Tabidaque

SIX

And he fears the darkness.
He fears the control it has
over him.
And he knows if he tries to
flee
it will destroy him.

My mind has escaped the memory, but I refuse to open my eyes. I don't want to think. I don't want to remember. It's not fear this time, it's dread. Because I know that wasn't the end.

She didn't die that night. I never went back to that place, so she found me.

I was sleeping by the cliffs. I never felt safe sleeping in the tent, in such close proximity to all the bodies who hated me in the waking world. I heard her croak, so hoarse and quiet I thought it was a dream. I heard her plead my name, and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it was a dream. But it wasn't. She had survived.

And I hated her for it.

I knew we would never get away. Death was better than whatever they would do to her now.

I remember her haunted eyes, her distended body, blistered and ugly from the poisonous mist. She could hardly walk, yet somehow she made it here. Somehow, she knew I would be here.

Her hand, bony and emaciated, stretched out to touch my face, and I shrank away. Eyes open, eyelids slit so she couldn't blink, just another hideous implement of torture. I didn't want to be here, with my walking corpse of a mother. She wasn't alive. She wasn't dead, but she was dying. Her soul was a prisoner, trapped in a body she no longer wanted. She wanted to take me with her. Take me to die.

That's what I thought then, anyway.

Without thinking, I ran, screaming, back to the camp. It was a mistake, for it roused him. My father. And he saw her, and he knew what he had to do.

Perhaps that was why I didn't stop it. I knew it was relief. For her.

A clenching pain in my abdomen jerks me away, and I am grateful for it. I wipe my mind clear and peer over the cliff. The Vandrender are still curled up, asleep, but they won't be for long. I quickly skin the dead Vandrend carcass, take what meat I'll use, and stuff it in my small leather pouch.

I sit for a while, rocking back and forth and trying not to freeze, keeping my mind blank until I hear the sounds of the Vandrender, beginning the move once more. They have sat vigil for their dead cub and are ready to move on.

I'm ready to move, too.

The carcass isn't any use to me anymore. I leave it on the rock. Once the Vandrender have disappeared into the distance, I leap down and begin to trail after them, keeping a safe distance. We're moving along the cliffs of the sea now, typical for the migration path of the Vandrender. I'll be able to spot any ship that comes near the cliffs. The Vandrender have a remarkable sense of direction, so I won't have to worry about getting lost while I'm travelling near them.

I hunt, luring a Vandrend away from the herd and killing it when the others can't see. I sleep when the Vandrender do. They probably have some internal sense of time, even though the sun has been gone for what must be days. Sometimes it seems like my sense of touch has vanished, and sometimes the cold is so penetrating I think I will bleed, but it never happens. I'm existing. Not living, but existing. Surviving.

Soon I realize we're heading away from the cliffs. I have no choice but to follow if I want to eat. My heart sinks as I see the towering peaks in the distance, looming like shadows. The Vandrender are moving to the Isfell.

This is the worst place I could be. The Season of Dvale is approaching, which means icestorms will be increasing. The Sviroser may take cover from sandstorms in their mountains, but in the Isfell, icestorms are the most concentrated. Besides that, snow tends to pile up on the cliffs, causing frequent and unexpected avalanches that tend to ambush travelers. The jagged cliffs tower high against the barren horizon, and the few paths that lead through are narrow with few places to take cover. To pass through would be nearly suicidal, attemptable only for someone with a death wish.