A Solitary Journey by Tony Shillitoe

wish we had a fire,’ Magpie muttered, pressing closer to her side.
    ‘Not tonight,’ Hoe said across the circle, overhearing the boy’s wish. ‘Tomorrow night we might be able to make a small one, but if we make one tonight the barbarians might see it.’
    ‘Is that true?’ Magpie looked up at Found for his answer.
    ‘It’s true,’ she confirmed. ‘But I’ll make you a fire tomorrow night.’
    ‘Promise?’
    She smiled. ‘I promise.’ The boy snuggled against her, as if acknowledging her promise as true, and she ran her fingers through his tangled dark locks. Does he know that his mother died today? she wondered. And then she wondered why she felt so confident that she could keep her promise about lighting a fire. How did she know what to do?
    Except for the vague grey moonlight, it was dark, but Magpie was still shaking her arm. ‘What?’ she whispered.
    ‘You were talking. It was scary,’ he whispered.
    ‘Was I?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I thought I was asleep?’
    ‘You were, but you were talking.’
    ‘What did I say?’
    ‘I don’t know. It didn’t make any sense.’
    She cuddled the boy against her, whispering, ‘I’m sorry. You go to sleep now,’ and listened to the sounds of the night as Magpie shuffled to get comfortable. The men were snoring. So were some of the women. Someone should have taken watch, she considered, but no one here knows anything about the army. She paused. How do I know? And then out of the depths her dream took shape as she remembered what she’d seen.
    A man in a blue robe came to her, but he was old and he said that his name was Samuel. ‘You will die and come back to life,’ he told her. ‘You will slay your lover, Treasure Overbrook, son of Queen Sunset,’ he said. ‘Your firstborn Jon will also be your secondborn when your firstborn dies.’ He threw off his blue robe and took the form of a soldier, a young man with one leg. ‘Don’t forget me, Meg. I will always love you. Don’t forget me.’
    ‘My name is Meg,’ she whispered.
    ‘You’re talking again,’ a tiny plaintive voice said in her embrace.
    ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. She held Magpie closer and felt gladness seep through her heart. My name is Meg, she reminded herself.
    ‘Who is Queen Sunset?’ she asked as the line of people straggled across the open plain of yellow grass.
    Blossom Beekeeper stopped and stared at her as if the question didn’t make sense. ‘Are you serious?’
    She stopped as well and hesitated, thinking that her dream had somehow been crazy after all. ‘I know my name,’ she said, hoping to retrieve the moment.
    ‘And?’
    ‘It’s Meg.’
    ‘Meg who?’
    She was embarrassed again. ‘Just Meg.’
    Blossom smiled, saying reassuringly, ‘That’s a start, at least. The rest will come back then.’ She started walking again, concentrating on tying her hair into order.
    Meg followed, with Magpie a few paces ahead. ‘Is there a Queen Sunset?’ she asked.
    Blossom laughed. ‘Yes. She is the queen of our kingdom.’
    ‘Where is she?’
    ‘A long way in that direction,’ Blossom said, pointing south-west without breaking stride. ‘Do you know her?’
    Blossom laughed again, and when she caught her breath she said, ‘I don’t even know anyone who’s seen the Queen.’
    ‘What about Treasure Overbrook?’
    ‘Now I think you’re remembering an old ballad,’ Blossom said. ‘Marchlord Overbrook was rumoured to be the Queen’s bastard son. He was slain at the Battle of the Whispering Forest by a girl named Lady Amber. The ballad’s called The Blue Knight and the Red Lady I think.’
    ‘How does it go?’
    ‘Good Jarudha! I can’t sing.’
    ‘Just a little bit,’ Meg begged. ‘Please?’
    Blossom grunted and chuckled quietly. ‘I can’t believe anyone would ask me to sing,’ she protested, but seeing the desperate appeal in Meg’s green eyes she acquiesced. ‘All right, I’ll sing a little bit—at least what I can remember. And I won’t sing it loud