Pilgrimage by Carl Purcell Page A

Griffith's suggestion was. “That—”
    “Is as good as any other idea?”
    “No! That's stupid.”
    “Well, you know, the best way to get found, if we're lost, is to stay put and wait.”
    Roland ran a hand over his face. “Kid, the only people looking for us want—”
    Griffith smiled.
    “Stop that.” Roland started walking in the direction Griffith pointed.
    Griffith fell in beside him. “You know, I'm actually pretty pleased with myself.”
    “Idiots often are.”
    “I mean with that spell.” Griffith corrected. “It was just so quick and easy. New spells are usually much harder; at least I find that to be the case.”
    “Everyone has to do something right, occasionally.”
    “Jeez, no need to be so negative.” Griffith went on talking but Roland tuned the sound out. He couldn't have had more than a few hours uncomfortable sleep and he was in no mood to listen to Griffith's optimistic babbling. On the bright side, any direction they walked was bound to take them onto a road or a farm eventually. This part of the world wasn't heavily forested. Was it? Come to think of it, he didn't really know what the world was like any further north than Armidale. Even if they did find a road, how far off course that would put them was another matter entirely. To make matters worse, the ring felt uncomfortably hot, even in his pocket.
    Roland stopped. Griffith kept on walking, saying something about who-cares-what. Roland pulled the ring out of his jeans and turned it over in his hand. The jewel still glowed, pulsing with energy. He took another look around at the trees and at the light, leaking through the leaves like a broken tap. No signs of magic. He turned to Griffith, spotting him a ways off by then, and quickened his pace to catch up.
    Until the sound of sobbing hit his ears.
    Roland turned, following the sound. He knew the sound well. That same sobbing filled his dreams each night. Or did it? Sobbing was sobbing, after all. It all sounded the same. Yeah, he was mistaken. He wasn't hearing that dream-sobbing. It was somebody else, obviously. Maybe it was somebody lost, crying nearby. Roland imagined them huddled up against a tree, frightened and alone. Maybe they'd hurt themselves. Yeah, that made sense.
    “Griffith!” He called and looked to his companion. Gone. Not a trace of him. “Fuck.” Roland looked between the direction Griffith had gone and the direction of the sobbing. Easy choice. He had to know. Plus, if he just walked away, Griffith would never let him hear the end of it. Roland slipped the ring back into his pocket and headed towards the noise.
    It didn't take long to find the source. Roland weaved around the random spread of trees. The sobbing grew louder, clearer. The rotting remains of an ancient fallen tree blocked Roland's path. He couldn't see either end of the trunk and decided, instead of looking, to climb over it. Roland found a boulder to stand on, one small enough to move but the perfect size to boost him. He gripped the top of the dead tree and pulled himself up. Scraps of dry paperbark caught on his sleeves and followed him down the other side of the trunk. On that side, completely cut off from the forest behind him, Roland saw the door.
    A door. A door in the middle of the bush. Standing upright without any support. That alone was weird but it wasn't what made the door an impossibility. Roland ran his hand over the chipped white paint and found, right where he was expecting it, the black scuff marks from his shoe. He'd tried to throw the shoe across the hall, into the bathroom, as a reminder to polish it next time he was in there. The shoe bounced off the door and never made it out of the room but it did leave a dent in the wood and a black mark he never got around to cleaning. That door, that impossible door, was the door to his bedroom years ago. The bedroom he'd shared with Violet. The sobbing came unnaturally clear, through from the other side. Roland walked around the door. The