Marsh Walker

I had timed it right. As the twilight began to soften the sky after the sun vanished over the edge of the marsh, I finally walked on firm footing and could see my way clear through what I felt sure were the last patches of boggy ground.

Of course, I still tested with my staff. Excessive confidence was a danger since the marsh had tricksy ways. I heard enough about that as a child to always heed my mother’s warnings, especially as since then I dragged more than a few people out of the quavering fen, though one of them I had been tempted to leave to his sticky demise.

The marsh, of course, provided no throughway for a cart or carriage and only someone heedless would try to ride a horse or convey some unfortunate mule through the morass.

Some gave me a few copper coins, which I accepted as to refuse their gift would shame them into a keener knowledge of how little they had. Some provided silver, which I was glad of, but never gold though such coins were rare enough to come by through any means.

The best of all gave me a kiss despite both of us being mucky with residue. When she and I walked together a way and entered the river to get clean again, she shared more than that, only she did not linger further and I could not follow where she was heading. I still keep her name nestled in my heart, though I have no way of knowing if she does likewise.

So, me and my staff and the rough clothes I always travel in so as to never look too rich and a full, sturdy bag slung over my shoulder all survived another journey over the marsh. I would have been cross to lose any of my stash, given the effort and time I had spent to obtain the contents.

In the distance, to the north where the fen lands continued, I saw a streak of black and white running, not as fast as a hare but speedy enough. The flare of the black tail behind told me this was a cat.

Only then did I make out the robed figure whose cloak and hood completely blended, green and brown, with the marsh. The cat was running toward the figure, rushing as if away from demons and toward some promised angel.

I held my breath since, up until that moment, I thought marsh folk were part and parcel of my mother’s more unbelievable stories. I had reached the conclusion after I began traversing the deceptive fen so very often myself and rescuing travellers that it was merely boggy ground that sucked people down. Not some imaginary creature dragging them into some other place.

I questioned myself on whether I was seeing things as I watched the black and white cat leap into the offered arms, caught then altogether closer, so very close that the cat merged with the brown and green robe as though absorbed rather than merely held.

I walked onwards so as not to show too much interest. When I glanced back, the deepening twilight dimmed the unusual personage to a silhouette which winked out as if it had never been. However, it then reappeared closer to me, then covering half the distance in the same way and one final blink which brought the hooded one so near that the end of my staff could have tested whether it was real if I had been able to move.

I reckoned I was about a head taller, but did not feel that fact gave me any advantage.

I could not see eyes under the hood, but felt their regard like ice slipping down my spine. The voice whispered like wind through reeds. “You will not speak of what you did not see.”

I have seldom been able to guard my tongue, being much like my father in that regard, so I spoke my thought aloud. “That is a curious and beautiful cat you have.”

The voice purred wordlessly as an oddly narrow black and white snake emerged from the hood of the cloak to circle those robed shoulders, tongue tasting the air in my direction.

I remembered the earlier remark which I had not answered, so I promised, “I will not speak of the black and white cat or yourself or your snake. Even if I did, nobody would believe me as I am a known storyteller.”

“Marsh Walker,” came the reply, “you must get home before the night descends.”

“By your leave,” I said, inclining my head in respect but not looking away.

So, I saw the black and white snake dive back under the hood, then the brown and green hooded figure dissolve into a mist which separated and divided, becoming a shimmering quantity of will o’ the wisps that sometimes dance over the fen, known by everyone to lead travellers astray.

These all dispersed except for one which drifted over the path that I thought led out of the marsh, though my mind had been much distracted by everything I had seen.

I hesitated, but judged as best I could that this was the way I wanted to go.

As twilight continued to deepen, I followed the floating wisp, testing quickly with my staff before each and every step until, at last, I reached the lightning struck tree which marked the true border of the fen land in this direction.

The wisp hovered over the split until I, as my mother had shown me, touched the dead half of the tree and then the living side with gratitude for having crossed the marsh safely.

The shimmering brightened before winking out, perhaps the wisp joined its many siblings roaming over the marshes as night descended. I would be wary of any wisps I encountered henceforth.

Following the worn path home, I had a deep wish that my mother had not given up her spirit in the depth of winter as I now had some questions that I could not ask. Not that she had always given satisfactory answers when she was among the living.

No further adventures until reaching the cottage where I had always lived. In the final dregs of twilight, I could clearly see a black and white cat waiting for me near the doorstep.

When I pushed up on the latch to open the door, the cat padded in ahead of me, as if in no doubt that this was where it belonged.

By touch alone, I found flint and lit candle, gazing on those green eyes in the light of the flame, wondering whether the cat might turn into a snake tonight and bite me while I slept.

But then the black and white cat began purring, so I crouched and extended my fingers toward it, inviting not demanding. The creature stared as a cat would, then paced toward me slowly to sniff before rubbing whiskers against my hand.

I remembered my mother’s cat, also black and white, which disappeared on that winter day after she died. Though I never thought it was anything more than a cat, I had reason to ponder that now. Although the black and white markings were different, the coincidence made me more confident that I would wake when dawn arrived. Hopefully.

As I petted the cat, I supposed despite the differences, this could be the same cat, given that cats have nine lines. If, of course, this was a cat and not something else.