Silas followed the proper signs, allowing the forest to reveal the way. The campsite ended up not so far from the road—far enough that a fire would not be seen. He’d been looking over his shoulder since encountering the three at the well. They kept their distance but he spotted them as they wound up the switchbacks. He sprinted flat out once the road crested, satchel of gems clinking, and didn’t see anyone after. Still, he kept looking over his shoulder and he kept following the signs. One can never be too sure. He cleared a larger than usual site, leaving a wide patch of untouched earth at the center of the flat ring. In that center were three slender rocks, two thick segments of branches, and a patch of charred brush. Along the path of cleared dirt encircling it, he set down twigs and branches of various lengths, arranging them into symbols along the center line of the ring, leaving a gap at every fourth. Partway through he squinted, confused by the backwards character below him. He glanced over his shoulder, giving the forest a slow sweep and checking that the prior ones were also correct. It’d been a long, strange day but he knew he’d be fine; he would keep following the signs. One must stay vigilant nonetheless. The fire sputtered to life, requiring a little extra to be coaxed from where it slept. Silas was grateful for the warmth when it came, enjoying it after hauling the log he sat on from somewhere in the forest. Another ran parallel on the opposite side of the fire, empty. The third he’d broken down to fuel the flames. Walk in any direction along the ring and you would end up right back there, with a warm seat. He would prepare a place to sleep before long, a quarter turn along the path from the fire, as is tradition. His eyes wandered along the path and between the shadowy grooves in tree trunks. He would, of course, observe the signs, but one must always be ready.
It was a while before they came. Three of them. They came silently from the dancing shadows among the trees and made slowly for the fire, taking shape as they moved into the light.They walked the path of the ring, each step focusing and fixing them with more clarity. When they returned to the fire from the opposite end, they filed in across from him, standing over the other log. Just then, the perfect imitation of the highwaymen trio from before. “May we?” they asked, as is tradition. Their voices came in discordant unison. “Please, sit. Join me,” Silas said, sweeping a hand out over the fire, feeling its heat spike. They did as offered, smiling too big to intend anything honest, black irises soaking up firelight. “I thought I lost you over the ridge,” Silas said, looking at each in turn, from the whites of their eyes to their teeth. “We was quiet. Patient,” one of them started. “Heard the call of that there,” another continued. The third was pointing a finger at him, stiff as stone. “We knew we had to have itsss,” they sang together. “You didn't see the wards?” Silas glanced around the path of the ring again, reviewing his work, banishing his remaining doubt. He had followed the signs. When it is time, one must be willing to strike. The three laughed, together, while their faces remained still. "We are here already," the middle one said, leaning forward as its body stretched. "He is not learn-ed!" another shouted, playing with the word as its face ballooned. "You put the wrong pieces in the right places!" the last one teased, childlike. The fire burped; a ball of flame dissipated as it fell toward the sky. Silas grinned. The three shapes before him became fuzzy, less clear. “…wrong pieces?” they asked, whispering. "I have welcomed you onto this honored ground," Silas said. The symbols along the ring flickered awake, cool and dim. "And you have accepted." He walked to the inner edge of the ring and leaned forward, careful to disturb as little of the pristine patch within. When he returned to the fire, he revealed the three stones in an open palm. "One, for each of you." The stones transformed when he tapped them, from simple shale to ruby, sapphire, emerald. The spirits wailed, losing their forms and fraying at the edges. The wards worked in reverse, holding them in rather than keeping them out. Silas closed a fist around the stones and thrust it into the center of the fire. The three wraiths were drawn in, a twisting gale of spiraling darkness. In the last moments before the explosion scorched the ground, the ring was bathed in the kind of light that casts no shadows. When the forest returned to stillness, a soft tinkling could be heard near an abandoned campsite.