The Path to the Sun (The Fallen Shadows Trilogy)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

  “I don’t know,” he said, his gaze off in the distance.

  “But you were there. She didn’t say anything?”

  “No, not really.”

  “We’re talking about Bria. I can’t believe she just agreed with Deke. Tell me what she said.”

  “Kiran, my friend. Let it go. I’ll see you later.”

  “Let what go?”

  “Tonight. After dark.”

  “Fine.”

  That night, after the camp was set up and the evening meal finished, Jandon strode up to Kiran, his pack on his back. “C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

  “Why do you have your pack?”

  “For once, no questions. Just trust me. C’mon.”

  They hiked over a hill and found a rocky clearing out of view of the camp. The wind had calmed to a gentle breeze and for the first night since they’d been traveling the flatlands they could hear the crickets.

  Jandon got a fire going with twigs and grass he’d collected along the way.

  “Are you ready?” he said.

  “Ready for what?”

  Jandon grinned, bursting with his secret. He reached into his pack and presented the magic staff.

  Kiran’s mouth fell open. “How did you get it?”

  “Takhura told me. The woman, the witch-woman, is the Keeper of the Staff. So, I kind of borrowed it from her tent when she was at the evening meal. You think this will work, right? Well, let’s do it.”

  Kiran shook his head in disbelief. A rush of excitement flushed through him. “This is it, Jandon. We’ll face the Voice and all will be forgiven. We’ll save the village.” He shifted from side to side. “Hold on. Maybe we should wait. Maybe we should talk to Manu-amatu. We don’t know how the magic works.”

  “Don’t be such a girl. We saw. You blow into it. Now, get ready.”

  Kiran drew in a breath. “All right, do it then.”

  Jandon let out a hoot. He raised the rod to his mouth, aimed the end at Kiran’s face and blew. A fine, white powder puffed in his face. He scrunched his nose; it smelled acrid.

  At first Kiran felt nothing. He sat still, trying to be patient. “Do it again,” he said. Jandon did as he asked, then passed the staff to Kiran. Kiran blew several puffs into Jandon’s face.

  Then they waited. Kiran’s eyes became bleary. A tingling sensation started in his fingers, moving up and down his arms. His eyes were drawn to the night sky, pierced by countless brilliant stars, sparkling in the darkness in an unnatural way. It felt strangely unsettling. He looked toward the horizon. Visions of purple and blue danced across the plains in a kaleidoscope of slow undulating waves of color. He turned his focus to the crackling fire and was overcome by a swell of dizziness. His stomach felt bubbly, pushing in his throat. Jandon spewed vomit in the wind. Kiran bent over and threw up in the dirt. Jandon laughed then, his voice echoing across the sky, rattling the grasses, then bent over and vomited once more.

  The world softened at the edges, a warm, fuzzy lightness that melted with the sky, as if the wind had swirled them together. He was awash with an overwhelming sense of calm and well-being, as if all was good in the world and the wonder of life was at his fingertips. He began to relax into a peaceful awareness, the sound of his own heartbeat the source of the rhythm of all life. His body radiated warmth, like the sun, his breath giving life to every flower, the grasses swaying with every exhalation. A flush of warm waves coursed up and down his body, and the sensations intensified, causing more waves of nausea. All sound penetrated his vision, encompassing his being with a clarity so brilliant, so sharp, it was painful, like piercing stabs to his eyes. The chirp of the night insects ricocheted inside his transparent soul and the wind roared across the sky, blowing the stars around. The pungent scent of the night air permeated all that was, washing over him with an intensity so sensual he felt the warm flush of arousal. He leapt to his feet and sang, and as he did, his voice awoke every living creature from slumber.

  As time spun around, the terror of another, unknown dimension began to take shape and he spiraled inward, lost in the vertigo. Giant orbs of dizzying textures, with endlessly changing patterns, rolled in and out of his vision, pulsating with sparkling rays of light as Jandon twirled, his arms flailing, engulfed in flames that licked the air around him.

  The sky ripped open and the world shook. Trees darted about, racing for the horizon. The grasses swirled around him, howling and screeching. He covered his ears, but the sound persisted, brushing at his eardrums. The stars pulsed, shooting rays in every direction. Flashes of color washed over him—red, yellow, orange, green—each with a different sensation—prickly, silky, watery, suffocating.

  Then the darkness seized him with its icy fingers and a deep, overwhelming sorrow overtook him, a shadow of death and hopelessness so deep, he moaned with grief and fell to the ground, curled up into a ball, and cried like a child. His tears formed a river that flowed across the world, flooding every crack and crevice, covering all of Wiros. The dry, scratchy soil surrounded him, held him, merged with him and he became part of the hill.

  The sky rained blood down on him. Everywhere, the world had the stain of blood—red sky, red sun, red hills. Kiran dug into the dirt with his bare hands and rubbed the rough granules all over himself, trying to scrub it away. Then he lay back down and sobbed, shaking with violent chills.

  Slowly, the terror receded, the colors muted, and all went dark.

  A burning light brought him slowly to consciousness. Is this it? he thought. Am I in the Celestial Kingdom? Have we reached the Voice of the Father? He was trying to focus, to make his eyes adjust, when a shadowy apparition appeared before him. He opened his eyes to meet the gaze of the witch.

  She hovered over him, her eyes ablaze. He shrank back, covering his eyes. No! This can’t be!

  “The sun has set on you,” she hissed.

  A slobbery tongue licked his cheek. He lifted his hand to push the scruffy dog away and wipe his face. He could feel the shadow of the witch slip away. He rolled over onto his side, opening one eye to see her storm off, staff in hand, the dog romping after her.

  The agony of last night slowly enveloped him. He sat up, disoriented. Roh was sitting next to him. “What did you do?”

  Jandon sat up, his eyes groggy and bloodshot, his skin waxen. “What happened?” he grumbled then slumped back over on his side.

  Kiran held his pounding head, trying to remember. But he couldn’t focus, couldn’t hold a thought in his mind for the rushing sound of the wind sweeping against his ears.

  As they approached the camp, Bria ran out to meet them, her face red. “What were you thinking? You shouldn’t go off on your own like that. We were worried sick. Just what is going on with you, Kiran?”

  “They just got a bit disoriented in the dark,” Roh said. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  Kiran smiled, silently thanking Roh.

  She sighed. “Well, thank the Father you’re all right.”

  In their tent, he slumped onto his blanket. “Bria, listen…”

  She put a hand over his mouth. “Get some rest. We’ll talk later. I’m glad you are safe.” Looking up at her, he was suddenly aware of her warm hand on his face. She seemed to read his thoughts and lifted it away, her fingers trailing across his cheek. “I’ll make something to eat. For the both of you,” she said, her eyes shifting to Jandon who collapsed with a thump next to Kiran. “It will be ready when you wake.”

  Jandon was fast asleep.

  Roh whispered, “She’s in love with you, you know.”

  He shook his head, blushing. “She would do the same for you.”

  Roh grinned. “Uh, huh.”

  That afternoon, Kiran awoke with a mouth-numbing thirst. He stepped from the tent for water. The entire Lendhi clan was gone. Their tents. Everything. Gone.

  Kail ran up to him, her face red, her blue eyes wet with tears. “What have you done!”

  He looked out over the landscape. The Lendhi were nowhere to be seen. It wa
s as though they had vanished.

  “We’re all alone again. Alone!”

  Roh came up behind her. “They didn’t say anything. I tried to talk to Haktu…” He shrugged. “It was like we were ghosts.”

  Kiran ducked back into their tent. “Jandon, wake up. Wake up!” he shouted, shaking him. “What happened? With the staff? What happened?”

  “What? Huh?” Jandon rubbed his eyes.

  “Did you reach the Voice? Was He there?”

  Jandon looked around the empty tent. “Are you kidding? I was scared out of my wits.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “How should I know?” He groaned and lay back down.

  Kiran rocked back and stared at Jandon. What had gone wrong? He was sure they had connected to the Spirit world. Hadn’t they? His stomach tightened as images came back to him—trees running across the landscape, the grass howling in the wind, blood raining down from the sky. The visions, the feelings, had taken over. He hadn’t even remembered to search for the Voice. It was like he had been in some kind of abstract realm, where his body and mind did not connect, and he had no control over his own thoughts.

  “Hold on. You said she was the Keeper of the Staff. The witch. What does that mean?”

  “How should I know?” Jandon grumbled without opening his eyes.

  “It would mean the staff is hers. The magic comes from her. Maybe I was right about her all along. Don’t you think?”

  Jandon was back to sleep.

  For one and one half cycles of the moon, they’d been traveling with the Lendhi, trusting them as guides. But still they had not come to the river. The Torans had no choice but to assume the clan was still headed toward the river, so onward they went, following their tracks in the grass.

  They spent their days collecting nuts and berries, as the Lendhi had taught them, storing their food in baskets and their own leather pouches. Roh built a travois using their tent poles and, with it, they took turns dragging their stored food with them.

  The winds turned cooler as the gently rolling hills stretched out before them like a sea of green waves that seemed to go on forever. In the distance, they were sure they could see the edge of the world. Every day they moved westward, yet did not come any closer, and they soon became discouraged.

  One morning, Deke dropped to his knees. His face to the sky, he threw his hands in the air and beseeched aloud, “Great Father, please show us a sign! Are we on the right path?”

  The tiny band of Torans circled around Deke and stared up at the sky, waiting for a response. But none came. Just the ever-present whisper of the wind. They walked on.

  At midday, the breeze changed direction. The winds had been constant from the west and it was as though the world had shifted. “Look at that!” Jandon pointed.

  To the north, a solid black cloud hovered on the horizon. Within moments, the dark mass doubled in size and a menacing hiss echoed across the plains.

  Terror rose in Kiran. He turned to Bria and saw the frightened look on her face. “That’s no cloud!” he shouted. “Get down, get flat on the ground!”

  They dropped to their bellies, covering their heads and ears as the screeching demon bore down on them. Kiran buried his head in his arms.

  “It’s a flock of birds,” Roh said. “Amazing!”

  Kiran peeked up under his arm. Infinite multitudes of birds, as far as the eye could reach, weaved and swooped along in one massive stream, so immense, it blocked out the sun. He rose to his knees. The sky was alive with the raucous beating of countless wings, flowing in a rush of high-pitched chatter.

  The flock dipped and swayed, the birds flying in perfect unison, as though one being, passing like a living torrent—a river of birds borne on the north wind. The Torans sat and marveled at the never-ending spectacle as afternoon turned into evening with hardly a break occurring in the flock. At dusk, the mass turned westward and disappeared in the sunset.

  “The Great Father has spoken,” Deke declared, his face shining. “They show us the way. We are on the right path.”

  Onward they walked into one golden sunset after another, through another full moon, staying just behind the Lendhi. To the northwest, hints of snow-capped mountains appeared out of the clouds on the horizon. Soon trees dotted the landscape and the rolling flatlands transformed into hills covered in sprawling green conifers.

  One late afternoon, there was a noticeable excitement among the Lendhi. The clan picked up their pace, the older ones barely able to keep up. Then, at the crest of a hill, the clan came to a halt. The young Torans hurried alongside. Before them stretched a valley, low and open. Flowing right through the center was a massive river.

  “Look at the size of it!” Kail said, her eyes wide. The great expanse of blue water spanned ten times the width of any river near their village. Sandbars broke through the sparkling surface where cranes and geese gathered, chattering in the wind.

  They dropped their packs and ran down into the valley, through the wetland marsh at the river’s edge, sinking to their knees to get to the sweet, cold water. They scooped handfuls to their mouths, then tossed off their boots and soaked their aching feet.

  Roh said, “We should take to the river.”

  Deke huffed. “The Script said to drink of the river and be merry. Not travel on it. The Great Father forbids us going on the sea.”

  Bria said, “No matter how large, a river is not the sea. I’m with Roh.”

  “You’re always with Roh,” Deke sneered.

  Bria thrust her jaw forward. “The sea is treacherous because you can sail too close to the edge and fall off. Here, we can see the other side.”

  “That’s a lot of water,” said Jandon.

  “We have no tools to build a boat,” Deke grumbled. “We don’t even know how.” He grinned with smug satisfaction, as if he had settled the matter.

  Roh stared at Deke, his eyebrows knit in concentration. Without another word, he set off down river.

  The Lendhi had disappeared over the ridge.

  “Do you think we should follow them?” Jandon asked. “I mean…we’re here. At the river.”

  “We should thank them,” Kiran said.

  “Why bother?” Deke said. “They won’t even acknowledge us.”

  Kiran hung his head in shame.

  Kiran and Jandon set up their tent while Bria and Kail followed the Lendhi women, baskets in hand, to collect the bounty of the lowland marsh. Before dusk, they returned, their baskets full of red berries and the sweet, tangy wild onions that were plentiful along the river's bank. Fresh cattail roots had been gleaned, as well, for their sweet flavor and stomach-filling sustenance.

  The girls were making a meal when Roh appeared. “Come, look at this,” he said. He led them downriver to a swampy inlet. Pointed stumps scraped with tooth marks jutted from the ground. Logs lay about, many the same diameter and in similar lengths. All the branches had been chewed off and dragged away. “With these logs, we can build a raft like the one in the pond back home.” He was grinning like a child. “We don’t need tools. Just some rope.”

  Deke turned and headed back to camp, shaking his head.

  Kiran and Jandon helped him stack the logs, then using smaller branches as cross members, they lashed them together. When the raft was complete, they shoved it into the river and watched it float. “We’ll go at first light,” Roh declared.

  In the morning, Kiran woke with a heavy sorrow. “I can’t leave them without apologizing,” he told Bria and left for the Lendhi camp.

  He found Manu-amatu sitting alone next to the cooking fire. Kiran bowed in front of him. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean any harm.” He held out a small leather pouch. “Will you accept my gift?”

  Manu-amatu hesitated, as if considering Kiran’s sincerity, then took the pouch and opened it. “Ah, tarweed. What you did was forbidden. Only because of your ignorance may I forgive you.” He looked Kiran in the eye. “Now, that is done. Do not dwell on it anymore.” His voice changed to a c
ordial friendliness. “You plan to take to the river, I see.”

  “Yes. We’ve built a raft.”

  “The way you have chosen is a dangerous one. Beware the face of the waters, for She can anger and bring sickness. Do not drink from the river. Only from the small streams that feed Her.”

  Kiran winced, remembering how they had rushed to the river’s edge at first sight of it, gulping down the cold water to quench their thirst. Had they angered the river already? “Thank you. You are wise.”

  “Kiran, you will reach the sun. It is your destiny. But it is on the path that you will find what you seek. In the flash of a firefly in the night, a breath on the wind, a whisper across the grass.”

  Kiran stared into Manu-amatu’s kind eyes, drinking in his words, wondering if he too had the power of foresight.

  Bria came up beside him. They bowed in farewell and headed back to their tent.

  “What did he mean, a firefly in the night?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. His wisdom comes in riddles. Just like Aldwyn.” He took hold of her arm. “Listen. He knows things, Bria. He said not to drink from the river or She might anger. We had better heed his warning.”

  “All right,” she said. “But what do you think he meant?”

  Kiran thought for a moment. “Perhaps the river can turn stormy, like the sea.”

  “I hope not.” She looked at him out the corner of her eye and grinned. “I’d hate if Deke were right."

  Chapter 14

  Riding on the river was a new, enchanting experience, and for a while, they sat in silent wonder, feeling the raft glide on the water. They hummed along with the rippling, gurgling music of the river, gently rocking to the rhythmic clacking of the logs, delighted to finally be on their way. The morning sunshine sparkled on the surface as they passed herons standing on sand spits and ducks paddling against the current.

  Roh and Kiran stood atop the raft, using the long travois poles to steer. The bulky raft, fully burdened with its load, proved to be difficult to maneuver, but before long they were accustomed to its awkward lurches. They learned to read the signs the river provided, anticipating its moods. Dark, smooth water was deep and ran slow but trouble free. Small, erratic ripples meant a shallow, rocky bottom where they might run aground. A smooth, round mound of water indicated a submerged rock that should be avoided.