The Golden Knot: Book 1 of the Echo Land Chronicles (UPDATED WEEKLY)

Jonas II

"...Only the music of the song can raise the hearts of our enemies, it be the second leveller of men. The first is far too dark..."

(Senneca 142:56, Prophecy and Statute)

"...Across the path I walk, I walk,

Through the water I swim, I swim,

Upon the mountain I rise, I rise

unto the women's glory.

She takes me here, I follow her there,

I pulled the hag by her hair,

Passed the brush into the deep,

Until the girl was burning..."

Jonas and Eliana skittered off the track and slid into a small drainage trench under the large gnarled roots of a Black Wood. The song grew louder. Jonas strained to listen. The voice came ragged and coarse, though it was somewhat familiar - not the kind he would usually associate with bandits.

"Who is that?" Eliana whispered, struggling to see between the roots.

"Not sure," Jonas replied, "but I reckon we let 'im pass. No one in the village would be daft enough to leave this late."

The song grew louder. Night's veil was beginning to firmly take hold, allowing only a few thin fingers of dying, dusty light to push their way through the forest canopy. Jonas considered crawling out a little, maybe try to get a better view, but thought the better of it. He'd already proven on far too many occasions that he had the stalking skills of a bucking fawn. Instead, he slowly slipped his dirk between some loose roots and twisted the blade to force an eye hole. He pushed his eye in close to the hole. But recoiled as a few granules of soil fell into his eye. He blinked, wiped away the wetness from the side of his eye, and glared back down the narrow dirt road. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a small, hunched figure in a hooded cloak. The path meandered between the tree line, and the figure fell out of view, though soon enough, he switched back into sight. As he moved in closer and his song grew, the figure passed into a few stray sunbeams of dying light.

"The bloody fool," Jonas sighed, feeling his pulse steady. "Come on, Eli." He tugged at her wrist, sheathed his blade, and beckoned for her to follow.

"What are you—?"

"Trust me," he whispered.

As they stepped back onto the path, the little hunched man abruptly halted in his tracks and raised his walking stick. "Who goes there? Friend or foe? Ol' Sam is a great warrior!"

Jonas raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Sam, peace. It's only us!"

Sam narrowed his eyes and slowly lowered his walking stick. After a cautious glance, he tottered forward. A thin beam of light illuminated the side of the old beggar's face, exposing a tangled web of thin, salty ginger hair. His beard, which had a bit more colour in it, framed a grimy, crevice-cracked face; atop which sat a crooked, bent nose and mouth of even more crooked, yellow teeth. Despite his haggard appearance, Jonas had often been drawn to the old man's eyes. They were most striking; a greyish-red, strange for any man, though stranger still for an Easterner.

"Oh, hello there, children," Sam said, through spittles of saliva. "What might two younglings like yourselves be doing at this time of t'night?"

His eyes wandered to Eliana's broadsword, and Jonas gave her a light elbow to the ribs. She took his meaning and sheathed her blade.