Bywater-not mine.”
“But the prophecy implies that the two of you will meet again-”
“I told you, I don’t believe the prophecy. I won’t hunt Verdilith again,” he said bitterly. “They’ve stripped me of my knighthood, they’ve spit on me and reviled me, they’ve set my name with villains and traitors, yet still they expect me to slay the dragon. That’s their job, not mine,” Flinn finished, pacing stiffly toward the fireplace.
The girl stared at him, her eyes shining once more. “I understand, Flinn, I really do. When I’m better and I become a squire at the castle, I’ll tell the knights what you’ve said-I’ll get them to hunt that dragon and kill it like they should. Maybe I’ll hunt Verdilith, just as you did.” Wishful longing showed on her face as her words trailed off.
For one moment, Flinn envisioned himself as a knight in her company. He thought of long, tiring days in the saddle and the easy camaraderie of the shared campfire. His heart ached. Flinn braced himself against the mantle. Abruptly, he realized he was lonely. His self-imposed exile seemed suddenly pointless and childish. He wanted to whirl around and propose an expedition to slay the dragon with Jo by his side. Then his eyes shifted to the mantle, where his calloused and scarred hands lay. You are a hermit, not a knight, he thought.
“The… third point of the Quadrivial,” he said slowly, trying to remember the injunctions he had learned in the past, “is that of faith. A knight must have faith in himself and must deserve the faith of the people. The true measure of a knight’s worth is the faith placed in him by his fellow knights and the world around.
“Without faith,” Flinn continued, “a knight can never achieve glory-the fourth and final corner on the path to righteousness. The first baron of Penhaligon, who established the Order of the Three Suns, decreed that a knight of renown is equal to his deeds. Acts of righteousness should be sung as a testimony to all folk everywhere.”
Jo was silent for several heartbeats before she spoke. “Did it… did it hurt much when the people at the castle lost their faith in you, Flinn?”
Flinn flinched and released a long sigh. “Yes,” he said raggedly, “yes.” Anger rose like a sudden flame around his heart. He turned from the fireplace, averting his eyes. In two quick strides, he reached the door and stalked out into the gathering dusk.
He could feel the blood pounding in his ears. Part of him longed to return to the cabin and rage at the girl, to take out his bitterness on her. He stomped toward the stable, muttering imprecations about Jo. But he knew that he couldn’t blame her, that he had brought about his own hurt. He should have defended himself against the accusations of Yvaughan and Sir Brisbois. His fall was his own doing, and no one could ever change that. Not he, not Johauna Menhir.
Three days later Jo had recovered enough to leave the stuffy cabin and walk about outside, exercising her cramped muscles. She paused in the knee-deep snow, pulling the fur tighter about her shoulders. Even the new leather shift Flinn had made for her didn’t stop the cold. Slush trickled into her worn shoes. She sighed heavily, watching the breath whirl away like a ghost before her. Turning, she trudged tiredly back toward the cabin door.
Some instinct made her stop in the act of opening the door, and she looked into the surrounding woods. The barren trees formed a black lace against the overcast sky.
Movement along the cabin wall caught Jo’s eye. She peered closer at the bushes near the cabin, then realized with a start that she was staring directly at the wildboy. His scraggly blond hair, smudged face, and ragged clothing blended well with the surroundings. Jo waved at the child.
The boy gave a shy nod in return and said, “My name’s Dayin. What’s yours?” Despite his rough clothes, the boy’s voice was surprisingly sweet and clear.
“It’s Jo. My name is Jo,” Johauna smiled reassuringly. The boy nodded and then vanished. Jo scanned the wall of the cabin and the woods that lay beyond. She saw no trace of him. Shrugging, she entered the cabin.
Flinn was kneeling by the fire, stirring gruel. Jo stomped her feet at the door, trying to shake off the snow. As she removed her shoes, she noticed that Flinn was watching her. He shifted away from the pot of gruel and began to rise.
“I can take off my shoes, Flinn,” she said a little breathlessly. “I made it all the way to the privy, and I can remove-” her struggles got the better of her, and she stopped talking. Flinn turned back to the porridge, taking it off the fire and ladling it into the bowls. He pulled a loaf of bread from the cupboard and filled the tankard with water. By the time he had put all the food on the table, Jo had donned the warm fur slippers Flinn had fashioned for her yesterday. She sat on her log beside the table.
“I saw the wildboy just now,” Jo said, between alternating bites of gruel and bread. “He says his name is Dayin. I wonder if he knows about the attack.”
“He does,” Flinn answered brusquely. “Dayin, huh? That scamp saved your life. He concocted the herbs that drew out the poison.”
“What do you know about him, Flinn?” Jo asked, chewing a piece of the flat bread. Her appetite was slowly returning, and this was the first regular meal Flinn had fed her since the attack.
Flinn shrugged, disinterested. “He doesn’t bother me and I don’t bother him. What more can I say?”
“But why’s he all alone in these woods?” Jo persisted. Flinn looked up from his bowl, his left eyebrow arching deeply. “Why are you all alone out here in the woods? Why am I?”
“But that’s different, Flinn, and you know it. I’m here because I wanted to find you-”
Flinn interrupted, his voice mocking and bitter, “You wanted to find Flinn the Mighty, not me.”
Johauna ignored him. “And you’re here because this is where you want to be. But that doesn’t explain why…” Her voice trailed off as a scowl deepened across Flinn’s face and his cheek pulsed.
“Sometimes you have no idea what you babble about,” he spat out, standing up. He strode about the cabin, collecting gear and cooking supplies. Jo watched him in shock as he packed the items into a backpack. “I have trap lines to tend, and this-” he waved his hand about the room “-is only keeping me from them. You’re well enough to fend for yourself here in the cabin.”
“You’re leaving, Flinn?” she asked, her voice unexpectedly small and pained. For a moment Flinn’s eyes caught hers, and she thought she saw some emotion flicker there, but he averted his gaze.
“I’ll be gone a week, maybe ten days, to check the trap lines. I’m a trapper, remember. The griffon and mule will be with me, so you won’t need to worry about tending either of them.” He was backing out the door, finally turning his stony face toward her. He pivoted and began walking toward the bam, leaving Jo at the doorway.
“What will I do while you’re gone?”
Flinn stopped in the yard, then turned about slowly. “If-” he stressed the word “-you’re still here when I return, we will see.” His eyes caught hers again. “We will see.”
He turned and left.
A week passed, then a fortnight before Flinn finished his trapping and returned to the cabin in the woods. Snow had fallen recently, and in some parts of the woods it reached his waist; he had had to dismount from Ariac and lead the animals through snow-blocked passages. Now Flinn peered down at his cabin, studying the few tracks surrounding the buildings. He wondered if Johauna had indeed left. Then he saw smoke curling lazily away toward the blue, afternoon sky. He sighed.
The girl is still here, he thought. She is still here. Praise the Immortals.
Giving Ariac’s flanks a light tap, Flinn pressed onward. Fernlover brayed in anticipation of the comforts the bam promised. Flinn wasn’t surprised to see the barn door swing open and the girl emerge. He nodded at her but said nothing, not even after she broke into a wide smile.
“Flinn!” she shouted and raced to meet him. “You’re back!”
“Obviously.”
“I expected you a week ago.”
“I told you I might be longer than a week.”
“You said ten days, outside. It’s been two weeks.” She took Fernlover’s lead from him and led the pack animal into his own stall. “I was beginning to worry.”
