Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #17 August 2015 | Page 45

Tales for the Ferryman Pete Sutton Part Seven else…” “I appreciate the chance to tell someone The Ferryman is an automaton in the stern of the boat, pushing us along with a circular motion on the oar. What he thinks of the story, the one that set my feet on a long path that would stretch from the castle and eventually end at the castle, I do not know. But I will tell it to the end, if I can. *** The man in red, now that he was facing the castle, opened his eyes every few minutes, to check his progress. He glanced at the boy, attentive to his story. *** Padraig walked to the stage. The audience shuffled, coughed, made themselves comfortable again, after listening to Donnal’s stirring war poems. Padraig decided to sing the song he’d learned at Keary’s side about the death of Rufus. On the way to the stage, he performed his breathing exercises. He looked around the crowd as he was being introduced, and Cerridwen, near the front, mouthed “good luck” to him. He cleared his throat, then began to sing in a clear, high voice. He’d never considered the words of the song before, but noticing Donnal’s face—a thunderous expression turned upon him—he wondered. Perhaps the words hopping dog were insulting to the former Righ of the Black Boar. Perhaps a song that painted a man who was nicknamed ‘Dragon’ by his countrymen as being duplicitous and less than brave was insulting. He decided to cut it short, before the battle at the Red Ford, before Rufus Draga’s death. It was clear though that Donnal had heard the song before, or had heard enough, because he was being held back by another from the Black Boar. Padraig worried that he would leap upon the stage and challenge him to combat. He started a second song, a more traditional one. *** Teilo limped through the woods. He’d heard someone heading towards the camp where Elise was holding her competition, where he had been heading before his encounter with Ceowulf’s squire. You leave Cahal’s side for a short while and the whole thing goes to shit, he thought as he hurried as best he could back to Cahal’s holding. *** Phelan made his way through the forest as only a druid could. A lesser man would have been swamped, torn by thorns, mazed by impassable hedges, taken much longer. But the trees, shrubs, and animals seemed to part before him. Ahead the large canvas structure Elise had commissioned stood waiting. As Phelan slowed to a fast walk he could hear his son’s voice in high song. He smiled, until he realised what Padraig was singing. Expression darkening, he strode towards the door. He heard running footsteps on the path behind him. *** Andarta had been turned around. She was now behind the scouts that she’d thought were hunting her. But they appeared to have not noticed. Either they had poor woodcraft—possible, but unlikely—or she was not their target. A cold presentiment settled in her belly. What if they were after Phelan? She put on a burst of speed, abandoning stealth. Ahead the scouts slowed, hearing her. 45