Unkarra Gate (1st draft)

Chapter 16.2

Water came to hold a new value to them they could have never before imagined. They had none, and could not find any. And yet it was the only thing any of them desired. Even though they did nothing but hide from sunlight during the day, surviving the heat was a tremendous challenge. The children moaned and whined, but for them there was no comfort.

During the night they continued to walk. The smallest had to be carried by the oldest. Even Ezrik would valiantly try to carry Garik for stretches of time. But for Dara, Marik was a permanent attachment to her hip, much like Reyelle was for Bogrel.

When Marik's skin began to feel as if on fire, Dara noticed it right away. She told Bogrel, but he only nodded and continued. Marik would no longer waken, and when more than a day had passed since he last woke, she had to make Bogrel understand her worry.

The bright sun was just setting, and the chill of night was just about to set in. Unlike in Geberra, where dusk would last for short while after the suns had set behind the western mountains, darkness and cold would come in a flash in this land. The rock outcroppings now towered about them and the ground itself took on a much harder rockier form than the dirt and sand it had been.

The group of them were as ready as they could be to begin their walk, but Dara had still not lifted Marik. "Bogrel," she called. "Marik cannot continue. His skin feels like a fire burns beneath. His tongue is swollen. It sounds like he can barely breath."

Bogrel listened with an unchanging expression: one of stone. Reyelle listened as she clung to him, her face locked in a stupor.

"Bogrel, we can't go on," she restated.

"What would you have us do?" he asked.

Dara came forward and took Reyelle from him, guiding her to the side so as to talk to Bogrel alone. "We need water," she said first.

"We have none," he told her, a fact they all knew.

"I know," she said. "But none of us can go on. We don't have your strength. Ezara is not herself. She has fever as well. You're the only one of us that can go on," she concluded. His face was unchanged. "Bogrel, you need to go on without us. Find us water. Bring it to us."

His face had showed shock for a moment, but as she said the next parts of her request, he understood. But still he shook his head. "I cannot promise that I can. I could be leaving you to die, and die myself alone. It was a mistake for me to lead us this way."

She shook her head. "No, it was not only you. And I know you will not meet such an end. You will find the water. You promised me your sword, but I need the man that wields it. I need that arm to carry water. I need the eye that guides it to find where to go. You will be able to do this without us. But if we go, we will slow you too much and you will not find water at all."

Bogrel remained so stoic Dara was not sure if her words had been understood. She took her head into her hands and stared into his glossy eyes.

"You will do this for us. You will find water, and you will return."

"Yes, my lady," he responded. He dropped some of the blankets and tools he carried and gathered the water skins. Then, he came to Dara, who was watching over Marik, before setting off. "Keep a fire going, with as much smoke as you can, so I can find my way back." She nodded in response. "Start it right away," he add, then walked away.

Ezara watched him go, knowing what he was off to do, but she did not have the energy to inject herself into the situation. She had sat back as he collected what he needed, and sat even as he went. They had exchanged looks, but nothing more. And so she sat and waited, too sick to do any more.

As Bogrel walked, his thirst took full hold of him. His head pounded with the rapid pulse of his heart. It took his full concentration to walk in a straight line. Shadows at the edges of his vision began to play tricks on him, but he ignored this and continued. Where some men may have been overwhelmed in their altered state, Bogrel had become accustomed to habitual drinking, and used all his tricks to keep him focused. He watched the smoke from the fire started behind him as he went, becoming familiar with the reverse view, back the way he must return.

He had been through such marches before. Times when he had been convinced he would die from injuries, and times when sickness had struck and left him weakened. In such times he had been forced into marches - sometimes from battle, sometimes to battle. Nothing seemed clear to him any longer.

The night stretched on, and he tried to make out the direction in which he was headed, and from where he had come. But the world spun and he could not grasp even a single thought.

He fell to the ground finally, hours away from the children.

After lying on the ground for some time, it seemed like someone spoke to him.

"Get up. This way."

Bogrel struggled to lift his head. Daylight was returning, but in his blurred vision he could see little but blurry brightness.

"Do you remember what you are doing," the voice asked, without the inflection of a question.

"Sendrik... I need to save my son Sendrik," Bogrel responded in his delirium. "He's sick."

"No, it is too late for that. That was a lifetime ago. Sendrik was not saved."

Bogrel's head dropped to the ground again, and a old familiar pain burned fresh in his heart. An image of his young son came to him, a memory he thought he had erased with drink long ago. The pain gave him strength enough to cry out, though his eyes were too dry to water as they should have.

"You may still save these ones, but you must get up. You are almost there."

It took Bogrel several long moments to compose himself, but he managed to rise to his knees. "Who is there?" He looked about but saw no one. Everything was still blurry.

"Listen carefully, and you will hear your answers. Remember the way home. Geberra is not finished with you yet."

Finally his eyes focused in the morning light, but he saw no one. He did, however, see Ezrik's cat, which had followed them all this way, bounding off ahead.

He shook his head and laughed at himself. "Need to remember, need to find water," he said to himself. "I can't go crazy now." He fought back to his feet and followed the cat without thinking.

When the sunlight of the new day struck him, it felled him anew. His muscles were weaker than his mind now. He lay on the rock on which he had collapsed, and through the rock, it seemed like he heard a noise. The sound of running water teased his ears like a feather might tease fingertips.

It was enough to drive him back to his hands and knees, and to crawl forward. Slowly, the sound grew stronger. He was nearing a rock, and once it was reached, he found the beginning of a small canyon that opened up suddenly before him. The sound was unmistakeable. And his eyes could not fail him. There was the green of life below, down in a hidden gully below him. The sides were quite steep, but he slid and tumbled down them without much injury.

Finally, he was quenching himself in the water below, which poured out of the earth from an underground spring. It was warm, but it did not bother him. First he felt the refreshment of the water, but then the pain of split, dried skin, and of a stomach not prepared for the water. He groaned for a time, curled in a spot given shade by a spindly tree. His mind cleared in this time, and the pounding that had become paramount to his conciousness receded.

Working backward in his mind, he reviewed his delerium, and found the memories of his long dead son still fresh. He thought about the way he had come, as best as he could, and then of children he left behind, dying for water. Without any further delay he filled every water skin that he had.

When he scrambled to the top of the gulley, he turned back to the full sunlight, noting the landscape carefully. He looked forward and studied the direction in which he must head to return to the children. Finally, he took one more look to try and see if he could see a cat. Making a screwed up face, he shook his head and headed back.