My step was slow but deliberate upon the moonlit road. The light burned—not against my flesh, but against my spirit. After so long on the island I too felt it scorch me, the same way it would scorch every other prisoner and exile. Natural light had become the enemy’s emblem and, at the same time, his deadliest and most potent weapon.

  I walked with face set hard and brows knitted, expecting attack at every stride. And when I speak of the enemy I do not mean only the princes and their followers, but every wretched, broken soul who—like me—had in a single heartbeat lost everything and now fought merely to draw the next breath.

  Unjust fate, unfortunate lot, many would surely say, and perhaps they would be right. Yet justice and injustice do not depend on private opinions, nor on fluid philosophical maxims, nor on ideological constructions. They are decided by the strongest, and their duration depends upon him. If he is eternal, so is justice; if he perishes, he cannot have been the mightiest. For even time in this world seems to possess personality and power, though it does not rule over everything.

  Still the mind cannot cease wondering whether justice or injustice truly exists here—and if it does, which of the two it truly is.

  Once again the Wolf’s breath and his crimson eyes kept me company, pinning themselves to my back. I felt him waiting behind me, patient for the single mistake that would allow him to devour me. In his present state, in this endless crushing of his own personality and choices, his outward form served only to remind him of the ugliness of his soul and his utter inability to escape the agonizing reality. He—and every other creature in the forest—condemned himself, and would go on condemning himself until someone freed him from his slavery.

  Lost in these thoughts and cares I walked for a little while until three wooden booths appeared before me. Inside each sat an old woman. The booths held nothing else—no wares, no ornaments—only the women and the rough timber that framed them. One stood in the middle, one to the right, one to the left. They waited there like dolls: motionless, unsmiling, scarcely seeming to breathe. Their shoulders did not rise; from where I stood I could detect no movement at all in their bodies.

  I picked up a small pebble from the ground and tossed it toward the leftmost booth. By ill luck it struck the old woman there, yet still I provoked no reaction. I turned, looked at the Wolf, and asked:

  “Will you speak and tell me what I am seeing, or has your appetite finally deserted you?”

  He gave no answer—no growl, no sound, no motion. Only the ruby glow of his eyes remained steady in the darkness. I paid him no further attention. I decided to advance and discover for myself what function these three grandmothers served. Already I suspected their role resembled that of the old man on the bridge: beings who existed for their own amusement and had struck some bargain with the usurper king.

  And indeed, the moment I drew near enough, all three jerked to life as though a puppeteer had tugged their strings. Their bodies appeared solid and real, yet their movements were unmistakably mechanical.

  “Who goes there?” the leftmost crone demanded first.

  “Mmmm, I don’t know—wait, let me look so I can tell you,” answered the middle one.

  “Better leave it to me,” the rightmost interrupted. “If I cannot see him, whatever you two see is of no consequence.”

  She leaned her head toward me, then abruptly pulled it back. She tried again; the second time her reaction was similar, though tinged with greater surprise.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t see anything. Something is hiding him from me.”

  “No one hides from you—you’ve simply rusted,” the middle one retorted. “Let me look; my eyes are sharper than yours.” She too bent forward and began to study me.

  Her head swung left and right like a ship’s wheel; her cheeks and mouth twisted into grotesque grimaces; spasms rippled across her brow. After a few seconds she recoiled with a sigh.

  “Something is wrong with this one. It’s impossible. No matter how carefully I look, I cannot see him. Perhaps there is no one here at all. Perhaps old age is playing tricks on us?”

  “Wait, wait,” said the leftmost again. “No one ever escapes me—not even a ghost, not even if his presence here is false. I will see him; he cannot slip past me.”

  She too leaned forward, produced from her right pocket an old-fashioned opera lorgnette with her left hand, while the right steadied her against the booth’s counter so she could stretch farther than the others. She remained in that posture longer than either of her companions, yet eventually she drew back, bewildered, and declared:

  “Ha! Even I see nothing. Perhaps what stands before us truly does not exist. Perhaps the time has finally come for us to be replaced, just as the deer was supplanted by its own knight.”

  All three burst into loud, theatrical laughter and slapped their palms against the counters. I uttered not a sound, took no part in their display. I behaved as though I stood among madwomen while at the same time searching for any sign of trap or barrier—something that would block me, or worse, wound me, should I attempt to pass between them. I had neither time nor strength for unnecessary risks.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Come now, tell us—what are you doing here?” the middle crone asked.

  I ignored her. I continued scanning the area around the booths for any hint of danger.

  “Oh dear, oh dear, this one means to steal whatever we have,” the leftmost said.

  “Good luck to the ghost, then,” the rightmost replied. “We have nothing.” And once more the three dissolved into laughter.

  I found nothing—no mechanism, no snare. So I walked straight between them and continued onward as though they were not there.

  I walked and walked and walked until I reached a bend. The moment I turned the corner, the three booths stood before me again, the three old women laughing exactly as I had left them. I glanced back: nothing lay behind me.

  I wondered whether I should try passing them once more or accept at once that I was trapped in a loop and seek the solution by speaking with them. I wanted to avoid conversation; like a fool I attempted to walk past them twice more. Both times I found myself facing the booths again.

  I searched the surroundings once more—again in vain. I felt it clearly now: the only path led through them. So I approached a second time and stood in the middle as before.

  “Look who’s back—the ghost has returned,” said the leftmost. “Got bored of coming and going faster than most.”

  “And slower than most at coming and going again,” added the rightmost.

  “Yes, but we still cannot examine this one to grant him passage,” the middle one said. “So what exactly is our role here now?”

  “We have the ancient eyes in the forest watching us,” the leftmost muttered, “though they never imprison the imprisoned.”

  “Quiet, you’ll scare the dog away and he’ll hide again,” the rightmost hissed. “It’s been ages since I last saw him prowling our stretch. I enjoy watching his future—it’s always so rich in pain and…” She broke off as she turned and stared into the forest at the Wolf’s red eyes.

  “It’s not possible,” she continued. “His future is no longer clear. I cannot see it properly; large pieces are blurred. Why is this happening to me? Quick—both of you look at him and tell me what you see.”

  They raised their eyes and reacted in the same way. The leftmost declared that his past now lacked coherence—only scattered images that made no sense in isolation. The middle one said she could no longer discern his present intentions; she could not tell from which direction his emotions arose or toward which they were heading. Their bodies began to jerk with more violent mechanical spasms than before.

  “Even his recent past is clouded,” the leftmost said.

  “And his present intentions are confused, muddled,” the middle one added.

  “How do I obtain permission from you to pass and continue on my way?” I asked curtly.

  “We must see your past so we can tell the princes and give them amusement…” said the leftmost.

  “And then immediately your future so we ourselves may be amused…” said the rightmost.

  “And your present confusion so your own experience may grow even worse…” said the middle one.

  “Very well. I agree to let the one on my left see my past—since, if I understand correctly, none of your three pairs of eyes can perceive every temporal layer at once. Each of you sees a different period.”

  “Mmmmmmm,” the rightmost hummed. “The question is why we should need your permission for something even the princes cannot conceal from us. When we look into the future we can alter it, using the past and the present however we please.”

  “That is why no one has yet reached the castle—because no one is willing to change for the better, but all fall for your tricks. Whatever happens in the forest happens on the road as well, that's why nothing changes. In the forest regret overtakes everyone, on the road is fear and greed. But I understand now why the world is so dark: no one helps anyone else to be saved; everyone fights only to win a game that is already lost. Time to change the rules. I will allow the leftmost to see my past. Is that enough for passage?”

  “You bargain with us?” the middle one snapped. “We hold you captive; we hold the keys to your release from this prison.”

  “But if I kill all three of you,” I asked, “does the prison persist—or does it vanish together with your corpses?”

  “There is still no way for anyone to kill us,” the leftmost said. “Not even the princes can slay us.”

  “That is why you still live. But unlike the princes, I can conceal my past from you, conceal my future from you, conceal even my present intentions. I can conceal my very presence in the lives of others—just as I have concealed it from the Wolf in the forest. What, then, prevents me from declaring that I can kill you—and meaning it? What prevents me from trying?”

  They grew angry. Their faces tightened. They began to make noise—the clattering, jerking racket of puppets in the hands of clumsy children.

  “Show me your intentions,” the middle one demanded, furious.

  I let her glimpse only a sliver—just enough to taste the unyielding resolve within me: the determination to keep moving forward at any cost, regardless of personal desire or judgment. She saw that my threat to kill them was utterly sincere. She saw that if they did not let me pass peacefully I would try other means. She saw that I would rather slaughter them than allow word of such power to reach the princes.

  Her eyes flew wide; her voice would not come clean. She trembled—this time from fear. Before she could utter a sound I lunged, clamped my open palm over her mouth, turned to the other two and said:

  “In the end you never answered. If I kill all of you, does the road open before me?”

  “There is no need to kill us,” the rightmost said quickly. “The road is open even now. We beg you—leave and never cross our path again.”

  I did not release her. As the seconds passed her eyes slowly turned black. With one hand I lifted her out of the booth and hurled her into the forest toward the Wolf. He rushed upon her at once and dragged her into the black depths.

  “Thank you for your assistance,” I said to the remaining two. “I knew fear would suffice for those who live only for amusement. You have nothing left to live for, yet you refuse either to die or to change. You would do anything to prolong your existence as long as possible—until your friend finally lost patience and ceased to wish for life. She decided it was more important to know. And she learned she should have listened and guarded herself against what strangers tell her.”

  “The Wolf cannot kill her,” the leftmost said, “nor can any creature that roams the forest.”

  “So much you know, so much you say.” I turned to the rightmost. “And you know nothing—so wisely you remain silent. The past belongs to memory, the future to imagination, and the present is where the soon-to-be-dead drag their corpses across this earth. Time rules no one; it merely serves its purpose well—to remind us of the vanity of our desires. Tell the princes, then, that the one who can end their torment has arrived. If they wish this farce we live to conclude, let them seek me. I will wait for them at every corner, at every turn. I will be every descendant they have so brutally carried this far. My existence alone will threaten their very claim to the throne. Tell them the seventh prince has returned. My name is Leo, and not even Hades can withhold the judgment I bring for their deeds.

  I hope—for your own sakes—they find it entertaining when they hear…”