Chapter 2: Chapter Seven – Back Where He Started

In all the black bog of Miremurk, there seemed to be no signs of life. Curesoon did not hear a single bird chirping among the broken branches of the trees nor were there sounds of creatures moving through the dry black leaves that cover every inch of the muddy forest floor.

“This is a swamp, and I don’t even hear frogs croaking!” The bard muttered to himself.

Moreover, he did not see one green thing growing, but there were thick knots of thorn-covered brambles which frequently barred his way. Many times, he was forced to go around these painful wads of undergrowth.

The only other sight that met Curesoon’s blue eyes was the seemingly endless tangle of broken trees and the never-ending supply of stagnated pools and streams. All of these reeking bodies of water were choked by the same black decaying leaves that covered the slightly dryer mud.

Though the bog was eerily silent, it seemed as if someone or something had gone about destroying and defiling whatever happened to be in its path.

Uneasily, Curesoon began to recall the words of Guileless. He had dismissed them so quickly, but now that the bard was walking through the bog himself, the shuddering farmer’s belief in Trolls did not seem quite so farfetched, and that idea made the bard glance about with more than a few shudders of his own.

Plucking up his courage, Curesoon struggled onward through Miremurk slowly moving around the stagnant pools, grasping brambles, and between wads of broken trees until he abruptly stopped and held his breath. In that moment, he locked his blue eyes upon a darker place in the wood, for he thought he had seen something moving in the distance. However, after a long pause, he observed nothing more, and so he stepped slowly forward again.

“There it is again!” Curesoon screamed within his mind. “And this time I hear leaves rustle with its movement!”

His heart began to race, and his mind imagined the most dreadful things were just beyond his view lurking in the deeper shadows. He felt as though there were eyes watching him around every black twisted tree.

He swallowed hard, but after a moment, he shook his head scolding himself. “I’ll never find my wife and sons if I fear to tread upon the path that she so valiantly traversed!”

Curesoon began to move forward once more, but every one of his steps through the dry black leaves seemed to echo like rumbling thunder. Then, as he pulled each foot out from the mud that swallowed his steps, the sucking sound was equally as loud. The whole forest seemed to be conspiring to betray his presence!

He took another deep breath and another few loud steps toward the place where he thought he had seen movement asking himself, “What if it’s my wife or one of my sons?”

As Curesoon drew near, he gazed at something that stirred even as he watched. Then, when he was only a pace away, the deathly silence of the bog was split by a shrill squawk. At the same time, the dark form thrust itself toward his face. Fearfully, he stumbled backward as the black shape passed over him with a flurry of ebony feathers.

Looking after the creature while still on the flat of his back, the bard saw that it had only been a large raven.

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Landing upon a low limb some distance away, the bird let out a loud croak. Then the creature ruffled his feathers with a shudder that started at his head, spread over his glossy black body, and ended with a flick of his tail.

“I scared you?!?” Curesoon grumbled as if the raven had complained.

Pulling himself out of the mud, he tried to scrape the reeking muck from his backside as best he could, and then he washed his hands in a nearby stagnated pool.

While doing this, he forced himself to laugh and then spoke to the bird again. “I’m being nothing but silly! This bog has given me the shivers for the last time!” He added with a new sense of resolve.

With that, he pulled his lute around from where it hung upon his back and began to play a cheerful little tune. The music seemed to lessen the penetrating eeriness of Miremurk. Thus, the bard began to stroll through the bog while the clear notes of his lute’s merry song drowned out all his fears.

After a short time of strolling and playing, he caught a glimpse of light far up ahead. He let his lute slide around to hang on his back again and quickened his pace. Though his lute had driven away his fear, he was still quite ready to be out from the darkness of that foul swamp.

With a deep inhale of breath, Curesoon stepped out from the darkness, and to his glad surprise, it was already near midday. He smiled brightly as he felt the sun upon his face.

Bathed in light, his anxiousness dropped off from around his neck like the taking away of a hangman’s noose. He stood for some time enjoying the warmth and letting his eyes adjust to the beautiful sunshine that washed the whole landscape before him.

However, after a few seconds of studying his surroundings, he noticed that a small cottage with a barn and a low stone wall sat within a lovely little meadow.

“You know, that looks an awful lot like the home of farmer Guileless.” Curesoon said to himself.

Immediately, a sick feeling came into the bard’s stomach. He looked down the edge of the bog, and sure enough, there sat his cart still parked where he had left it next to his extinguished campfire.

The bard rubbed his face as he felt heat growing in his ears and across the back of his neck. It was now quite clear that all his attempts to avoid the reeking pools of stagnate water and the tangled undergrowth of thorns had caused him to come almost full circle, so that he now stood paces away from where he began.

After a few more seconds of disbelief and irritation, he turned again entering Miremurk for the second time.

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