by Josi Russell
Before she could begin, the sound of ragged coughing drew her attention. She looked up the path and saw the old man who had been behind her in the processing line. He was staggering out of his hut, and the sound of his breathing stopped Zyn'dri's own breath. It was dry and painful. She hurried to his side.
"Are you all right?" she asked in Stracahn.
The man shook his head: no. He heaved another breath and hissed a single word: "Help."
Zyn'dri took his arm. He wasn't much bigger than she was, and his arm felt frail and thin as she led him toward her hut. She had to get him to her mother. Her mother would know what to do.
A Ranger saw them and called after her. "Hey! Is he sick? He has to check in with the Ranger at the front if he is."
Zyn'dri ignored him. Her mother would know what to do.
They were only an arm's length from the hut when the man fell, hard, onto the gravel path.
"Mother!" Zyn'dri screamed toward the door of the hut, cradling the man's swollen face and trying to soothe him. "Mother!"
And then her mother was there, and Malra, and others. They were lifting the man, carrying him, talking in excited tones.
"We must get him to the Avowed.”
“Where are they? How do we reach them?"
"They've gone to the Old Faithful Village," Malra said. "They're convening to know what is to be done about the Ola'an, and to finish the Vault. They won't be back until they have an answer."
The Ranger came up to the group.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s ill.” Zyn’dri’s mother spoke curtly. Zyn’dri saw the Ranger flinch at her words. He pulled his faceshield down from the top of his helmet. He looked at the old man with revulsion.
“He has to check in with the Ranger at the front.” He said.
“We need to take him to the Avowed. At Old Faithful Village.” Zyn’dri’s mother said.
The Ranger shook his head. “Nobody leaves this village.” He said. “Not without a permit from Karson. I’m telling you; you need to take him to the front. There’s a Ranger in the guardhouse there who has medical supplies. Get him there.”
Zyn’dri’s mother turned from the Ranger without another word. The voices of the adults faded as they carried the man toward the front of the Village. Zyn’dri looked up. The golden sun was sinking behind the dark forms of the bison on the hill, casting their enormous shadows across the village. Zyn'dri suddenly felt very afraid.
Within two days, the coughing had spread throughout the Village. Many of the Stracahn were ill.
Late that night, Zyn'dri’s heart stopped as she heard the ragged coughing coming through the thin walls of her family's Quickform hut. She felt the hut shake as her father, on the other side, tried to stifle the hacking that had awakened her mother. Zyn'dri slipped out of bed and walked to their door, pushing it open gently.
In the thin light of the wall lamp, Zyn'dri saw her mother sitting up on the bed, stroking her husband's forehead. Her lavender shawl was wrapped around her.
Zyn'dri's mother looked up fear in her eyes. "You must go for them, Zyn'dri," she whispered, her hand resting on her husband's convulsing shoulder. "Go for the Avowed. Don’t let the Rangers see you. Go and tell the Avowed what is happening here."
Zyn'dri ran. Out the front door and down the path. She stumbled on the rocks at its edge and fought through the tall grass. She heard the crunching footsteps of a patrolling Ranger on the path behind her, and she crouched behind a boulder, her lungs bursting as she tried to quiet her breathing.
The Ranger walked on, but Zyn’dri stayed still. A sound was coming from her left. It was a thick, steady sound, and it took her a moment to realize that it was coming from the boulder. Slowly, she reached up and touched the wooly coat of a bison. The sound was its heavy breathing.
The night was dark, but the feeble moon cast the image of the beast’s white eye back to her. It was the blind bison. Zyn’dri put her arms around the big head and laid her forehead on the rough hair. The bison grunted a greeting.
Zyn’dri felt the curve of the bison’s horn next to her hand, and she traced it carefully with her fingertips. She ran them over the bison’s thick fur, and though she couldn’t see it, the pattern of its intricate swirls and curls emerged in her mind.
She felt the calming presence of the big beast, and she spoke aloud in Stracahn. “I have to find the Avowed. I have to go to Old Faithful.”
She knew what the geyser looked like from the images the Ranger had shown in school, and as it came to her mind, the big bison flinched. She pulled her hand away as he rocked to his feet and snorted.
“Don’t go.” Zyn’dri begged. The bison snorted again and began to amble away. Zyn’dri watched him go, a moving mass in the dim light. She saw him stop and turn. He dropped his head, and she saw the smooth surface of his tongue as he made an impatient sound—a rattling grunt.
In Zyn’dri’s mind, she thought she saw the geyser, Old Faithful. Only it wasn’t as she had seen it in the images. It was a different angle, and the cone was a muted blue. The plume that shot toward the sky was a dusty gray, and there were smudges of yellow on the face of the flat rock at its base. This, she realized, was the bison’s memory of it. Maybe the only time he had seen it before he lost his sight. She realized with relief that he could help. He knew where she wanted to go, and he swung around and moved across the valley determinedly. Zyn’dri followed him, urging him on and following his trail through the moonlit meadow.
Zyn’dri’s legs burned. She was weary and the night was growing chilly. Still, the bison trudged on. Zyn'dri ran as far as she could. The sound of the river grew loud, then softened. The wind rustled the grassland around her. Still, she ran on, keeping pace with the bison’s stiff lope. She was breathing heavily, gasping like the fish she'd seen in the pelican's mouth that first day. Finally, she had to slow, but she kept walking as quickly as she could manage.
The bison’s hooves thudded into the soft earth ahead of her. Without warning, their sound changed to a discordant clicking. As she followed him, she felt the human’s road under her feet. It thrummed with new and confusing energy, and she hated the strange, dark shape of it stretching before her. The bison slowed and stepped to the edge of the road, where he stood wheezing. Zyn’dri moved to follow him off the road, but he swung around and grunted at her, lowering his head as if to keep her on the road.
“We can’t stop!” she cried, “We have to get to Old Faithful!” she tried to think the picture to him again, but the bison stood stubbornly.
Perhaps the road ran to the other village. Maybe the bison wanted her to follow it. Just as she took a step, light swept the world around her. She spun to see two bright lights approaching on the road. The lights slowed. It was a vehicle, and it stopped in front of her.
A young man was out of the truck in a flash. His features were the same color as the bison’s soft shoulder, and the look in his warm eyes made her feel safe. Another figure followed, a slim girl who squinted at Zyn'dri as she came closer. Zyn’dri backed away.
"It’s okay,” the young man said, “We won’t hurt you. That's Mezina. My name's Sol. I'm here to help you."
He stepped forward, and Zyn'dri felt her legs give out. She leaned against his strong shoulder, gasping, trying to tell him what was wrong. But the human words didn't come to her. She stopped.
"It's all right. It's all right." His voice was gentle. “Just take a deep breath and tell me what you need." Sol put his arm around Zyn'dri protectively and looked into her eyes.
When she spoke, her voice was thick and winded. She held onto Sol tightly as she tried to find the words. They came out in a hurried Stracahn accent: "My father. I must go to the Avowed."
Sol nodded. "The Avowed are the Stracahn who wear the robes, right?"
Zyn'dri nodded, gaining confidence.
"Okay. I know where they are. I delivered some supplies to the Old Faithful settlement earlier, and I saw them working on that old log building up there. I think they'
re moving in."
Zyn’dri tried to remember an expression of gratitude, but nothing came to mind.
The young man tried to smile. "I'll take you there. Okay?"
Zyn'dri shot a look at the girl with him, who was leaning against the truck with her arms folded. The girl's eyes were round as the moon as the young man led Zyn'dri toward the truck. Zyn’dri saw her shake her head sharply and point to the back of the truck.
"I'm not making her ride back there." Sol's voice was strong as he helped Zyn'dri into the truck and climbed in beside her. Mezina climbed in, too, and Zyn’dri saw that she was leaning hard against her door, keeping as much distance between herself and Zyn’dri as possible. The reaction wasn’t new to Zyn’dri. She’d seen such disgust when some of the Rangers looked at her, too.
But Sol didn’t seem to have the same aversion. He smiled down at her, speaking calmly. As the old truck took the turns, Zyn'dri held tight to his arm. "We'll find someone to help you, okay?" She nodded.
Finally, they pulled up next to a booth with a sleepy-looking Ranger inside. His nametag read Bradley. "You again?” He said, and Zyn’dri sensed that this scared Sol. “You can't go in, son. What are you doing here this time of night?" The Ranger seemed more gruff than angry.
Sol leaned back so that Zyn'dri could peer around him and see the Ranger. "We found her on the road. She’s looking for the Avowed."
The Ranger's eyebrows rose. "Well, in that case, let me help." He left the little hut and came around to stand by the side of the truck. "My name is Walt Bradley. Can you walk with me?" he asked Zyn'dri kindly.
She held tight to Sol's arm. "I have to find the Avowed." She said desperately.
Walt nodded. "Yes. I know. I know where they are. They're just up this path. I can take you to them."
Zyn'dri looked pleadingly at Sol. "Please," she said.
She saw compassion in his eyes. He opened the door and slid out. Zyn'dri scrambled after him, still clinging to his arm. "Can I come with her?"
"Sol!" Mezina said.
Zyn'dri saw him glance up at her. "It won't take long."
The Ranger shook his head, "I'm sorry. You can't go in. I can't let anybody from outside the park go past this booth until 9 o'clock tomorrow morning."
Zyn'dri heard the anger in Sol's voice. "That's ridiculous. Look at her! She's terrified!"
The Ranger reached his hand toward Zyn'dri. "I'll take you to the Avowed. I promise."
With her eyes on Sol's, Zyn'dri loosened her grip. He nodded reluctantly. "He'll take you there. You'll be okay."
She put her hand in Walt's. The Ranger spoke to Sol as he got back in his truck. “You probably better head out of the park. Some of the Rangers have been getting a little jumpy lately.”
“Yes, sir,” Sol said as he climbed back into the truck, reversed it into the road, and drove slowly away.
"Like I said, my name's Walt." The Ranger said. He reached into the booth and pulled out a flashlight. As they started up the dark path, Zyn'dri held even tighter to his hand.
The moonlight struck the big log building where the Avowed lived. As they approached, two hooded figures came out. As they neared, Zyn'dri recognized Grandyn and his Ally. They were from her village.
"Allandar, Zyn'dri," they called, using the word the Avowed reserved when greeting one another. They must have known of her calling. But why were they greeting her as if she were Avowed when she had refused it? But she didn’t have time to wonder much about that now.
"My father is sick!" Zyn’dri blurted out in Stracahn. "And there are no Avowed to help him!"
Grandyn knelt and spoke quickly and urgently to Zyn'dri. "Describe the sickness."
"There's coughing, and crying out. His face is swollen. He can’t seem to breathe. You must come!" She grasped the smooth sleeve of his robe, pulling him back down the path.
Grandyn looked at Walt. "Can you get us back to the Hayden Valley Village?" he asked.
Zyn'dri heard Walt radio for someone to drive them. By the time they reached the booth, a green vehicle, the kind they had called a spider, was waiting for them. There was a sleepy Ranger inside.
Zyn’dri tried to keep calm as she climbed the ladder into the belly of the spider. The long legs began to reach and pull, reach and pull, and soon they were streaking over the grassland toward her parents.
As she watched the spider’s lights slice through the darkness in front of them, Zyn'dri was glad to be with the Avowed. She was pleased that the Avowed were there to help her, to help all of her people. She was glad for their familiar presence in this new and very frightening world.
When Zyn'dri and the Avowed walked into the Quickform hut, Zyn'dri knew she had been gone too long. Her father was so, so still. And now her mother's breath was coming in a weak whine. She was crumpled over the form of her husband, pale and still, wrapped in the lavender sash Zyn'dri had given her back home. Zyn'dri watched as the Avowed carefully lifted her mother and laid her under the blankets, trying to make her comfortable. But it was too late for her father, and they lifted the carved mea, a wooden talisman, from his belt and laid it across his closed eyes.
And then the Avowed sat on the floor, one on each side of her parents' bed. Their hands moved rhythmically, and they were completely silent. They stayed that way for so long that Zyn'dri fell asleep watching them.
When she awoke, she saw the same wrinkles in the blanket, the same curve to the pillow, that she had seen when she closed her eyes. Her mother hadn't stirred while Zyn'dri slept. The mid-morning sun poured through the window, making a stifling heat in the room. It had been hours.
The Avowed stirred and Zyn'dri watched as they dipped their fingers in water and traced an intricate pattern on her mother's forehead and the soles of her feet.
Two more Avowed entered the room and lifted her father, taking him from the little hut as Grandyn and his Ally continued the healing ceremony for her mother.
Zyn'dri followed her father's body out into the white hot light. She felt empty and small and useless. She wanted him to sit up, to touch her cheek, to tell her all was well. But she knew that wouldn’t happen.
All around her, she heard and saw people coughing and gasping. In nearly every hut, someone was ill. Many of the Avowed had come from their quarters today, and their orange and blue robes waved like banners throughout the village. But Zyn'dri saw that their presence was not preventing the worst. In the Northeast corner of the village the Rangers, under the direction of the Avowed, were just completing assembly of a Trisne Rooth—a death tent. It was a place where the bodies of Stracahn were transfigured back into their elements and released from this existence to find peace.
Avowed from all over the village were carrying bodies into the tent. Zyn'dri followed the still form of her father into the Trisne Rooth. His skin had a flat tone, a pallor she had never seen. She hated this place, these people. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be back on Empyriad—before the humans came—with the closeness of the forests and the clean air to breathe. She didn't want to be here, in this dead place.
They laid him at the end of a long row of the dead and stepped away. Zyn'dri knelt beside him, put her head on his shoulder, and let the sadness overcome her.
While she knelt, the Avowed kept coming. They lay other Stracahn beside her father, all the way to the end of the tent, then filled another row. Zyn'dri felt dizzy, seeing them all. She longed to run back to her mother.
Scuffling at the door of the tent made her look up as more Avowed entered. With horror, Zyn'dri saw the lavender shawl that hung from the woman they carried into the death tent. Zyn'dri found her feet and ran away from the sight of it, down the tent to the end of the aisle.
It seemed impossible. Unreal. The sun outside was rising higher and hotter in the sky, heating up the tent and making the air taste stifling and acrid. She glanced back towards her parents—both so still. How could this be? Hadn’t she run her fastest? Hadn’t she brought the Avowed?
But like the destruction of
her home planet, none of that mattered now. She backed away, toward the door of the tent, taking in the death all around her. Glancing out the door at the opposite end of the tent Zyn'dri saw the village and the sweeping grasslands beyond; empty, free, open.
She ran again, out of the Trisne Rooth. Out of the village and off across the vast valley. She ran until she reached the river and then she only slowed to slog through it before she ran again. She ran as the sun moved across the sky and the hunting birds dove around her. She ran through the dark, wild forest as night came on until she stood facing a broad, flat face of water. It was Yellowstone Lake, and it stretched away toward the horizon and reflected the colors of the sunset. Zyn’dri plunged in.
Zyn'dri wanted to drown—tried to drown—in the cold lake. But as her head went under, she involuntarily kicked and swam again. Even when she consciously stilled her legs and arms, her head only went under a little and then it was as if some unseen force buoyed her up to take another gasping breath. Eventually, she felt firm ground under her, and she dragged herself onto a sticky patch of sand. It was dark now, and the moonlight struck the sand and made it glow eerily. She slept.
When she awoke, the sun was warming her face. She stood and made her weary way up the narrow ribbon of sand toward the trees and scrub brush that covered what she now recognized as a little island in the lake. The trees on it were tall and spiny. Morning dew hung from them, and steam rose from the water at their feet. She left the rocky shore and made her way to them, toward the cool darkness at the densest part of the forest.
Zyn'dri lay on the spongy, prickly forest floor. She felt a great gaping nothing inside as if all her thoughts and all her hopes and even all her fears were suddenly gone and she was empty and hollow. Her apprehension over loud noises and the turmoil of this planet were nothing in the face of her new reality. This was the thing she had feared most, and now it had happened. She was alone.
She was small, and she felt it there on the ground in this new world, with her parents off in the afterlife, where she would never hear their words again, or see their faces, or feel them holding her. She felt a wave of anger toward them. Why now? Why leave her AFTER the great journey from Empyriad? When she was surrounded by a foreign and hostile place? She wished they had all stayed on their home planet and crossed the threshold of death together.
