The Master of Carn
By
Jonathan B Evans
BOOK I
CHAPTER 1
Jerreck had been excited and scared when he had been told that he was joining the foraging party. Excited because he'd been chosen, rather than any of his peers, and scared because it was dangerous harvesting the weeds this late in the season when the gas was at its most active.
The night before the expedition he'd found it impossible to sleep. He told his mother he was worried that he might make a fool of himself in front of men who looked up to and respected his father.
"I'm frightened that I'll let everyone down and disappoint you both," he'd told her.
"Why think that? Your father and I love you very much and you'll be fine," she'dreassured him, tenderly brushing his hair from his face. "Just make sure you do what Hern tells you."
She'd squeezed his hand, smiled through her own concerns, kissed him lightly on the forehead and left him to a fitful sleep interrupted by weird, vivid dreams.
He'd woken early, skipped breakfast - having no appetite - and, at the appointed time, thrust his way out through the series of skins that provided the caves with limited protection from the hostile elements.
As he emergedinto daylight his eyes started to water, stung by the acrid gas carried across the plateau from the mud sea below. Squinting against the glare of the suns, he adjusted his protective scarf to cover his mouth and nose. Leaving just a thin slit through which he could see, he made his way across the wide, rocky ledge.
He joined the rest of the group and after a final check by the leader - Hern - they moved off, crocodile file, across the plateau to the lower ledge where they started their search.
The weeds were surprisingly hard to find. Their broad leaves were invariably covered with a fine layer of dust and they clung to the barren surface close to large rocks.
When at last he found a plant he grabbed hold of the leaves in one hand and scrabbled at the root, trying to prise it from its strangle-hold. His only reward was half a weed and his fingers cut to shreds.
Bent almost double he worked his way forward until he found another patch. Kneeling on the cold, hard ground he attacked the plants. He managed to dig one up, shook the loose stones from the roots and tossed it into the bag slung low across his back.
As he searched Jerreck realised that he wasn't relishing the coming months. He hated the gnawing hunger of winter when the colony eked out its meagre supplies of meat and fish with the weed. The bitter leaves and roots were still hard and unpleasant despite hours of boiling, but he knew that without it as a staple they would starve.
He also hated being confined below ground in the dark, damp caves by the brutal weather.
It'd been hard physical work, his back ached and his fingers were cramped and bleeding, but his bag was finally full. With the drawstring pulled tight to stop the weeds from spilling out, he stood at the top of the precipice looking out over the mud sea. He'd reached the boulders that marked the edge of safety - the end of his known world. He'd never been this far from the caves before.
He was stunned by the sight of the mud sea stretching into the distance like a huge seething body, rising and falling in ten metre waves. He closed his eyes as he felt dizzy from the height and the boiling turbulence fifty metres below. The force of the wind pushed him back as if to keep him away from danger. He tasted the acridity of the gas and the smell assaulted his senses.
