Creus(Full Book)

Part 14

He woke up. He lay against the grass dripping with dew. Something seemed to pinch his ears, but it faded away. He touched his ear. He ran his finger along the scar. It beat with another heart as the blood rushed through his ears. It went numb in quick successions, with pain rushing through his ears once again afterward. The scars, cut by those soldiers, would remain for his entire life.

He turned his head upward, leaning against the grass further. He tried to remember the first dream, struggling to catch a mere glimpse... He'd forgotten now... David sighed and watched the morning light plaster the tent with stripes of reflected light. The vials lay on the floor, and he picked them up. He moved shards of light from the vials, turning them and watching the light move with it.

David stopped, and drank some more water, then rested against the prickly grass. The sky receded from orange into blue and the sun became a red sphere that engulfed the sky. The fire blazed fiercely, seeming insignificant compared to the sun. He ran near the fire and warmed his palms. Snow fell above him, streaking the world with white, and clouds formed overhead.

"Unlucky timing", Osmond said as the snow began to cover the trees. Clumps of it fell on the fire, with steam rising as it did.

David nodded, "We'll continue. The weather will change, and it'll be fine."

He coughed, with his breath turning into vapor. He touched his forehead, and bent his head to face the clouds. The heat from yesterday had grown, and sweat froze while it dripped off his skin. Cold and hot, at the same time. A sickness... Maybe...

Pnoaphales stood in view, curving into the sky, and covered in snow. The fog made it hard to discern. Bernard stood up, the last one to wake, trudging through the mud, and near the fire.

"Nice day, without lightning in jagged lines", Osmond smiled.

Bernard nodded without looking up. His face glowed with the fire, radiating red while he crossed his arms limply and he stared at them.

"C'mon then. Let's go", Darrell beckoned forward.

They walked to their docked boat, which bobbed up and down. Rickman held the paddle and pushed it into the water. Lilypads floated down the stream, birds hid in the bushes, and the sky scraped the treetops.

The morning came with nothing but the red sun and orange sky. The hills cast shadows upon them while they walked. The sun rose and hid behind a shroud of clouds. After that, darkness covered the world as afternoon turned into night. They'd made some distance by then and were making their way across a slow stream when they saw the skulls.

Nobody, no life, only the dead themselves. Here they were, skulls stacked each other. Not the plague, no burn marks, and no ashes. They faced the opposite way, going back home. Snow enveloped the tops of each one. Grey, each stacked above one another.

They paddled away from the dead...All dead, all looking back... What had he sacrificed? For they had died... He would never survive. The Prophet disapproved, and same with the Protennessen... He could pray.... Maybe...

He turned to face the others. Bernard walked quietly, and Darrell mumbled. Osmond talked, smiling sometimes while watching the sun. The blurriness had gone, and he heard the running rivers.

Bernard stared at the walking Rickman, stopping for a minute, then grimacing for a few minutes and mumbling to himself.

"The paddle... Splintered upon the edges", David asked, but Bernard didn't nod.

Instead, looking down, Bernard rubbed the fabric of the bag between his fingers.

"The trees, near Rickman, are growing and growing...", the trees had grown taller than mountains and blocked the sun. They towered over them with loose bark that peeled away with height. Termites infested each of the looming trees