“…byw…”
When dawn came, The Wanderer’s Rest was empty. The fire was ash. The napkin lay on the floor, blank as a skull.
Llyr’s fingers tightened on the paper. “What does it mean?”
The figure stood now. Llyr didn’t see it move, but it was between him and the door. danlwd fyltrshkn byw byw bray wyndwz
He walked to the back of the inn, where a small casement overlooked the moor. The glass was warped, ancient, bubbled like spit. Outside, the fog had risen. The moon was a scratched coin.
The fire popped. A log shifted, and for a second the shadows on the wall spelled out something that looked like antlers. The innkeeper nodded toward the corner booth, where a figure sat so still he might have been carved from the oak. Long grey coat. Hands folded. Face hidden beneath a hat that had no business existing in this century.
The first word came out like a stone dropped into deep water. “…byw…” When dawn came, The Wanderer’s Rest was
“danlwd fyltrshkn byw byw bray wyndwz”
“What is it?” Llyr asked. “A cipher? A child’s scribble?”
“Found that, did you?” The man’s voice was gravel wrapped in wool. Llyr’s fingers tightened on the paper
The figure in the corner turned its head.
The last thing he saw was the innkeeper crossing himself backward.
The innkeeper leaned close. His breath smelled of licorice and gravesoil. “That’s a reminder , lad. Not for you. For him.”
Llyr felt the gaze even though there were no eyes to see. A pressure behind his own eyes, like remembering a nightmare he’d never dreamed.
The fog outside parted. Llyr saw a road that had never been there, leading to a house that had no roof, only a sky full of stars arranged in the wrong constellations.