Another morning, another day to get closer to the destination. One ring of the cellphone’s alarm was enough to wake James up. He was usually a light sleeper, but had been sleeping well lately. Without many dreams, and that was a good thing for him.
He quickly got ready and dressed, stuffed his belongings in his backpack, put on his boots, and set out. Once down the main road through Riego de Ambrós he was past the church, then out of the village into the montes de león. Once past the last street light, he switched on his frontal head light.
The path James was walking was well marked. It was not the first time it had been walked on, nor the first time it was written about. Heck, there were even a dozen films on the subject. He asked himself why he was out there and if he was reinventing the wheel in some way. But at the same time, being one of millions and finding himself in these lands, on this path gave him a sense of purpose and peace. Imagine that, the stars of the milky way guiding the path on a tiny, insignificant planet, walked by a microscopic fraction of people who made the choice to do so.
It was a half past six in the morning, but still dark as the night, since it was autumn. It was cold, but wearing a waterproof wind cheater and the brisk pace was enough to keep James warm. One hundred meters onwards, he was faced with a choice – follow the waymarked path or continue along the winding asphalted road? He had learnt the previous night after talking to the villagers that the regular path had a steep descent with a lot of scree. Continuing along the carretera nacional would add 2 km to his distance but was an easier trek. So along he went along the road.
To add to his plethora of thoughts, he now wondered if he was shirking from a responsibility, by deviating from the marked path thereby avoiding a difficult segment.
The road was winding, but James kept to the left of the limiting line. The frontal lamp was enough to illuminate a few meters ahead of him, and the road had reflective delimiters and indicators of curves. At a distance, the lights of the city of Ponferada were visible, through a gap between the mountains. Almost like a distant beacon to which he had to get to through the sea of darkness around him. On all sides, the wooded mountains formed a wall of black silhouettes.
What a terrible time to remember having read in the guidebook about wolves in the mountains! James now felt a creepy sensation and wished he had eyes at the back of his head. He quickened up his pace, held his walking bastions pointing upwards like lances, and continued along the road. Now every sound from the woods, every leaf crackling, every insect sound, seemed too close for comfort. James was not a fighting man. He hadn’t been in a brawl for over a decade. He possessed no weapon or training. He had begun learning martial arts the previous summer but was a newbie.
There was noone else around, neither people nor vehicles. The sound of the engine of a heavy vehicle some ditance away became audible. As it got louder, James stopped, moved to the left side of the road, and let the vehicle pass, making himself visible to the driver. It was a garbage collection truck. Then the sound faded away as the lights of the truck grew dimmer and eventually went out of sight. The structure of the mountains and the valley and the winding roads gave plenty of advance warning about approaching vehicles. But not about bandits or wild animals.
Five kilometers later came a temptation. As the road passed through a plateued region, there was a free camping site where people could pitch up their tents and spend the night. The site was gated and there seemed to be a café which was closed at that time. James considered stopping there until sunrise or until someone else came along. But he decided to carry on, since he had ground to recover that day.
It was getting close to a half past seven. The sun seemed to be taking longer than usual to rise that day. James than realized the necessity for daylight saving time, the twice a year annoying ritual of adjusting clocks.
Then, he saw the figure of a man walking ahead of him, in the same direction. That’s odd, he thought, because there were no houses or inhabitation from where the man could have emerged. The man was walking quite fast. He did not seem to have a backpack, unusual for pedestrians at that place and time, and had on a long black cloak. He seemed to have a small bundle slung across his shoulders, much like the way people would walk the path in the middle ages. But he did not have a scallop shell. James was in part relieved at the sight of another human being, but also in part apprehensive because nothing seemed right about this man. He quickened his own pace to try and get closer. “Hola, buenos dias,” he shouted when he was a few meters behind. But the man did not show any reaction. James then realized that he had come close to running to keep pace with the shadowy figure.
James was now just a couple of meters diagonally behind the mysterious walker. He was almost the same height as James, possibly slightly taller. He shouted out, ‘buenos dias, señor. Eres peregrino?’. At this point the cloaked man stopped and turned around and James saw his face. He was pale, almost skeletal, his face had a several days old stubble which wasn’t yet a beard. But what was the most weird were his eyes – they seemed to be sunken in completely rathern than appear as eyeballs placed in sockets. He had a wry smile, almost a smirk.
He said nothing, made no movement, only stood staring James down. Waiting for him to make the next move. It didn’t take long for James to realize he was face to face with the devil. “Now is the time to fight like a man,” he thought and got ready with his bastions.
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