The Path to the Sun (The Fallen Shadows Trilogy)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

  Roh whispered to Kiran. “You take Bria and run. Don’t look back. Just run as fast as you can. Get her far away from these vile men. If one of them comes after you, you’ll have the knife. Slit his throat.”

  Kiran nodded. They’d run, as fast as they could. If he had to kill to protect Bria, he wouldn’t hesitate. He looked to each of the others, pondering the plan. “I’m not sure Pel can make it.”

  “Then leave him,” Roh said with such cold regard Kiran was taken aback.

  “And how will you—”

  “Take care of her. Do you understand? Get away.”

  The look on his face was unmistakable. Roh knew exactly what he was doing. He might not survive, and if he did, he’d still be enslaved. Kiran shook his head. “There has to be another way. We can’t leave you.”

  “You can and you will. My destiny is here, in this act. When you return to the village, tell them what I have done, so that honor may be restored to my family.”

  Kiran stared at Roh, unable to find words.

  “Tell me you will do this,” Roh said with an urgency he’d never shown before. “You get to the Voice and return.”

  The Voice? Kiran searched Roh’s eyes, confused now. Did Roh believe in the Voice? After so many conversations, so many shared thoughts, he still wondered. Roh had argued with Deke, more than anyone. Kiran had always assumed he had doubts, too. But now, sitting next to him, it was clear; Roh believed, without question. He was willing to sacrifice himself because of that belief. “But what if—”

  “You will,” Roh assured him, as though it was a certainty of which he had privileged knowledge. “It is you. I know it is you.”

  “Me? But how—”

  “Of all, you will persevere.”

  Kiran paused, held by Roh’s intense gaze.

  The night grew quiet. The robed man climbed back up on his animal and rode back toward the caravan.

  Kiran looked Roh straight in the eyes and nodded.

  Roh smiled then, that long, drawn smile that never quite curved upward.

  Night closed in and the young Torans were enshrouded in darkness. An unusual stillness settled on the camp and it seemed an eternity before both guards were snoring. Roh gave Kiran a nod and lifted his foot to Kiran’s hands. He strained against the wrist straps, stretching his fingers until he was able to push against the hilt of the knife and work it out of Roh’s boot. His tongue felt like leather in his mouth. He turned the knife over and moved the blade up and down, cutting into his wrist bindings, his heart pumping hard inside his chest. Once the blade broke through, he went right to work, cutting Roh free.

  One of the guards woke and was getting to his feet. In an instant, Roh jumped up and lunged toward the sleeping guard. He grabbed the cudgel from his hands and struck a blow on the side of his head. For a moment, Roh eyed the other guard coming toward him as though trying to decide if he could win a fight with him. When the guard got close enough, Roh dove to the ground, swinging the cudgel, and cracked him in the ankle. The guard shrieked as he doubled over in pain. Roh got to his feet, lumbered down the hill, and plunged into the bushes. The guard glanced at Kiran and the others. Kiran sat still, holding his wrists at the pole, his heart thumping in his chest. The guard took a step closer in indecision, then turned and limped after Roh, shouting in the night.

  Kiran dropped his wrists and reached for Bria. “Now,” he whispered and tugged at her bindings, sawing at the leather with the knife.

  Jandon whispered, “But Roh said to wait.”

  “He’s out cold. We’ve got to go. Now!”

  Her straps broke free. He went straight to work on Jandon’s straps. Within moments, they were free. Then he went to Pel.

  The other guard sat up, shaking his head, trying to focus now.

  Pel’s straps broke free and he tried to get to his feet, but slumped back down. The guard grunted. Bria and Jandon grabbed Pel under his arms and helped him to his feet. “Go!” Kiran shouted to them. “Leave him!” His gut wrenched with guilt.

  Bria looked at him, disbelief in her eyes.

  He turned away and his eyes met those of the headhunter. He hesitated. They had to go. Now. But the man did not deserve to be enslaved. Pel did not deserve to be enslaved. No one did.

  The guard was up on his knees, grumbling.

  Jandon and Bria were still standing there, staring at him. “Go!” he shouted as he put the knife to the headhunter’s bindings. The guard crawled toward him as he sawed and sawed at the leather.

  The guard grabbed him around his ankle. He glanced up. Bria and Jandon were running toward the jungle. The strap broke free as the guard yanked his foot out from under him and he dropped to the ground. His chin slammed into the dirt. The guard was on his feet, dragging him toward the fire. The headhunter was gone. Kiran dug his hands into the ground and flipped over on his back, kicking at the guard with his other foot. The guard rammed his shoe against Kiran’s throat. He gasped with pain.

  From nowhere, the headhunter was there with a vine wrapped around the guard’s neck, strangling the life out of him. When the guard slumped to the ground, they nodded to each other in shared relief.

  The headhunter picked up Pel, slung him over his shoulder like a knapsack, and sprinted for the jungle, motioning for Kiran to follow. Kiran got to his feet. His legs burned, but he ran.

  Chapter 27

  The headhunter moved like a shadow through the night. Kiran struggled to keep up, breathing so hard his chest nearly burst. All he could hear was the sound of his own feet, crashing through brush, and his heart hammering in his ears.

  He kept his eyes to the ground, scanning for low branches and vines. He couldn’t fall. Not now. Behind him, he heard the shouts of the guard, alerting the other savages. They were out there. Somewhere. He had no idea how far they had gotten. His lungs were screaming. He was weak from lack of food and water. He stumbled and fell, hitting the hard ground, ramming his shoulder into a root. Pain shot down his arm and he let out a yelp. He cursed himself; the other savages could be anywhere nearby.

  He got to his feet again, Roh’s knife in his hand. The headhunter was there, urging him onward. He stumbled forward, moving again. He had to find Bria. But how would he ever find her now? The jungle was immense. Would she try to head back to the waterfall? They had traveled for days, how would she find the way in this thick maze of green?

  The headhunter slowed. Kiran came alongside him but the man took Kiran by the arm, holding him back. Something moved in the forest. The headhunter set Pel down and dropped to a crouch. Kiran dropped down behind him. The headhunter pointed.

  Bria and Jandon were cowering behind a shrub. Kiran felt such relief he nearly knocked them to the ground in his rush to hug them both. But his heart sank when Bria pulled away from him.

  Without a word spoken, they followed blindly, trusting the headhunter, as he led them deeper into the jungle. Pel stumbled along on his own. Every screech of an owl, every croak of a night thing, made Kiran’s heart skip a beat.

  Every once in awhile, the headhunter would stop and listen intently, then motion for them to move on, reminding Kiran of Bhau and how careful he had been; but compared to this man, Bhau was clumsy and awkward. This man knew his world, was a part of it, like the creatures that inhabited the treetops. He was sure of his path, though it always seemed in the opposite direction Kiran thought to go, making Kiran painfully aware of how out of touch he was with his surroundings. He didn’t belong here. He belonged back home, in the village, tending his farm, not running like a hunted animal through this steamy jungle.

  Where had everything gone wrong? How could he have let this happen? Without Roh, nothing seemed real, like it had all been a twisted dream. Without Roh. He couldn’t bring himself to accept that Roh was gone now. He couldn’t get the image of his face out of his mind, the look in his eyes, the determination. He had been sure that Kiran was the one. It was absurd. How could he have let Roh persuade him?

  He thought of turning around, of headi
ng back to free him. But he knew Roh would not forgive him if he got caught. So, he tried not to think and focused on running, on getting away. When he ran, he didn’t think; and if he didn’t think, he didn’t have to think about Roh. So Kiran ran on, following the shadow into the darkness.

  Near dawn, they came upon a stream. Pel and the Torans dropped to their knees and brought cupped hands to their mouths. The headhunter took a drink, his eyes scanning the forest. Kiran wanted to rest here. He felt weak and dizzy with fatigue. But the headhunter seemed adamant they move on.

  Once they were a safe distance from the stream, the headhunter halted the group and motioned for them to sit down. Kiran reached for Bria’s hand, but she flinched and he let go. He turned away, trying to hide his rage. Damn them to Eternal Darkness!

  The headhunter rooted around in the humus at the base of a decaying tree trunk. When he found what he sought, he stood up and held out his hand. Five giant maggots, as fat as his fingers, wriggled in his palm. He pinched one between his thumb and index finger and tossed it into his mouth. It squished and popped as he chewed. Kiran’s stomach flipped. The headhunter lifted his hand again, emphasizing his offering with an encouraging grin. “Mootoo,” he whispered.

  “What is he saying?” Jandon asked Pel.

  Pel was leaning on Jandon’s shoulder, too exhausted to answer.

  “Mootoo,” he said again, shoving his hand at Kiran.

  Before he could change his mind, Kiran plucked a grub from the man’s hand and shoved it into his mouth. It was chewy, like a piece of fat. The juices oozed onto his tongue and he gagged, but managed to swallow, his eyes watering. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s not bad.”

  The headhunter nodded with satisfaction and offered the grubs to the others. Without hesitation, Bria snatched one from his hand and popped it into her mouth. Jandon squirmed.

  “This may be the only food there is,” Kiran said. “You must eat.”

  “Why should we trust him?” he sneered. “Maybe he’s trying to poison us.”

  “He ate one first.”

  “So! Maybe…” Jandon faltered. He took some time to find the courage to place the fat maggot in his mouth, then made such strained faces as he chewed that the headhunter laughed out loud.

  With a grin of satisfaction, the headhunter went to search for more grubs. He came back with another handful and surprisingly it was enough to fill their stomachs. He gestured for them to sleep now.

  Bria curled into a ball and closed her eyes. Kiran wanted to hold her, protect her. She was so quiet, touching her was the only way to assure himself she was there. But he knew he could not. The best he could do for her now was get her out of this forsaken jungle.

  He nudged Pel. “Ask him if he will take us to the waterfall.”

  Pel spoke in a sleepy mumble.

  The headhunter screwed up his face.

  Pel spoke again and the headhunter’s eyes grew wide.

  “What is it?” asked Kiran.

  “I’m not sure. He seems to know the waterfall, but surprised we came from there.”

  “Will he take us?”

  Pel spoke with the headhunter again. “He says since we set him free, he owes us a debt. He will take us.”

  The headhunter gestured for them to go to sleep.

  “One more thing,” Kiran said to Pel. “What is his name?”

  “Butu,” the headhunter said, pointing to himself. “Boo too.”

  “Butu,” Kiran repeated. “Thank you.”

  The man nodded before Pel could interpret the words, as though he understood.

  When Kiran awoke, he felt refreshed, better than he had felt in several moons. They had napped through the heat of the day. Pel had regained some strength, too, and they set out again, moving along at a good pace.

  Even during daylight, in the dense jungle, Kiran lost all sense of orientation. At any change in direction, he assumed the waterfall was the opposite way. But he followed, trusting Butu’s word.

  Periodically, the headhunter would stop to collect nuts, insects, or mushrooms, showing the Torans which could be eaten. Kiran was astounded at the food that was available in the jungle, knowing now that it had been present all along while they floated on the river, starving. If only they had known where to look.

  Near dusk on the fifth day of their escape, they emerged from the thick jungle at the river’s edge, the sound of pounding water just upstream. Kiran and Jandon rushed to the base of the waterfall and found what was left of their packs, right where they had left them. Kiran dropped to his knees in relief.

  “What’s she doing?” asked Jandon.

  Kiran spun around. Bria was on her knees in the river, scrubbing her body with sand and rocks.

  Kiran ran to her. Fresh blood flowed down her arms and legs where scabs had broken open. “Bria, what are you doing?” He took her by the arm. She glared at him, biting down hard on her lip. In her eyes he saw all the pain she had been hiding, how she had suffered. She yanked her arm from his grasp and plunged deeper into the river. “Stop. You’re hurting yourself. Stop it,” he begged. He reached for her again and she pulled away, swinging her fists. He tried to deflect her blows, but she was too fast. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. She kicked and screamed and they fell into the shallow water. “You’re all right, Bria,” he soothed. “You’re safe now.” She collapsed, sobbing in his arms. He rocked her, stroking her hair. “You’re all right. I’m going to get you far away from here. I promise.”

  He held her until her sobs subsided. Jandon left them alone and Kiran fought to keep his own tears from flowing. Inside, he was screaming, why, Father, why! But he kept whispering to her that everything would be all right.

  When she finally fell asleep in his arms, he motioned for Jandon. “We leave at daybreak,” he whispered. Jandon nodded.

  Jandon sifted through what remained of their belongings. He salvaged what rope they could. He and Kiran wove it into harnesses for themselves, then tied what supplies they had left to their backs. There were two waterskins and they fastened them so they could be tipped up without detaching them from the harness.

  Meanwhile, the Widhu man sawed at a stick with a bit of dead vine. The friction caused a small pile of kindling he had gathered to smoke. He was starting a fire.

  “Pel, tell him I don’t think we should do that,” Kiran said.

  Pel interpreted Butu’s response. “He says not to worry. He will know if they are nearby.”

  “But he was caught once before.”

  Kiran watched his expressions as Pel listened. “He says he was…uh…” He leaned forward and whispered, “Busy with a woman. Now he’s not distracted.”

  “Where’s the woman? Why didn’t they capture her too, then?” Kiran asked, then waited for the response.

  With wide eyes, Pel said, “He killed her.”

  Kiran leaned forward, unsure whether he heard correctly.

  “A Widhu woman would rather die at the hands of her lover than be taken against her will.”

  Kiran winced. He glanced at Bria and the yellowed bruise on her face. His gut tightened. Was that how she felt? Would she have rather been dead?

  “He says he builds the fire to honor her, that the smoke will carry his prayers to the spirits of the sky.”

  Kiran watched the smoke rise from the tiny pile of kindling and sent his own silent prayer.

  As darkness surrounded them, Butu gathered some green vines and smashed them to a pulp with a rock. He gestured for Jandon and Kiran to wade into the water downriver. After all Pel’s stories of the creatures that dwelled there, they were reluctant, but the headhunter was insistent. He tossed the mash into the river and immediately fish started floating to the surface, belly up.

  “Look at that!” Pel shouted in amazement.

  There were more fish than they could carry. They tossed the stunned fish onto shore and Jandon went to work, chopping the heads while Kiran used Roh’s knife to gut them. The headhunter gathered some thin r
eeds he used to skewer the fish and grill them on the open flame. On the hot rocks he had put in the fire, they placed the remaining fillets and covered them with large green leaves to partially smoke and dry them.

  Soon the air was heavy with the savory scent of grilled fish. Kiran could hardly wait until the skewer was taken from the fire and passed around. Once the food was in his belly, he sat back and for the first time started to relax.

  There was a noise in the forest. He looked to the headhunter and held his breath, waiting. The headhunter made no reaction and Kiran eased out his breath. The sound came again and this time he recognized it. A woodpecker, tocking on hollow wood.

  In the firelight, he looked at Butu, really examining him for the first time. The man did not sit, rather he squatted on the ground. The lines and shapes on his face were not painted on, as Kiran had first thought, but permanently scarred. Rows of raised dots adorned his cheeks, as if small stones were implanted beneath his skin. The bones in his ears had been there a long time, the skin grown around them. His sharp teeth were the most curious.

  Butu noticed he was staring. Kiran pointed to his own teeth, then to Butu’s.

  Butu spoke and Pel interpreted. “He thinks his teeth are beautiful, I think. Says he is a man.”

  “A man? Are you sure that’s what he said?”

  Pel shrugged. “No.”

  Butu continued to explain.

  Pel shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m understanding. He says they filed his teeth down that way when he became a man.”

  “He let them do it?”

  “Why are you here?” Butu asked through Pel.

  Kiran sat back. The question was unexpected yet so relevant. Why am I here? he thought and looked up at the roaring waterfall where his pack was still hanging, the Script inside. “We seek the Voice of the Father,” Kiran finally answered, his own voice sounding stiff and wooden to him. “We are headed toward the setting sun.”

  When Butu responded, his voice sounded hollow, as though haunted. Kiran stared at him for a long moment in silence. “He wonders why you go to the Land of the Dead,” Pel whispered.