CHAPTER 45: THE WRONG ROAD

Morning came with all the warmth of a gravedigger’s handshake. Apollo shifted the pack on his shoulders, feeling the relic’s familiar weight press against his spine.

No one had spoken since they’d broken camp. The silence hung between them like a sixth companion, unwanted but persistent.

Even Nik, whose mouth usually ran faster than his feet, kept his gaze fixed on the path ahead, lips pressed into an uncharacteristic line.

Yesterday’s verbal assault had left wounds deeper than any of them cared to admit.

Apollo concentrated on his breathing, on the steady rhythm of boot against earth, trying to feel for the relic’s pulse beneath it all. There was a pattern there, something like a heartbeat, but older, more deliberate. It reminded him of waves against a shore, of time itself wearing away at resistance.

’It’s waiting,’ he thought, adjusting the straps of his pack again. ’Biding its time until we’re ready to listen.’

The path narrowed as they climbed, winding between scrub and stone. Apollo frowned as they passed a twisted tree, its trunk bent almost double, branches reaching toward the ground instead of the sky. Something about it tugged at his memory.

Thorin noticed it too. The dwarf slowed, thick brows drawing together as he studied the deformed trunk. "We’ve seen this before," he muttered, voice rough from disuse.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Lyra said, not bothering to look back. "Keep moving."

But twenty minutes later, they rounded a bend and found themselves facing a stone arch, weathered and ancient, spanning the path like a gateway to nowhere. Apollo felt his stomach tighten. They had definitely passed under this same arch earlier that morning.

Renna swore under her breath, a colorful string of profanity that would have impressed a seasoned sailor.

"I said keep moving," Lyra snapped, green eyes flashing as she rounded on Renna. "We don’t have time for this."

"Time for what?" Renna shot back. "Walking in circles? Because that’s exactly what we’re doing."

Thorin spat into the dust. "Been saying it since yesterday. Something’s leading us around by the nose." His gaze fixed meaningfully on Apollo’s pack.

The silence that followed was broken by a sound Apollo had been dreading, a low, mocking chuckle emanating from his pack, audible to all of them.

"Left foot, right foot, straight to nowhere," the relic’s voice sang out, dripping with contempt. "Gods, you’re slow."

Apollo felt rather than saw the others stiffen. The gold in his veins pulsed once, warm and insistent.

Lyra squared her shoulders, deliberately ignoring the voice. "We go east," she declared, pointing toward a gap in the hills. "That way."

The relic laughed, a sound like stones grinding together. "Sure, east. Straight into the marsh. Again."

Thorin’s face darkened to a dangerous shade of red. "Silence!" he barked, one meaty fist clenching at his side. "I’ve had enough of your noise."

"Silence is your only talent, ox," the relic replied smoothly. "Use it."

Apollo watched the exchange with growing unease. There was something calculated about the relic’s provocations, something purposeful. Each taunt seemed designed not just to anger, but to push them toward specific reactions.

They pressed on, the mood souring further with each step. Apollo began to notice something strange. When Renna cursed at the relic and stomped ahead, the path before her suddenly twisted, forcing them to double back.

When Thorin slowed in stubborn resistance to the artifact’s goading, the landscape itself seemed to shift, familiar landmarks reappearing where they shouldn’t be.

And then it happened. The relic’s voice cut through the tense silence: "Watch the rock, wood-brain. Wouldn’t want to trip and spill what little brains you have left."

Cale, who had been silent all morning, glanced down at a jutting stone in his path. For once, instead of ignoring the taunt, he stepped carefully around it.

The path ahead cleared. Just like that, twenty paces of straight, unobstructed trail where moments before there had been only tangled brush and loose scree. Apollo blinked, certain he was imagining things, but no, the others continued forward, not noticing the sudden change.

’It’s testing responses,’ Apollo realized, the thought hitting him like a physical blow. ’When we fight it, we go in circles. When we follow...’

He kept the observation to himself, watching as the pattern repeated throughout the day. Defiance led to confusion, to paths that doubled back on themselves. Compliance, even reluctant, unconscious compliance, brought clarity, progress.

By midafternoon, tempers had frayed to breaking point. They stopped in the shade of a solitary tree that Apollo was certain they’d rested under twice already. Lyra paced, her movements sharp with frustration.

"We need to ignore it completely," she said finally, addressing the group but pointedly not looking at Apollo or his pack. "It wants control. Don’t give it what it wants."

Thorin grunted, pulling a whetstone from his pocket and running it along the edge of his axe with unnecessary force. "Better idea," he growled. "Smash it to dust and bury it. Problem solved."

"What if..." Nik began, then faltered as all eyes turned to him. He licked his lips nervously. "What if it’s... right? What if it knows where we’re going?"

The suggestion hung in the air like smoke. Renna’s face darkened, but she remained silent, fingers drumming against the shaft of her spear.

Apollo said nothing. His mind was racing, cataloging every interaction, every reaction, every subtle shift in their path. The relic’s taunts weren’t random, they were a language, a code, a map written in mockery and insult.

By the time they made camp that evening, Apollo was certain. Following the relic’s guidance, however unpleasant its delivery, was the only way forward. The question was whether he dared say so, whether he could convince the others without fracturing what little trust remained between them.

He laid out his bedroll at the edge of the fire’s light, far enough from the others to avoid conversation. The relic hummed faintly in his pack, not mocking now but almost smug, like a cat that had cornered its prey and was simply waiting for surrender.

Apollo stared into the flames, listening to the silence broken only by the occasional crack of burning wood. No one spoke. No one needed to. The decision that loomed before them was clear enough without words.

The gold in his veins thrummed softly, warm and insistent, as if reminding him of a truth he’d always known but tried to forget: sometimes the only way forward was to follow the very thing you feared most.

In the darkness of the tent that night, Apollo stared at the ceiling canvas, unable to sleep. He unfolded Torgo’s amber from the cloth he kept it wrapped in and held it up between his fingers.

The piece caught what little moonlight filtered through, glowing with inner warmth that seemed to match the sluggish gold in his veins.

’You want me to follow it, don’t you?’ he thought, turning the amber shard. ’That’s why you gave this to me. You knew.’

He rewrapped the amber and tucked it away, careful not to wake the others. Their breathing came in different rhythms, Nik’s light snores, Thorin’s rumbling exhales, Lyra’s barely audible breaths. Each sound marked another person who would resist what Apollo now knew they must do.

Morning came too quickly. Apollo rose before the others, collecting firewood in the gray predawn. When he returned, Cale was already up, crouched by the dead embers of last night’s fire.

"You look like you’ve made a decision," Cale said quietly, not looking up as he arranged kindling.

Apollo hesitated. "Not sure it’s mine to make."

Cale’s hands paused, then resumed their methodical work. "Some decisions make themselves. We just have to recognize them."

The others woke one by one, moving through their morning routines in silence. The relic remained quiet in Apollo’s pack, its presence felt only as a steady weight and occasional warmth against his spine. The gold in his veins hummed faintly, like a distant conversation he couldn’t quite hear.

Lyra approached as he was securing his bedroll. "We’re going east," she said, voice low but firm. "No matter what that thing says." Her green eyes met his, challenging, searching.

Apollo nodded once, not trusting himself to speak. The lie sat heavy in his chest.

They set out as the sun crested the eastern hills. Lyra led, as always, setting their course with stubborn determination. The path wound between scrubby bushes and outcroppings of pale rock, climbing steadily toward a ridge that seemed to retreat with each step they took toward it.

An hour in, the relic stirred.

"Wrong way, little mice," it whispered, the sound emanating from Apollo’s pack but somehow surrounding them all. "Unless you enjoy walking in circles."

Lyra’s back stiffened, but she didn’t slow or turn. "Ignore it," she called back.

Apollo watched the landscape ahead blur and shift, subtly at first, then more dramatically. What had appeared to be a clear path suddenly twisted, brambles springing up where none had been before. The ridge they’d been aiming for seemed to slide sideways, reorienting itself northwest instead of east.

Nik stumbled, blinking rapidly. "Is anyone else seeing this?" he muttered.

"Keep moving," Lyra insisted, pushing through a tangle of branches that hadn’t been there moments before. The path ahead twisted impossibly, folding back on itself like a snake eating its own tail.

Apollo felt the relic pulse against his back, its satisfaction radiating through his pack. The gold in his veins responded, warming under his skin.

"This is madness," Thorin growled, hacking at a thornbush with his short blade. "We walked this way not five minutes ago, and it was clear!"

The land itself seemed to be reshaping around them.