Yes, I know. No excuses!
So I ended up going somewhere with this week's choice of prompt that didn't have much to do with the prompt at all. I used the "Write about a physical limitation" one, but the limitation that comes up in my response is more mental than anything!
Anyway, it's another entry into the universe that I talked about in last week's response (with Genevra and Terese), and this concerns the first meeting of two of the characters in the story. And actually, those two characters originated in this poetry prompt response. Hope you enjoy!
***
Leo didn’t know how long he’d been there, curled up at the base of the mountain. He knew at one point – he had counted the minutes under his breath for a while – but the number fell off the tip of his tongue when he wasn’t paying attention.
Everything seemed to be doing that. He found that when he tried to remember little things like the quilt on his bed at home, or the color of his mother’s hair, it slipped out into the heavy fog surrounding him, hovering in the air beyond his reach. He was even having trouble remembering his own surname.
Weir, he reminded himself every few seconds, just to be safe. Son of Michael and Kathleen Weir, who traveled all over the world just to stop people from going to Hell. That’s where they were going when he let go of their hands, just for a moment, to pick up something he dropped. Either they hadn’t noticed he wasn’t there, or they’d gotten turned around in the fog somehow, it didn’t make a difference to Leo. It would be easier to find him if he stayed where he was.
But the more things he forgot, the livelier the woods became. He kept thinking that he saw half-formed figures flitting around him, or heard whispering, but when he called out, no one answered him. Finally, he buried his head in his knees and clamped his hands over his ears.
“There you are.”
Leo didn’t move at first, but the voice had clarity that the whispers in the air lacked. Slowly, he raised his head.
The boy standing in front of him looked to be close to Leo’s own ten years of age, maybe a little younger. Though his clothing looked worn, it was unusually clean, and his neat black hair contrasted sharply with Leo’s thick auburn. He tilted his head to one side, and his black eyes widened, taking Leo in. “You’re lost, aren’t you?”
Leo only curled up tighter, inching away. The boy looked momentarily confused, but then offered a knowing smile. “I’m not an illusion.”
“How can I know for sure?” Leo demanded, inching away.
“For sure?” the boy asked, frowning. After a moment in apparently deep thought, he answered, “I guess you can’t.”
“Then why should I talk to you?” Leo asked, his voice gaining just a little confidence as the boy stumbled.
“Umm… well…” The boy shifted from foot to foot, linking his hands behind his back, before tentatively taking a step forward and holding out a hand. “You can check to see if I’m solid, if you like.”
Leo narrowed his eyes. He wanted to ask how he was supposed to know it wasn’t a trick, but realized that it would probably sound more like a whine than a proper adult question. Instead, he muttered, “I’m not gonna hold your hand.”
Another sharp, mocking whisper rang in the air above them. The boy sighed, in a rather different tone, “I know. He’s very picky for a lost kid.”
Annoyance surging, Leo reached forward and took the outstretched hand. Cold, but solid.
“See?” The placid face looked almost smug as he pulled Leo to his feet. “Told you.” Before there could be any retort, he asked, “Where were you trying to go?”
The redhead scowled, but his head suddenly felt less cluttered. “My parents and I were supposed to go to a village on this side of the mountains, but we got separated.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “Well, there’s only one village nearby. I’m going in that direction anyway, so you should come with me.”
Leo started to protest, but remembering the boy’s criticism, he nodded. “You don’t have to hold my hand the whole time, do you? Since the fog looks thinner.” And that wasn’t just an excuse: as they started walking, Leo found he could see better.
This time, he could make out the words of the whispering: it hissed “And why does he think that is?” next to his ear.
“Why indeed,” the black-haired boy said, barely audible. “Anyway, passing through the mountains without a guide is dangerous. It’s better if you follow me closely.”
“You don’t have a guide,” Leo pointed out.
“Um…” He smiled self-consciously. “I am a guide.”
“… oh.” He hunched his shoulders and picked up his pace; he’d been letting the boy drag him along at first. “So… why is it so dangerous?”
If the boy was surprised that Leo didn’t know, he didn’t show it. He simply explained, “These mountains are the southernmost point of the gods’ territory. It’s not a good place for people to go into.”
“Gods?” Leo’s face scrunched, but then his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh! So you’re a pagan!”
The boy turned to face him, eyebrows raised. “A what?”
He immediately backed off; it was possible that the boy was embarrassed about being a pagan or something. “I-I was just gonna say, you seem to know your way around pretty well. Well enough to find me, anyway.”
“Mmmm. Well, that’s...” He trailed off, paused, and finished the sentence with a simple shrug. Then, even quieter, he asked, “Oh, uh, what’s your name?”
“Leo Weir.” He sighed in relief – he still knew it. “You?”
“Mine?” A pause. “I don’t have one.”
“What, you forgot it?”
“Um, no, that’s not it.” He stumbled over a tree root, but regained his stride. “I just don’t have one.”
“Then what do people call you?” Leo asked in horror.
“… ‘hey, kid?’” he offered tentatively.
“Oh, man, that’s no good,” he groaned, brushing his hair back with his free hand. “If you’re gonna be my guide, you’ll have to have something better than that. I’ll come up with something.”
“Come up with…” His eyes widened. “I-I’m not a pet.”
“Don’t worry.” Leo grinned. “It’ll be a good one.”
