“Why do you call me Sparrow?” he asked, feeling for safer ground.
“Because Bal-Simba called you so. You needed a name to use before the World.”
“I’ve got a name,” Wiz protested.
“Bal-Simba told you never to speak your true name to anyone,” Moira told him. “So we needed something to call you.”
“My friends just call me Wiz.”
“I will call you Sparrow,” Moira said firmly. “Now come along.”
Again she set off in an effortless stride. Wiz came huffing along behind, glumly admiring the swing of her hips and the easy sway of her body. He was used to being treated with contempt by beautiful women, but he had never been this taken with a woman and that made it hurt worse than usual.
One thing you have to say about my luck, he thought. It’s consistent.
Finally they topped a small rise and Wiz could see a road through the trees ahead. Off to the left he could hear the sound of running water. Moira crouched behind a bush and pulled Wiz roughly down beside her.
“This is the Forest Highway,” Moira whispered. “It leads over the Blackstone Brook and on into the Wild Wood.”
“Where we’re going?” said Wiz, enjoying Moira’s closeness and the smell of her hair. Instinctively he moved closer, but the hedge witch drew away.
“Yes, but not by the road. I am to meet someone here. You wait in the woods. Do not make a sound and do not show yourself.” She pulled back and continued down the trail, leaving Wiz with the memory of her closeness.
In spite of its grandiose title, the Forest Highway was a weedgrown lane with the trees pressing in on either side. The Blackstone Brook was perhaps ten yards wide and ran swift, deep and dark as its name under a rough log bridge.
As Moira predicted, there was a man waiting under the trees by the roadside. He was tall, lean, long-faced and as brown as the rough homespun of his tunic and breeches. When Moira stepped out of the trees he touched his forehead respectfully.
“I brought the things, Lady.”
“Thank you, Alber,” Moira replied kindly.
“Lady, is it true you are leaving us?”
“For a time, Alber. A short time, I hope.”
“We will miss you,” he said sadly.
Moira smiled and embraced him. Watching from behind his bush Wiz felt a pang of jealousy. “Oh, and I will miss you all as well. You have been like a family to me, the whole village.” Then she smiled again. “But another will be along soon to take my place.”
“It will not be the same, Lady,” he said dejectedly. He turned and gestured to the small pile of objects under a bush by the roadside.
“The messenger said two packs. And two cloaks.”
“Correct, Alber.” Moira did not volunteer and he did not ask.
Quickly she began to sort through the items, checking them and re-stowing them into the packs.
“Shall I wait, Lady?”
“No.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you again.” The hedge witch made a sign with her right hand, first two fingers extended. “Go with my blessing. May your way home be short and safe and the journey uneventful.”
“May you be safe as well, Lady.” With that Alber turned and started down the road.
As soon as he had disappeared around a bend, Moira motioned Wiz out of hiding.
“A brave man,” Moira said as she tied the drawstring on one of the packs and set it aside.
“Why?” asked Wiz, nettled. “For bringing us this stuff?”
“Don’t sneer, Sparrow,” she said sharply. “This ‘stuff’ will sustain us on our journey. Alber was willing to chance Mid-Summer’s Day to see that we will eat and be warm in the Wild Wood.”
“Nice of him. But brave?”
Moira finished loading the second pack and shook her head. “Sparrow, how did you survive so long?”
“I survived just fine up until this morning,” Wiz retorted. “So what about Mid-Summer’s Day?”
Moira sighed in exasperation. “Mid-Summer’s Day is the longest day of the year. All magics associated with the sun and fire are at their most potent this day and magics of green and growing things are unusually potent as well.