by Z Brewer
My travels were taking me North, closer to King Darrek's castle. From the very top of the past two ridges I'd climbed over, I could see it in the distance, standing high and arrogant atop a snow-covered mountain. It wasn't far now. One more peak and I should be there. At least, if my calculations were right. The temperature had dropped to a bone-chilling degree, and I was beginning to wish that I'd purchased thicker clothing to wear under my cloak, which had seemed so suitable just a few nights ago. But now I was sitting so close to my fire pit that the bottoms of my feet were almost being licked by flames, and I was still freezing. I hadn't thought to purchase gloves, so I tucked my hands under my cloak and placed them under my arms for warmth. The sun was only just beginning to set--a fact that filled me with concern. If it was this cold now, how cold might it get once the sun's light retreated from my campsite?
I wasn't at all sure that I wanted to know the answer to that question.
The woods here were different. A tribute to the higher elevations, with their leafless trees and bare ground. No birdsong filled my ears, no skittering of small animals in the distance. These woods were too silent, lifeless, and frightening. All of those things were emphasized by the fact that I was traveling alone.
Tossing more logs that I’d gathered on the fire, I curled up on my side, using my satchel as a pillow. Maybe if I could fall asleep before it got really cold, I could rest all through the night, and wake again to the sun's warmth. It was a theory, anyway.
As my eyelids fluttered closed, I thought about Gage, and wondered if he was camping somewhere relatively warm, lying on his side, thinking about me. Before I could think about him too much, kind, dreamless sleep took its hold over me.
It wasn't a noise that woke me hours later, but movement. My own movement. I was shivering.
Opening my eyes, the first thing that I noticed was that my campfire had gone out. The second thing that I noticed was the snow.
It blanketed the ground and had managed to douse my fire as the night had progressed. And though the sun had risen at last, I found no comforting warmth in its presence at all. The snow had covered me as I lay sleeping, and much of it had melted, soaking the fabric of my cloak and my clothing. My skin ached from the cold, and my right hip was completely numb. My teeth chattered, causing me to bite my tongue, but I could barely feel it. What's worse, the forest seemed oddly colored and too bright—it hurt my eyes to look at it.
From my satchel, I withdrew some dried meat and fruits. A belly full of food would help settle my senses and warm my core. I munched on my makeshift picnic, but felt no different. It was as if I’d been frozen through. I turned my head, scanning the forest for any sign of life, but found nothing. My head swam as I turned my head, and I told myself that I should sit back down. Worry filled me when I realized that I was already sitting.
My fingers fumbled with the cord that had tied my dried foods into neat packaging. After several tries to retie the knots, I gave up and tossed the supplies into my satchel with a sigh.
It was becoming very apparent that I had developed a fever sometime in the night. I needed shelter. And medicine. Quickly.
I kept my cloak on, despite the fact that it was soaked through with melted snow, gathered my satchel and katana, and tried to get my bearings through the grip of my fever. The world was fluid in my sickness, not offering danger at all, and I knew that I had to be careful. I could not trust my own mind while I was in its fevered grip. I moved further East, climbing up the hill until I reached a break in the trees. From where I stood, I could see Darrek's castle clearly. It looked to have been carved from the stone of the mountainside--a strange, almost natural extension of the mountain itself. Beneath it was a series of openings, and traveling in and out of those openings were people pushing mining carts. Most of the carts were filled with stone, but some with black sand. Moving in and out of the largest of the cave openings were several Graplars. I steadied myself against a tree when I saw them. Were they just a figment of my fevered imagination, or was I really seeing Graplars in close proximity of people without harming them? It reminded me of my experience with the wounded youngling, and I couldn't help but marvel at the image.
After scanning the ridge that surrounded Darrek's fortress, I spotted a small cave several yards to my right. Straining my muscles to keep moving, keep pushing myself, I stumbled inside. The cave was bigger inside than I’d thought it would be, judging by the small opening. Inside, any debris had been cleared away. There was a long-cold fire pit near the door, and a stack of wood and kindling piled next to it. Clearly, someone had used the cave as a hideout before. I could only hope that they wouldn’t return while I was there.
It was a struggle to do so in my fevered state, but I managed to build a small fire, hoping that the brush near the cave opening would be enough to hide the fire light from Darrek's men. I dug in my satchel, knowing that I had enough singeweed to brew to take my fever down, but when I found it, my stomach clenched. The singeweed had been soaked by melted snow, and I had far less food than I could recall. Maybe three bites of meat and a single bite of fruit. My herbs were useless. Everything in my satchel was useless now. I had practically no food, no medicine. And what's worse, I had no choice but to leave the safety and growing warmth of the cave in an effort to seek out fresh herbs in this barren wasteland. My stomach rumbled and my head swam. For a brief moment--I hoped that it would be brief, anyway--I deeply regretted ever having snuck out of Shadow Academy. If I were there right now, I would at least be fed and warm and well. Maybe even a little happy. I'd have Maddox, food, and access to books. It wouldn't be the worst place in the world to be trapped. Would it?
Cursing my fever, the father of my confused thoughts about the Academy, I doused my fire, grabbed my katana and headed outside once again. The cure wasn't going to be found in this cave, just as the answers to my questions weren't going to be found inside the safe walls of Shadow Academy.
Moving along the ridge, I descended into a small valley, hoping that maybe something green and lush would be lurking amongst all the gray and dismal surroundings. I searched for hours, but, finding nothing, I climbed the opposite side of the valley, promising that I wouldn't travel too far from the safety of my cave. A smell caught my attention, and I hoped that it wasn't merely something my brain was making up. It smelled like a fire. And, maybe, food.
Peering over the next ridge, I spied a campsite. There were people there. People with supplies. My heart fluttered anxiously at the sight of them, but I had to be careful.
They could be anyone, from King Darrek's elite soldiers to random thugs. It was difficult to tell from this distance, especially with the blowing snow and tree branches in the way. As carefully as I could manage, I navigated my way down the slope and hid behind a large tree. Their fire flickered brightly in the campsite on the other side. A pot hung from a trammel over the fire, and its lid bounced occasionally as whatever was inside boiled. I couldn't smell what it might be--food or laundry--but I was intrigued, and my stomach rumbled its interest as well.
At the far side of the camp, four burlap tents were set up, which told me that there were at least four people in the group, likely more. One man was sitting by the fire, keeping an eye on the pot and enjoying the heat of the flames. As I watched, I saw a woman move from one tent to another. They were dressed in uniforms befitting Darrek's elite guard, made of staunch gray sheepswool, suitable for the higher elevations. The collars of their uniforms were high, blocking a large part of their faces from the wind. Their feet were clad in leather boots that reached their knees--perfect for this wintery climate. To say I was envious of their warm, dry clothing was an enormous understatement. I scanned the campsite for anything I might be able to grab--a pair of boots or a spare uniform --but nothing had been left out unguarded. All of their supplies seemed to be tucked away safely. Likely, I surmised, inside those warm, dry tents.
The soldier that had been warming himself by the fire stood and stretched. My heart beat erratically for a
moment. There was nothing between us but a tree trunk. What if he saw me? I was too sick, too weak to fight him off and run away. He leaned forward then, peering into the woods, and time froze. I pressed my weary body against the tree and did my best not to breathe.
After several seconds, each longer than the one before it, I listened as his feet moved through the snow, retreating to the other side of camp. He hadn't seen me. I was safe.
Stepping carefully into the well-packed snow of the camp area, I crept closer to the fire. My fingers closed over the thin handle of the pot, and I jerked my hand back at its heat, cursing. Instantly, I looked around, but it seemed my cursing had gone unheard. Using the edge of my cloak as a buffer, I picked the pot up again, and as I lifted it, relief filled me. Its weight carried significance, which meant that its contents were likely something useful. Food, maybe. Or laundry, which could mean extra layers of warmth for me. It wasn't an herb satchel, but I'd made my peace with that. The notion of finding something to cure my fever with was a distant dream, one not rooted in my current reality at all. And there was no chance of me sneaking inside one of their tents to retrieve an herb satchel and escaping with my life intact. I was lucky to snatch this--whatever it was.
Pulling my hand back, clutching my prize as if my life depended on it--and it might--I was careful to keep the hot metal a good distance from my legs and arms, so as not to burn my flesh and wound myself further. The handle I watched the campsite for any sign of the soldier returning as I made calculated movements. Though I heard muffled chatter coming from one of the tents in the distance, it appeared that I was in the clear. I stepped back, turning as quickly and as quietly as I could to begin my trek back up the mountainside. But my movements were thwarted when I ran face-first into the chest of one of Darrek's soldiers.
A curse flew from my lips as we hit, and I quickly raised my eyes to get a better look at my adversary. He was dressed in layers of uniform that must have kept him warm. A brown knit scarf was tied around the lower part of his face, to offer additional warmth and protection against the elements. We stood there for a moment--he with his warm clothes and me with my stolen pot--and watched one another, as if both of us were trying to decide exactly what to do next.
Before he could make up his mind, I took a step boldly to the side, hoping somehow to leave him behind in his confusion as to why some strange girl was wandering the mountainside during the cold months. But my hopes were shattered when he reached out a hand and grabbed me by the front of my cloak. He yanked me back to my former place in front of him. The heavy pot left my fingers and fell into the snow below. My fever swirled the woods around me momentarily, and it was the soldier's spoken a word that brought me back to Tril again, back to my reality.
"Kaya."
Blinking, I looked into his slate gray eyes, wondering how this man had any idea who I might be.
He tore the scarf from his face, exposing his nose and mouth to the elements, his eyes locked on mine the entire time. When he spoke, his words came out in a fog. His tone was only slightly chastising. And to my great shock, he sounded mildly relieved to see me. "What are you doing out here?"
I blinked again at the familiar sight of him, just as surprised to see him as he was to see me. For a moment, my voice was lost. When I found it again, I said, "Trayton...what are you...you're dressed..."
But it couldn't be Trayton. It had to be a conjuring of my fevered imagination. Trayton was far away from here, likely in Okumatte now, and he certainly wouldn't be relieved to see me outside the Academy wall.
"Oh." He glanced down at his clothing in a manner that suggested that he'd completely forgotten what it was that he was wearing. "The uniform. Of course."
Of course. Because it should have been expected that a loyalist like Trayton would be found wearing the uniform of the enemy, in their company. My fevered brain was clearly working overtime.
I slanted my eyes at him, trying hard to focus on the fact that the man standing before me wasn't Trayton, but a soldier, one of Darrek's elite. "Let me go. Or you'll regret it."
Confusion seemed to wash over him then, and I believed the confusion to be real. Not Trayton's confusion, no. But that of a soldier, confounded as to how a lowly Healer thought she had any business threatening him. A worried crease formed on his forehead, and I wasn't sure who I was looking at for a moment--my vision of Trayton, so concerned about my well-being, or the nameless guard, who likely was glaring at me somewhere behind the Trayton facade. He parted his lips and Trayton's voice escaped them. "Your cheeks look flushed. Are you feverish?"
He reached out slowly, as if to touch the backs of his fingers to my forehead, but I was convinced that image was just in my head. In reality, I was betting the soldier was reaching for me, ready to grab me, subdue me, hurt me in some way.
Fever or not, I wasn't about to let that happen.
As fast as I was able, I grabbed him by the wrist and pulled with all my might, keeping my weight on my right leg behind me. His eyes widened in surprise as I pulled him forward, but I couldn't see his expression for long. As his body fell forward, I jammed my knee into his ribs, feeling them crack against my force. Before his injured body could even hit the ground, I had the pot in my hand and was off, hurrying back the way I came. Analyzing his possible reaction--he was going to recover quickly, I knew it. Recover quickly, and pursue his attacker--I turned south for several yards until I came to the lip of a small cliff. The ground below was only about six or eight feet down, and the lid on the pot was tightly sealed. I could make it. Jump down and hurry under the lip of the rock I was standing on. Stay close to the rock and keep my tracks hidden. And he'd be none the wiser.
Confident in my decision, and knowing I didn't have much more time to consider my options, I dropped the pot gingerly into the snow beneath me, and readied myself to jump. In that brief moment between summoning my strength and breaking into a run, the thought crossed my mind that this might be an incredibly stupid idea. What if I landed wrong and broke my ankle? What if there wasn't any room under the ledge for me to brace myself against as I slinked away from my pursuer? And then, as I ran for the edge, another thought whisked through my mind. What if the man that I'd just incapacitated really had been Trayton after all?
My feet left the ground and for a moment, I was flying. Wind brushed my hair from my face. My cloak billowed out behind me. When I landed, I was grateful for the soft give of the snow...only it kept giving. I sank in up to my hips and cursed at the shock of cold that rippled through my body. But I didn't spend long regretting my situation. I grabbed the pot, which hadn't sank nearly as deep as I had, and hurried under the ledge, smoothing over the snow as quickly as I could. I didn’t know if it would work to cover my tracks. I only knew that I was out of time, and desperately needed for luck to be on my side. Following the wall of rock overhang until it came to an end. I must have bought myself fifty yards or so of hidden movement. And with any luck, I’d left that guard long behind.
As I hurried higher and higher up the trail-free mountainside, my feet sank into the snow. Each step was deeper than the last. The weight of the snow slowed me, but I pushed forward, ignoring the numbness in my calves and the giddiness inspired by my worsening fever. My leggings were soaked through with melted snow, and I could barely feel any sensation in my toes. I had to get back up the mountain, to the safety of the cave, at any cost.
Without my footprints to guide me, I was lost, trudging through the snow with no idea where to go but up, up, up. If I hadn't been so dizzy with fever, I might have panicked, but all I could focus on were how very cold my feet were, and how I wished that Gage and I were still travelling together. Maybe then I wouldn't have gotten so sick. Maybe then I wouldn't have been forced to wander into an elite camp and steal from King Darrek's men--something I was certain would come back to haunt me. They'd find me eventually. And when they did, I would pay dearly for my crime.
The handle of the pot was warm in my palm, but not unbearably hot anymore. I moved
it between hands, hoping to keep my fingers from freezing. My right calf tightened in a cramp and I staggered, but caught myself before I fell. Leaning against the tree that had acted as my savior against falling, I took a breather, wondering how far ahead of me the cave might lie, and whether or not I'd gotten turned around and was heading straight back to the guard's camp. Lifting the lid of the pot, I inhaled the intoxicating smell of herbed stew. What’s more, I knew the scent of one herb in particular, though I could not recall its name. My mother had used that herb on me several times as a child. Its primary benefit was as a fever reducer.
I reached inside and plucked out a chunk of meat, stuffing it into my mouth. I chewed hungrily and swallowed. Then I dug out some vegetables and ate those too. The food would help my lack of energy, I was certain. And if I ate enough of it, it would help stave off my fever as well.
Looking around, I tried to get my bearings once again, but the world was still swirling around me in a blur of colors. Steadying myself against the tree's trunk, I squeezed my eyes tight in an effort to regain my senses. When I opened my eyes, I noticed marks in the snow. Footprints. Maybe the footprints of one of Darrek's soldiers, I didn't know.
And there was really only one way to be certain.
Relinquishing my spot by the tree, I moved toward the footprints slowly, moving my eyes about the surrounding woods, wondering whether or I was being watched. My katana was still on my back, but I refused to give up the pot of food to arm myself. Maybe it was the fever, but I vowed to beat any kind of attacker with the pot if someone tried to harm me. As I approached the footsteps, I noted the size, and realized that these couldn't belong to the soldier I'd incapacitated. There were too small, too narrow. These were the footsteps of a woman. Or a child. I raised my foot and placed it inside the marking in the snow. To my great relief, it fit perfectly. These were my steps. Made by my feet. Which meant that maybe I could follow them back to the cave.