Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  Rekindling a fire from glowing coals was one thing. Building one from scratch was another altogether. Korram had learned to do it earlier that summer by watching Trayven, though the servant had always used a tinderbox. He was grateful now that Silanth had made him practice doing it the Mountain Folk way.

  First he arranged the wood, being especially careful with the placement of the smallest twigs. Then he dug in his pocket and pulled out the handful of fire-starting stones he had picked up on his first day out, pausing to rub blueberry juice and fish scales off of them with the sleeve of his jacket. He sorted through the stones in his hand, examining each one carefully, picking out the two that he thought would make the best handstone and striker.

  Crouching as close to the cliff as possible, Korram used his body to block any breeze from the other direction. Then, carefully, he struck the striker he had chosen against his handstone just the way Silanth had taught him.

  At first nothing happened. After eight or ten tries, he finally saw a spark, but it went out immediately.

  Korram positioned his hands closer to the tinder and tried again. Nothing.

  The next time, his efforts once more produced a spark, but once more it went out. His next spark made it all the way to the pile of twigs, but they refused to catch. Again and again Korram struck his rocks together, but with no better results.

  Finally he sat back and rubbed at his sore hands, trying to think what he was doing wrong. Didn’t the Mountain Folk light fires this way all the time?

  Maybe my twigs are too big, he thought, examining the little pile. I need smaller tinder. Fishing through the firewood, he snapped off all the tiny twigs he could find and even peeled off bits of bark. Some of the wood was covered with what seemed to be a type of dry lichen, which, on closer inspection, looked as though it might work best. Korram scraped it off, crumbled it up, and sprinkled it onto his pile along with the bark and the smallest twigs.

  It was growing cold. The sun had disappeared behind the peaks long ago, and the sky was starting to darken. Korram was tired and hungry. But he still had that last fish, and if he could just get this fire going, he would warm up and probably have a good night’s sleep. Gritting his teeth in determination, he picked up his rocks once again.

  This time it worked much better. The first few sparks still went out, but Korram could see that the lichen had almost caught. The next time he tried blowing on the spark to help it catch, but he blew too hard and it winked out. Forcing himself to be patient, Korram tried again more gently, and again, and again – until finally the tiniest of flames licked at the gray-green lichen.

  Dropping the stones, Korram cupped his hands around the precious flame to shelter it, poking more of the lichen toward it with one finger. But he must have smothered it, and the flame vanished almost immediately.

  Korram couldn’t help but yell in exasperation. “Why can’t I get this to work?” He was so frustrated he wanted to throw something, so he scooped up a handful of snow and flung it against the cliff. Instantly, he regretted plunging his fingers into the icy cold. “It’s not fair!” he yelled. “I’m freezing and I need a fire!”

  His voice rang across the snow, startlingly loud in the quiet evening, and the stillness that followed seemed to mock him. The silent peaks looming on every side didn’t care about his petty problems. He could freeze to death and they would still sit there unmoving, watching with the same detached stillness with which they had watched thousands of Mountain Folk brave these wilds in their quest for Acceptance.

  Clenching his numb hand in his armpit to warm it, Korram wondered what the survival rate was for young people attempting the Rite. Thorst had said that even Mountain Folk sometimes died trying.

  Well, I’m not going to. He picked up the stones once more. I’ve got to make this work! The sky was starting to darken, a few stars already glimmering above the peaks. He didn’t want to think about what this night would be like if he couldn’t get a fire started.

  At last his efforts produced another flame, and this time he fed it more carefully. In a moment it was growing, hungrily devouring the lichen, and he gently tempted it with a shred of bark. The fire gobbled up the bark and grew a little more, Korram’s excitement rising with it. He offered it the tiniest twigs and then larger ones, and soon he had a decent blaze.

  When it was growing on its own and he was sure it wasn’t about to go out, Korram sat back and rubbed at his neck, his muscles stiff and tight from bending over so long. Proudly, he warmed his hands, wishing he had some fresh meat to roast to celebrate his accomplishment. Instead, he pulled out his last fish and sat cross-legged before the snapping flames to enjoy his meager supper.

  The fish was covered with blueberry juice and bits of bark, and it didn’t smell very fresh anymore. But Korram devoured it anyway, too hungry to care.

  After washing the fish down with handfuls of snow, Korram scraped up every scrap of scales and bones and carried them twenty paces away from his camp. He doubted there were any bears up here, but there might be snowcats, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. Using the toe of his boot, he scraped away a patch of snow and dirt and dropped the scraps in, then covered the little pile up with more snow. Even if some creature smelled it and dug it up, at least it wouldn’t be right in his camp. He licked his hands clean and then hurried back to warm them over the friendly glow of his little fire. He would sleep warm tonight.

  And he did, surrounded by the mountains that seemed to be watching him like guardian sentinels. They’re guarding the passes against me, he thought drowsily just before he nodded off. But I won’t let them keep me from my goal.

  Their white flanks gleamed at him in the starlight when he woke briefly every couple of hours. Each time he added more fuel to the fire and then rolled over and fell back asleep, secure in the warmth and safety offered by the crackling flames – his flames.

  The fire burned out just before dawn when the wood ran out. The cold woke Korram, and he sat up, shivering and hungry but rested.

  Time to head off. He wasn’t likely to find any more firewood between here and the top of Nezkodney, so he had better find a pass and make it over and back down to the tree line before night fell again. If only I had some food. But the sooner he got out of the snow, the sooner he was likely to find some.

  His stomach already growling, Korram ate an icy and unsatisfying breakfast of snow, picked up his spear, and started off.

  At first it was fairly easy. The slope was gradual and the snow only ankle deep. After the sun rose into a brilliant blue sky, Korram quickly warmed up.

  But sunlight reflected off of the snow so that the glare made him squint, and before long he could feel a sunburn starting on his exposed face and neck. The snow grew deeper with every mile, and several times he stumbled over buried obstacles or fell floundering into hollows that lay hidden under the white blanket. Dark protruding rocks speckled the slope all around, but his dazzled eyes were having a hard time making out which ones were close and which were far away. Several times he tripped over even the rocks he could see, bruising his knees and shins through his deerskin breeches.

  Sweat trickled down his forehead and neck as he trudged along, freezing uncomfortably onto his skin when he stopped to rest. His mouth was dry and his throat was parched, but whenever he ate a handful of snow to try to ease his thirst, his hands grew numb and a shivery chill found its way deep inside. His lungs burned with every foggy breath of the icy air.

  The higher Korram climbed, the worse his stomach felt, and not just from the cold. He was starting to feel nauseous, as he had once or twice as a child when he had fallen sick with influenza. Was this called mountain sickness? Korram’s head throbbed and his breath felt shallow, as though he couldn’t get enough air, even when he stopped to rest.

  Using his spear as a walking stick, he forced himself to trudge on, not sure whether the slope was really growing steeper or if he was just getting weaker. Eventually he turned his spear upside down so he could dig
the point into the snow for extra traction.

  It was getting harder to walk in a straight line. Lightheaded and increasingly dizzy, Korram kept catching himself veering off to one side or the other. When he turned to look back the way he had come, his footprints staggered along in drunken zigzags through the snow behind him. Every time he stopped to rest, it was harder to get up again.

  In the early afternoon, gray clouds drifted in and a light snow began to fall, accompanied by an icy breeze that cut right through his clothes and chilled him to the bone. Korram could feel himself growing weaker with hunger and mountain sickness. He had gathered up the ends of his long sleeves, clenching them in each hand to keep the cold out; but that made it harder to grip his spear, and he kept dropping it. Every time he bent to pick it up out of the snow, his fingers felt as though they were about to freeze. He stuffed one hand into his pocket where it was warmer and used the other to hold his spear, switching every time he dropped it.

  Squinting up the slope ahead, Korram tried to find the easiest route; there must be a pass he could travel through rather than climbing over the very top. He finally glimpsed a cleft in the large, flat peak that filled the sky ahead of him, but he had no idea how far it was to the pass. Time after time he thought he was approaching it, but there was always another slope rising beyond.

  I have to get over the top and down to a lower elevation before nightfall. I have to! He knew he wasn’t likely to survive a night out here on Nezkodney without a fire, especially in his current state. But how much further was it?

  The wind began to pick up, whipping flurries of heavier snow all around and flinging them into Korram’s stinging face. He was forced to pull his other hand out of his pocket to clutch the hood of his jacket low over his forehead, and it wasn’t long before he could barely feel either of his hands.

  The snow was knee deep now, his feet sinking far into it with each step. It was starting to worm its way down into his boots, numbing his feet as well. He had forgotten to stuff more grass into his boots to keep his feet warm after his night in the cave, which was the last time he had taken them off.

  The thought of lying down to rest grew more and more appealing, but Korram had an uneasy feeling that unless he found some sort of shelter, he had better not stop walking. He had heard stories of travelers caught in mountain snowstorms, and he knew that the best way to keep from freezing to death out in the open was to keep moving.

  The wind increased in strength as though attempting to blow him off of the slope. Trying to brace himself against it, Korram stumbled and fell to his hands and knees. It felt good to hunch there with his head down.

  I could just rest here for a moment, he thought, in spite of himself. Just for a moment. I’d feel better after that. The snow was so soft under him, so comfortable. Maybe I’ll take a little nap.

  But then a picture came to his mind of Regent Rampus, a triumphant smirk on his face, seating himself regally on the throne that was supposed to be Korram’s. With an angry grunt – the closest he could come to a battle cry – Korram heaved himself to his feet and struggled on.

  One step at a time. This is the last mountain before Clinja. I can do it. He repeated the words over and over in his mind, not sure if he was even heading in the right direction anymore. The clouds were all around him now, and between them and the driving snow, he could see little beyond the ground a few feet in front of him.

  But the wind was still growing stronger, the snow falling ever more heavily, and Korram’s face and eyes stung from the attacks by flying ice crystals. I’ve got to find shelter, he thought desperately. There must be somewhere I can get out of the wind.

  Off to the right, he thought he could see the dark form of a larger-than-average rock jutting up above the snow. Changing direction, he staggered toward it, discovering that it was one of several boulders that huddled in a little cluster. Perhaps there was a hollow between two of them where he could curl up out of the wind and driving snow. Korram wasn’t sure which would be more dangerous: lying down and possibly falling asleep, never to wake again, or continuing to stagger through the blizzard until he froze to death on his feet or stumbled off the edge of some invisible cliff.

  But if he had to choose between the two deaths, he would choose the more comfortable one. Korram groped his way around the rocks until they stood between him and the wind. Down near the base of the two biggest ones there was indeed a little hollow sheltered by the rocks and snowdrifts. He would be mostly out of the weather there; part of one boulder jutted over the space to form what was almost a roof.

  Relieved, Korram dropped to his hands and knees. Wedging his spear against the base of one of the boulders where it wouldn’t be blown away and where he could grab it again on his way out, he crawled into the dim space. It was a little bigger than he had thought, but there was a heap of snow down in there; he would push it out to make more room.

  But the heap of snow was warm and soft, and when Korram pushed, it surged up before him with a deep growl like grinding granite.

  Korram gasped, his heart lurching into his throat, and tried to scoot away. But something heavy was standing on his foot, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on his back in the snow, a huge paw on one of his shoulders. With his other hand, he groped frantically for his spear, but it was out of reach.

  Don’t move, Korram ordered himself, not that he could have fled in any case. Green eyes stared into his from just inches away. Pointed ears twitched atop a white, furry face that reminded him of his sister’s pet cat. But Sir Fluffle couldn’t pin him down with one paw or rip off his head with one chomp.

  A pink nose wrinkled as the creature snarled, baring gleaming fangs as long as Korram’s fingers. Korram’s heart thudded against his ribs, his mind spinning as he tried frantically to remember anything the Mountain Folk had told him about surviving snowcat encounters. Walk away slowly; don’t run, was all that came to mind; but both options were out of the question at the moment.

  Korram lowered his gaze, just in case staring it in the eye was a challenge. A bristle of whiskers tickled his face as the animal leaned closer to sniff him, and hot breath scented with raw meat washed over him. That’s a good sign, Korram thought, trying to make himself believe it. Meat on its breath means it’s eaten recently. It isn’t hungry anymore. But he squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if Malorn’s royal line was about to be cut off right here.

  I’d rather meet my end between a snowcat’s jaws than through one of Rampus’s schemes, Korram decided, even as the whiskers withdrew and the paw lifted from his shoulder.

  He opened his eyes to see the snowcat still standing over him, its body as long as his. It was regarding him with its head cocked to one side, what might have been curiosity in its emerald eyes. Perhaps it was wondering what a lone human was doing so far up in the mountains and whether it had anything to fear from him.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Korram murmured, remembering how Kalendria’s cat responded to a person’s tone of voice. “I won’t hurt you.” But his voice shook. They both knew who was capable of hurting whom. “Just let me get up and I’ll leave you alone,” he coaxed, wondering if the creature could hear the fear in his voice. Perhaps his one-sided conversation was doing more harm than good.

  The snowcat shifted position, turning its head to sniff around Korram’s pockets, probably smelling the fish they had carried yesterday. Then, deliberately, it stepped over him and lay down at his side, turning to stretch its legs out so its back was to him. Lifting a curled forepaw to its muzzle, it began to lick it with a rough pink tongue.

  Korram lay motionless, hunched under the boulder’s overhang against the creature’s broad, warm back. His heart was pounding, and he could scarcely believe he was still alive. He was lying next to the most dangerous animal in Malorn!

  Should he try to climb over it and get away from here? That didn’t seem like a good idea; surely it wouldn’t just lie still and tolerate his clambering over its body. But did he really need to? The snowcat ha
d chosen not to hurt him or even to drive him away. It actually seemed to be allowing him to lie here in its shelter out of the wind. Living up here so far from civilization, it probably wasn’t used to people and saw no reason to fear or dislike him. Perhaps it appreciated the extra warmth. Besides, there was still a blizzard raging, and now that his initial terror was wearing off, Korram realized that he was still numb with cold.

  Hesitantly, he extended an icy hand and placed it lightly on the cat’s side. It ignored him, continuing to lick its paw. Korram, feeling as though he were in a dream, tremulously stroked the animal’s thick white fur. It wasn’t as silky as Sir Fluffle; its heavy pelt felt a little coarser, like a dog’s. He could feel the powerful muscles rippling just under the skin as it shifted position, and he froze, hoping his touch hadn’t angered the beast. But it stretched, yawned noisily, and lay still again, its body still pressed against his.

  He lay flat on the snowy ground beside it, draping one arm cautiously across its flank, burying both his hands in the long fur. He pressed his cold nose against the snowcat’s back, his own breath warming his face as he inhaled its faint musky scent. Gradually he began to relax as the animal’s warmth seeped into him, dispelling the chill that had been numbing his bones for hours.

  He could hear the roar of the wind right outside his shelter, and scattered snowflakes forced their way between the boulders and settled around the two of them in the dimness. But most of the storm’s force couldn’t reach him where he lay protected by the rocks, the massive beast, and the banked snow all around. He was warmer and cozier than he had been since he had begun his quest.

  I can’t believe this is really happening. But it was, and Korram could hardly wait to tell the Mountain Folk about it. What a tale he would have for little Thisti! And just wait till he told Kalendria, who loved cats but had never seen one this size. You know how Sir Fluffle sleeps by your pillow at night? Well, up in the mountains I used a cat a hundred times his size as my pillow! Arden would probably write a song about the event, but nobody who heard it would believe it was based on a true story.