Cursed Times - Only Yesterday! Sequel to Wattys 2015 winner!

Chapter 42: Trueth - Onwards and Upwards

End of last chapter:

As they stepped away from the henge, Trueth threw one final look at the mountain range, still glistening serenely under the azure blue skies. The perfect triangle she saw rising above all the other elevations seemed to send a message across to her, teasing her that she would never escape the pull of the damn pyramids, no matter how hard she tried.

***

Having Seisi virtually bristling with psychic energy was one thing, finding a proper use for Metjen's gift was quite another. No matter what Trueth's ingenious partner might temporarily be capable of--in a world devoid of streets and automobiles but full of trees, swamps and, most likely, hungry critters, a distant mountain range had the distinct disadvantage of being out of range. So the fundamental question was how to send him safely across the floodplain towards that pyramid of a mountain. The heated discussions in the back parlour of the 'Henge Inn' eventually yielded a solution; Seisi would have to fly. Having established the 'what' launched the next furious exchange as to the 'how'.

Seisi was adamant that he would not be able to propel himself over such a distance. For some ridiculous reason, only apparent to the initiated, spelling some inanimate object with the power to overcome gravity would require far less magical energy than having a person levitate across the plain.  

I'll never suss this shit out, Trueth thought. It's all far too complicated.

'I have a mind. A magical object does not, that's why it is easier and uses less power,' Seisi explained patiently.

Trueth wondered if a corpse would count as a magic object or a person but forgot her random thoughts when the Avebury coven once more burst out in protest. Spurred on by Damian and Myrtle, they were neither appreciative nor supportive of any plans that would send the one member of the expedition who was fully versed in all things supernatural on an adventure with uncertain outcome. Their thinking seemed to be on an elastic string. Whenever Seisi had finally had convinced the others that his imminent departure was not only a necessity but a given, latest the next day he faced another barrage of 'yes buts'. Trueth supported him loyally; she knew he was right, but deep inside she shared the witches concerns and clung to her man all through her restless nights. There were days when Trueth almost wished for the Blessing; it would, at least, have allowed her to stay connected with him a little bit longer once he had left on his trip.

Seisi, of course, saw silver linings even in storm clouds and pointed out another advantage of his chosen method.

'Once I have found the exit, I will send you back my conveyance with a message, thus, you will not be in doubt as to my whereabouts .' He smiled at Trueth in that special way of his which made her feel warm all over. And go cold again immediately afterwards. He was leaving her. He had to. She hated it.

The landlord was more pragmatic. 'What object do you want to use? Would this do?' He rolled up a beer barrel. Jack Nightshade, as the man was called, had become a surprisingly staunch supporter of their plan. He was a man of action and did not fancy sitting out the coming winter in a little village with neither TV nor internet and only the same set of penniless customers day in, day out.

For a moment, Trueth wondered how her two ancestral sets of pioneers could both have fallen off the evolutionary ladder when there was so little to keep them entertained apart from the type of amusement available to two people in the quiet of their bedroom. Or in front of the hearth fire, other alternatives having proven to be both impractical, draughty and prone to interruptions from jealous four-footed beasties.

She pushed these inappropriate thought asides, peered inside the proffered container and wrinkled her nose. 'It whiffs a bit, doesn't it.'

The barrel did not pass muster, nor did some other containers and implements, including a broom. Seisi, at the suggestion he should drape his long legs over a wooden stick with scraggly bristles decorating one end, refused point blank.