Ekleipsis (Fantasy Romance - LGBT, manXman)

7.5.

After loading their horses with gifts and provisions, the travelers left the Ujjay village and headed back to the river. Ichor had not changed from last week, and Bharaputra still rolled its watery silt past the time-blackened docks. By all counts, the barge had to come here in the morning of the next day. But it did not come in the morning, at noon or at night.

The next day, a boat with two fishermen paddled up to them. They explained, mainly gesturing, that the Mithu ran aground on a sandbank some fifty miles downriver, got a hole in its hull, and the repairs were likely to take over three days.

The news clearly upset Alva. His impatience made any long wait insufferable.

"Three days! I'd die of boredom!" he complained. Suddenly, he beamed. "We could hike upriver, to the point where the two channels meet. We could get on any boat there, and we'd be back in Nishapur in a couple of days. And if the Mithu is good to go early, we'd get on it."

It seemed like a sensible plan. Except, to carry it out, they would have to travel through the jungle, and, even worse, go along the river − exactly what Ithildin had tried to avoid. He wanted to object, but could not find the arguments. All he had was his vague, faint vision, and, one, especially, that Kintaro had asked him not to mention.

He looked helplessly at Kintaro, and the barbarian shook his head, almost imperceptibly. The deal was still on. Ithildin had to give up.

The elf made a vow to himself that he would be ever vigilant in the jungle, and would never let go of his sword. Giving in to a strange foreboding, he took out Alva's gift and tried to fix the sheathed blade to his back, as his lovers stared at him in surprise.

"I ought to let you know I was just joking about the demons," Alva snorted. "The likelihood of running into them around here is pretty much zero. As everywhere else."

Ithildin looked stubborn. "A weapon never goes useless."

"It's just decorative. It's not even sharp."

Unexpectedly, Kintaro came to the elf's aid. "Let him be. A noble blade does not belong with the rags. Even if it is silver and has no cutting edge." Then he helped Ithildin to fasten the scabbard so it would be easier to carry.

It seemed this journey was to be loaded with unpleasant surprises. The trek along the river proved a lot harder than they expected. They had to cut their way through the thicket, wade through mud and swat off biting insects that bred in the silt.

It was evident that Alva was already regretting his venture. When they picked a moderately dry spot and camped for the night, Ithildin thought that, come morning, Alva would be easily convinced to go back and wait for the Mithu back in Ichor. It might be dull there, but safe and comfortable.

At this thought, his eyelids suddenly became heavy. The elf blinked a couple of times and realized, unexpectedly, that the surroundings have grown a lot darker. The fire had almost died down, and occasional small flames rose in the embers and died down again. But only a few minutes ago the fire had been roaring. Did he really fall asleep? Can't be. But the somnolent weight of his eyelids proved otherwise.

Ithildin looked around. Lielle slept quietly, head in Ithildin's lap. The barbarian lay next to him, clutching his sword, and his chest rose and fell with each deep breath. All was quiet, save for the splash of running water in the distance. So why did he feel more and more worried?

One of the horses tied nearby snorted, as if surprised. Another whinnied, and the elf saw it lifting its head up in the air, sniffing. Suddenly both neighed, frightened and plaintive, and danced in place. Then the elf saw and felt what they did − the shadow forms gliding amid the trees.