Unkarra Gate (1st draft)

Chapter 13.2

The first thing to register in his mind was pain. Thankfully, once he decided to reject it, it went away completely.

Next, he managed to open his eyes. Or perhaps, his eyes began to work again, since once they opened, he could not close them.

The blue sky was below, and rocks above, and so he realized he was seeing the world upside down. He could not move, nor could he breath. But soon Ronclay deduced he was bent backwards over a rock. After a time, he could both close his eyes and look about.

He saw the young boy from the farm who had taken them over the cliff. He was now a pile of crushed flesh upon the large rocks. It appeared that the fall had rent the boy to pieces. His blood pooled upon the ground, and Ronclay would have salivated over it, if he could have worked his mouth. In time, he could do that as well.

The suns bore down upon him throughout the afternoon, giving a burning sensation that he could not ignore, and he only felt respite once the bright sun fell behind the trees. Once this happened, it seemed he began to recover faster.

It began with him drawing a breath. The first was ragged and gurgled with fluid, but soon the breaths became stronger. Movement came back part by part. First his whole head, then one arm, then the other, then his torso, and finally legs. Once he was able, he dragged himself over to the boy's body and desperately suckled blood from the mangled corpse.

Once he could stand, it was deep into the night. The sheer rock cliff stood before him, and he looked up at the impressive height. His first attempt at scaling it was futile, as was his second. He attempted a mighty jump up the wall, but as he found no way to catch himself against the face, he fell back to the base and injured himself again. By extreme late night, he had recovered again, and found a way up the cliff face after enough walking and trying.

He searched the area until day broke again, but could not tell exactly what had happened. Many times he stopped and looked to the sky, hoping to see the crow that had come to guide him so often, but it had not returned for days.

Eventually he pressed on, coming across the broken black tower himself. He reached the structure in sorry shape: limping and wilting under the sunlight. Once he reached it, he threw himself inside, seeking the shade, and blacked out.

When Ronclay finally climbed back out of the broken black tower, it was dark again, and a cold wind whipped across the alpine heights. His mind was clouded, and it was difficult to remember even how he ended up here.

Soon the memories returned: the hunt, the fall, and the climb up to this spot. He felt weakened even more from the memories. He felt great hunger.

When he crested the hill, he was struck by the same astounding sight as the previous travellers. The massive black towers dominated the view; even in the dark they could be seen. He stood for a long time, judging the journey down, and his own strength. He looked at his own bent and broken sword. His bent armour had been discarded and his clothes were bloody and ragged.

Taking one last look towards the chasm spanning structure, he turned his back on it and began the trek back to his family lands.