Pilgrimage by Carl Purcell

legged in meditation, the air visibly stirring around him. Roland had seen it once before. He was casting a spell. Roland looked up and down and around them for any sign that the spell was doing something. Other than his ring glowing at the air vibrating around him, nothing seemed to be happening.
    Then Griffith opened his eyes, smiled and stood up. “Good morning.”
    “It's good, is it?” Roland asked.
    “It can be. I'm glad we got to sleep under the stars at least once.”
    Roland looked up. The canopy of leaves blocked the sky. “Stars?” He looked back to his companion. “Griffith, there were no stars. We're in a hole.”
    “And I'm getting us out of it.”
    “How?”
    “Magic.”
    “Of course.” Roland stood up and gave Griffith all the space he needed.
    Griffith stretched his arms, his abs and his knees. He cracked his knuckles and stepped up close to a wall. Solid, uneven slabs of sandstone encased their hole. The hole was about three metres deep and most of that was a ninety degree drop. Griffith placed his hands against the rock and closed his eyes. He slid into a trance-like state that Roland knew meant he was casting a spell.
    Roland leaned back against the opposite wall and waited. It would no doubt take a while. He also knew that Griffith’s magic was painfully slow. Roland folded his arms and noticed the ring still glowing. The heat of the jewel spread into the metal band. Roland slipped it off and pocketed it.
    “There we go,” Griffith said. Roland looked up, eyebrows raised high. That was fast. But he was right. Roland could see the stone wall rippling like water as Griffith touched it. Griffith pressed his fingers into the rock and balled his hands into fists. He raised one leg and pushed his toes in next. He made careful, deliberate movements and steadied himself before continuing. He pushed up, pressed his other foot in a little higher than the first. Griffith grunted and pulled close to the wall. Then his arms came out of the rock, leaving perfectly shaped hand holds. He repeated this process and step-by-step, hoisted himself up and out of the hole, leaving a ladder of hand and footholds, carved into the solid stone.
    “Your turn!” Griffith shouted from the top and stepped away, out of sight. Roland gripped the stone and pulled. The rock held firm. It looked like the kid had done well and he sure as shit wasn't getting out of there any other way. Roland nodded to himself, stepped into the first foothold and began to climb. Moments later, he joined Griffith at the top.
    “What do you think?” Griffith asked.
    “I think we fell into a sink hole. But hell, I'm not a geologist. I also think it's your fault I slept in dirt.”
    “Well let's find a place to clean off. So which way should we go?”
    “Which way did we come?”
    Griffith turned a full circle on the spot. “You know, I have no idea.”
    “How long has the sun been up?”
    “No idea.”
    Roland sighed. “Great.” He, like Griffith, took a moment to take in the lay of the land. In every direction he saw trees – lots and lots of trees, that stood motionless and silent like tall, wooden gravestones, serene in the creepiest way. Roland couldn't see any end to them. Above, the sunlight filtered through the interlocking tree branches, occasionally disappearing behind grey clouds. Roland found a sunny patch of bushland and stood in it. He looked down, only to find that whatever shadow he may have been casting was swallowed by the dark forest floor.
    “Just fucking great.”
    “What?”
    “If I knew where the sun was, I could tell more or less which way is north. But I can't see a damned thing through the trees.”
    Griffith shrugged. “Well, in that case I think we should walk this way.” Griffith pointed.
    Roland followed his arm and stared through the trees. “Why?”
    “I like this way.” Griffith shrugged again. “And we don't know any other way?”
    “You-” Roland stuttered, trying to put words to how stupid