by J. S. Volpe
* * *
With wide, shocked eyes, John Grommet watched all this transpire from behind a boulder fifty feet away.
By all the countless names of Ilva, how was he supposed to get past that? It killed all four of those men in less than ten seconds.
Still, he had to find a way. He had to. For dear old mum’s sake.
Maybe luck would intercede as it had during the rainstorm, when he crossed the bridge without being seen, without even knowing what he was doing.
Yes. Yes, maybe so. Maybe the Twelve were watching out for him in their mysterious, ineffable way. Maybe he had to be subjected to all these trials and perils before he could get what he sought. After all, nothing in this world was free, right?
And yet no matter how often he repeated these things, his legs still refused to move.