The Path to the Sun (The Fallen Shadows Trilogy)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

  Kiran glared back at him but said nothing. He leaned against a tree to wait. The chirrup of crickets grew louder in the still night.

  Jandon whispered to Kiran. “I can’t believe we’re really going. Why would they send us? I mean, why the girls? Better yet, why Roh?”

  Kiran was surprised. He hardly knew Roh, who was older than the other boys, and couldn't recall ever seeing him at the weekly Worship of the Followers. But Kiran wasn’t aware of any reason he wouldn’t be as worthy as the rest of them. Rumors were that he and his mother lived alone by the edge of the Lost Forest and had no farm. How he made a living, Kiran didn’t know.

  “We don’t need his kind of trouble,” Bhau said with a grunt. “He's just like his father.”

  “What about his father?” Kiran asked, curious now.

  Deke looked at Bhau, then back to Kiran. His black eyes narrowed. He leaned in and spoke in a low whisper. “They sent him along with us to be rid of him, I'm sure of it. He's a bad seed.”

  The crickets stopped chirping. They all tensed, alert.

  Bria and Kail appeared in the clearing escorted by the warrior Tobin. Bria greeted Kiran with a smile, her green eyes shining in the moonlight. Kiran’s heart beat faster.

  “Good evening, boys,” she said, leaning on her walking staff, as calm as if they were headed out berry picking on a sunny, spring day. Kail stood behind Bria, her eyes downcast. The loaded pack looked enormous on her tiny frame.

  Bhau motioned for them to step out of the clearing and into the shadows. “We’re just waiting for Roh, now,” he whispered.

  “I’m here.”

  Bhau swung around, his dagger raised.

  Roh was leaning on the tree right behind him.

  “How long have you been there? Why didn’t you announce yourself?” Bhau demanded.

  Roh shrugged.

  Kiran shot a glance at Deke. The crickets had never paused.

  “All right. Listen to me now,” Tobin said. “To get through the Lost Forest, follow this ridge. It leads to a hidden pass over the mountains. Once you are on the other side, back down among the trees, look for a stream. That’s the border.”

  Roh stepped forward, “And what then?”

  “From there, you’re on your own.”

  “But how will we know which way to go?”

  Tobin shrugged, a blank expression on his face. “That’s all I know.”

  “But, we’re not warriors,” Kail said, chewing her lip. “What will we do?”

  “Stay on the move until you’re sure you’ve lost the Javinians. They’ll track you.”

  Kiran glanced toward the village, anxious now to move on.

  “Bhau can handle the lead, but you’ll need a rear scout.” Tobin pointed to Jandon. “You.”

  Jandon swallowed hard, his eyes darting from side to side.

  Deke thrust his chin forward. “Hold on. Why Jandon?”

  “Yeah, why me?” Jandon piped up.

  Tobin looked to Jandon, confused. “You are the best athlete in the village. You always win at the games. Don’t you want to be a warrior?”

  “A warrior! No, no, no.” Jandon took a step back, shaking his head.

  “Why else would you compete?”

  “Well, ah… Because all the girls come to watch.”

  Tobin raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Well, this is not the summer games. This is real. And you are in real danger. The Javinians will hunt you relentlessly. They are ruthless. Do you understand?” A rush of fear ran up Kiran’s spine. He shot a glance over his shoulder. He knew the legendary tales of brutal torture—first the flogging with a leather switch, ripping and tearing pieces of flesh from the body, then the excruciating and humiliating execution where one was hung from a pole by the wrists and ankles and left to die. And the horrors of what they did to women were unspeakable. “You asked for my advice,” Tobin said. “You’re built for it. You keep watch from the rear.”

  Jandon hesitated, his expression sober. Then he nodded.

  Tobin looked at each one of the rest of them as if analyzing their strengths, assessing their chances of success. Kiran wondered what he must have been thinking. They had no experience, no knowledge of the outside world. Did they even have a chance? Tobin shook his head. “May the Great Father watch over you.”

  They fled westward, venturing deeper and deeper into the Lost Forest. Bhau, born to be a warrior, with bulging arms and a thick neck, lumbered along, his eyes searching the landscape, scanning every rock and crevice for movement, his ears alert for unnatural noises that meant danger. The others followed as he crisscrossed through the forest, traveling in a sporadic pattern.

  Jandon took up the rear, constantly looking back over his shoulder, occasionally circling back to scan the path behind them.

  As dawn broke, the terrain shot abruptly skyward, and without slowing, they trekked up the rocky foothill, traversing twists and turns, climbing into the mountains. Soon, they had to crouch on hands and feet to scramble over boulders and encountered rock faces so steep they had to work together, pulling each other up and over. Kail struggled to keep up. Again and again, she fell, her pack pulling her off balance.

  The hills to the north and south of the village had gently sloping ascents, easy and welcoming. But these mountains were steep and jagged. Kiran had always longed to explore these alluring peaks; they beckoned from afar, promising of the wild and unfamiliar, stirring his sense of adventure. But now he felt a sorrowful disappointment. There was only barren isolation here, a soulless beauty, like the grace of a hunter—silent and deadly.

  Kiran grunted and huffed his way up the mountain, unused to the heat and altitude, his pack growing heavier with each step. He tried to set his own pace, a rhythm to numb his mind and shake his dark, somber mood. With each step, Kiran’s sense of foreboding grew stronger, the words of Old Horan echoing in his mind. Someone must go… to certain doom.

  When Kiran slowed to catch his breath and adjust the pack on his back, Jandon thundered past. “Can’t you keep up?” he teased.

  Kiran grimaced. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching for the Javinians in the rear?” He glanced behind them. “Where’s Kail?”

  Jandon shrugged.

  Kiran decided to wait. Not long after, Kail came around a pine tree, trotting along with her head down, breathing hard, her tunic soaked with sweat, blood stains at her knees.

  “Are you all right?”

  She gave him a pained look, as if answering would take too much effort. He let her pass and took a long, careful scan behind her before turning to follow, keenly aware that he was now at the rear of the group.

  At mid-morning, they scrambled up a rise and reached a ridgeline barren of trees. The sun hung low in the sky, burning through the thin air. Rivulets of sweat snaked down Kiran’s neck. It was too quiet here. The usual sounds of the forest were absent—the chattering of squirrels, birds chirping in the treetops—only the steady whisper of the wind. The cry of a raptor pierced the silence and Kiran looked up with a start. High above, raptors kettled, hundreds held aloft, soaring on the wind as if lifted from below by invisible hands.

  He slowed, his gaze drawn back along the bald-faced ridge. The glare of the late morning sun blinded him to anything following from behind. He shaded his eyes with his hands and squinted, scanning for movement.

  He thought he saw something.

  He stopped short. He turned back toward the front of the group. Bhau was in the lead, with Roh right behind him, and then Deke and Bria. Jandon followed, waving, urging him to keep up. He glanced back the way they had come, sure he had seen something, but saw nothing now but bare rock. He moved forward again, keeping watch over his shoulder. Jandon asked what was wrong. Had he seen something or hadn’t he? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t explain it. But he couldn’t let it go. Jandon shrugged it off and moved to keep up with the others.

  Then it hit him. Kail was missing.

  He spun around and ran back the way they had come, then dropped among th
e trees. Still he did not find her. He retraced their passing, downward, scrambling across the rocks, fear growing inside him. He came around a stand of pines, and at last he found her, sitting on a rock crying, her hair matted with sweat, her face red. Her pack lay on the ground next to her. He felt so relieved he didn’t know whether to hug her or scold her.

  “Kail, are you all right?” He sat down on the rock beside her. In one hand, she held a small bread loaf, and in the other, her waterskin.

  “I can’t do this,” she cried. “I don’t belong here. I should be tending the Gardens right now.”

  “We just need a rest. The others will have to wait.”

  “But they won’t. You know they won’t,” she cried. “They’re not going to risk their lives waiting for me. We have to get to the border.”

  “Aldwyn said we are to stay together. And we’ll do just that.”

  “But Kiran, look at me. I’ll never make it.” She squeezed her eyes shut and tears started to flow again.

  “You will,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “We are not going to abandon you. I’m not going to abandon you.”

  “But we don’t even know where we are going. What are we supposed to do? Nobody told us anything. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!”

  What could he say? She was right. They were running with no plan.

  He caught himself. That wasn’t quite true. He had the scroll. He reached back and felt for the bulge where it pressed against the side of his pack. Aldwyn had said it would guide them. But how? Were there actual, specific directions? But he couldn’t just take it from his pack and start reading right then. He’d be found out.

  Maybe he should tell her he had it. Maybe it would ease her mind. It could be their secret. But what would he tell the others? What if he couldn’t translate it anyway? What if he got it wrong? Then where would they be?

  He’d have to find a moment alone to read it first. Then he’d tell them all.

  “I don’t know the answers,” he said and put his arm around her shoulders. “But I do know that the Great Father chose us and is watching over us now.” He winced as he said the words, remembering how he had argued with Aldwyn, but he didn’t know what else to say.

  She sniffled and sat up straight, trying to gain her composure. She glanced to the sky, guilt in her eyes. “You are right, Kiran. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder to keep up.” She took a sip from her waterskin. “I just need to rest awhile longer.”

  Kiran nodded.

  A ground squirrel with thick, fuzzy brown fur and a stubby tail emerged from the brush a few yards away and inched toward them, its curious black eyes shining in the sunlight.

  “He’s so cute,” Kail cooed. She broke a morsel of bread from the loaf and tossed it to the ground. The squirrel scurried forward, snatched up the snack, and swallowed it whole. “Aww, just look at that.” She tossed another piece and it came a little closer.

  The critter rocked back on its hind legs and stood, wrinkling its nose, whiskers twitching, then cocked its head to one side, as though it were trying to discern whether they were dangerous.

  Kiran met the gaze of the tiny creature and for an enchanting moment, their eyes locked and he sensed a feeling of reverence pass between them; it was more than curiosity, it was a connection of one sentient being to another.

  “Do you ever wonder how the Great Father sees all, looking down from the Celestial Kingdom?” Kiran mused aloud. “Maybe he sees us through the eyes of the squirrel.”

  Kail sat back and looked at Kiran as if he’d gone mad. “What are you saying? You think that the Great Father is a squirrel?”

  “No, no, no. I just meant… Never mind,” he said, silently scolding himself. He knew better than to voice his questions to others.

  Suddenly, the squirrel jerked up on its hind legs, standing fully erect, its head turned away from them. It held there for moment, turning its head, first this way, then that, its ears perked upward, then dove into its burrow. “Awww, don’t be afraid. We’re not going to hurt you,” Kail said.

  Then Kiran heard the thump-thump of footfalls on rock. He drew in his breath. There was no mistaking the distinctive sound of the wooden soled shoes of the Javinians. He looked at Kail and their eyes locked together in a shared bond of utter fear. He silently mouthed, “Shhh,” and eased down off the boulder and crouched behind it. She followed, careful not to make a sound. The thump-thump echoed across the rocky mountainside. Kiran tried to focus on the footfalls, straining to hear over the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. They were getting closer and closer.

  He and Kail huddled together, shaking. Kiran’s nerves buzzed. All of his senses came alive—the sharp smell of pine, the gritty taste of dust. He focused on her face—her bright blue eyes, as rich as a late autumn sky, the soft, faint freckles that dotted her nose, like his—and somehow he felt oddly detached, as if this wasn’t happening to him, but rather to a character in a festival play, acted out before him on stage, and he was simply a spectator in the audience, watching this boy and girl, cowering behind a rock, their young lives in jeopardy.

  Thump-thump, thump-thump—his heart pounded in his chest.

  They waited.

  Footsteps kept coming, closer and closer—thump-thump, thump-thump. He was sure the Javinians would kill him on the spot, driving their cudgels into his skull, and drag Kail off to their lair. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Sweat wetted his palms. He kept staring into Kail’s blue eyes. She was the Flower Bearer; she could not die. They had to live. He had to survive. He must. Aldwyn needed him. The whole village needed him. He must get to the Voice of the Father, not die here on this barren, heartless mountain. Not today.

  Thump-thump—bursting in his ears, terror rising in him. They’re right in front of the rock! He clenched his jaw, his muscles straining. Kail closed her eyes, shutting him out. He was alone. The pounding footsteps—thump-thump, thump-thump—drowned all thought. He fought the urge to run, to flee, his entire being focused now. Do not move. He held his breath. Thump-thump.

  The footsteps never slowed. They ran right by, heading away now, fading in the distance. He let out his breath and gasped for air.

  He slipped from behind the rock, motioning for Kail to stay hidden. From behind a scrub tree, he spotted five muscled warriors running along the treeline, a distance off now, long bows strapped to their backs, spears in their hands.

  “Hey, there you are.” A voice cut through the air. Kiran spun around. It was Jandon.

  “Shh!” Kiran mouthed, pointing. Jandon followed the direction of Kiran’s finger. His mouth fell open. He dropped to his belly, breathing hard.

  Kiran waited for the Javinians to drop back among the aspen, then motioned for Jandon and Kail to move. “Lead us back,” Kiran whispered to Jandon. He obeyed without question, darting through the sparse trees, setting a brisk pace, his sleek, athletic body made for running. Kiran and Kail kept up with him, fear coursing through their veins, spurring them on.

  They scrambled up the talus and crept along the open ridgeline where they found the others resting in the shade of a rocky overhang. “This is unacceptable,” Bhau chided as soon as they arrived. “You need to keep up and stay with us. You disappeared without telling anyone.”

  Kiran tried to catch his breath, his blood still racing through his veins. “Kail had to rest, we—”

  “The Javinians, we saw them,” Jandon blurted. “Five of them.”

  Bhau leapt to his feet, alert now, scanning the mountainside. “Which direction?”

  “That way,” Kiran pointed. “Below the treeline.”

  “Ha! They’ve gone the wrong way. Let’s get moving.”

  Alert now to every sound, they fled. By late afternoon, they were back in the thick cover of the forest, the shade of the towering pines a respite from the blazing sun. Before long, they came upon a rocky creek, just as Tobin had described. The forest was quiet, save for the gentle gurgle of flowing water. They fought through prickly bushes that crowded th
e water’s edge to get a drink and fill their waterskins.

  “This is it, the border of our lands,” Deke said. “Don’t worry, my friends, the Javinians will give up chase now. They wouldn’t dare follow us into the Land Unknown.”

  Roh gave him a hard stare. “How can you be sure?”

  “My father said that once we crossed the border, the threat of the Javinians would be gone.”

  “Your father, huh? We should be cautious just the same.”

  Kiran heard a noise and whipped around, searching for movement. A raven swooped through the forest, calling the familiar cur-ruk cur-ruk. Kiran glanced at Roh and exhaled.

  “See. It’s just a bird,” Deke said and jumped across the creek.

  The others followed.

  So, this is it, thought Kiran, staring into the dark woods. The Land Unknown. A knot tightened in his stomach. If Deke was right, and the Javinians wouldn’t dare follow, just what was there to fear?

  Chapter 5

  They passed through a valley of tamaracks and over a thick carpet of soft, yellow needles. With every silent footstep, the threat of the Javinians seemed to fade.

  The terrain dipped abruptly where a mountain stream spread into a marsh. Flocks of white geese and long-legged cranes roosted in the shallows. The far side turned to shrub-choked swamp.

  Jandon came along side Kiran. “I could use a swim.”

  Kiran shrugged. “We haven’t seen any sign of Javinians. Perhaps Deke was right.”

  A pair of cranes circled for a landing, their throaty rattle-call piercing the air.

  “They don’t seem worried,” Jandon said. He dropped his pack, tossed off his boots, and ran down the bank and plunged in. Hundreds of geese simultaneously took flight, lifting off in an explosion of wings whooshing through the air.

  Awe-struck by the magnitude of sound, Kiran marveled as the whirring tempest transformed into a melodious hum, a song of songs, rising ever skyward as geese separated into trails of white specks against the dark blue sky.