The Undesirable Backup Plan

       At that point in time, Ciaran and Donal were running. Not just a leisurely jog, mind you, but they were running for their lives. Neither of them enjoyed jogging in the first place, so you can imagine how unhappy they were to be unable to stop.

       “This-- is all your-- fault!” Donal panted, mad that he didn't have enough breath to argue properly.

       “Yeah! My fault you're still alive!” Ciaran retorted, gasping for breath himself.

       “I could've killed him!”

       “With those soldiers there? --We'd be dead!”

       “Good! Then I wouldn't-- be in so much-- pain now!” Donal had a cramp in his side, and his legs were like dead weights. “How much further?”

       “Oh, just-- a few more miles!”

       They were on their way to That Woman's house. They had to run the last several miles, unable to transport themselves any closer, because they'd never been to that part of the country. As soon as they had appeared outside of the closest town, dogs started barking, lights were turned on in the nearby houses. People opened their doors, asking things like “Who's there?” and the two sought-after fugitives took off running.

        It had been a very long night. Ciaran hadn't known what to hope for when he and Donal fled the battlefield. His house in the abandoned village was always the first place that came to mind when he wanted to be alone and safe. After Donal's initial rage at being rescued instead of allowed to attack Brand, he lunged for the medicine cabinet, and scooped all the bottles into a sack.

       “Donal, that won't do any good!”

       “You don't know that! We have to try!”

       “They might still be there waiting for us!”

       “That doesn't matter! Jinge might not be dead yet!”

       Ciaran watched his cousin sadly. He didn't know how Jinge could possibly be alive after that. “Wait, do you hear that?” he walked to the window and moved the curtain slightly. Soldiers with crossbows were surrounding the place. “They're here.”

       “Fine, let's go.” Donal threw the sack over his shoulder. They zipped back to the smoky clearing in the forest, now empty.

       Jinge's body was gone. The spear that had killed him wasn't there either.

       Donal dropped the bag of medicine, at a loss. “What happened to him?”

       “I don't... There are scorch marks on the ground.”

       “Did the goblins get to him? Did they burn him?” (Note: it is a Goblin Tradition to burn their dead.)

      “They're be some remains left, wouldn't there?”

       Donal covered his face in his hands. There was nothing he could do... how much more useless could he possibly get?

       “We have to keep moving.” Ciaran said. “If they could tell we were here before, they can still tell now. They must have some sort of detection grid set up.”

       Donal was silent for a moment. “Where do we go now?”

       “Um...” Ciaran's mind was blank. “Um... You remember that plan of mine that you didn't like?”

       “No.” Donal said shortly, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no--” There was a flash of light nearby; soldiers-- and maybe Brand as well-- were coming again.

        “We have to!” Ciaran pulled his unwilling cousin to his feet and forced him to transport again. And that's where you came in: the scene of our poor young men huffing and puffing furiously.

        They reached her house just before dawn.

        After knocking on the ancient, carved door, they were greeted by a very wrinkly old woman wearing a nightcap and a scowl. She was a light sleeper, but definitely not a morning person.

        “I had a feeling you'd show up sooner or later.” she said.

       Ciaran sighed with relief and Donal winced, hoping it looked like a smile. “Hello, Aunt Maud.” they said together.

        She stepped aside to let them in. “Leave your shoes at the door. I suppose you want breakfast?” without waiting for an answer, she made a gesture, and a rattling old cart came shooting down the hallway and into the dining room. It was loaded with steaming hot food, ready to be served. Donal grabbed a handful of his own hair and tugged.

        “How does she still remember what kinds of food I hate?” he said under his breath.

        “I don't think she forgets anything.” Ciaran whispered back.

        “You two, wash your hands first. I don't know where they've been.” Aunt Maud commanded. They obeyed her. Aunt Maud was not to be disobeyed, for she was the eldest relative of the former king. She was their great aunt, the old woman they were sent to spend summer holidays with when they were children. She had liked Ciaran the most out of her nephews because he was quiet. Donal had managed to escape the awful tradition after acquiring Jinge as his bodyguard, not because Aunt Maud was afraid, but because she didn't want her house damaged if Donal couldn't “control his pet.”

         The old woman lowered herself into the chair at the end of the table. “Sit.” she said. “You here, and you there.”

         They sat. Their helpings were distributed. Donal stared at the plate of mushy cornmeal, tomato sauce, and cheese. As a child it had made him want to vomit. He'd often think of the story of Hansel and Gretel, fattened up by the old witch before they were to be eaten, and how it would never work on him. He picked up his fork.

         Ciaran's serving wasn't much better. It was a large bowl of corned beef and cabbage, which I'm sure many of you have enjoyed. This, however, was a very tasteless, watery soup, with long strings of cabbage, not enough potatoes, and hardly any beef. Ciaran had only survived the many meals of it because he'd fed the cabbage to Aunt Maud's cat under the table. He picked up his spoon.

         “Now,” Aunt Maud said, folding her purple-veined hands together. “When are you two going to stop running around and avenge my nephew's death? Everyone believes he was possessed by a demon, and that the young upstart had no choice but to stab him through the heart. They think he is trying to find you to clear up the misunderstanding! What do you think you're doing, hiding and running, when you should be telling everyone the truth?!”

          It was turning into a full-scale lecture, for she had started asking questions as soon as food had entered their mouths. They chewed and swallowed in a hurry, to avoid getting a rap on the knuckles.

          “We've been trying-- wait, you don't believe Brand?” Donal asked, a little surprised.

           “Of course not! Your sly older brother is not to be trusted.” she wagged her finger at Ciaran. “That boy never finished his dinner! He was always trying to play tricks on the cat, or to put a saddle on the dog and ride it!”

           “Oh. No, the last one was me.” Ciaran murmured, scratching his head in embarrassment. He got a rap on the knuckles. “Ow!”

           “Don't interrupt. You've got to tell everyone the truth.”

           “They won't believe us.” Ciaran protested, rubbing his fingers.

           “Don't play with your food.”

           Donal was caught in the act of making fork imprints in the mush.

           “Look, he just killed Jinge.” Ciaran said. “We came here for a place to rest before we figure out what to do next.”

           Aunt Maud stood up, eyes blazing. “Do you think my nephew's soul is resting? Do you think his murdered ghost is at peace? No! You will go back to the castle and tell everyone the truth! If not, his blood will be on your hands as well! On your hands!”

           She pointed an accusing finger at them, and the lights dimmed. She was glowing like a ghost, and blood was dripping off of both Donal and Ciaran's hands. They screamed, just like they had when they were boys.

            The illusion vanished, and the lights turned on again.

“Well, well.” said Aunt Maud, looking pleased. She stood up, leaning heavily on her cane. “I can see that you boys are tired. I'll make sure your beds are clean. Sleep well...”

            And with that, she hobbled out of the room.