The Path to the Sun (The Fallen Shadows Trilogy)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

  Bria’s eyes grew large.

  “All right. We’ve heard enough,” Kiran said through clenched teeth. “We’ve left and that’s all that matters.

  “Sure, sure,” said Pel with a shrug. He looked at Kiran, then back at Bria. “ Uh huh. Hm. Well, I’m thirsty,” he declared, sitting up and slapping his thighs.

  “Here.” Deke leaned over the side to fill a waterskin in the river.

  Bria looked at the stack of foodbags on the raft. “You packed all this food but didn’t fill the waterskins?”

  “Thanks, friend,” Pel said to Deke with a grin, taking the waterskin from him. He looked to Bria. “I couldn’t. The drinking pool is not on the island. You have to go over the bridge, and it’s always guarded.” He lifted the waterskin to take a drink.

  Kiran grabbed his arm. “We were warned not to drink from the main river. Only the small streams.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” said Deke. “He heeds the words of a savage.”

  Pel paused, looking at Kiran as though assessing his judgment. He handed the waterskin back to Deke. “I prefer to err on the side of caution.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Deke, shrugging his shoulders. He tipped up the waterskin and took a draught of the water and sighed, a long drawn out “ahhhhh” to emphasize his pleasure.

  Pel grabbed the waterskin back from him. With his fingernail, he made a long scratch along the side. Deke looked at him with confusion. “So that I may know which is yours,” Pel said, handing it back to him, “and I don’t drink from it.”

  Kiran smiled.

  From high in the treetops came the low, guttural bellow of the lost souls, so loud, so intense, Kiran could feel it rumble in his chest. He shrank back, his eyes darting to the green canopy above, a shiver running through him.

  “Lost souls,” cried Bria, her eyes wide.

  “That’s just the monkeys,” said Pel, popping a nut in his mouth.

  Kiran looked at Pel with surprise. “That’s what Kalindria told me.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Who’s Kalindria?” Bria asked.

  “She’s the woman who helped us escape. She works in the kitchen,” Kiran told her, distracted by a flood of unfamiliar feelings. “I helped her make the drink for the party. She used to be a Javinian.”

  “A Javinian?”

  He had everyone’s attention now.

  “Yeah, she used to be. But she said she had to leave.” He paused, thinking back to their conversation. “She knew things too. She knew Aldwyn.”

  “Why would she be with the Kotari?” Bria asked.

  Pel answered, “The Kotari are folks from all races and lands, people who felt cast out or unwanted, seekers. Everyone there is from somewhere else.”

  “Yes, I understand that. But why did she leave the Javinians?”

  Kiran shrugged. Had she been unwanted, like him? Is that why he felt at home with the Kotari?

  “Look,” Pel said, pointing into the forest. Clustered on the crook of a tree were seven dark-furred creatures, their faces shiny black, with round brown eyes and soft, stubby noses. One pursed its lips into an O and let out a long, ululating call.

  Kiran stared in wide-eyed wonder. “She was right.”

  “They are so cute,” Bria cooed.

  The monkeys followed the raft as it glided downriver, swinging from branch to branch, grabbing hold with human-like hands, using their long tails to steady themselves.

  Without warning, the sky seemed to open and rain fell in a torrent, coming in sheets so thick they couldn’t see across the river. Water poured from Kiran’s hat and ran down his back. They dragged the raft to shore.

  Kiran grabbed a waterskin and tried to catch it. The water splashed around the small opening. Little went in.

  “Hey, look at this,” Jandon hollered. He had a giant leaf held over his head, a palm frond he had tugged from its stem.

  Kiran grabbed the other waterskins. “Roll the end,” he shouted over the pounding of raindrops. “Like a funnel!” Together, they filled the waterskins and everyone gulped their fill of fresh water.

  With his knife, Roh cut more of the large fronds. Kiran found some branches and they tied the leaves together, creating a shelter. With a little effort, they were able to fasten it to the raft, one of the leaves turned downward for collecting rainwater, and they were back on the river.

  As soon as the rain stopped, Kiran anticipated relief from the heat, but the air turned steamy and the humidity hung thick in his mouth.

  They floated down the river hoping for more rain that did not come. The air remained sticky wet, a stagnant, humid heat that oozed from the green depths. Nothing dried here. Everything they had was soggy and smelling of mildew. Their wet clothing clung to them. Occasionally, they’d find a puddle of water, held cupped in a leaf, but it was usually only enough for one or two of them to wet their mouths. There was never enough to refill their waterskins. They became ever watchful for side streams.

  As they drifted deeper and deeper into the jungle, plants and vines with leaves in all shapes and sizes grew entwined around enormous trees, merging with their branches into an endless expanse of impenetrable green with no horizon and scant glimpses of the sky. After three days, they could no longer find the sun and lost all sense of direction in the chaos. They were at the mercy of the capricious river, twisting and turning through this foreign landscape.

  By day, the forest was silent, showing no sign of inhabitants whatsoever, human or otherwise. They had assumed, in the thick of wilderness, there would be animals to hunt. They even tried their hand at fishing, but were unable to catch even a single fish. They soon realized that any food that may be available in the jungle was out of reach, high atop the trees in the canopy, where they could see the monkeys feasting, but could not reach themselves. At ground level, there was nothing to harvest.

  The only creatures in abundance were the buzzing insects that came out in droves at dusk, swarming around their heads, getting in their mouths and nostrils. When the high-pitched Eeeeee-Eeeeeeee of the night bugs started, they knew it was time to make camp. If a sandbar couldn’t be found, they’d push through tangles of branches for high ground.

  Kiran dreaded the night. He would lie wrapped in his damp bedroll, listening to the cacophony of nocturnal creatures, every sense alert. Over the incessant chitter of countless insects, he’d hear low, guttural growls and thumps that raised the hair on his neck. Then a high-pitched shriek would slice through the night, piercing through the din of the jungle, and all life would halt in a deathlike silence, waiting in breathless anticipation. Then the bugs would ease back into a slow, steady hum. By the time morning finally came, with the nerve-wracking cries of the monkeys, he was thankful to get back on the raft again.

  Kiran had no idea what to do about Bria. In the past, she had always been more reserved around the others than when they were alone, but now she was even more distant and withdrawn. She slumped where she sat. He tried not to stare, but couldn’t help himself. She would chew her food, stopping to stare off into the distance, a look of regret in her eyes. He wanted so much to tell her how sorry he was. He ached to see her smile, to hear her contagious, uninhibited laughter. He thought he might drown in her sorrow.

  His only consolation was Pel’s effervescent optimism. The boy’s uninhibited nature was infectious. He regaled them with tales of faraway places. He told them of giants covered from head to toe with shaggy white hair who lived in the snow-capped mountains and came down to surrounding villages once a year to steal babies from their cribs. He went on about a tribe of hunters, men with enormous genitalia who tossed their wives and daughters off cliffs, sacrificing them to their gods. He talked of man-size bats that lived in forests like these, creatures that would creep into a hut at night, tiptoeing on their hind legs, and climb onto their sleeping prey, sinking their fangs into their victim’s flesh without waking them, sucking their blood dry.

  Kiran wasn’t sure what to make of his stories. Pel knew more
about the world than he did, that was for sure, but was he just telling stories to keep them entertained? He certainly had a knack for drama; everything seemed exaggerated. Still, Pel spoke with conviction, as though he had witnessed these events first hand.

  Jandon followed every word, quaking. Bria ignored him altogether and Roh tolerated him with the same amused grin he always wore.

  When Pel started on about sea creatures that talk, Deke scowled and with a harrumph said, “Pel, I believe you could very well be the best teller of tales I’ve ever met.”

  Pel stopped mid-sentence and looked at Deke. “Hey, before we left, you mentioned a dwelling place at the edge of the world. What did you mean?”

  “Well, we, Pel, are not on some fairytale adventure. We seek the Voice of the Father who dwells on the far side of the world, near the sea.”

  “The voice near the sea. Do you mean the Oracle?”

  Kiran piped up. “The Oracle?”

  “Yes, She who is all-knowing. Everyone seeks Her guidance at some point.”

  “She lives by the sea?” Kiran asked.

  “Oh, yes. She is sought by men the world over for her prophecies. You should see Her palace. Oooooh. It’s much more luxurious than the Guardian’s. And Her court of priestesses.” He raised his eyebrows. “Well, they are fine to look at.” He glanced at Jandon and they shared a knowing nod.

  “This Oracle is a woman?”

  “Is She ever.”

  Deke made an exaggerated eye roll and turned his back to Pel.

  “How do you know this?” Kiran urged.

  “I used to live there,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Well, not with the Oracle, but in the city. It’s really a long story, I—”

  “You lived by the sea?” Kiran interrupted. “On the edge of the world? Facing the setting sun?”

  “Uh huh. Oh look!” he pointed, jabbing in the air with gleeful enthusiasm. “Pull over! Pull the raft ashore.”

  Roh and Kiran looked at each other and shrugged. They pushed the poles against the river bottom and the raft glided to the shoreline. Pel leaped from the raft and darted into the leafy jungle. The others waited, uncertain what to think as he disappeared from view, thrashing through the brush.

  Kiran leaned over to Roh and whispered in his ear, “Do you think he tells the truth? About the Oracle?”

  “I don’t know,” Roh whispered back. “I was wondering if he ever shuts up.”

  They waited, staring into the tangle of green.

  Bria scratched her face, red and swollen with bug bites.

  Finally, Pel burst from the foliage, arms loaded with leafy branches.

  “What the blazes are you doing?” grumbled Deke.

  “Oh, you’ll thank me,” Pel said with a mischievous grin. He dropped the branches into a pile on the raft. “Off we go,” he said with a flick of his wrist. “Onward.”

  Roh shook his head in disbelief and shoved the raft back into the current.

  Pel plopped down on the raft and started plucking the leaves from the branches. He shoved a few leaves in his mouth and chewed. “Bria, would you kindly find a pouch?”

  Bria nodded, reaching for the packs, keeping an eye on him as though she didn’t know what he might do next.

  “Here, try these,” Pel said, handing Kiran a handful of leaves.

  “I really want to hear more about the city by the sea,” Kiran said, uninterested in the leaves.

  “Sure, sure. Whatever. But first, give these a try.” His eyes grew bright. “Go on now.”

  Kiran held the leaves in his open palm, examining them. They were thin, oval-shaped, almost opaque with a green tint. He put one leaf in his mouth and chewed. It had a pleasant, pungent taste.

  “Go on now, all of them,” Pel said. “Trust me, you’ll like it. I call these Kiki leaves. They give you a…” He thought for a moment, looking up out of the corner of his eye. “A cheerful mental lucidity,” he said with a grin. “Chewing these leaves can stave off your thirst.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so stubborn,” Deke said. “There is water all around us.”

  Kiran took one look at Deke and shoved the rest of the leaves in his mouth. As he chewed, a pleasurable numbness filled his mouth, easing the gnawing thirst. “Tell me more about your home, the city by the sea,” he said to Pel.

  “You like the kiki leaves?”

  Kiran nodded.

  “So, what do you want to know?”

  “Everything. The city. The Oracle.”

  “There’s not much to tell, really.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  Pel clamped his mouth shut and turned away. For the first time since Kiran had met him, Pel had nothing to say.

  At last, they came upon a shallow, muddy rivulet, oozing from the bank. Pulling the raft to the shore, they disembarked and tried to walk along the shoreline back to the spring. The entire forest floor was spongy and rotten, the top layer dark, rich compost. Long, flat liana crisscrossed their path, sharp thorns protruding at every angle, snagging on their clothing and cutting their skin. They dipped and twisted to avoid the spiny vines.

  At the spring, Kiran brought cupped hands to his lips. “It’s bitter,” he said, his face screwed up in a pucker.

  “Bitter?” asked Pel. “I know what to do. Wait here.” Once again, he disappeared into the thick tangle of vegetation, thrashing through the underbrush. He emerged with an armload of branches. He dropped to his knees and dug in the mud with his bare hands. Cramming the leafy branches into the mud, he made a small dam where the water formed a tiny puddle, the sediment settling to the bottom.

  “How do you know all this? How to get the water, about the Kiki leaves?”

  Pel shrugged.

  “This is good,” Roh said. “Let’s make camp here. We can drink our fill, then leave in the morning with full waterskins.”

  They agreed and spread out, trampling down the foliage to make a comfortable camp and a short path back to the raft. Roh and Pel carried packs and dropped them in the center of the clearing. Deke helped but had to stop, coughing and out of breath. He sat down next to the packs, sweat dripping from his forehead and chin, his face ashen.

  “Are you all right?” Roh asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing, just the heat.”

  Roh started a fire from sodden wood and they stood around as it sputtered to life. Pel offered a sack of nuts.

  Jandon rubbed his stomach. “At least with the Kotari we had hot food.”

  Bria gave Jandon an eye roll. “I’ll be right back,” she said, turning to head into the jungle.

  “It’s not a good idea to wander off,” Pel warned. “You should stay close.”

  She stopped, hands on her hips. Then she turned and slipped through the foliage, out of sight.

  Jandon watched her go, then stepped next to Kiran. “What’s going on between you two?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? Are you kidding? The tension is enough to strangle a cat.”

  Kiran swallowed and looked away. Roh was down the path toward the raft, trying to get his attention. Using the Lendhi hunting sign to stay quiet, he motioned toward an unsuspecting animal, grazing in the underbrush downriver about fifty feet. It was nearly as big as a yearling lamb. An animal that size would provide food for them for days.

  Roh eased to a crouch, reaching for the knife in his boot. Suddenly a giant snake dropped from a tree branch and sank its teeth into the neck of the wild beast. The animal reared back, squealing. He grunted and bucked as he fought to get loose, but the hold of the snake was too strong. The creatures tumbled over one another in a grisly struggle, the beast flopping on the slippery riverbank as the nearly twenty-foot long snake slowly but methodically wrapped itself around him.

  Within moments, the snake had itself completely coiled around the beast and locked in a death hold, slowly strangling him in a mass of blood and mud. Kiran cringed with horror as the beast gasped for his last breath.

  “I’m sleep
ing on the raft!” Pel said, scooping up his pack and running for the raft.

  “Agreed!” The boys said in unison, grabbing their belongings.

  “Hold on!” shouted Kiran. “Bria, where’s Bria?” A shiver of terror shot through him.

  “Right here,” she said, emerging from the tangle of leaves, brushing at her sleeves. “I’ve never seen so many bugs. What’s all that noise?”

  She looked around, searching for the source. Her gaze stopped on the snake. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open.

  “Get on the raft!” Kiran shouted.

  Bria’s eyes shifted to Kiran and she nodded, grabbed her pack, and launched into a dead run.

  They shoved the raft from the shore and piled on, tossing their packs in a heap in the center.

  “Have you ever seen anything like that?” Kiran asked Pel, his arms shaking as he shoved off with the pole.

  Pel shook his head, his face gone pale.

  “From now on, we stay on the raft. Only stop on sandbars.”

  “Oh no,” said Deke.

  Kiran turned to look at him. He had his hand to his nose, blood oozing out. “What happened? Did you bump your nose?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t know.”

  Bria handed him a cloth from her pack. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “No, I…” He looked at the other boys. “I just have a headache. It’s nothing.”

  Bria put her hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  Deke swatted her hand away. “Leave me be, girl!”

  “Heads up,” said Roh, digging his pole in the muddy river bottom, bringing the raft to a stop. “Which way do we take?”

  There was a fork in the river ahead. To the right, the jungle closed in on itself, forming a tunnel of darkness. Puffs of steamy air swirled on the surface of the water like the warm breath of a giant, living beast.

  “To the left looks like the main branch,” Roh said.

  “But which goes in the direction of the setting sun?” Jandon asked.

  “I can’t tell.”