The full moon shone enchantingly, the stream flowing through the valley like quicksilver in an alchemist’s crucible. Flames shot up and sparks showered from the campfire where logs and resinous branches crackled.

When Reynevan told Scharley what would be necessary to return their new friend to the great beyond, the penitent didn’t utter a single word of mockery or disapproval, restricting himself to a shake of the head and a few sighs that demonstrated his reservations about the enterprise. But he didn’t decline to participate. Reynevan took part with enthusiasm. And optimism. Premature optimism, as it turned out.

At the request of the strange giant, they repeated the entire exorcism ritual performed at the Benedictine priory in the hope that another transmogrification would occur, thereby returning Samson to his realm, and the idiot from the priory to his huge body. So they repeated the exorcism, trying not to leave anything out, including the curses and nonsense words Scharley had uttered in his desperation. Reynevan even struggled hard to recall and repeat the Arabic—or possibly pseudo-Arabic—he had cobbled together from sundry sources.

All to no avail.

Nothing happened. No vibrations or movements of the Power were felt. The only results were the squawks of birds and the snorting of the horses frightened by the exorcists’ cries. Astonishingly, the least disappointed appeared to be the most interested of the parties.

“It just goes to prove the theory that in magic spells, the meaning of the words and sound in general is slight,” he said. “The crucial factor is the spiritual predisposition, determination and strength of will. I believe—”

He broke off, as though waiting for questions or comments. They didn’t come.

“I believe I have no other choice but to stay with you,” he concluded. “I’ll have to accompany you, hoping that one day, one or both of you will manage to repeat what you achieved by accident in the priory chapel.”

Reynevan look anxiously at Scharley, but the penitent said nothing. He was silent for some time, adjusting the poultice of plantain leaves that Reynevan had placed on his scratched and bitten neck.

“Oh well,” he finally said, “I’m in your debt. Passing over the doubts you didn’t completely dispel, my friend, I have no objection to you joining us on our travels. To hell with who you are—you proved that you’ll do more good than harm on the road.”

The giant said nothing and bowed.

“So let us travel together in good cheer,” continued the penitent. “Although I ask that you refrain from unduly ostentatious public declarations regarding your otherworldly origins. In fact, you ought—forgive my bluntness—to refrain from declaring anything at all, for your utterances are very disconcertingly at odds with your appearance.”

The giant bowed again.