Page 89 of The Other Side

The next day, Drum set off for Sparlow with Osian beside him. Drum had followed the instructions given by his phone, but Osian could see they’d somehow taken the wrong road.

“I think you need to turn around,” Osian said.

“There was no left turn where there should have been one. It was two miles from that point. I don’t get it.”

They could see the village on the map but neither of them could figure out how to get there. Drum turned and discovered a road on the left that Osian was certain they hadn’t passed. The track narrowed until it was barely more than two strips of cracked tarmac with grass growing between.

“This can’t be the main road in,” Drum said.

“It says one mile now.”

Osian grew increasingly wary. Hedgerows leaned in from both sides, their branches knitting together overhead until the morning light turned green.

Drum slowed the car. “I don’t like this.”

“It doesn’t look right,” Osian admitted, watching the blue dot creep across the phone screen. “But we’re somehow getting closer.”

Drum pulled out of the green tunnel and they were suddenly three miles from their destination.

“What the hell! This is nuts.” Drum pulled off the road and parked in the entrance to a field.

The navigation voice cheerfully announced You have arrived.

Drum laughed. “I don’t think so.”

Osian frowned. There was something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. Drum switched off the engine and they got out. The sudden silence settled around them. No distant traffic. No aircraft. Then a bird warbled. Osian was relieved to hear it.

“I was beginning to wonder if we’d missed some cataclysmic event,” Drum said.

“Which way now? Is your phone reliable?”

“Probably not. But Sparlow was north of us a moment ago, so let’s head north regardless of whether there’s a track or not.”

They walked down the road and saw a narrow path disappearing through a gap in a drystone wall.

“We’ll go this way,” Drum said.

Osian glanced back. “The car…”

Drum turned.

The car had gone. The lane was still there, stretching away between the hedges, but the little pull-in where they’d parked had vanished behind a curtain of trees that hadn’t been there moments before.

“That’s impossible,” Drum said. “We’ve only walked for five minutes.”

What is this place? Osian was intrigued.

“Are we in Faeryland?” Drum whispered.

“No.” Osian would have known.

“Maybe we should retrace our steps. I’m not sure how I can explain losing a police vehicle. I haven’t dared admit to losing the flashlight yet.”

“Let’s keep going,” Osian said.

They walked on.

The path dipped into a shallow valley where a clear stream crossed over smooth white stones. There was no bridge, only stepping stones worn by countless feet.