-You are reading episodes of THE POWER IN THE DARK, which is Book 1 of THE
ANCIENT BLOODLINES TRILOGY by Barry Mathias. ISBN: 9781897435113
CHAPTER 8
John did not know in which direction to go, but there was nothing to be gained by waiting in the torrential rain. He was soaked to the skin and his body heat was cooling. He shivered, and began to walk quickly through the dense forest, following narrow tracks that were fast becoming quagmires as the water poured off the upper branches and flowed down the thick trunks of the trees. Overhead, he glimpsed the frequent flashes of light as the heavens exploded and the world around him drowned.
Much later, as the darkness increased, he reached a man-made track. The rain had eased as rapidly as it had started, and then stopped. Everything dripped loudly, and underfoot the puddles and small streams were ankle deep. He plodded on with the sword heavy on his shoulder and his feet sore and mud-clad. The scenery held no interest for him, and one tree blended with the next as the shadows thickened.
He was approaching the final point of exhaustion, when he limped into a wide clearing. On the opposite side was a thatched hut with a covered area in the front. A small figure sat at the open doorway, stirring a pot that hung over a hot fire.
As John approached, he saw it was an old man who appeared not to notice him, even though he splashed loudly over the sodden ground. The little figure continued to stir the pot, and threw in some herbs.
"So, you're here at last then!" he said enthusiastically, and there was a trace of merriment in his voice.
John stopped a few paces from the fire and his mouth sagged. "You were expecting me?" he gasped.
"A while ago. But you must be tired. Sit down and eat." The man indicated a small stool.
Obediently, John lowered the sword from his shoulder and gently eased himself onto the stool; his back rested against a wooden post supporting the makeshift porch. Who the man was, why he seemed to expect John's arrival, and whether there was any danger, was unimportant. John was too tired to care, and gratefully accepted a bowl of hot stew and a hunk of bread, and made no pretence to cover his ravening hunger.
The man said nothing as John rapidly consumed the food, but he studied the boy in a fixed and meditative manner from under his bushy eyebrows. He was a thin man of small stature with grey hair and a large hooked nose. He sipped from a steaming pewter mug and occasionally nodded his head as though agreeing with an internal conversation of his own.
"Drink this, it will do you good." The man handed John a second tankard. It was a hot, sweet drink that tasted of honey. John drank deeply and felt his body relax. The ache in his muscles disappeared and he experienced a great sense of contentment.
"My real name is unimportant, but you may call me Owl." Once again there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Owl? What an odd name," John murmured. He had difficulty keeping his eyes open.
"A good name. You see the owl hunts at night and is rarely seen during the day. He has a great advantage over other birds." Owl laughed. It was a warm, throaty sound.
"How did you know I was coming?'
"I was told to expect you, John, or should I say Giles?"
John sat up with a start. "You know my name... my other name... nobody knows that except..."
"Except Old Mary? No, don't be afraid, I am not like the man with the twisted jaw. I know her as a friend." He smiled.
"But how?"
