“Moira, what did you mean when you said I was under a spell?” Wiz finally asked.
The hedge witch looked annoyed and uncomfortable. “Patrius placed you under an infatuation spell.”
“Infatuation spell?” Wiz asked blankly.
“The spell that makes you love me,” she said sharply.
“But I don’t need a spell to love you,” Wiz protested. “I just do.”
“How do you think an infatuation spell works?” Moira snapped.
“But . . .”
“Oh, leave me alone and go to sleep!” She drew her cloak about her and rolled away from him.
Four
Beyond the Fringe
Wiz woke from a dream of home to rain on his face.
Judging from the sodden state of the campfire, it had been raining for some time, but the water had only now filtered through the leaves of the tree they had slept under.
He spluttered, rolled over and wiped the water out of his eyes.
“Awake at last,” Moira said. She was already up and had her pack on her back with her cloak on over everything. “Come on. We need to get going.”
“I don’t suppose there is any sense in suggesting we hole up someplace warm and dry?”
Moira cocked an eyebrow. “In the Wild Wood? Besides, we have a distance to travel.”
Wiz pulled his cloak free of his pack. “How long is this likely to last?”
Moira studied the sky. “Not more than one day,” she pronounced. “Summer storms are seldom longer than that.”
“Great,” Wiz grumbled.
“It will be uncomfortable,” she agreed, “but it is a blessing too. The rain will deaden our trail to those things which track by scent.” She looked up at the leaden, lowering sky.
“Also, dragons do not like flying through rain.”
“Thank heaven for small favors.”
Their breakfast was a handful of dried fruit, devoured as they walked. They picked their way through a gap in the ruined wall and struck off into the forest.
It rained all day. Sometimes it was just a fine soft mist wafting from the lowering gray skies. Sometimes it pelted down in huge face-stinging drops. When it was at its worst they sought shelter under a tree or overhanging rock. Mostly it just rained and they just walked.
At first it wasn’t too bad. The rain was depressing but their wool cloaks kept out the water and the footing was. However as the downpour continued, water seeped through the tightly woven cloaks and gradually soaked them to the skin. The ground squished beneath their feet. The carpet of wet leaves turned as slippery and treacherous as ice. Where there were no leaves there was mud, or wet grass nearly as slippery as the leaves.
At every low spot they splashed through puddles or forded little streamlets. Wiz’s running shoes became soaked and squelched at every step. Moira’s boots weren’t much better.
Wiz lost all sense of time and direction. His entire world narrowed down to Moira’s feet in front of him, the rasp of his breath and the chill trickle down his back. He plodded doggedly along, locked in his own little sphere of misery. Unbalanced by the weight of his pack, he slipped and fell repeatedly on the uneven ground.
Moira wasn’t immune. She was also thoroughly soaked and she slipped and slid almost as much as he did. By the time they stopped for a mid-afternoon rest they were drenched and muddy from falling.
Unmindful of the soggy ground, they threw themselves down under a huge pine tree and sprawled back against the dripping trunk. For once Moira seemed as out of breath as Wiz.
Under other circumstances—say as a picture on someone’s wall—the forest might have been beautiful. The big old trees towered around them, their leaves washed clean and brilliant green. The rain and mist added a soft gray backdrop and the landscape reminded Wiz of a Japanese garden. There was no sound but the gentle drip of water from the branches and, off in the distance, the rushing chuckle of a stream running over rocks.
Abstractly, Wiz could appreciate the beauty. But only very abstractly. Concretely, he was wet, chilled, miserable, exhausted and hungry.
“Fortuna!” Moira exclaimed. Wiz looked up and saw she had thrown back her cloak and pulled up her skirt, exposing her left leg and a considerable expanse of creamy thigh lightly dusted with freckles.