from his secluded home. He had many miles to cover to reach his destination, and like any journey nowadays, it was far from easy. Many tracks and lanes were broken and overgrown, full of pitfalls for the unwary. He'd only once before had to make this exact journey, but he knew the route well enough, passing through the areas inhabited by various septs, the Tapp, the Wall, the Stag, the Main, the Drake, he'd worked for them all at one time or another, his specialised practical skills in demand in an era of generalists, selling his expertise in return for food, drink and any useful materials he could scavenge.

The man made slow progress initially, slip-sliding along muddy trackways as he climbed up from his home area towards the larger road on top of the downs. Once he'd found his way onto Forest End Road, as the locals knew it, the going was easier, and the miles began to pass more rapidly. Although the overnight rain hadn't helped the initial stages of his trip, the cloud cover still remaining made his task more comfortable overall - it would have been hard to make such a demanding journey in yesterday's bright sunshine, the man thought to himself. There was a firm central section to the road, between the cart ruts to his left and right, which the man followed, walking at a steady pace with his long stride, making for the place where the road ran parallel with the Stony Way, which he knew would take him more or less straight to his destination, and had the advantage of crossing many of the intervening valleys on high bridges, in rather precarious condition, some of them, but still intact, saving the man several steep climbs into and out of the lower-lying areas.

All went well as The Carpenter covered the first half of the distance to his target, and a little more, in around three hours, before deciding to take a break and some food and drink, as noon approached, settling himself comfortably against the wall of a derelict roadside building. He needed rest, but didn't want to be here for too long - his plan of action, worked out in his head while he walked, called for him to reach the area occupied by the Ford sept before full darkness fell, so that he could try to locate the house of the boy he was searching for, giving him time to finalise his tactics. He'd only been in the territory of the child's sept once before, some years earlier, undertaking some work for the headman, who lived in an ancient riverside building, and to whom The Carpenter had been recommended by one of his more regular clients in the Drake sept, whose land adjoined that of the Ford. After an hour or so, feeling much refreshed, he resumed his eastward path, following the Stony Way across another high bridge, and through tiny, narrow valleys, high banks on both sides, until he approached the bridge over the river which demarcated the boundary between the Drake and Ford lands. As with all of the bridges on the Stony Way, he made his way towards the structure with some trepidation, because he knew if he wasn't able to cross the river here, it would entail a detour of well over an hour, and an extra three miles of walking over marshy ground, to use the next upstream crossing, the double bridges below Drake Hill. All seemed to be well as he carefully walked out onto the bridge, but, halfway across the river, his heart sank. There was a huge hole, some fifteen or twenty feet across, where the entire width of the deck had fallen away into the water below. All that was left were the two parapets, narrow tightropes of masonry mere inches wide, thirty feet above the muddy estuary. Well, the man thought, if those walls are all that there is, that's the way I have to go. He climbed onto the wall, sitting astride the stonework, and shuffled forward, inches at a time, taking his weight on his hands to lift his body as rhythmically as he could, trying desperately not to think about the vertiginous drop beneath him, concentrating on the youngster, the boy he'd never met, who needed him to succeed in his quest, far more than the boy himself probably knew, if his own experience was anything to go by. His arms grew tired as the eastern side of the abyss inched toward him, then - OH NO! - he suddenly lurched alarmingly as his left hand slipped on a patch of moss, desperately gripping the parapet with all the strength in his legs to allow him to regain his equilibrium. Then it was over, he reached the point where the bridge deck would support his body weight again, and swung himself back onto terra firma, falling, panting, to his knees in a mixture of relief and exhaustion. He found himself close to tears, as the realisation of how close he'd come to disaster, both for himself and for the unknown Victor, sunk into his consciousness.

****

The Carpenter's heartbeat took a long time to return to normal after his near fall from the river bridge, and his muscles ached from the exertion of the crossing, and the journey he'd made in general, but he felt somewhat recovered after resting for a while, helped by the knowledge that he'd now reached the territory of the Ford sept, with still two good hours of daylight left. He continued along the Stony Way for a mile or so further, but he knew it disappeared underground thereafter, and there was no way he was going to risk following that subterranean route. Following the lanes meant taking a slightly more inland route, and also brought him close to a couple of farms. He wasn't unduly worried about being seen, he could plausibly claim he was making his way to a place of work - he was carrying a selection of his woodworking tools in his backpack along with his food and drink - but he didn't want to complicate matters unnecessarily, so while the man was close to cultivated land, he stayed close to cover as far as possible, ducking behind a hedge at one point as two male voices approached, and not emerging until their owners had passed on their way. He could see the ruined castle which stood on the hill above the scattered dwellings where he expected to find the boy he was looking for, and headed that way, thinking of the ruins as a potential place to lay low while darkness fell, to provide the cover he would need to successfully complete his mission. As he reached the edge of the castle mound, he heard young voices in the fields below, calling to each other. He climbed up amongst the small amount of tumbled masonry which was all that now remained of the once proud fortress, and looked down over the lip of the hill towards the youngsters below. Two older boys, around fourteen or fifteen years old, were throwing a ball to each other while a little boy, around seven or eight, the man guessed, scampered around like a puppy, trying to keep up with the game. Then The Carpenter saw the man, a tall man he recognised, leaning on the field gate, looking benevolently towards the playing boys. James, the headman of the Ford sept, who he'd worked for on that single occasion in the past. He remembered him having two sons, who would now be around the age of the older boys, but none younger, so who was the smaller child? Just then, his question was answered.

"Victor!" The headman called out, and the small boy turned towards him. "Come along, let's leave these layabouts to do some work today!" Victor ran across the grass to the man, who The Carpenter knew must almost certainly be a blood relation, that was the way of the septs, perhaps an uncle or a cousin. It looked as though he'd struck lucky, this youngster was almost certainly the one he was looking for, it was customary for the septs not to reuse a given name until any previous person of that name had died, so for there to be two 'Victors' living in the same area was extremely unlikely, unless he'd been adopted from another sept, perhaps through a parent's remarriage, which would have been unusual, although not unprecedented. The headman and the youngster walked down the grassy slope towards the estuary, and The Carpenter would have followed, but for the presence of the two teenagers in the field below. Instead, he descended on the inland side of the castle mound, and as quickly as he could manage on the muddy track, followed the lane which emerged almost beneath another of the high Stony Way bridges, which he knew was close to the headman's house. He wanted to stay as close to the boy as he dared, to find out as soon as he could where the youngster would be sleeping tonight, because he knew he would only have one chance, one short period of darkness, to ensure that the child, his kindred spirit, did not fall into the hands of those who would judge him, condemn him, hurt him irreparably, destroy his life.

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To be continued. Any observations or feedback would be gratefully received.


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Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B