Although Remy had spent enough time in this century, he could not rid himself of the eternal exhaustion, the gnawing sense of longing, and the bone-deep weariness that shadowed him. The challenge of enduring it all was sometimes damning.

  How does one stay sane in the face of such an impossible task?

  This question haunted him.

  It echoed endlessly in his mind like a refrain without an answer, a burden only he could carry. Yet, as he wrestled with this relentless query, the road beneath his feet offered a strange solace. Its endless expanse demanded focus, pulling him momentarily from his thoughts.

  Their journey to Prague began humbly. Remy and Jehan joined a trade caravan, making no effort to conceal his status as an nobleman. The destrier he rode was a proud, spirited creature, named Morgan, its temperament as fierce as its gait. It seemed to know him as well as he knew himself, responding to the slightest of his commands. Jehan’s mount was different though, a mare, loyal, steady, and almost unnervingly obedient. It moved as if tethered not by reins but by an invisible bond she had formed with it when she got it. Jehan rode it with unshakable confidence, her posture upright, her gaze always scanning the horizon. She really was a soldier. That was something Remy understood.

  The caravan they joined bustled with life and purpose. Merchants tended to their wares with a nervous urgency, eager to reach their destination and turn a profit. The goods they carried varied, from spices, textiles, even exotic trinkets, but it was their stories that intrigued Remy most. Each trader had a tale to tell, though their voices carried the same undertone of survival that most travelers have.

  At some point, he became their de facto physician. Their trust was touching, though misplaced. His supplies were scarce, his remedies were mostly improvised. The best he could do was offer them herbal concoctions to ease their discomfort. He was clear about the limitations of his treatments, but they clung to hope, consuming the mixtures he made as if they were elixirs of life. Desperation often bred belief, and who was he to fault them for that?

  Despite being a man from a far-off future, Remy did not think the people of this era were foolish or inferior. They simply knew less. If they possessed the cumulative knowledge he carried, he had no doubt many of them would surpass him. What he had was not brilliance, but time. A lot of time. And a mind that could remember and not forget.

  That evening, as the caravan settled into camp, Remy lay in his hammock, swaying gently under the stars. The sky was a canvas of infinite depth, each star a pinprick of light in the darkness of the galaxy. Jehan stood nearby, her gaze fixed on him or rather, on the hammock itself.

  “It’s an odd thing,” she said at last. “What do you do when there are no trees?”

  “Then I sleep on the ground,” he replied with a shrug. “But I prefer this. It keeps the slithering creatures away. And if it rains, I can put up a cover.”

  She nodded, though her eyes remained curious. Her attention drifted to the campfire, where the other travelers were gathered. Laughter and song filled the air, their joy a stark contrast to the solemnity that hung around Jehan.

  “You know a lot,” she said, her voice quieter now.

  “I’ve had time to learn,” Remy admitted. “Time without worry, without care, without the demands of labor that the common people do.”

  “You really are an oddity,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

  “You say that often, Jehan.”

  “Am I wrong, Sir Remy?”

  “No,” he said after a moment. “I suppose you’re not. I am an oddity. Time and space weeps at my presence.”

  Her expression softened, but her silence lingered. Jehan was a woman of contrasts really, fierce yet solemn, outspoken yet contemplative. She carried herself with an intensity that set her apart from anyone he had met. Yet tonight, there was something different about her. She seemed… lost. The sight unsettled him, for Jehan was not one to falter.

  She turned her gaze back to him, her lips pressed together in thought. He braced himself for a familiar argument, for her to once again plead with him to return to France, to abandon this endless wandering. But the words never came. Instead, she remained silent, her focus drawn to the fire, its flames dancing in the night.

  “You’ve a lot on your mind,” he said gently.

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “I’m here. Speak, and I will listen.”

  For a long while, she said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on the flickering firelight, her expression unreadable. Remy had noticed before that flames seemed to mesmerize her, holding her in a trance-like state. Tonight was no different. Finally, she broke the silence.

  “What do you think faith is?” she asked.

  The question hung in the air, heavy and profound.

  He took a moment to consider her words. “Faith,” he began, “is a belief in something greater than oneself. It’s a conviction that carries you through uncertainty, through darkness. It is… the light shining in the darkness.”

  She nodded, but her expression remained distant. “And do you have faith, Sir Remy?”

  The question caught him off guard. Did he? He had lived so long, seen so much. Faith, to him, was a relic of another time, a luxury for those who could afford it. He was simply the kind who would believe and then not.

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Perhaps I do. But now… I think I place my trust in reason, in the things I can see and touch. But do not mistake me, I do believe in a higher power, because only God could produce such a wonderful world like this.”

  Jehan’s gaze sharpened, her eyes searching his. “Reason is important, yes. But is it enough? When the world crumbles around you, when all is lost, what do you cling to?”

  He hesitated. Her words carried the weight of experience, of suffering. “I suppose I cling to the hope that I can endure. That I can adapt, survive.”

  She shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips.

  “Endurance is admirable, but it’s not the same as faith. Faith is not just belief, it’s a choice. A defiance of despair.”

  Her words struck a chord in him. Jehan was not merely questioning him here, she was revealing a part of herself. Her faith, whatever form it took, was her anchor. It was the fire that burned within her, the source of her unyielding strength.

  “And you, Jehan?” he asked. “What is faith to you?”

  She looked away, her gaze returning to the flames. “Faith is… trust in a higher purpose. Even when the path is unclear, even when the world feels like it’s falling apart. Even… if they burn you for it.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Her voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of emotion. Remy wondered what trials had shaped her, what losses she had endured to forge such conviction.

  The night deepened, and the camp grew quiet. The travelers’ songs faded into the soft murmur of the wind. Jehan remained by the fire, her silhouette illuminated by its glow.

  By morning, after cooking breakfast for himself and Jehan, Remy carried their meal back to their side of the camp. The sun, still shy, painted the sky with a warm gradient of oranges and blues, casting soft light over the surrounding trees. Jehan was tidying the hammock and packing the tent back onto the saddles when he arrived.

  “You always cook for me,” she said, brushing a strand of her dark hair out of her face. “Please, let me do it next time.”

  He paused for a moment, watching her. Her request was genuine, but he couldn’t help the teasing grin that tugged at his lips.

  “Jehan, no offense,” he said lightly, “but I like my cooking better than yours. Besides, I enjoy it. There’s something satisfying about preparing a meal for myself.”

  She straightened and folded her arms, a faint flush of indignation on her cheeks. “That is a job for women,” she countered, a tone of tradition laced in her words.

  “Perhaps,” he said with a shrug. “But there’s no reason not to do something for yourself. Besides, aren’t we supposed to be ‘men’ on this journey, Jehan?”

  Jehan opened her mouth to argue, but after a brief hesitation, she let it go. Her stubbornness was a quality he’d grown accustomed to, but even she knew when to relent. Unlike Jehan, who never skipped her morning prayers, Remy ate his meal directly. She knelt by the tree’s shade, bowing her head and whispering thanks to God for the food.

  When they were finished, they packed up the rest of the camp and readied their horses. With a quiet whistle, Remy’s horse, Morgan, a beast with a coat as dark as coal, paced obediently to his side. Jehan’s mare followed close behind.

  As they secured the last of their belongings to the saddle, Jehan’s attention turned sharply toward the horizon. A faint cloud of dust rose in the distance, growing steadily larger.

  “Someone’s coming,” she said, her voice tight with unease. "Riders."

  Remy squinted, shading his eyes with his hand. The sight set his muscles on edge. “Stay close,” he murmured, sliding his crossbow from its leather holster. He checked the bolts in its magazine, their tips glinting in the light, and tucked the weapon discreetly beneath his cloak.

  “Move to the shade of the treeline,” he instructed, gesturing toward the forest line. “We’ll have a better chance if they’re hostile.”

  Jehan hesitated, her expression conflicted. “But what about the people in that group?” she asked.

  He gave her a pointed look. “Like I said, better chance.”

  She opened her mouth as if to argue, but the approaching figures left no time for debate. Reluctantly, she followed him to the shadows, where they positioned themselves behind a cluster of trees.

  Taking his telescope from its case, Remy extended the brass instrument and trained it on the dust cloud. Through the lens, the blurry shapes resolved into men on horseback, brigands, by their appearance. Their ragged cloaks and mismatched armor betrayed their lawless nature.

  “What is that?” Jehan asked, glancing at the telescope with suspicion.

  “A tool,” he replied, handing it to her. “Here, take a look.”

  Tentatively, she raised it to her eye and gasped. “I can see them clearly! Is this witchcraft?”

  He chuckled, shaking head. “Craftsmanship, Jehan, nothing more, nothing less.”

  She lowered the telescope and stared at it with a mixture of awe and distrust. “Incredible… But those men, they’re brigands! Vile creatures!”

  “Calm down,” he said evenly, taking the telescope back. Her youthful zeal sometimes needed tempering.

  He observed as the band of brigands intercepted a small caravan. The merchants had halted their wagons, and he could see their leader, an older man with a weathered face engaged in tense negotiation. It seemed the caravan had decided to pay the toll rather than fight, handing over a purse of coins and some of their goods. The brigands, satisfied with their plunder, began to retreat without further incident.

  Jehan shifted restlessly beside him. “Shouldn’t we help them?” she whispered.

  “No need,” he said, keeping his voice low. “They’ve made their decision.”

  Still, he waited in the shadows, wary of treachery. His hand rested on his crossbow, ready to act if the brigands turned their attention toward them. But the men didn’t so much as glance in their direction. When the danger had passed, he nudged his destrier forward, urging it into a slow trot toward the caravan.

  The leader, seeing him approach, lifted his hand in greeting. His expression was a mixture of gratitude and something else, a hint of reproach, perhaps.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t point at me?” Remy asked.

  “You wound me, my lord!” he called out, raising his voice to carry over the distance. “We are good Christians, and to betray a lord who has soothed our ails would be to damn our souls to hell! It would bring us no fortune but ill!”

  Remy studied him for a moment, searching his eyes for any hint of deceit. Finding none, he inclined his head. “I see. Then may God continue to bless you with wisdom,” he said.

  The man bowed slightly, his weathered face softening with relief. Remy reined his horse around and rode back to Jehan, who was waiting under the trees. She fell in step beside him as they resumed their journey.

  “I do not understand,” she said after a while. “Did you truly believe they would sell us out to those brigands?”

  “I did,” he replied honestly. “I’ve been traveling for a long time now, Jehan. These men and women wouldn’t hesitate to take my warhorse or my gear if they thought they could get away with it. I’ve lost six boots on this journey alone, snatched while I slept. It’s not a lack of faith, but experience that keeps me cautious.”

  Jehan frowned, her youthful idealism clashing with the hard truths he spoke. She wanted to argue, as she always did, but something held her back this time. Perhaps it was the quiet conviction in his voice, or perhaps she was beginning to understand the lessons the road had to teach.

  The scenery of Bohemia stretched out before them, a patchwork of rolling hills, dense forests, and quaint villages tucked into the landscape like forgotten treasures. The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of pine and earth.

  For a while, they rode in silence, the rhythmic sound of hooves on the dirt road lulling them into a contemplative mood. Jehan’s gaze wandered to the horizon, where the sun hung like a golden coin, casting long shadows over the land.

  “This place is beautiful,” she said softly.

  “It is,” he agreed, though his tone was tinged with melancholy. “But beauty alone cannot protect it. These lands are as dangerous as they are fair.”

  Jehan turned to him, her brow furrowed in thought. “Do you think the world will ever change?” she asked. “That there will be a time when men no longer take from one another by force?”

  He gave a wry smile. “Perhaps. But it won’t be in our lifetime, Jehan. The world is a harsh teacher, and humanity has always been a slow learner.”

  Her shoulders slumped slightly, and for a moment, she looked every bit the young girl she still was beneath the armor of her convictions. But she straightened quickly, her resolve returning. “Even so, I believe we must try to change it. If we don’t, who will?”

  He nodded, her words sparking a flicker of hope within him. “You have a good heart, Jehan. Don’t lose that, no matter how much the road tests you.”

  The rest of the day passed uneventfully, the quiet solitude of the countryside offering a reprieve from the morning’s tension. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson, they began searching for a suitable spot to make camp.

  They found it beneath a stand of tall oaks, their gnarled branches forming a natural canopy. As Remy gathered firewood and Jehan laid out their belongings, he couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s events, the brigands, the caravan leader’s honesty, and Jehan’s unwavering determination to believe in the goodness of people.

  Perhaps, he thought, she was right. Perhaps there was still hope for a world where men and women could live without fear. He had seen it. Lived on it and took it for granted like everyone else. Maybe it was because of people like Jehan that a day like that would come. Even though human life could be so temporary and short, they lived on in the ideas they passed on, even if they were the smallest pieces of information, for this was the truth of humanity.

  At least that's what Remy believed.