“Let’s take a break. Here, have some water.” Marcus passed his water bottle over, and the man took a large swig before handing it back. As he observed the man closer, he debated taking a longer break, noting how pale and sweaty he was. A quick change in altitude could bring on a sickness that could turn fatal if not dealt with.
“Zander, why don’t you take a break? Sit down and catch your breath,” Marcus said.
Instead of doing as suggested, Alexander charged at him, pushing at him and snorting in his face. “What did you put in that drink, huh? Are you trying to poison me? I knew I couldn’t trust you the minute I saw you.”
“What are you going on about? It’s water, you idiot.” He shoved Alexander away, but the man wouldn’t stop and came at him again.
“Always the tough guy. You make me sick. Come on, hit me. Give it a try,” Alexander taunted.
“Now come on, boys. Will you both grow up? We don’t have time for your theatrics,” Zephra said.
Marcus spat on the dusty ground and walked away, not wanting a fight. It had been Alexander who seemed hell-bent on starting one. But a shove at his back had him turning around, swinging his fist; it was a reaction learned long ago. Alexander ducked, missing his right fist, but Marcus jabbed him in the lower belly with a left hook. He was done playing nice. The man was cruising for a fight, and right now he was happy to oblige.
“There we go. I knew it wouldn’t take much to get you pumping your fists. You’re just an egotistical bastard underneath all that muscle. Not much brain, just brawn,” Alexander shouted as he ran at him, swinging his clenched fist. The man was a powerhouse of pure muscle, slamming Marcus into the jagged rock.
“Here we go.” Zayn munched an apple.
“What…you’re not going to stop them?” Lady Tenille asked.
“And spoil the fun?” Zayn said.
“This place is messing with them,” said Zephra as the men fought, landing blows and smacking their fists into bone, causing blood and spittle to whirl around in the air.
“First Marcus is almost drowned, and then Zayn sees spiders. This place is feeding on our fears or insecurities… Stop it, you two. Can’t you see—it’s this place!” Zephra shouted.
But the men rammed into each other like angry bulls.
Hearing the witch as Alexander punched his jaw didn’t make the fact he agreed with her any better; he jolted back and slid away to avoid another blow directed at his ribs. Alexander was completely zoned out from his surroundings; sweat dripped from his forehead, intent on bringing him down. As the man swiped a hand over his mouth where blood dripped from his cut lip, Marcus saw his chance and took it, landing a right kick in the man’s upper chest, taking his breath away, and punched him right on the nose, sending him reeling backward. He delivered the final blow to his belly, knocking him to the ground. When he fell flat, Marcus marched over and pressed his boot on the man’s leg.
“Stay…the fuck…down, Zander. Whatever issues you have with me, this place is having a field day with them. Now…I’m going to let go, but if you try this shit again, you won’t be able to get up next time. Do. You. Hear. Me?” Marcus yelled, hoping to hell he had knocked some sense into the man without any serious injury. They couldn’t afford it. His ribs stung like a bitch and as he moved his jaw, he was grateful it wasn’t broken.
“At last,” Zephra said at his side. “There’s a break in the fog, and there’s something you need to see. Come on.”
Not waiting to help Alexander, he marched away with the witch, staring across at the visible horizon where she pointed. A bright sea of yellow stuck out like a marker on a flat plateau on the equally high mountain opposite them. In an instant, he knew without a doubt what grew there.
“Daffodils…she’s sending us a sign. Ella’s over there, I just know it.”
Staring across the divide between the two mountains, he assessed that getting across would mean navigating their way down to the valley below and crossing the fast-flowing river before trekking up another treacherous mountain. They were days away from their destination, and if this place continued to mess with their heads, it could take even longer. Pressing his hands on his hips, he slid his gaze back on the witch and frowned.
“I know what you’re thinking. Lady Tenille has an idea.”
Strolling back to the group, Marcus eyed Alexander, who sat on a large rock with his hands resting on his pants. His shirt was torn and bloodied. The man looked up as he approached and nodded, pointing his finger toward him.
“Before you say anything…I’m sorry. This place—my head. I wasn’t myself, okay?” Alexander said.
“You don’t need to apologize. We have more pressing issues right now to worry about,” Marcus replied, headed toward Lady Tenille. “Zephra said you have an idea as to how to get across to where we’re headed. If we can cut down on the time it takes, it would be great. I’m concerned as to what else we’ll encounter, and I don’t want us to be fighting each other because of some twisted-as-fuck game the Morrigan has going on here.”
Lady Tenille stood in front of him. The short lady’s calm façade never shifted, no matter what they faced. She pressed her hand on his shoulder and a sense of relief washed over him like never before. The woman lifted her head to the sky and the soft flutter of wings could be heard.
