Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (47 page)

“What’s
going on?” he wondered, viewing a clear sky. “Sun doesn’t get very high, but it
can’t be that cold.” He wriggled his toes and felt immensely relieved that he
could feel them. “Those boots have been a godsend.”

Consulting
his notes, he scanned the countryside. Landmarks were his only hope of finding
the next village. They were there. He grunted with relief and heard a popping
crackle. Confused by the sound at first, his heart started to race when it
happened again.

“You
idiot,” he muttered, “that’s the moisture in your breath freezing the second it
leaves your mouth.”

As
the implications sank in, he felt fear that was only a step away from panic.
“Dammit to hell, should have noticed that hours ago. That’s why I’m so tired.
Not enough food to hold off hypothermia.”

The
foothill he was standing on towered over its neighbors to overlook an immense
bowel-shaped valley. The terrain curved down and away so far that trees on the
bottom appeared like blades of grass. The Boras rimmed the valley to the north
forming a gigantic wall of gray stone and ice. In their size, they seemed to be
the beginning and end of all things. They were magnificent, but Jeff saw no
beauty.

He
searched for the giant eagles that were often to be seen drawing lazy circles
in the sky. There were none aloft or any other birds. For the first time Jeff
noticed there was absolutely no breeze. Holding his breath to listen, he heard
no sounds at all. The land was deathly, oppressively silent. He rushed
downslope at a panic-driven pace.

“I’ve
got to get to the next village before nightfall!” He nearly fell headlong and
abruptly stopped. “Cut the shit, Jeffrey. Run anymore and you’re dead. Use your
goddamed head!”

Dark
blue shadows streaked the land when Jeff began to dig into a snow bank. He had
hollowed out a good-sized hole before the futility of what he was doing sank
in. Breathing hard from his effort but still shivering, he rode out another
swell of panic.

“Okay,
I’m not even sweating after all that work and temperatures might drop as low as
fifty degrees below zero tonight, maybe more. My bag is only good to ten below,
and even with everything in the pack piled on and buried in the snow it just
isn’t going to fly. Not with the hypothermia I’ve already got going. Make a
fire, then set up camp.”

A
mockingly glorious sunset of greens and gold was fading to dark blue when Jeff
abandoned his hole and hurried to gather twigs and small tree limbs. Hands
shaking with anxiety, he set up the twigs and reached for his flint and wad of
punk. Nothing—his fingers were numb. He tried to control his hands by sight but
dropped the flint over and over again. When he did hit flint on steel, he was
unable to direct the sparks onto the punk.

Wishing
desperately for matches that were long gone, Jeff began to realize he might die
that night. Blue was turning to black speckled with stars, intensifying the
oppressive stillness. The only thing he could hear was his own breathing.

“The
stove fuel!” Jeff tore through his pack. He pulled the aluminum bottle out. “It
might work. It has to!”

He
intended to pour only a capful, but his arms were shaking so that fuel sprayed
on snow as well as twigs. “Please, please,” Jeff mumbled and attacked the piece
of steel with his flint. It was no good. Those sparks he managed to land in the
right spot would not ignite the fuel.

“I
don’t want to die! Not like this! There has to be a way to start a fire!” The
wish for matches that had passed through his mind flashed back.

“One
chance, that’s all your going to have,” Jeff whispered. His lips did not want
to work and his cheeks were as dead as a lump of clay.

Fumbling
a cartridge from the pistol he tried to wedge the slug out but could not.

“Oh,
damn it. I have to get it out!”

Jeff
opened the cylinder and clamped the shell between it and the receiver. Gripping
the slug with his teeth, he twisted the revolver. The revolver moved and the
slug between his teeth held firm. His relief was so profound when the slug popped
out that he nearly dumped the gunpowder. Bending far over to see, Jeff let the
gunpowder trickle into the nest of twigs.

“One
chance, one chance.”

The
larger moon sailed above the horizon lending a fairy-tale aspect to forest and
mountains while Jeff repeatedly tried to get a spark. His arms and hands were
like sticks of wood and would not work together. He stood there for some time
staring at the pile of twigs but seeing nothing.

“And
so it’s over. I can rest.”

Kneeling
down with bowed head, Jeff let go of hope and the need to live. Freeing his
spirit to begin another journey, steel and flint dropped to the snow in a
gesture of final surrender. Pale moonlight set the valley a-glimmer with pure
whites and dark greens; illuminated mountains that no longer threatened. The
moon sailed higher, nothing moved. All was silent.

Trees
surrounding the kneeling figure whispered. Sighing gently, a warm breeze tugged
at Jeff’s clothing. Frost had covered his eyes and melted to run like tears. A
squirrel stirred in its nest, moved by thoughts of spring’s tender shoots.
Somewhere, a bird called out a tentative query. Then, as before, nothing moved.
A new silence of contemplation and terrible judgment rested on the land. And so
he kneeled there, and so he was judged.

A
jagged splinter of fire burst into life over Jeff’s head, flamed to white
incandescence and plunged into the nest of twigs igniting the gunpowder. Gone
in one brilliant moment, the gunpowder lighted the stove fuel in a slower flare
that burned long enough to set the twigs afire.

Staring
at the flames from a great height, Jeff smiled at the yellow tongues that waved
so cheerfully in the florescent whites and greens of the night. How beautiful,
he thought. I wish I could take it with me, but it’s so far away. Can I take it
with me? Please? I’ve worked so hard.

“Yes,
you have.”

Jeff
awoke to his surroundings feeding sticks into the fire, which had grown large
enough to shed considerable warmth.

“It’s
burning! I must have hit one good spark into the twigs!”

Swept
by a renewed desire to live, Jeff stumbled around in the trees collecting
deadfall wood until he had accumulated a tall pile. Building the fire up to a
good blaze, he opened his coat to soak up as much heat as possible. He had set
the pot on to melt snow when he heard an explosion and a large limb crashed
down nearby.

“Shit!”

Staring
at the limb, Jeff gained new appreciation of just how cold it was. The sap had
expanded explosively when it froze, severing the limb. Some time later his face
and hands throbbed to life. Chewing a shred of jerky, he sipped hot water and
listened. The land was so still he could hear a distant popping like fireworks
as more trees shed limbs.

He
nodded off several times before unpacking the tent. The thought of going to
sleep was terrifying, but there was no choice. Rolling large hunks of wood into
the fire, he set his tent up with the mouth facing the fire and crawled into
the sleeping bag.

Jeff
awoke shivering violently. Teeth chattering, he crawled out of the sleeping bag
and from under every warm item he was packing. The fire had burned down,
leaving a deep bed of coals. He tossed wood on and new flames sprang to life.
When the shivering stopped, his brain began to churn through options.

“All
right, time to face it. Somehow you’ve managed to live through the night, but
how much food is left and how far to the next village?”

His
heart sank when he pulled out the single stick of jerky that remained. Jeff
located his notes and wearily trudged uphill. The landmarks were there; he had
located them the previous day. It was the distance to the next village that
mattered. A sense of desperation fought to take over again as he viewed the
terrain and consulted his notes. The nearest village was at least thirty miles
away. It was too far. He would never make it.

As
he tried by force of will to bring the village closer, his gaze fell on the
line of mountains towering into the sky. Anger boiled up.

“Screw
you. I’m not going to give up now.”

By
the end of the day he was exhausted beyond anger. He had fallen three times,
twisting a knee the first time and hitting it against a tree the third. When
Jeff stopped to make camp every step was agony. That night he finished the last
stick of jerky.

Well
after dark, a shadow figure hobbled out of the forest supported by a rude
staff. Three dragging steps and stop. Three more and Jeff stopped longer. Muted
gasping sounds gradually faded. Raising his head he sniffed the air from side
to side. Starlight revealed a face that sagged with exhaustion and was so thin
that every bone stood out. His clothing was matted with snow from falling, his
beard a chunk of ice.

“Smoke.
Know I smelled smoke.” After a brief silence he sobbed, “Oh Jesus, where is it?
I can’t do this anymore.”

Dragging
his damaged leg, three steps at a time, Jeff skirted a number of obstacles but
stumbled into another. Circling the mound he continued toward the edge of the
clearing, now only a short distance away. A yellow-orange rectangle of light
blinked into existence.

A
torch-wielding man cautiously emerged from the rectangle, spear in hand. Vision
impaired by the torch, he bumped into the stooped figure. Letting out a
terrified yell he jumped back. Jeff stopped and tried to figure out what the
noise meant, failed, and took another step toward the forest. The villager’s
cry brought others running. Mesmerized, they watched Jeff move in slow motion
until he disappeared into the trees.

Casting
apprehensive looks into the woods, the villagers hurried to find light and
warmth. Inside one of the lodges an elderly man was stoking the fire. He looked
up when a younger man entered.

“What
has happened? Have the gods visited us?”

“No,
Father, it was a demon!”

The
old man snorted skepticism. “Tell me of this ‘demon’.”

He
became alarmed as the tale unfolded. “You are foolish children. This is a man
near death, no demon. You must go quickly, Erlik. Gather help and bring him to
our lodge.”

Erlik
ducked out of the lodge with a fresh torch. It was his fervent wish that he
would live long enough to duck back in. Rousting out a collection of equally
reluctant friends, they edged into the forest muttering terrified oaths at the
huge footprints. Fifty yards into the forest, they found him lying face down in
the snow and deathly still. Erlik felt deep chagrin when he kneeled and got a
closer look.

“Assist
me. Father was right, this is no demon.”

Pushing
through the door to his lodge, Erlik and two companions lay Jeff on deer hides
that covered the floor. A fourth entered and set the backpack down. Quick hands
stripped Jeff of clothing. When his hat was removed, the elder drew in a
dismayed breath.

“Now
will the doom of this village be spoken by the gods. This man is of the
Alarai.”

Erlik
was stricken by his father-in-law’s words and took his hand. “Forgive me for
having failed you. If such doom should be harsh, it must be mine alone.”

The
old man, who once was known as Theregrond, shook his head and patted Erlik’s
hand.

“Are
you so mighty as to warrant such responsibility when others were equally negligent?
But come, now is not the time to debate guilt. We must begin his warming at
once.”

Erlik’s
wife, Lilet, and his daughter had finished undressing Jeff and were cleaning
his face of crusted dirt and ice that was beginning to melt. Shortly, they slid
him onto a bed of furs near the firepit.

“He
is so thin. Will his spirit survive, Grandfather?”

“There
is hope, child.”

Dropping
extra furs by Jeff, Theregrond glanced at his granddaughter. Magda was sitting
back on long thighs, hands busy with a rough comb made of bone trying to get
accumulated debris out of Jeff’s hair.

Magda
had intrigued Theregrond as she developed from a quiet, introspective girl into
an even quieter woman. While she rarely spoke, he always paid strict attention
when she did. Each word seemed to have been picked from a thousand others in
order to find just the right one. She participated in village activities and
seemed to enjoy them, but never abandoned her emotions to the moment.

Her
parents had become concerned that Magda was not showing enough interest in men
of her age. Theregrond perceived that concern to be misplaced. He didn’t think
there was a young man in the village she had not evaluated. She did it without
any fuss, and always privately. When Magda made up her mind she would act. He
had seen it before.

Magda
threw off her clothes and slid under the furs next to Jeff. Lilet did the same
and they sandwiched him between them.

“He
is so cold.”

The
tone of Magda’s voice and the fact that she had spoken again attracted
Theregrond’s attention. She had pulled Jeff’s head against her neck. Lost on
some distant horizon, her eyes were filled with calm certainty. Theregrond
glanced at Lilet and found her intently studying Magda’s face.