Chapter 62. The Two at the Crossroads (15)
Eustar pressed down the suffocating feeling rising from within and placed both hands on his waist as he looked around. Then suddenly, he untied his hair with a sharp motion, clenched the tie between his lips, and murmured as if to himself.
“Laila, can you check the Seeker again?”
Laila pulled out the Seeker from her pocket and checked it, but it was useless. From the moment she had the sense that something was wrong, she had been checking the Seeker every three steps, but the needle hadn’t moved once—it remained still and silent.
At times, it twitched as if it might move, but just as often it would spin all the way around only to return to its original place.
Laila shook her head.
“It’s still not moving.”
Meanwhile, Eustar deftly gathered his long hair, twisting it tightly and coiling it into a bun at the back of his head, securing it firmly in place.
Since the tie alone wasn’t enough, he pulled a thin, sharp golden pin from the inner pocket of his jacket and stuck it into the bun with force.
Watching him handle his hair so neatly, Laila commented,
“Doing your hair like that makes you look like a traveler.”
Eustar grinned at that. Seeing his smile, Laila suddenly felt the anxious emotions within her begin to fade. Was it because his smile carried such power, or was it something else…?
“Calling me a traveler isn’t entirely wrong, is it?”
Laila furrowed her brows for a moment, like a child deep in thought, before adding,
“No, I mean like a wanderer. But you’re not really a wanderer, Eustar.”
“Hm, practically speaking, that’s true. But here’s the funny thing, Laila. I always think of myself as a wanderer.”
“Why…”
She started to ask, but trailed off, closing her mouth. She thought she understood why he said that.
When she thought of Sierrow’s palace—splendid but somehow empty, even desolate at times—it was no wonder he felt that way.
A place where no one could sleep peacefully at night, where everyone equally suffered nightmares until they opened their eyes to the salvation of the morning sun.
Eustar spoke again.
“But that’s not the important thing right now… Laila, you’re right. We’re completely lost. It shouldn’t take this long to reach Vintosheath from the crossroads. Especially when Vintosheath is still right there, clearly in sight.”
He pointed toward the hazy silhouette of Vintosheath, shrouded in pale fog. A few rooftops and houses could be seen above the low-lying mist. They looked like skulls floating on the blurred swamp.
Eustar tried pulling out several of his magical tools, but like the Seeker, they weren’t of much use.
Some of them didn’t even function, as if their magic had been drained. Not only the Seeker but also the Lanninglow—the eyeball that had once located Laila—was unresponsive.
“At this rate, wandering like this, we’ll end up as the subject of the village’s strange rumors.”
Laila nodded in agreement. That was the last thing she wanted—to wander forever along this gloomy, ominous path until she collapsed…
“There must be some way…”
As she listened to Eustar’s low muttering, Laila suddenly pressed her lips together with a determined expression.
It was a strange look, as though she was holding back something she truly wanted to say. Eustar wasn’t one to miss such changes, and he immediately fixed his gaze on her.
“What are you thinking, Laila?”
After some hesitation, Laila cautiously glanced up at him. She looked as if speaking her thought aloud might make Eustar jump like a startled rabbit.
“There’s a method my mother once taught me.”
Eustar blinked twice.
“What kind of method?”
“A spell… for finding the path when you’re lost. To be honest, my mother only taught me a few spells. But that was one of them.”
“Why didn’t you say so sooner?”
Laila bit her lip and gave him a strange look again.
“Because a witch’s magic doesn’t always bring good results. If I were alone, I would have already tried it when I first noticed the path was strange. But now…”
“Because I’m with you, you couldn’t?”
Yes. Laila answered only inwardly. She didn’t want him to ask “why.” But her efforts were in vain.
“Why?”
“I didn’t answer on purpose because I thought you’d ask that, but you still did.”
Her voice sounded like that of a sulky child.
But Eustar didn’t seem to mind—or perhaps he didn’t care—because suddenly, he burst into cheerful laughter. It was a bright sound, incongruous with someone weary of the foggy path and endless wandering.
“Of course I’d ask. Why would you think I wouldn’t be curious if you stayed silent?”
Laila chewed her lip. Eustar gazed steadily at her troubled face, unreadable whether she was embarrassed or annoyed, before smiling and stepping back.
“Show me, Laila. Show me what this magic is. Right now, the only thing we can rely on is your magic.”
“It’s not that simple. When my mother taught me this spell, she said…”
—Always remember, things other than the path itself may appear. Wanting only to find exactly what you desire is just greed.
That’s what Mother had said. And Laila knew better than anyone what “other things” meant. It could be a monster, a vengeful spirit, or something far more sinister and dangerous. Which is why…
“Laila.”
Eustar’s voice cut through her thoughts. Like a taut string suddenly sliced by a blade, Laila jumped in surprise, dazed for a moment.
He continued,
“Don’t mind what your mother said.”
Laila’s eyes widened. It was as if she could hear her mother humming at her ear, warning her not to listen. Or was it…?
“Laila, do you remember the day we first met? At your house—the rocking chair. I told you not to sit in it.”
She nodded. “Of course I remember.” Then, frowning slightly, she added, “Come to think of it, I’ve always wanted to ask why you said that.”
Eustar tilted his head in imitation of her, then crossed his arms.
“Didn’t you say that chair had belonged to your mother?”
“Not just her. It probably belonged to her mother, and her mother before that too.”
“Exactly. For generations, witches raising their daughters alone must have sat in that chair—knitting, reading…”
Laila cut in.
“Knitting? I doubt that.”
“I mean metaphorically. Maybe they were brewing dangerous tinctures or reading books of dark magic. But the point is, they spent long hours in it. Strange stories often cling to old objects because the thoughts and souls of their users seep in. Slowly, layer upon layer. Like old pie dough being pressed down, until mold begins to creep in between. That chair was exactly like that.”
“You mean… something bad was in it?”
Eustar rubbed his cheek with a fingertip.
“Not at first. But do you think everyone who sat there for so long had only happy thoughts? Negative ones are absorbed faster—by living things and even by objects. You know that principle yourself.”
“Yes, I do.”
Laila now understood why he had said what he did. She briefly considered telling him about the strange dream she’d had a few days ago but decided against it.
Eustar said,
“The reason I brought this up, Laila, is because you still seem bound to your mother. Even though she’s gone, sometimes it feels like you only exist as her ‘daughter.’ Do you understand?”
She almost retorted that of course that was natural, but then she stopped herself.
He was right. Apart from Deceptor’s influence… she had to be an independent being. This wasn’t Ridicus anymore. Laila was no longer just the witch’s daughter—she was a witch herself. And she had things to do.
Things other than picking mushrooms, she thought.
“Step back a little, Eustar.”
He noticed her tone had changed.
When he took a few more steps back, she nodded as if satisfied. Then she rolled up the sleeves of her uniform jacket, exposing her pale, slender wrist—thin as a daffodil stem.
“What are you doing?”
Eustar asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and unease. Laila glanced at him with her glowing red eyes and shrugged.
“Finding the path, like I said.”
Then, with her thumbnail, she scored her wrist. A thin red line appeared, and blood began to drip.
Eustar’s eyes widened as he saw the drops soak into the earth—then slither like a snake on their own.
Branches rustled and swayed.
Laila let more blood fall, then pressed her palm against the wound. The drops moved to form a crimson circle, twisting together into a peculiar pattern.
“The shoes that cover my feet are Inglod’s. Before me lies a thicket of thorns. Go on, Inglod. Which way will you take?”
She whispered the incantation, and the red markings shifted, changing shape.
Watching it made Eustar’s stomach churn. He felt as if at any moment those things might leap at him…
Somewhere, a rustle sounded. The ends of Laila’s short hair lifted in a faint breeze. Then, like curtains drawn apart, the mist surrounding them split and cleared.
Eustar turned, startled. Where there had been forest moments ago, a road now lay open. The entrance to Vintosheath stood right before them. And then…
Laila, looking the same way, spoke.
“I told you. Other things will appear besides the path.”
