Large-Hearted Boy. Part Five.

Geoffrey turned to the master. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“I’m not known for my humor,” Selden answered, his impatience clear.

“And you’re somehow ... angry with me?” The young man stood in his stirrups and drew back his cloak so that he could better reach his sword.

“Don’t be foolish,” Selden told him. “And take your seat!”

The boy sat, though he couldn’t help himself from staring right and left into the trees that lined their way.

“Calm down, boy,” the master told him, “and stop staring about in so blasted obvious a way.”

“Are we in danger?" He would draw his sword.

“If they want us dead, they’ll use arrows. Your sword’s no use here.”

“And your magic?”

Selden laughed. “I’m a mathematician.”

“Surely you can–”

“I can’t cloak us, no.” He thought. “I can blur our actions, not that it would help much, or I can perhaps confuse them.”

The trail was so quiet. No bird calls, no wind.

Selden asked, “You can’t feel them?” His expression seemed to ask for some confirmation from the boy.

“No. Truthfully, I can’t.”

Selden nodded. “It’s because they’re foreign to you.”

“Bitterfolk?”

“Whoever calls them that?”

“Young people ... I suppose. It’s how we know them.”

“It’s rude, Geoffrey. I won’t have it.”

“Yes, of course.” He wouldn’t argue about language now. “They’re following us, is that it?” He was getting anxious, even a bit desperate to know if they were being stalked.

“Granted, they are an aggrieved people. They would be justified in being bitter toward us.” He felt the stares of the three men in the shadows of the trees.

Selden continued, “They are understandably wary of us. Not you and me, mind you. They could make an end of us like that.” He snapped the fingers of his right hand. “Like that,” he repeated. His left hand massaged the neck of his old mule. Selden seemed never to reach for the reins. The animal knew the direction Selden would have him go.

Geoffrey could hardly stand listening to the master ramble, but he wouldn’t interrupt. The master would tell him if there would be trouble.

Selden spoke aloud, but his mind was distracted and his words came slowly to his lips. “They’re ... resentful.” He was reading at least one of the men. “Angry ... about some new agreement their tribe was forced to swallow. That’s the bitter part. And ... they know. That I’m a priest. And that I would be missed ... that they would be blamed ... that the fighting would break out again.”

Selden called out to the boy, who looked and understood. The men are leaving. We’ll be safe at least to Cald Mere.