Page 23 of Inferno

But once he passed the edge of town and got into the forest, Yorin slowed down. It wasn’t often he had cause to come out this way, and truth be told, he really enjoyed the change of scenery. The air smelled fresher. The sound of the wind in the trees was far more soothing than the rattle of carts against cobblestones. And something tight in Yorin’s chest eased, even as he worried about Nerik having to travel in this wind.

He followed the same path he’d travelled yesterday; at the first fork in the road, he turned right, then left at the next fork. Aside from the main road to Azertel, there were numerous tracks crisscrossing all over the forest, leading to various cottages, or off to the west to some small hamlet or other. But Yorin had lived in Minia his whole life, and he knew the forest north of the city like the back of his hand, having spent plenty of summers running about here as a boy, playing with friends or just exploring for the sake of it.

As he walked, the sky darkened, and he quickened his pace again. It looked like a real storm was blowing in from the east, and he didn’t like the idea of getting caught in it before he reached Nerik’s cottage.

Two turns later, the squat little house came into view. Nerik kept it in good repair, the path to the front door free of weeds, the bushes around the house full of colourful flowers at this time of year. There was a grape vine growing over the arch at the gate, though Yorin knew from his conversation with Nerik in the pub that Nerik didn’t actually like grapes. Instead, he traded them with his neighbours for carrots, or potatoes, or sometimes for herbs. He also had a small apple tree out the back, and a garden where he grew beans, turnips and cabbages.

Today, though, despite the colour in the garden, the place looked drab and downcast. The sun was hidden behind black clouds, and parts of the sky, peeking through the trees, were looking almost green. Not a good sign.

Yorin hurried up the pathway, making sure to shut the gate firmly behind himself, and knocked at the door. There was no reply.

“Nerik? It’s Yorin.” He knocked again. “Are you home?”

Still no reply, and Yorin felt a touch of worry. Nerik had said he would have a few errands to run up in the mountains, and that he’d be home for dinner. But as he glanced up at the sky again, the first fat drops of rain began to fall. It was only about half past four, and for a long moment, he debated his next course of action. Barging into someone else’s house would be quite rude. But at the same time, Nerik had invited him over. And given how their meal at the pub had ended, Yorin felt that perhaps he might be in a position to take just a few small liberties?

But it had only been one date. They hadn’t even kissed yet. Maybe Nerik had meant for them to take things slowly? Was he reading too much into the whole ‘date’ idea?

On the other hand, he sincerely doubted that Nerik would be pleased to find that Yorin had been sitting out in the rain for an hour, waiting for him to come home because he thought that sitting quietly inside on a chair would be too rude.

A flash of lightning split the sky and a loud peal of thunder rattled the door on its hinges. Okay, that made up his mind. As the light splatter of rain turned into a heavier downpour, Yorin opened the door and darted inside the cottage, mentally apologising to Nerik and prepared to offer him a sensible explanation once he got home.

Yorin had never been inside Nerik’s home before. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Based on Nerik’s personality – extroverted and constantly on the move – he had in mind that his cottage would be cluttered, with random items strewn about on the table, or perhaps with yesterday’s dinner plate still unwashed. Not that he considered Nerik to be untidy or disorganised. Just that he didn’t seem the type to be too precise about his living quarters.

So it came as quite a surprise to find the place entirely clean and tidy. No stray cup or bowl on the table. No dirty pair of socks or yesterday’s shirt flung over the back of a chair. The place somehow seemed larger from the inside, a sizable table with four chairs set in one corner, a sofa with three soft cushions against the far wall, plus the kitchen. There was a sink that looked spotlessly clean. A water barrel that was mostly empty. Hm, if there was a break in the weather, Yorin might see about filling it up for him. And a long workbench with neat piles of plates, bowls and cutlery, also spotlessly clean.

There was a broom propped up in one corner, and an axe by the door. Wood was stacked in a rack near the fireplace. The whole place had a warm, homey feel to it, at the same time as being very practical and somewhat minimalistic.

Yorin took off his coat, hanging it on the back of the door, and then tugged off his boots, not wanting to track mud through the tidy cabin. He took a step towards the sofa… then looked at the kitchen chairs instead… and then took another peek out the window.

There was something soothing about watching the rain, assuming that one was indoors and sheltered from the effects of it, and so Yorin pulled one of the kitchen chairs over to the window. For the first ten minutes or so, he sat quietly, watching the rain come down outside the porch, aiming to make as little mess in the house as possible. But as time went on, he began to think about things a little more logically. What was the point in sitting here idly, when he could be doing something nice for Nerik? He would have had a long couple of days, trekking all the way up the mountain and back, and he’d no doubt be tired and hungry by the time he got home.

Yorin jumped up, setting about starting a fire to begin with. There was kindling and plenty of smaller sticks to get the thing going – along with the requisite box of matches – plus a few larger logs for when it was burning well.

Then he thought about dinner. He had no idea what Nerik might have been planning, or what he had on hand, but a quick check in the kitchen pantry turned up potatoes, carrots, turnips and a few strips of dried meat. Stew it was, then. Yorin found a box of salt and some rosemary to flavour it with, plus a bag of dried beans to thicken the stew. He set a pot over the fire to start heating water, and then went about chopping the vegetables. By the time Nerik got home, they should have a hearty meal to share, and a warm house for Nerik to dry off in. All things considered, it wasn’t the worst start to the evening.

◊ ◊ ◊

Huddled under his waterproof coat, Nerik cursed the storm as he jogged along the road. He’d seen the storm clouds gathering in the east since midday and tried to hurry as best he could, but with the wind whipping up clouds of leaves and dust, and debris all over the road, it had been slow going. He’d stopped at one point – perhaps foolishly so – to help an old man move a fallen tree off the road so he could get his cart past it. And all the while, the clouds had been gaining on him.

The rain had finally hit about half an hour ago, and while he’d dressed well for an excursion into the mountains, there was only so much waxed buckskin could do. His boots were soaked, his feet almost entirely numb, and if he hadn’t been inside the relative protection of his human skin, he’d have been in serious trouble well before now. Having a waterproof coat was all well and good, but what he hadn’t accounted for was the fact that in a heavy storm, the rain didn’t fall straight down. It blew sideways, getting in under his hood, creeping up his sleeves, soaking his trousers. Nerik could feel the fire inside himself cooling, sputtering a little around the edges.

Knowing he needed to think about this carefully, he ducked off the road and into a dense stand of pine trees. The branches were thick and blocked out the worst of the rain, granting him precious minutes to evaluate his situation. He could stay here for a while, wait out the storm. Except that he was going to need fuel soon. Creating a new spark with Vonta had taken a considerable amount of energy, but he’d been confident that he’d still had enough fuel on board to make it back to his cottage.

And that might have been true, when he wasn’t half soaked and needing a boost of heat to dry off the moisture. Ironically, he was in a forest surrounded by fallen branches, but everything lying on the forest floor was thoroughly wet by now, and entirely useless as fuel.

He could drop into the nearest cottage he came across, with the locals usually more than willing to help a traveller in need… but that would give him no opportunity to add fuel to his fire. Was he going to last the whole night without any additional fuel? He didn’t think so.

No, he really needed to get home. But how to do that, with water pelting from the sky?

One step at a time, Nerik counselled himself. The turnoff for the cottage was only another twenty minutes away. Then another five minutes, and he’d be able to see his house, and then it was only another dozen steps after that and he’d be indoors.

Starting a fire, though, was going to be a challenge…

Nope, just one step at a time. Reach the turnoff. He set off, tugging his coat tighter around himself and keeping his back to the rain as much as possible. His feet were numb, his legs feeling wooden, but he stumbled on. Just another ten minutes… Now just five minutes…

There it was, the turning down the narrow lane. Just another twenty steps or so… He stumbled, landing with one knee in a puddle, soaking a small part of him that wasn’t already wet.

You survived falling into a puddle as a child. You crossed the desert above Iddishmeil. You have seen entire kingdoms fall, and lived to tell the story. Get on your fucking feet and walk the three hundred metres back to your house.