Falling Skyward

Chapter Twenty-Five: Canyons of Blood

"We should head out if we want to make it through the pass by sundown," Taren called, hoisting his pack onto his horse.

"Dawson, I have some dried meat and bread," Lana said. "It's not much, but it makes for a quick breakfast."

"I'll just take a little bread, thanks."

"Are you sure? It's a full day's ride ahead of us. Here, just take a little."

"Lana, stop your mothering," Taren said, chuckling. "It won't do you any good. Besides, Dawson doesn't eat meat."

"He what?"

"He doesn't eat meat. I guess that's what you get when you are raised by an Imaman." Lana threw her mat down in exasperation before attempting to roll and tie it for the third time.

"Why don't you eat meat?" Lana asked. "Do you not like the taste?"

"I don't eat or use anything that requires another creature to die or suffer, just for my convenience and benefit," Dawson replied. "I figure every creature was created for a purpose and deserves respect."

"But what if that creature's purpose is to be eaten?" Lana fired back, her eyes flashing an icy blue. In her town, refusing food was a gesture of the grossest disrespect. "Couldn't you show respect and gratitude, even while it fulfills its purpose?"

"It's a personal choice, and I do not care what others choose to do," Dawson said quietly, though there was a hazardous edge to his voice. "To me, everything and everyone has a spirit and deeper power; and we cannot know it or feel it until we begin to respect it."

"Well said," Taren responded, even while ripping off a strip of dried pork between his teeth. "Spoken like a true Imaman." Lana turned away, tightening the saddle behind Turnip's front legs.

"And why do you follow the practice of the Imaman, Dawson?" Lana asked, trying to keep the frosty edge from her voice. "I thought they lived in the north, far from your kingdom."

"My mother was Imaman, and though she died when I was young, some of her people lived with us. I became very close with many of them, as did my sister."

The softness in Dawson's response broke Lana's anger. "Maybe you can teach me more about their beliefs later," Lana responded.

"Later," Dawson agreed.

The small company mounted and began struggling up the narrow switchbacks cut into the monolithic rock that steepened as it reached the peak.

During their brief breaks to rest the horses, Lana gazed out over the wave-like ripples of hills and trees in the valley. Deep in the distance, she saw white, bulbous mountains that looked as soft and round as clouds settling to the earth and billowing to the sky. The caravan moved quickly up the avalanches of shale dotting the mountainside, climbing so rapidly Lana felt the ground undulate and her vision blur with vertigo.

As they reached the narrow pass through the mountain, Taren stopped before the gaping crevice and turned back to analyze the angle of the sun now drooping toward the western horizon.

"Do we risk it?" Taren asked, looking at Dawson with furrowed eyebrows.

"I think we'll have enough time to make it. But you have more experience with this road. What do you think?"

"I've done it before with less daylight to spare, but that was traveling alone. It makes me uneasy."

"What is the problem?" Lana huffed, fatigued with the cryptic conversations.