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“I… I know. I know.”
We went through something similar every morning as his disordered mind put itself back together enough to at least recall the previous few days. But his past beyond that remained a tangle that he couldn’t unravel.
“Would you like some breakfast?” I suggested. Our supplies were getting low—we’d have to pick something up the next time we were near a town, and that would come with problems of its own.
Uther nodded. “That would be lovely.”
Yes, I’d started thinking of him as ‘Uther’ rather than ‘father’. Frankly, it made things easier because this vague, troubled creature in front of me was not the father I remembered. That father had been far from perfect, but he was still mine, and to see him reduced to this low state tore at my heart. So, I buried it and told myself this wasn’t my father, just a stranger named Uther.
Breakfast was in fact a long way from lovely because my rations were running low and I didn’t feel like I could leave ‘Uther’ alone so I could go off to do some proper hunting or foraging. There was a real danger of him wandering off or, worse still, talking to strangers. I was sure there were plenty of good people living out here, eking out what meager living they could in the wilderness, but right now, everyone who saw us was a potential enemy, if only because of who they might tell.
Uther didn’t seem to mind a breakfast that was more half-hearted than hearty. I wondered if he tasted it at all, or if in his mind he was eating sides of bacon or thick, rich porridge with honey. It was so hard to tell what was going on behind the vacant stare.
“Horses…”
Though he sometimes seemed immeasurably distant, Uther was right there, it was just that his ‘right there’ was not in the same place as the rest of us. Even so, he heard the approaching hooves before I did and I cursed myself for not paying proper attention.
“Come on.” I grabbed Uther’s arm and dragged him to where a hollow in the side of a hummock created a natural hiding place.
“But… Horses…” Uther protested, pointing back. He wanted to see the horses. He’d always liked horses as a boy. I remembered him teaching me to ride, so proud when I wasn’t scared of the horses that seemed so huge to me. I remembered how jealous my sisters had been.
“You need to be quiet.” I pressed a finger to his lips. “It’s a game. Understand?”
His eyes lit up at the word ‘game’ and he clamped both hands over his mouth.
Leaving him, I crawled through the long grass to peer around the edge of the hummock across the broad, uneven landscape of the wilderness.
At first, I saw no one—that was the problem with the wilderness; it was good for hiding but that cut both ways. Then, from behind one of the more prominent hillocks, a quintet of horsemen road into view. Even at this distance, I could tell they were soldiers, and the bright, armorial colors they wore identified them as coming from Gaunt. Not that their origin mattered that much right now; Gaunt, Latran, or even Wincham, soldiers of any stripe equaled bad news for us.
The horses stopped as their riders, armed with pikes, stood up in their stirrups to survey the landscape. I ducked back down, my head nestled against something prickly that I hoped was vegetable rather than animal, as vegetables won’t bite you.
When I dared to look back up again, the horses were already trotting away. I wondered which way they were heading. By night I could get my bearings by the stars and by day the sun was a useful, if limited, guide, but knowing what rough direction we were heading was not the same as knowingwherewe were going. Though I’d grown up in Wincham, I hadn’t lived here for five years and even when I had, I hadn’t immersed myself in the wilderness much.
Now, it all looked the same. To those who lived here, its rough contours were like signposts and they could navigate the wastes like a salmon finding its way home. But to me, no—it all looked alike. I knew there were towns and villages out there—some surprisingly large—but I had no idea where, so the best I could do was chart a course for the mountains and hope we arrived before we ran out of food.
The mountains represented safety.
Actually, that was absurdly optimistic; the mountains truly represented not so much safety, but less danger, and that would have to do for now.
“Did we win?” hissed Uther with childlike excitement.
“Win?”
“The game. With the horses. Did we win?”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, we won.”
My father beamed, happy even if he didn’t understand why, or perhapsbecausehe didn’t understand why. It was horrible to see my father, who in his youth had been thought the quickest mind in the kingdom and even as he grew older had remained sharp, reduced to this. On the other hand, he did at least seem happy, and I wasn’t sure when I’d last seen that. Not for five years, of course, but not for some time before that either, not reallyhappyanyway.
We struck out through the wilderness, always keeping the mountains ahead of us, which was a nice big target to aim for but I wanted to head specifically for Greville’s Pass, and at this distance, I couldn’t be sure if we were going the right way. It could mean a long detour if I got my bearings wrong. Complicating matters still further was the topography of the wilderness; it was impossible to go in a straight line. We kept getting side-tracked while wandering around the steeper humps, and those we climbed always seemed to descend at a different angle, throwing us off course.
And of course there was Uther himself, easily distracted by wild dogs or a soaring buzzard. After lunch (another meager affair) I turned my back a moment to pack things up and when I turned back, he was off gathering wild flowers by the armful.
“For you,” he said, smiling as he handed me the bundle.
I hid my tears. It was a nice gesture, but he didn’t know who he was giving the flowers to. To him, I was just some woman called Selena, nothing more. Still, itwasa nice gesture. In fact, it was a lot nicer than many of the things he’d said and done when he still knew who I was. We hadn’t spoken at all for the last five years, and that parting had been… well, neither of us had come out of it well.
As the sun declined in the sky, I saw a small town nestled into the landscape as if the hills had been built around it rather than vice versa.
