He caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows below and stabbed. But the spear struck a rock and a small silvery fish darted away downstream unharmed. Missed. Korram had forgotten how refraction made it tricky to hit things underwater. He practiced aiming at clumps of weeds, trying again and again until he could hit them accurately in spite of the deceptive angles.
A splash several yards out from the bank caught his attention. An insect had fallen into the water or momentarily alighted on its surface, and a fish leaped to gulp it down.
Korram grinned. Aha! Searching the grass at his feet, it wasn’t long before he found a small grasshopper. He caught it on his second try and gripped it between thumb and forefinger. He positioned himself quietly by the water’s edge, spear poised, then tossed the hapless insect into the water.
At first nothing happened. The grasshopper kicked and struggled, drifting slowly downstream, and Korram quietly edged sideways to keep even with it. Then there was a sudden ripple, and Korram lunged with his spear just as a fish lunged for the insect.
Laughing in triumph, he drew his weapon out of the water with a small, wriggling fish impaled on it. It nearly slipped out of his hands and flopped back into the stream as he pulled it off, but he tossed it onto the grass and bent to look for another insect. He had found a strategy that worked. He would eat well tonight.
That evening Korram sat in the cave beside a slippery pile of fish. He had roasted them over the coals, using his spear as a spit, propped up on rocks to hold it in place. Eating the fish was a messy process, since he had no knife and no way to clean or gut them. He had to wait until they were cool enough to handle and then tear them open with his teeth and bare hands, eating the flesh and tossing aside the innards. With every bite he spat out bones and scales, but it didn’t matter. After spending all afternoon fishing, he had finally caught enough to satisfy his appetite with half a dozen fish left over for tomorrow.
True, he had wasted a whole day when he could have been traveling. But, Korram reminded himself, he would travel further and faster in the morning for having rested and eaten so well today.
In the middle of the night he jerked awake to the sound of footsteps and husky breathing nearby. Korram leaped to his feet, bumping his head painfully on the low, sloping ceiling of the cave, and snatched up his new spear. “Who’s there?” he shouted, just as the girl had.
There was no answer, not that he had expected one. The fire had died down to glowing embers once again, and Korram could have kicked himself for forgetting to bank it for the night. Some predator had probably smelled the fish guts he had tossed outside the cave and was prowling around to see if it could get the rest of his catch.
“Go away!” he shouted, hoping to scare off whatever it was. Hastily he dropped to his knees and gathered what was left of the firewood, breaking up the smallest twigs and laying them on the coals, blowing until a tiny flame flickered into life. He fed it with more twigs and then larger sticks, thankful he still had a few left from the pile he had gathered before dark. It wasn’t long before a respectable little blaze was burning again, and Korram, feeling safer, finally sat back and peered past it out into the night.
The first thing he saw was a pair of beady red eyes peering back at him. Korram started, catching his breath in fright. What kind of animal has red eyes?
“Go away!” he shouted again, louder now. “You can’t have my fish!”
A dark bulk shifted and shuffled aside with a rattle of loose pebbles, and Korram, peering out into the darkness, caught a glimpse of shaggy black fur and little round ears. A bear? There were bears up here? No one had bothered to warn him about that.
Hastily, he reached for what was left of his wood and banked the fire the way the Mountain Folk had taught him, hoping it would last the rest of the night. When he was done, he leaned forward, straining his eyes into the darkness beyond the firelight. Though the bear was no longer visible, he was sure it hadn’t left. The night felt less empty than before.
He sat there waiting a long time, hoping the bear would get bored and wander away. Finally, keeping his new spear close, he stretched out on the floor behind the fire.
But it was hard to get to sleep. Every now and then he could hear the beast’s heavy, shuffling footsteps or its snuffling breath. Once he opened his eyes to see those beady red ones staring right at him again.
By dawn the bear was nowhere to be seen, but the thought of it had disturbed Korram’s sleep all night. Stretching his stiff limbs, he picked up the six remaining cooked fish and stuffed them into the wide front pockets of his tunic. It was time to be on his way again. He would stop for breakfast only when he was too hungry to go on.
Abandoning his walking stick in favor of his new spear, Korram stamped out what was left of the fire and headed down to the river for a long drink. Then he struck off back up the slope past the cave, heading southeast. He would try to make it to the top of Nezkodney before noon, he told himself. Though he really didn’t know how much further it was, just having that goal gave him purpose, something to push himself for.
After a mile or two, his boots began crunching over a thin layer of snow. It was the first snow he had seen close up since he had entered the Impassables. Actually, it was only the third time Korram had ever walked in snow in his life, the first two being on winter trips to the foothills as a child. It had never snowed in Sazellia that he knew of, and he had certainly never imagined he would find himself hiking through snow in early autumn.
It gave him a feeling of pride and accomplishment: he was at a higher elevation, attempting a harder physical challenge, than ever before in his life. Yes, the first few days had been difficult, but he was capable now. He no longer doubted that he could handle this. Ernth will have to admit he was wrong about me after all. Korram laughed into the wind, feeling strong and energetic and ready not only to succeed in the Rite of Acceptance but to get his army afterward.
In spite of the gradually deepening snow, he was able to keep up a brisk pace, and found himself at the crest by mid-morning. He ate one of his fish and a few handfuls of snow to celebrate his achievement while he gazed around at the view in satisfaction.
In every direction, majestic white-topped peaks rose into the sky around him, many far higher than the one he was on, linked by valley after green valley. Many of the slopes were robed in forest, autumn yellows and oranges starting to mingle with the green. Here and there, he caught the gleam of a river or lake reflecting the sun. Turning to look behind him, Korram thought he could identify the valley where he had left Ernth’s family, tiny in the distance now.
But wait. Where was Mount Clinja? There were no twin peaks nearby, although many of the mountains around him did have tops hidden in cloud. But what was that just ahead? Surely that was the flat-topped Nezkodney. Checking his directions by the position of the sun, Korram saw what looked like an even higher mountain just east of the flat-topped one. Could that be Mount Clinja? If so, he was at the top of the wrong peak! As high as this one seemed, it must still be a foothill, a smaller mountain he hadn’t even realized lay in the way when Thest had pointed out Nezkodney.
Stunned at first, Korram’s disbelief gave way to dismay and then to discouragement so heavy that he wanted to flop down in the snow and bury his head in his arms. After everything he had been through, he hadn’t even reached the first major milestone in his journey.
Maybe Ernth was right after all.
But he clamped down on the thought and forced it away. He could do this. It wasn’t easy, but then, that was the point. When he succeeded, he would prove to all the Mountain Folk that he was as capable as they were. Even Ernth would be forced to admit that he had been wrong about the Prince of Malorn.
With a sigh, Korram adjusted his direction and started down the slope toward Nezkodney.
Chapter 11
There were fewer ups and downs on this side of the hill that he had thought was Nezkodney, and Korram was able to jog much of the way down to the next valley. He reached
the bottom in midafternoon, just as it started to rain again – not a torrential downpour this time, but a steady drizzle.
There’ll be little chance of a fire this evening. As he pushed his way through the trees and brush on the valley floor, Korram resigned himself to another wet night. He kept his eyes open for any signs of a cave, but he was hiking through forest at the moment, with no caves in sight. At least the trees offered some shelter, but the forest floor was damp now and rain dripped through the boughs into the gloom.
When the ground started to rise again, Korram’s spirits did too. He may have been cold and wet and growing increasingly hungry, but he was finally starting up the lower slopes of Mount Nezkodney – the real one this time. And then, just one more mountain to go before his horse awaited him, along with honor, Acceptance, and an army.
It was nearly dark when Korram happened upon a dead oak tree with a large hollow near its roots. A quick investigation with the tip of his spear assured him it was unoccupied, so he bent his head and crawled in. It would be much more cramped than a cave, but as long as it kept him dry, he could deal with that.
The interior was full of dead leaves and spider webs, and it smelled like rich earth and fungus. Korram felt and heard the scuttle of tiny creatures on the wood around him as he settled himself inside and reached into his pocket, pulling out his next-to-last fish for supper. Kalendria would hate this, he thought, and the image of his prim and proper little sister sitting in a hollow tree full of insects and spiders made him smile. He missed her. Well, someday he would tell her all about this and enjoy her horror as he exaggerated the unpleasant details. Arden would embellish it even more and put it into song, and Korram could sit back in a comfortable armchair sipping a hot drink while he relived the memories. After he got his army and defeated Rampus, of course.
The sound of a twig snapping just a few yards away brought him out of his daydream. Korram froze, his hands and mouth full of fish, and listened intently. Sure enough, there was something moving around out there. Something big. Confirming his suspicions, the creature snuffled, and as it moved closer Korram could once again see a dark bulk silhouetted against the dimness of the forest. No red eyes this time, but then, he had no firelight to reflect off of them.
And no fire to protect me. “Get away!” he shouted with his mouth full. Dropping the half-eaten fish onto his lap, he reached for the spear he had left propped against the tree outside. “Get out of here!” Finding it, he waved the weapon blindly into the darkness, his greasy fingers slipping on its wooden shaft. A low growl was his only answer.
Did it follow me all this way? Korram wondered. Could bears even do that? Or was it a different bear? In any case, it had obviously caught the scent of his fish, and here in this cramped space, Korram was in no position to defend himself or his supper. If it can knock my spear out of my hand, all it has to do is reach in and swipe at me with its claws, and I’m dead. He would have no room to dodge and nothing to fight back with. I’ve got to get out of here.
His heart hammering, Korram leaned out of the tree to swing the spear again. The bear was close, close enough for him to smell its musky scent. But if he could just drive it back for a moment, maybe he could jump out and run for a better hiding place.
This time his weapon struck something soft, and he heard another menacing growl. Now he had made it angry.
“Get out! Now! Get away from me!” he shouted, trying to frighten it off. Struggling to his feet, he clambered out of the hole, his spear striking flesh once again, once again slipping in his greasy hand. Lifting the half-eaten fish with his other hand, he waved it in the air to get the bear’s attention and then threw it with all his strength.
The beast must have been able to see better than he could in the dark, because shuffling footsteps galumphed off in the direction of his throw. Korram turned and sped off in the opposite direction, wiping fishy hands on his jacket as he ran. His boots slipped on the wet grass underfoot, brush tore at his knees and shins, and wet leaves slid across his face like tongues in the darkness. He had no idea where he was going, but when his forehead hit a low-hanging branch, he skidded to a stop. Seizing it with one hand and clutching his spear with the other, he started to pull himself up, but the branch snapped under his weight, dropping him onto his backside on the damp forest floor.
Scrambling to his feet, Korram took off again, straining his eyes in the darkness to find a climbable tree that would support him. He thought he could hear the bear coming after him, though he dared not stop to find out for sure.
Another branch seemed to purposely strike at his face, and Korram seized it. This one didn’t break, and he pulled himself up, scrambling for a higher handhold. The ridges in the rough bark bit into his palms as he climbed, fumbling and nearly dropping his spear. At last he paused, straddling the highest branch he could reach, waiting and listening.
The bear was right underneath him. Korram could hear it growling and wuffing like a dog, see its shaggy bulk moving back and forth in the dimness. It could probably smell the fish he was still carrying in his pocket. Well, Korram wasn’t about to hand his last morsel of food over. Who knew when he would find another meal? He would save the fish for breakfast, as hungry as he was, and wait up here till the bear left.
But the bear didn’t leave. He could hear it moving around, sometimes shambling off into the brush, sometimes returning to sniff around the base of his tree.
The drizzle eventually stopped and Korram dozed off. But he awoke with a start just in time to catch himself as he slumped over and nearly toppled out of his perch. That wouldn’t do; he could have broken his neck! Quickly he untied his belt, thankful it was so long. Balancing awkwardly on his branch, he shifted position, reaching behind himself to loop it around the trunk and then tying the ends around his own waist again. Now he couldn’t possibly fall.
Neither could he get comfortable. Now that he was tied to the tree, nothing had ever felt so unpleasantly hard and knobbly. He loosened the belt and squirmed on the branch, trying to find a position in which he could rest. Finally he untied it altogether, stretched out on the branch he was sitting on, and retied it so that he was strapped to the bough. He did eventually get some sleep that way, though twice he woke up in a panic to find that he had slipped and was hanging under the limb, dangling from the strap.
In the morning the bear was gone, though large, heavy footprints covered the soft earth nearby. Korram untied himself, clambered down, and shouldered his spear, yawning and stretching groggily. Resisting the urge to eat his last fish right away, he struck out through the woods. The sun was not yet up over the mountains, and he wasn’t sure if he was going in exactly the right direction, but he did know he needed to head uphill.
As his hunger grew, it took all his willpower not to pull out the fish. I’ll be hungrier later, Korram kept reminding himself.
About mid-morning, lightheaded and parched with thirst, his head throbbing from dehydration once again, he chanced upon the happiest discovery since the leftover rabbit. A patch of ripe blueberries growing in a sunny clearing! Delighted, Korram stopped and began stripping them from the bushes, cramming them into his mouth by the handful. Nothing had ever tasted so good, he thought, as he feasted alongside the birds and squirrels.
His thirst as well as his hunger temporarily satisfied, he filled his pockets with all the berries they could hold, stuffing them in around the final fish that he was still determined to save for later. Wishing for meat again, he made halfhearted jabs at a couple of squirrels, but they were too quick for him and escaped his spear easily.
That afternoon he passed the tree line and came out into scrubby brush, thin piles of unmelted snow visible here and there in the shade where the sun hadn’t reached. Ahead of him stretched what seemed an endless shallow slope, growing whiter the higher it rose.
Without the trees to block his view, Korram was once again surrounded by white-headed peaks. They seemed to watch his progress, looming silently on every side. The further up th
e slope he climbed, the more exposed and vulnerable he felt, like an insect crawling along a slanted tabletop. Though he knew he was short in stature, he had never thought of himself as tiny until now. The Impassables were just so immense.
His thirst grew with every step. Korram stopped often to stuff clean snow into his mouth, but it didn’t help much. It merely chilled his teeth and throat and seemed to melt into far less water in his stomach than it should have. No matter how much snow he ate, it never quenched his thirst.
As the sun started to sink lower in the sky, Korram realized he was in for yet another unpleasant night unless he could light a fire. Though there were no more trees up here, brush still rose above the thin layer of snow, so he began to gather dead twigs and small branches from the bushes on either side. None of them were very big, and he hoped he had enough to last through the night.
When his load grew too bulky, Korram stopped to rearrange it. He had finished the last of the berries earlier, munching as he walked, and now he had only the fish in his pocket. He filled the rest of his pocket space with the smaller twigs he would use as kindling. Laying the rest of the wood on the ground in a neat stack, he untied his belt from around his tunic again and wrapped it around the bundle, knotting it securely.
Tucking the bulky bundle under one arm and picking up his spear with the other hand, he set off once more. As soon as I find any sort of shelter, I’ll stop for the night and build a fire, he decided.
This didn’t seem like the sort of terrain where he was likely to find a cave. So when his route took him past the base of a low cliff that offered some protection from the wind, Korram decided that was as good a place as any to make camp. The snow was ankle deep now, but there was less of it under the cliff. Using his boots, Korram scraped away as much as he could to make a relatively dry place to lie down. Then he dropped his wood and set about building a fire.
Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3) Page 20
