The Woods-Wanderer

Chapter 8

***

The distance between them and Truss grew smaller and smaller, though Ilya's worries only grew. To tell the truth, the next few hours were probably her fault. Every beast hopping through the trees made her jump– and subsequently trip and fall.

It was only when a stick snapped in the woods nearby that both she and Zale froze. Ilya, not knowing what to do with her hands, realized that her lack of a weapon and/or fighting prowess was a significant issue. Zale's senses, though not as strong as they once were, were firing and he didn't move a muscle. Leaves continued to crack and rustle. Zale began walking backwards slowly, motioning for Ilya to do the same. The noises grew louder and louder until–a man burst into sight.

He looked to be around the same age as Ilya's father, and had a scraggly yellow beard that hung off his face like moss. He was scrawny and thin, almost savage-looking. His clothes were foreign and strange, not to mention decades out of style. There was a wild look in his eyes, and Ilya was immediately apprehensive.

"Who are you?" she said coldly, trying to appear threatening. The man swung his eyes–which were a rather unpleasant shade of mud brown– up to meet hers. One eye drifted to the side, and his mouth curled in a lopsided smile. Oh, Ilya thought. He's mad. That explains it. Madmen weren't common in Gallyn and Truss, but occasionally a member of court or a servant would disappear. When Ilya demanded to know what had happened to them, all she received was "They're mad, dear."

"Who am I?" the man murmured, then giggled darkly. His voice was quiet and shaky. He fingered the coarse material of his tunic and swayed from side to side. "They used to call me Darren, I think."

"Okay...it's nice to meet you, Darren. I'm Ilya and this is Zale." The man–Darren– said nothing, but instead began to sing. His voice no longer wavering, rang out like birdsong through the trees.

"I was a lucky, lucky man

Who had a lucky wife

Who bore me lovely wantons

Maybe I got lucky twice..." Ilya paused. That song. It sounded so familiar. Darren kept singing, and Zale shot Ilya a concerned look.

"He's not crazy, I don't think," he said under his breath.

"No, he's not mad," Ilya agreed. "I think he's a Bard." Zale's eyes brightened.

"Of course," he whispered. "That makes sense. The singing, the old clothes. But why is he in the woods? How is he even alive? There haven't been Bards in Truss for decades." Ilya thought for a moment.

"Why don't we just ask him? He's standing right there."

"Are you mad? We just met him! Don't you remember what happened the last time you tried to help someone?" Ilya shot him a foul look and turned to Darren.

"Are you a Bard?" she asked, trying to make her words clear. Darren scratched his scraggly beard with one hand and nodded. "Are you Trussian?" Another nod. "Why are you in the woods? Are you lost?" The Bard contemplated this for a moment, then spoke.

"I am lost by choice," he said, shivering. "The Woods shelter me and imprison me. I hold the key in my hand but will not turn it. I search in vain. I am a fool, I am the jester. Laugh at my cards of hearts and silver." His voice rose shrilly towards the end of his speech. Ilya turned back to face Zale.

"Nevermind, I was wrong. He's cracked." But Zale shook his head.

"Not cracked, just... damaged." Like he had been. Ilya understood his sympathy for the madman now.

"Look, even if he's not mad, he seems to be doing fine for himself out here. Can we just go?" Zale gave her a look and she hushed. He looked Darren in the eye.

"What are you searching for?" The Bard let loose an anguished cry, almost a howl. Ilya was astonished by how wolflike it was. Zale flinched but said nothing. Darren looked at Ilya then, his eyes bloodshot. Tears ran down his wizened face, and Ilya felt fear, sympathy, and revulsion rise in her throat simultaneously.

"I search for my soul. I have lost it. It is gone," he sobbed.

"What do you mean 'your soul'?" Zale said patiently.

"All of it, half of it, none of it," Darren wailed. Ilya resisted the urge to cover her ears. The man may be mad, but his deafening dries were going to draw out every beast in the woods. "I kept it safe, locked it up safe in a box. It is stolen, it is gone!" Darren descended into hysterics and Zale turned to Ilya, green eyes wide.

"Do you think he means..." he whispered, stunned.

"-a wish?" Ilya finished, her breath catching in her throat. Could it be? Had the stars brought a chance to finally find a wish into her path? Was her wish to find a wish finally coming true?

"We'll help you find it," she said firmly.

"Ilya..." Zale began, shooting her a warning look.

"You will?" Darren choked, and he looked so pitiful standing there and wringing his hands that Zale had to give in.

"You've got 24 hour to find it, Ilya, or you know what happens," he said darkly. Ilya rolled her eyes, but she secretly knew he was right. Was this just another fool's errand, like the tower? She didn't even know where to start.

"Do you know who stole your wish?" she asked tentatively. Darren nodded frenziedly.

"Who was it?" Zale said, unable to contain his curiosity. Darren gave them a funny look, as if he were surprised they didn't know.

"The witch."

Crap.