14-1Syffox methodically trudged along the mountain steppes to Vantaiga’s home with tired feet in the mid-afternoon sun. The days were long and hot on the mountain path, but he pushed himself forward with thoughts of the elegant and mysterious woman who had captivated his heart and mind. A growl in his stomach brought up thoughts of her cooking as well.
Since parting with her, his journey had ended with the delivery of what turned out to be the deeds of title from some deceased lord to a long-lost heir. So it would happen, the horse he was given for the errand was not payment but in fact, one of the titles. After giving up the horse, he had made his way back to his newfound love on foot. It was a road made even longer by taking the long way around the mountains. If the Snake King had survived his wound, Syffox did not want to risk meeting him alone.
He tried not to begrudge the long journey without his horse. He resigned himself to accept it merely for what it was. Ultimately, the time and distance did not matter. He liked to travel and had no other place to be anyways.
So it was with great relief, elation, and no small amount of fear that Syffox saw Vantaiga’s humble oasis farm around a final mountain bend. He quickened his step and tried to keep his anticipation and nervousness in check. A lot of time had passed since they first met. Did she still feel the same? Should she feel the same? Should he feel the same?
They had only met briefly. Did he even want to be involved with someone who may very well be a witch? He found that last question interesting. Finding out was a big part of why he ventured all this way to see her again in the first place—but, he wondered, was that reason enough?
As Syffox approached the farm, his anticipation turned to concern. There was no activity at the small oasis. No tendril of smoke wafting from the chimney, no smells of herbs and breads cooking. The closer he got, the more abandoned the house looked. Dread washed over him. Had he taken too long to return, and had she left her home? He did not think that made any sense, but fear and doubt was taking over now.
He walked to the door of the small abode with a knot in his stomach. The farm animals noticed him and bleated or clucked their excitement to see him. Syffox became very concerned as he knocked on his disunited lover’s door.
He waited, but there was no answer. The door did not open to reveal smiles or gleaming eyes, no warm hugs or kisses, not even rolling pins or knives. The only thing to greet Syffox was silence. He knocked on the door, harder this time. The door shifted open. It was not only unlocked but unlatched. His chest tightened. Had she abandoned her home? He pushed open the door and called out for her—still no sound. A gnawing feeling began churning in his stomach. He poked his head inside the door and called out again.
The small home was eerily quiet and cool. There was cookware on the stove but no fire. The house appeared to be collecting dust and Vantaiga’s numerous plants were withering. Prepared and unprepared vegetables were left to wizen on the table, and whatever it was that had been cooking on the stove had long spoiled. His pulse raced as he thought he may now be looking for a corpse. Syffox peered into Vantaiga’s chamber and her work room. He was partly relieved to find she wasn’t in the rooms.
He ran out to the garden, calling for her. The only reply he received was from Vantaiga’s animals, which were now very excited to see him. Weeds growing among her vegetables told him they had not been attended to in some time. The animals seemed similarly neglected and anxiously paced for his attention. Frantic now, he scanned the horizon, yelling her name, but he could not hear anything over the sound of her starved and dehydrated animals. Perhaps she had left to get water or supplies from elsewhere.
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Syffox checked her cistern and found it had plenty of water. He stopped to calm himself and gather his thoughts. He had come by way of the closest village. Had she left for supplies, he would have met her on the road. He didn’t think she would have gone the other direction. The only thing he knew of that way was desert and mountains and… the Snake King. Syffox cursed aloud. The Snake King was probably still alive and had come for revenge.
In a flash of panic, he began running to the front of the house, but stopped. He couldn’t leave the animals as they were. He didn’t know how long he would be gone. Syffox fed and watered the animals as fast as he could. The animals were grateful for the tending, despite the hay and grain being thrown at them, or that half their water was spilled on the ground. It had been a long time since they’d had either, and they gobbled whichever struck them first. Syffox felt bad he couldn’t do more for them, but he had to find his lost love.
By the time he completed the chores, his stomach was a knot of worry. He began to run down the mountain road. The thoughts of what could be happening to her and what he was going to do spiralled out of control. How was he going to find the Snake King’s lair? How was he going to defeat the Snake King alone? How was he going to manage running to a place that took him hours to reach by horseback?
He dropped his pace to a slow jog, not much faster than a walk. He took a few deep breaths to clear his thoughts and ease his stomach. He had to focus on finding the Snake King before he could consider any of his other worries.
He tried to recall the path he had taken with Vantaiga, but after all the turns running away from the snakes, he’d been well lost by the time they encountered the beast. It was only because of Vantaiga and the vulture guiding them that they were able to find their way out of the mountains. Syffox looked around on the slopes. There was no vulture waiting to come to his aid.
He looked at the road and the dry shrubs that lined it. They certainly did not seem eager to help him either. Despair came over him. This would be impossible. He did not know this land and would never be able to find her.
Despite his growing sense of futility, he continued down the road at his trudging pace. He knew where the mountain pass came to the road, but that was about it. The rest he would have to figure out once he got there.
The monotony of his steps and the barren landscape around him helped ease Syffox’s racing brain. The pace he kept was slow but efficient. In his younger days, he could maintain such a stride all day. He wasn’t so sure he could do so now. Thoughts of how much his legs would hurt tomorrow drifted through his head.
He pushed aside the negativity. He knew the key was to not think about the time, or the distance, or the pain, or the heat of Coronus’s ridicule. He needed to let his thoughts drift away while his feet chewed at the miles.
Syffox’s mind floated about the road around him. It flowed over the rocks and through the sparse plants as his feet plodded along the path. He managed to push most thoughts away, but from the back of his mind, one kept returning. It was the thought that there were signs to follow and that he could find her. He didn’t really understand how he would find her or what the signs were, but he liked the encouragement, so he let the abstract thought lead him down the road.
When he reached the mountain pass, a bush caught his attention. Despite his urgency, he thought he needed to stop. He couldn’t help but think the bush would have a sign for him. He examined the bush, but it appeared to be an ordinary, scraggly hop bush, yet he couldn’t shake the idea that it held a clue of Vantaiga. He looked over its branches more carefully, and there, caught in its dry, twisted leaves, he found the long strands of a woman’s hair. His heart leapt with surprise and relief.
She had been this way.
Syffox continued his deliberate steady jog into the pass. Coronus was low in the sky now and the mountain shadows darkened the trail. Syffox did not concern himself with the waning light. He found if he relaxed and opened his mind to the world around him, he could see the signs of her passing. It was as if the plants and even the trail itself was telling him what to look for.
There were footprints. There was a strange, winding mark he could only guess was that of the Snake King’s slithering body. And occasionally, another mark showed itself. It was a deep trough parting the dirt and rocks. Syffox couldn’t help but imagine the grim image of Vantaiga being dragged over the rough ground. The vision was too distracting. He pushed it aside and allowed his mind to be open to wherever the trail directed him.
