Gold coins rattled out of the iron pot. Shrieks quickened his pace. Milo skirted the thin trees and jumped off a boulder. Leather boots sliding on the moss, he regained his footing and charged forward. Toward the sunlight just beyond the foliage.
Shoved from behind, he hit the ground. The leprechaun shrieked before clamping sharp teeth onto his bicep.
Milo ripped the creature off and scrambled to get ahead.
The horde cried out.
Ears burning, he collected the precious treasure. Tears filled his eyes as the sound reverberated through his mind. Gritting his teeth, Milo stumbled forward. Pain throttled up his thigh, but nothing hurt more than the sound that rattled his spine.
Heat seared his face. Collapsing in the valley, the treeline remained dark as night. The vibrations dissipated, his eye tracing the glorious colors of a rainbow. Milo relaxed in the grass, enjoying the silence.
“You capricious loon!”
Milo clenched blades of grass.
Amalia’s scowl shaded his form from the afternoon sun. Her red hair cascaded around her angular face, a fiery spectacle when paired with her narrowed brow. “Must you be so reckless?”
Sitting on his knees, he took in the surroundings. The village lay ahead, a collection of thatched roofs and beaten dirt paths. Climbing the hill were chateaus of brick and shingle, the palace crowning the expansive kingdom of Wigan.
To think he would’ve loved to live in this place at this period of time. Now he just wanted to wake from the dream.
“Sir Olim, are you listening?”
Staring at her from his peripheral, he rose unsteadily. “My name is Milo.” He gritted his teeth when he put weight on his right leg. Blood gushed from a bitemark, green ash coloring his breeches and the daffodils. He hummed in interest. “Didn’t think they actually dematerialized in sunlight.”
“Was that your purpose in going into those dreaded woods?” Amalia crossed her arms, accentuating the low cut of her green gown.
“No,” Milo replied, collecting his treasure off the ground. “My goal was getting enough gold to pay off that witch.”
Her nose flared as she scoffed. “Olim.”
“Milo.”
“Whoever you were in the dream doesn’t matter.” She grabbed his arm, jostling coins from his grip. “Your curse is broken. You are here with me. We can get married, start a family.” Her lush lashes fluttered, thin eyebrows parting in a dire plea.
But he found no love for her.
Tearing away, he returned to his work. Once every coin was collected, he marched past her toward the outskirts of the village. The pain in his arm and leg kept him focused on his task. Getting out of the Middle Ages before history played in real time.
The Great Famine and Black Death hadn’t hit England just yet, but based on the context he’d amassed, they weren’t far ahead. Kingdoms like this had fallen into obscurity, merging with other areas. Most likely this humble kingdom would be wiped out by hunger and disease.
And him along with it.
The soothsayer’s lair was tucked in a mound-like hut within sparse trees. The woman stirred a brew over a live fire. Herbs and seashells weaved into her dark braids made her appear like a wood nymph, benevolent rather than cruel.
He dropped the pot of gold before her feet.
“I told you to be careful,” she cooed.
“Reverse the spell.”
She chuckled, yellow eyes focused on her work. “I have no need for silver or gold.”
“It’s leprechaun gold, even more rare than the tusk of an ogre or heart of a dragon.”
“Your capricious hunt shall fill many tomes.”
Milo ripped the ladle from her hands and tossed it into the trees. Shoulders broadening, he blocked her access to the brew, gaining her attention. “What must I give you to be sent home?”
Her reptilian eyes looked him over, expression barely registering his disturbance of her work. Spindly fingers caressed his wound arm, a chant sliding off her tongue.
A sharp breath filled his lungs. The pain vanished throughout his body, something she’d done whenever he returned with bruises and gashes.
But it never healed his broken heart. Every time he fell asleep, he found himself in a hospital bed. His mother worried sick, the doctors perplexed. He wanted to explain but who would believe him?
The soothsayer hummed knowingly, as if reading his hurts. “A world you once loved you now despise. A woman you cared for incurs only contempt. You bring your complaints to my door, but I cannot help you.”
“Why not?”
She walked around him, fingers tracing across his chest. “Your lover’s debt has yet to be paid, and all you’ve offered isn’t equivalent.”
This puzzle again. Shoulders slumping, Milo stared at the sky. “Amalia won’t tell me what you owe her. I can only guess what she promised.”
“And your best tries are death and theft?”
He flung his hands in the air, turning to face the strange woman. “My history doesn’t account for what I’ve seen in the mountains and forests, especially what your kind desires. Best I can muster are toads, magical stones, and rare items.”
Her smile made his insides churn. “You always know everything.”
“When it comes to medieval history, yeah. Everything else is beyond me.”
The soothsayer suppressed a chuckle. “How sad that such a handsome man is so clueless.”
Milo refrained from mentioning his real body, the scrawny history major that avoided sunlight as much as the leprechauns.
She stroked his jaw with a single finger. “I like you, dear Milo. So I’ll give you a hint.” She tapped her lips before saying, “Death for death and life for life, but not one for the other.”
Was that supposed to be clever?
Realization tightened his throat, body growing rigid. “Who’s life did she promise you?”
Her crooked teeth filled him with dread. “Not so clueless, my good knight.”
“Who?”
She retrieved her ladle, humming a tune like a mockingbird. But he knew the melody. Had heard it many times when gathering information in the village. Usually from the lips of mothers rocking a baby.
His heart sank into his stomach, the melody searing into his mind. What had Amalia done?