Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  Night hadn’t actually fallen yet, but Korram was exhausted. Once the pounding of his heart had slowed to normal, he found his eyelids drooping shut.

  Normally a sound sleeper, he awoke, his heart racing, every time his feline pillow stirred. But the creature never seemed to be bothered by his presence, never seemed inclined to harm him. Though it often shifted position, it always lay down again close enough to share his warmth. Each time, Korram would lie awake feeling its thick fur against his face and thinking how unbelievably lucky he was.

  The two of them were keeping each other warm through the storm, but at one point it occurred to him to wonder: what would have happened if they had met at any other time? What would happen if they met again out on the slope tomorrow? Korram wasn’t sure, but there was no point in worrying about it now. He rolled over and scooted closer to the furry heat source beside him.

  The blizzard finally blew itself out sometime after midnight. Korram half-woke, his ears ringing in the unaccustomed silence, then draped an arm across the beast again and fell back asleep.

  Chapter 12

  When the blackness around them had turned to gray, the snowcat stood up and stretched, shaking itself free from Korram. Then it was gone, the end of its tail brushing his face as it pawed its way through the snow bank that had grown around their shelter.

  Korram waited, counting to a hundred to give it time to leave the area in case it decided not to be friendly anymore. Then he crawled out from under the boulders and poked around in the snow until he found his spear. Scrambling to his feet with its help, he peered around.

  Soft folds of white were draped over everything in sight, giving the landscape a new and unfamiliar appearance. Korram couldn’t see a single rock or boulder sticking up above the snowy blanket. The air was cold and crisp but windless, and to the west, massive mountain peaks stood darkly against a splash of stars in the deepest of midnight blue backdrops. The stars dimmed where the sky’s shade paled, fading to a medium-dark blue overhead. To the east, two massive black shoulders of mountain framed an orange horizon. Some of the highest peaks in the opposite direction were brushed with pink as though by a painter, the still unseen sun setting their snowy tips aglow.

  The breathtaking beauty of the scene made Korram feel strangely lonely. The snowcat was nowhere to be seen, and he might almost have been the only living thing for miles around.

  Arden would love this view. It was Arden who had taught Korram to appreciate the beauty in the world around him. He would probably write a poem about it if he were here. Thinking of him, Korram had a sudden aching wish for a friend to share this moment with.

  But at the same time he felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. My father never saw what I’m seeing. Rampus has never seen it either; nor has anyone else on the High Council. In spite of his hunger and thirst and weakness and the mountain sickness that made his stomach queasy and his head throb, Korram felt vibrantly alive. Now I get to prove what I’m really made of. Now I get to show everyone what I can do. He would remember this moment the next time he sat in one of those High Council meetings where no one would listen to his advice or follow his suggestions because he was only an honorary member – and because they had their own plans for Malorn. Plans that involved Rampus taking charge, not him.

  But I’ll show them. Just wait till I show them. If I can survive a night with a live snowcat, I can do anything.

  Tossing down a few powdery mouthfuls of snow to try to fool his empty belly into thinking he had had a meal, Korram squared his shoulders and set out toward the sunrise. He now saw directly ahead, silhouetted against the orange sky, what he was sure must be the start of a pass that would get him over Nezkodney and down into the next valley.

  Walking turned out to be harder than it had been yesterday. For one thing, he was weaker, and for another, the snow was deeper. Korram floundered along, forcing his way through waist-deep snow, using his spear as a walking stick once again. Finally he discovered that in many places the snow was packed tightly enough to support his weight if he crawled carefully across the top. He pulled his arms all the way into the sleeves of his deerskin jacket, clutching the ends to keep the cold out, and set off at as rapid a crawl as he could manage. That made for easier going, though every few yards his hand or knee would break through the icy crust and he would plunge in.

  It wasn’t long before the slope leveled out. By the time the golden edge of the rising sun turned the snow around him to blinding crystals, Korram was crawling downhill, squinting and trying to shade his watering eyes with one hand.

  Below him stretched smooth, unbroken rolling blankets of white, so clean and perfect that it seemed a pity to mar the surface with the messy signs of his passage. The peaks that stood nearby were like towering castles of snow, larger and grander and more imposing by far than the one he had grown up in. In the distance, mountain after mountain rose before him in every direction, fog filling many of the spaces between them like a hazy ocean of white.

  And there was Mount Clinja, the closest of all, its twin peaks unmistakable in the morning light. The pass between them was just a little below him.

  Though he couldn’t see anything beyond it, Korram was thankful for the sight of a green valley in between Nezkodney and Clinja. Green meant food and drink, or at least the possibility of them.

  If not, I’ll die there. Korram was pretty sure he could make it down to the valley, but he knew he didn’t have the strength to climb another slope on an empty stomach.

  Crawling on, he lost his balance and tumbled forward. Before he could stop himself, he had rolled and slid a good twenty feet, leaving a pink smear in the snow where he had scratched himself across the cheek with his own spear.

  His mishap gave him an idea. Gingerly, Korram seated himself on the snow with his legs out in front of him. Digging in with the spear, he pushed off and began to slide, but almost immediately, the heel of his boot caught on a hidden rock and he jarred to a stop. If only I had a sled! On his second try, he discovered that by lying back he could spread his weight out better and reduce wind resistance, sliding further and faster. Of course, he bruised himself with the shaft of his spear a few times before he got the hang of resting it along his body with the point just above his head so he couldn’t accidentally skewer himself. Once he lost his balance and tipped sideways, rolling over and over before he finally sat up, spluttering, with a face full of snow.

  Even so, his new method of travel turned out to be much faster and easier than walking or crawling. Every dozen yards or so when he slid to a stop, he would dig his elbows and the butt end of the spear into the snow and propel himself forward once more. Sometimes he had to stand up and walk to a better spot; and at one point, when the slope leveled off, he had to get up and crawl for twenty or thirty yards until it fell steeply once again.

  Now and then Korram stopped to rest, scooping up snow to eat. But no matter how much of it he swallowed, it never seemed to make a difference to his burning thirst. He needed real water, and his stomach begged for food.

  The lower he got, the more rocks waited just under the surface ready to bash his elbows and hips. After one particularly bruising encounter, Korram scrambled to his feet, surprised to discover that the snow was only about a foot deep now. Here and there, he could see the dark forms of larger rocks sticking up above it. It was time for him to walk once again.

  To his surprise and relief, he realized that he felt better: the nausea and dizziness that had followed him since yesterday were gone. The mountain sickness had faded now that he had reached a lower elevation. His throat was still parched, and he was lightheaded and weak with hunger; and his head still throbbed painfully, but he knew that was from dehydration.

  Once again he began dreaming of food, his mouth watering at the thought of his favorites back at the palace. What a banquet there would be when he returned! Korram would order the chefs to prepare all his favorite foods. He began to list them in his mind, planning out the menu. He was half surprised, hi
mself, to discover that lumjum cakes were on his list.

  As he trudged lower and lower, the tree line seemed to rise to meet him. The trees approached gradually, low brush giving way to larger bushes, which became stunted trees and then taller ones, until by late afternoon he was surrounded by stately pines. At the same time, the snow had been growing shallower, so that it crunched under his feet only an inch or two deep, except for occasional dirty heaps lurking at the feet of boulders or tree trunks.

  Looking for anything that might possibly be edible, Korram staggered from tree to tree, often stopping to lean against their rough trunks. He wanted to sit down, but was afraid that he wouldn't be able to summon the energy to get up again.

  Finally, when the snow had all but disappeared and he was walking on dirt and pine needles, Korram just couldn’t drag himself any further without a rest. He slid to the ground, leaning against one of the trees, feeling weaker than he had ever felt before. I’m so thirsty … so hungry. Licking his dry lips with an equally dry tongue, he sat motionless, eyes half closed. He knew he shouldn’t sit there too long, but it was hard even to think of getting to his feet again. I have to keep going. I have to look for food. But he couldn’t bring himself to stand up.

  As he slumped there, almost too weak to move, his ears caught a sound over the rustling of pine needles in the breeze. Was that running water?

  His legs wouldn’t support him anymore. Summoning a little more energy, he crawled through the trees toward the sound. Before long he came to a tiny trickling stream, not more than three feet across, meandering between the pines. It must be fed by melting snow and would probably be nearly as cold as the snow itself.

  Sure enough, when he knelt at its bank and cupped his hands for a drink, the cold took his breath away. Korram could feel its chill descending all the way down his throat and into his stomach. But he slurped up delicious mouthfuls of the fresh water, stopping only to breathe and then filling his hands with it again.

  At last, when he could hold no more, Korram backed away from the bank and leaned against a tree once again. He was shivering, his hands numb, and he pulled them inside his sleeves again to try to warm them. I’ve got to find food now, he thought tiredly. Otherwise I’m done. He couldn’t go any further, even though it would mean Ernth would be right and Rampus would win. He just couldn’t. Even the pine needles were starting to look appetizing. This was bad.

  Maybe he could catch some fish. But this narrow trickle of a stream was much too small for anything except perhaps the tiniest of minnows. Korram stared into the shallow water, trying to muster up the strength to struggle to his feet again. Maybe if he followed it downstream, it would join with other creeks and form a river big enough for fish. But he didn’t feel as though he could walk one more step without something besides mere water in his stomach.

  A few feet away, a bird landed on a tree root by the water’s edge. Korram sat motionless, reaching for the spear that lay beside him, though he was sure he could never jerk it around fast enough to strike.

  The bird plunged its beak under the edge of a fallen branch, pulled out something that wriggled, and gulped it down. Another plunge, another gulp.

  In spite of himself, Korram’s mouth watered. He groaned, and the bird flew off.

  Has it come to this? Am I so close to starving that I’m tempted to eat insects? But even as his mind framed the question, he was crawling forward on his hands and knees, pushing aside the branch.

  Half a dozen fat, tan grubs lay squirming there. Ignoring his instinctive feeling of revulsion, Korram reached out, his hand trembling with hunger-induced weakness, and picked one up between his finger and thumb. If they’re edible for the birds, they’re edible for me, he told himself firmly. He dipped it into the stream to rinse off the dirt, and, before he could change his mind, popped it into his mouth.

  To his surprise, it had none of the disgusting flavor he had braced himself for. It was like chewing a small piece of cooked fat. His revulsion fading, Korram reached for another, and then another. When they were all gone, he found a second fallen branch a little further away. Sure enough, there were wriggling grubs under this one as well. Relieved and eager, he gobbled them all down.

  Perhaps I won’t tell my family about this part of my adventures, he thought as he crawled further in search of more. Then again, it would be fun to see the look on Kalendria’s face if I describe how I ate insect larvae.

  Finally Korram washed down his meager supper with another drink from the creek and began to gather firewood. Though still hungry, he no longer felt at the brink of starvation. He would camp here until morning, and tomorrow when he was rested he would follow the little creek downstream and maybe eventually find some fish. He didn’t have the energy to do anything else this evening.

  Lighting a fire was as difficult as it had been two nights ago. Korram nearly gave up, almost too exhausted to care. But although the night air was not as icy down here as it had been up in the snow, he knew the elevation was still too high for him to sleep safely without a campfire. Not if he wanted to survive the night without a furry companion.

  At last a tiny flame appeared and began to grow. Korram burned his finger as he banked it with extra wood, hands shaking from exhaustion. Wincing, he stuck his burnt finger in his mouth and curled up beside the comforting blaze.

  The next day turned out to be his easiest day of travel yet. Korram had barely set off when he discovered a patch of leafy green vegetables he remembered the Mountain Folk serving for supper now and then. He had no way to boil them, and he didn’t think roasting the leaves over a fire would work very well, but he discovered that they were edible raw. It was like eating an especially tough salad. Remembering his experience with raw lumjum, Korram made himself eat slowly, chewing each leaf thoroughly and washing them all down with another handful of grubs and more water. With every bite, he could feel his strength returning.

  A quick shimmy up a tall pine at the stream’s edge enabled him to check the position of the sun and showed him that he was traveling in more or less the right direction. He spotted the twin peaks of Mount Clinja a little to the left of his current route.

  The view ahead showed his stream flowing toward a much larger river, sparkling in the sunlight as it wound its way along the bottom of the valley. So he could stay by its banks and enjoy easy access to drinking water all the way, and when he reached the river, he could turn left and head upstream until those twin peaks lay dead ahead. It wasn’t far now – probably just a couple more days’ walk.

  Clambering back to the ground, Korram crammed handfuls of the vegetables into his pockets before continuing on. Walking on, he glimpsed occasional rabbits and even a deer grazing among the trees not far away, and his mouth watered. But I’ll be content with fish – as soon as I find any big enough to be worth catching.

  Soon the soft burbling of the brook grew louder, and then it was joined by a wider stream. A few miles on, a third one added its width, and Korram began to peer into the water in search of lunch. The first few fish he glimpsed were smaller than his hand, but after he spotted one twice that long, he began to search for a good shady place to try fishing.

  Once again, he caught more fish than he could eat, though he had to keep walking downstream and looking for more likely spots before he speared enough to be worth cooking. Wrapping them in the leafy greens turned out to be a tastier way to eat both foods.

  That evening he dined well. He stretched out for the night with a full stomach, satisfied and thankful.

  The next morning Korram reached the river he had seen, tranquil and slow, reflecting the deep blue of the autumn sky. Wider than any he had encountered so far in the Impassables, Korram guessed it would be too deep in the middle to wade. He would have to swim across.

  Not yet, though. He turned and traveled roughly north along the bank for several hours, munching the wilted vegetables he still had left. Every time he came to a rotten log, he poked around under it, gathering up handfuls of grubs to eat with
the vegetables. Pickiness had no place in wilderness survival.

  When he judged he was roughly straight across from the route he would take up Mount Clinja, Korram stopped and sat down for another meal, picnicking messily on the rest of his fish. He could catch more on the other side, and it would be easier not to have to carry anything across.

  Peeling off his clothes and boots, Korram wrapped everything inside his tunic and tied the bundle up tightly with his belt, shaking and tossing it around a few times to make sure it wouldn’t come unwrapped. He bound the ends of the belt across his shoulders and chest so he could wear the makeshift pack high on his back. That way it wouldn’t get in his way or slide off while he swam ... he hoped.

  The water was as cold as he had expected. Korram waded in, cringing but determined. As soon as it rose to his armpits, he plunged forward and began to swim.

  After only a few strokes, he felt pebbles under his feet again. Then he was wading out the other side, dripping and shivering, a little way downstream from where he had begun. Untying his load, Korram rubbed himself dry with his jacket and dressed again, still shivering. Running to try to warm up, he hurried into the trees to gather firewood.

  As he prepared to build a fire in the shelter of some boulders, Korram was startled to see a little circle of ash and charred sticks. Someone else had built a fire in this very spot not long ago. That girl, perhaps? Or someone else undertaking the Rite of Acceptance? He was encouraged to see evidence that others had gone before him, had made it this far, and, in all likelihood, succeeded. If nothing else went wrong, he would probably succeed in another couple of days as well.

  After drying off by his fire, Korram decided to spend the rest of the afternoon fishing. His stomach was still full from his pre-swim feast, but he wanted to be well supplied when he began his ascent of Mount Clinja tomorrow. He knew better than to assume he would find much food in the forest that stretched up the slopes above him, and he wasn’t sure how long the trek through the snow beyond would last this time. He must be certain to bring along plenty of firewood again, too.