When he hesitates at intersections the owl flies ahead, scouting. It reports back with indiscernible signals relayed through blinks or ruffling of feathers or hoots and Zachary pretends to understand even though he does not and thus together they continue forward. Simon warned him that the sea was a far distance but failed to mention that the path was this dark and winding.

Now this man who is not quite lost in time and his feathered companion come to a campfire, well-built and burning, waiting for them. Next to the fire is a large cloth tent that appears to have sheltered many previous travelers in spaces with more weather. The inside is bright and inviting.

The tent is massive, tall enough for Zachary to stand up and walk around in. There are pillows and blankets that seem stolen from other places and other times and arranged here to provide respite for the passing weary traveler, too much color for such a monochrome space. There is even a post outside waiting for his torch to rest in, and something else hanging below it.

A coat. A very old coat with a great many buttons.

Zachary discards his travel-damaged sweater and carefully puts on Simon’s long-lost coat. The buttons are emblazoned with a crest, though in the light he cannot make out more than a smattering of stars.

The coat is warmer than his sweater. It is loose in the shoulders but Zachary does not care. He hangs his sweater on the post.

As Zachary buttons his new ancient coat the owl resettles itself on his shoulder and together they go to investigate the tent.

Inside the tent is a table set with a modest feast.

A bowl stacked with fruit: apples and grapes and figs and pomegranates. A round, crusty loaf of bread. A roasted Cornish game hen.

There are bottles of wine and bottles of mystery. Tarnished silver cups waiting to be filled. Jars of marmalade and honeycomb. A small object carefully wrapped in paper that turns out

to be a dead mouse.

“I think this is for you,” Zachary says but the owl has already swooped down to claim its treat. It looks up at him with the tail dangling from its beak.

On the other side of the tent is a table covered with inedible objects, neatly laid out on a gold-embroidered cloth.

A penknife. A cigarette lighter. A grappling hook. A ball of twine. A set of twin daggers. A tightly rolled wool blanket. An empty flask. A small metal lantern punched with star-shaped holes. A pair of leather gloves. A coiled length of rope. A rolled piece of parchment that looks like a map. A wooden bow and a quiver of arrows. A magnifying glass.

Some, but not all, of it will fit in his bag.

“Inventory management,” Zachary mutters to himself.

In the center of the table of supplies there is a folded note. Zachary picks it up and flips it open.

when you’re ready

choose a door

Zachary looks around the tent. There are no doors, only the flaps he entered through, tied open with cords.

He takes the torch from its resting place and walks out into the cavern, following the path beyond the tent.

Here the path stops abruptly at a crystalline wall.

In the wall where the path should continue there are doors.

One door is marked with a bee. Another with a key. And a sword and a crown and a heart and a feather though the doors are not in the order he has become accustomed to. The crown is at the end. The bee is in the center next to the heart.

The son of the fortune-teller stands before six doorways, not knowing which one to choose.

Zachary sighs and returns to the tent. He puts down the torch and picks up a thankfully already open bottle of wine and pours himself a cup. He has been given a place to pause before he proceeds and he is going to take it, despite its resemblance to similar virtual respites he has taken before. Nothing like too many health potions placed just before a door to signify something dangerous to come.

He considers the table filled with objects trying to decide what to take and pauses to catalogue what he already has:

One sword with scabbard.

One small owl companion currently tearing apart a silk cushion with its talons.

A chain around his neck with a compass, its needle currently spinning in circles. Two keys: his room key and the narrow key that had fallen out of Fortunes and Fables that he somehow never managed to ask Dorian about, and a small silver sword. Zachary moves on to examining the contents of his bag to think about someone, something, anything else.

Tags: Erin Morgenstern Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net