In Wilder Lands

by Jim Galford

  The next few hours were a brutal pace for Estin, pushing his own limits, as well as those of the elderly and injured that followed him. Every few minutes, someone would fall, but the group moved on, dragging those who slowed back to their feet and forcing them onwards. They had not lost anyone yet, but Estin knew that by morning, the entire group would be thinned, some from exhaustion, others as they reached the deadly cliffs ahead. As it was, he was not sure how he would possibly navigate the thin cliff-side path while carrying Feanne and keeping a grip on the kits to ensure they would make it through.

  Estin considered his limited options, checking the group that clumsily followed him. The cliffs would kill at least half their number, no doubt. He knew of a side-path one of the scouts had mentioned, which would take them down into the canyon below on the south side of the cliffs, then back up on the far side. It was hours longer, but also would allow them to hide from pursuit and might provide other avenues of escape. The cliff path was faster, but he knew for a fact that there would be no other ways to travel once they were on it and they would be visible to the enemy coming up the path behind them.

  Though he knew that it was adding a great deal of time to their trip, Estin silently detoured as they neared the narrow ledge, heading instead down an uneven path that twisted sharply towards the south, hugging the mountainside. If nothing else, he hoped that the trail would take them out of sight of the Turessian long enough that they could get to the bottom and find cover. Most likely, the necromancer would stay on the upper path, heading far away from their group by the time they moved on and increasing the distance between himself and the main undead force.

  The loose gravel of the steep hillside was treacherous, forcing Estin to move very slowly on his way down. He picked his path carefully, trying to keep Feanne’s weight close enough to his body that he could maintain his balance. About halfway down the long incline, he turned somewhat, trying to look back at the rest of the group to be sure they were making their way down without problems.

  The closest to him were Atall and Oria, who were practically skipping down the dangerous slope, clearly unaffected by the difficult footing. As he turned a little farther to see how Linn and others were faring, Estin felt his left foot begin to slide. He tried to dig in, but felt his balance vanish in an instant as the loose gravel gave way. He watched Oria’s eyes widen as he began to tumble backward and several of the others reached out, as though there were anything they could do to arrest his momentum.

  Biting back a cry that would have given away their position, Estin pulled Feanne to his chest as he fell, rolling down the remaining fifty feet to the bottom. With each rolling impact, he felt stones drive into his back and arms, as Feanne came down wrong on his knee and nearly slid out of his grip. Even his swords slashed at his body, trapped against him by his belt, until that broke and the weapons flew away. With a final painful lurch, he slammed into a row of rocks at the bottom of the hill with his hip, as Feanne slid free of his arms and away from the rocks.

  Groaning and struggling to stand, Estin looked over at Feanne, visually checking her for any major injuries from the fall. She had been scraped up badly, but appeared otherwise intact. Breathing easier, he let his head fall back to the ground, his head spinning for a while until the kits and several others came running up beside him.

  “Estin!” Oria hissed, grabbing his arm and tugging at it. “You need to get up.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he lied, shifting his weight and feeling the distinct sensation of a broken leg. He struggled to keep the agony off his face as he looked up at Oria, then Atall. “Have Linn find some shelter for us. We all need some rest. Make sure he gets your mother there as quickly as he can. I’ll join you in a few minutes once I’m feeling better.”

  Atall obediently ran off, heading straight to Linn, who was limping his way towards them as swiftly as he could manage. As the two met, Linn appeared to listen to the child, then looked up at Estin. The human stared long at Estin, his eyes revealing that he understood completely, then led Atall towards several other villagers.

  Unlike her brother, Oria watched Atall run off, then turned back to Estin, her fearful look fading into sadness. She reached down and touched his leg, leaning to examine the damage.

  “You’re sending us away,” she said softly, tightening her grip on his hand as she closed her eyes. “How badly does it hurt?”

  “I’ll be fine in a little while,” he insisted, forcing a smile. “I’m just winded. I’ll catch up soon.”

  He knew it was a lie. There was nothing left of his healing without extensive rest and the leg felt as though it were twisted at an odd angle under him. Sharp rocks behind his hip and shoulder had torn through his clothing and into his flesh, covering his back with the warmth of blood. Even his tail was bent sharply under him, at least dislocated, if not broken as well. He could feel a raspy rattle in his right lung that he tried to ignore. Without another healer, he would be dead in hours out in the wilds—sooner with the undead coming.

  Oria eyed him nervously, then put her hand on his chest, sitting back on her feet. She waved off two of the villagers who came near, but did not look up at them.

  “My real dad put us in a cabinet,” Oria said softly, glancing back to her brother, who had stopped to talk to the other villagers, then was pointing at Feanne. “He swore we would be all right and he would join us soon. Why do adults always lie when things are bad? You’re hurt really badly. Mother told me how people always want to die alone…”

  “I need you both to go and find some shelter,” he told her, avoiding any acknowledgement of her observations. Oria knew the truth, so he saw no reason to try and deceive her, but could not bring himself to say how badly hurt he really was. “I’ll do what I can to catch up. I promise I’ll try.”

  Oria nodded, refusing to look him in the eyes. Without another word, she slipped her grandmother’s ring off her finger and put it on Estin’s chest, then got up and walked away, shoving past Atall as he started back towards Estin.

  Giving Estin a confused look, Atall finally seemed to understand as his ears drooped. Without a word, the boy stormed off, heading back to the main group of travelers.

  Clutching the ring to his breastbone, Estin closed his eyes and listened as the group moved on past him. To his great joy, he heard several people come over and hoist Feanne from the ground and walk away with the rest of the group. He thought he heard some people speak to him or of him, but he ignored it all, trying to shield himself from the emotional pain of watching his extended family leave him to die, even if it was on his orders.

  Soon enough, the last of the torches had moved beyond him and the area lay silent and dark, leaving Estin alone with his thoughts and little else. To keep himself from dropping Oria’s ring, he slid it onto his little finger.

  Though he could not be sure, Estin thought that he drifted in and out of awareness as the sounds of the group departing fully faded. Estin finally opened his eyes again, surveying the rocks that he had landed against. They were sharp pieces of stone that had probably tumbled down the mountainside, just the way he had. Along the side of one, he could see his own blood.

  On a whim, he felt around his pouches, hoping that he had at least brought Asrahn’s book of spells, in case he lived long enough to rest and then attempt to heal himself. He chuckled grimly, as he found his pouch open and empty, any contents of it long gone. They could have been lost any time during the day’s fighting or during travel. He had no way of knowing where the book had wound up, but it was gone and that was all that mattered.

  The rocks’ rough sides bit into Estin’s hands as he tried to move himself into a better position to evaluate his injuries. Pain lanced through his leg as he forced himself upright, biting back a scream as he used one hand to pull the broken limb out from under himself. When he relaxed against the rocks, he could see that his hand and leg were covered with dark blood, mostly from where a white protrusion of bone now extended from the skin of his thigh. His visio
n blurred as he fought against blacking out.

  There would be no traveling on the leg, even with a splint, he told himself, tying off a piece of his torn clothing just below the hip to do what he could to slow the bleeding. Even so, the pain from the cuts on his back and the rattling in his lung grew worse with each minute, letting him know that the broken leg was bad, but not even close to the extent of his injuries.

  Estin shook his head and leaned back against the rocks, amazed at all he had survived in the last few years, only to die to a clumsy misstep. The world’s sense of humor had always surprised him, but this was beyond words.

  Though the desire at that point was to close his eyes and let the cold sleep that lingered at the edge of his awareness take him, Estin forced himself to focus, struggling to keep himself awake to the very end. He wanted to know that he had not failed Feanne and the kits and that the undead did not catch them, at least before his last breath. Whether he would know or not, he wanted to watch for as long as he could.

  Estin sat there for hours, feeling his body slowly going cold as the bleeding slowed and the night grew darker. His chin dipped every so often, threatening to draw him into sleep that he knew he would likely not wake from. He fought the delirium, shaking his head as he tried to see his life through to its last moments. Only the dark skies told him that not too much time had yet passed. The moon was only halfway through its nighttime arc.

  Eventually, Estin realized he was lying on his side again, having fallen over without even realizing it. Closing his eyes reluctantly, he began to accept that the end was nearing rapidly. Wakefulness and half-dreaming delusions began to blur together, giving him a light-headed feeling as the pain finally started to fade away.

  He could see his parents suddenly. They were nearby on the steep trail, his father kneeling to remove the collar from his mother’s neck. Smiling at one another, they got up, walking out of his sight together. At long last, Estin knew they were safe and he no longer needed to hide under the blankets in terror. They would live. Everything was all right now. They would not die and they would live out their lives together. It was what he had always wanted for them. They could finally go on without him.

  Time continued to pass slowly for Estin as he lay there, smiling at the knowledge that his parents were no longer hurting. He knew it was a dream, somewhere deep down, but the sense of self-forgiveness let him lay there, calmly accepting whatever would come. He just knew that he had done whatever was needed of him and now they were safe, which was all that mattered.

  Shapes blurred in his sight and Estin saw Feanne and the kits in front of him. They were sad at first, but as he watched, they moved on and were happy again. The kits grew up, moving on and taking on their own lives, as Feanne slowly drifted away from his vision. As they all disappeared, Estin was dimly aware that the kits were the adults now, having gone on to have their own children. Whether he was in their lives or not, they had continued on, their lives happy and complete.

  If these things were to be the result of his death, Estin could find no reason to fight any longer. Closing his eyes again, he stopped his struggle, letting sleep embrace him. With it, the pain faded away. His work was done. Everyone was safe, at last. Through those last moments, he could feel Feanne sitting beside him, her hand gentle on his head, soothing away his fears. Whether real or imagined, he welcomed the company.

  Everyone was safe, at last.

  This was Estin’s good death.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Breathe”

  The dreams of the dying are erratic and rarely remembered if the person recovers. These fleeting images are haunting and seek to soothe the one who approaches death’s door with the knowledge that they no longer need worry. The world will move on without them. It puts them at ease, so that their spirits may move on without burden. This is my sincere belief as one who has aided many such spirits both to find a safe path back to life and also watched as many passed beyond my ability to help. With that day, I had been witness to them myself.

  Without these final moments of peace, it is the belief of many healers—myself included—that the spirit will become so enraged by its loss of purpose and possibility of revenge or alternate outcome, that it will linger in the world, violently striking at all those who still possess life. This may be out of pure anger for having lost its opportunities in life, or could be as basic as a need to attack everything that comes near it out of a desperate hope that this will bring about an ending to its tormented existence.

  I felt that moment of true finality. This was not like when I had been killed by the Turessian on the battlefield. I had truly died, my spirit releasing my mortal body and attempting to move on. I knew that there was no circle to save me, no other healer to draw me back. It was all over and I knew it. I had given up my claim to my own body and accepted my fate, intending to leave the world.

  As I felt it all falling away behind me, fingers dug into my very spirit, driving me back into my body. The agony was overwhelming, as I was yanked from peaceful non-existence right back to the very brink of death, all of my wounds and pain coming back in a rush.

  Estin choked and gagged as his body fought against the sudden agony of having his spirit thrown violently back to where it belonged. His leg still throbbed and his back was burning, but he was awake again, almost like someone had startled him from a deep sleep.

  At first, he could only lay there, trembling as he tried to make sense of what was happening. His heart was racing and he could barely see or hear, the pounding in his head making all his senses dull. What little he could make out around him was that there was a small-framed person sitting beside him, a hand on his face, stroking his fur.

  A light rain fell over them both and likely had been for some time, as Estin’s fur was soaked. Even with the disorientation he felt, he could see that the moon was far along in the sky now. He had been unconscious or dead for at least an hour or two.

  “Feanne,” he wheezed, trying to focus his eyes, even as the pain throughout his body grew more intense. “How did you bring me back?”

  She leaned in and just put a finger up to shush him.

  “Why are you here? You should be running,” he insisted, praying that she had not put herself in danger to come back for him.

  The blurred shape sat up straighter, cocking its head.

  “I fell behind,” she said, though the voice was hollow in Estin’s ears, distorted by a continuous ringing sound. There was a haziness even to the sound, which made her voice sound somehow off. “Which way did the others go?”

  Estin opened his mouth then froze, trying to force his vision to clear. He could not make out much, other than that the build of the speaker was about right for Feanne, though she wore a hooded cloak that covered her face. None of his senses could confirm who he was looking at.

  Reaching up slowly, Estin grabbed her hand under the pretense of holding it against his face. As he did, he pressed the fingertips into his skin, feeling nothing more than the tips against his flesh. There were no claws.

  “Who are you?” Estin demanded, shoving her hand away.

  “Always were the clever one, my fuzzy friend,” hissed the woman, sitting back to watch him. “Is why I chose you for my climbing partner, no?”

  Groaning, Estin pressed his face in the wet dirt, wishing he had the strength to even try to fight. Even at his best, he doubted he could have faced down a Turessian—Varra, he reminded himself—at close range without weapons. With his body broken and on the verge of death, with no magic to back him up, he was as helpless as a newborn.

  “My master asked that I bring you back to join us,” she went on, stroking his cheek again, despite his attempts to push himself out of her reach. “Is good to be wanted, no? You will be strong like us soon. Not so strong as some of us, but is best we can offer without a circle.”

  “Just let me die.”

  Varra laughed, though the sound was dry and empty of emotion, completely unlike how he remembered her. She lean
ed closer, seemingly inspecting his face as she toyed with him. He could faintly see the dead white eyes watching him, though the woman never blinked.

  “This I have nearly done already, as I was slow in finding you. I could have changed you without any effort while you were asleep. Instead, I like to offer it to you first. We are all strong, but those who accept it before dying are so much stronger. If I turn you without a circle and without your wishes, you would be little better than the zombies. With at least your wish to live on, you will make nice person to talk with for a few decades. For this, I give you back just a bit of your life, so you can decide. Your body is still dying, but is strong enough for us to talk a little while…like civilized folk, no?”

  Estin tried to push her away again, but his arms would barely move. He knew it would not be long before his body gave in to the blood loss again. When that happened, there was no doubt in his mind that Varra could and likely would change him into a monstrosity like herself. There was nothing he could do to stop her, beyond stalling in the hopes that Feanne and the others could get far enough away that they would not be found.

  “Where is your army?” Estin asked her, looking around the base of the slope. The two of them were alone. He half-expected a horde of zombies around him, snarling and waiting for the chance to attack.

  “My master is not so bright as he thinks,” mused the girl, giggling, though the sound was eerie. “He took our troops and went on high road. I thought, ‘Varra, would you take high road, or would I take sneaky way out?’ And here I find you, all alone and waiting for me to come save you.

  “I had to be very sneaky to be sure I did not find too many of your people…it seems that battle took a lot out of me. Even as powerful as I am, fighting a hundred of your fellows can be so exhausting. Is lucky for you that I saved a little bit of my strength to bring you back from the brink of death, yes? Had I fought longer, I might have been no better off than you, my fuzzy friend.”