The Path to the Sun (The Fallen Shadows Trilogy)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

  Jandon’s eyes grew wide. “Land of the Dead?”

  Kiran was too tired to be concerned. He’d been through too much. He only knew that he was to keep going, regardless of this man’s warnings or Jandon’s fears. “We must leave in the morning and continue on,” he said to Pel. “As soon as I climb up there and get my pack.”

  Bria sat up and looked directly at Kiran. “No!” she shouted, her eyes wide with fright. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “All right, Bria,” he said in a soothing voice, suppressing his elation that she had final broken free of her grief-stricken silence.

  “The worst moment of my life was when you left me and climbed the canyon walls. When the blood gushed down from above, I thought you were dead,” she cried.

  Kiran stared at her. He knew, in that moment, that she loved him, and he could feel it as powerfully as the sun that warmed his face.

  Pel sat up straight. “You saw a waterfall of blood? A real waterfall of blood?” he asked, his head bobbing, anxious for her confirmation. “Where? Tell me how to get there.”

  Kiran tried to calm Bria, but Pel yanked on his sleeve. “I waited all that time at the Kingdom for the fountain to run with blood. I must find it. Tell me. Tell me where it is.”

  “Uh, upriver, from the Kotari, in the canyon. I don’t remember exactly. Two days travel maybe,” Kiran said, not taking his eyes from Bria. He paused, realizing what Pel had just asked. He turned to him. “You’re not thinking of going back there, are you? You’ll never find it. The blood only ran when it rained.”

  Pel’s face fell.

  “Besides, I assumed you’d guide us to the city by the sea.”

  “To the city?” Pel said, pushing away. “Oh no, I’m not going back there.”

  All at once, Kiran realized how selfish he had been. Pel was on his own quest, with his own fears and misguided views of the world. Only he was seeking the waterfall of blood. “Up river from the Kingdom of the Kotari, the rock walls are steep, but beyond, you pass through a narrow gap. From there, the walls open to a more gradual slope. It is there that I climbed and Bria saw the waterfall of blood. There was a rock formation that looked like the tower of our Temple. Perhaps you can find it. How you will travel, I don’t know. We rode the river downstream.”

  “I’ll find a way,” Pel said, his eyes bright with the joy of renewed hope. He turned and, with his usual enthusiasm, spoke with Butu, chattering away for a long time while Kiran and the others waited.

  Finally he turned back. “Butu says he will show you a path that will lead you out of the jungle into a savannah of low brush, then into a forest of giant trees. From there, you’ll have to cross the dunes to get to the sea.”

  Kiran paid close attention, putting the directions to memory. “What dangers should we watch for?”

  “When you are on the savannah, watch for pit monsters. They lie in wait in underground lairs. You can’t see them until you’re upon them. You must be very careful where you step.”

  Kiran sat back, surprised.

  “Pit monsters?” Jandon gasped. “Bhau was killed by a Mawghul, hiding in a pit.”

  “So you know.”

  Jandon dropped his head in his hands. Kiran stared at Pel. He didn’t know what to say, what to think now about Pel, about the other stories he had told them. Were any of them true? Was there really a city by the sea? Pel could speak with the headhunter. That part was true. But what else was and what wasn’t?

  Now restless to move on, when Kiran lay down, he couldn’t sleep. He rose and took a coal from the fire, wrapped it in a green leaf, and cast it afloat in the river, sending a silent wish for Pel to find what he was looking for. The leaf twirled in the current, then tipped, and sank to the bottom. Kiran frowned.

  He had hoped to send one for Bria, too.

  When Kiran awoke, the headhunter was dancing in the morning mist, singing to the waterfall in placating tones.

  “He says this is where the creation mother made humans and taught them to dance for Her,” Pel whispered. “Before you enter the sacred mists to get your pack, he needs to invoke Her indulgence.”

  Out of respect, Kiran and Jandon sat with Pel on the rock next to the river, waiting.

  When Bria finally rose from her sleep, she went right to the river and threw up her dinner.

  Kiran rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, spitting into the water.

  When Kiran put his hand on her back, trying to soothe her, she pulled away, her face fear-stricken. “Please, don’t. Don’t touch me.” She swallowed hard.

  An iridescent blue butterfly bobbed along the river’s surface and landed at his feet. He reached for it and caught it in his cupped hands. Its wings fluttered against his skin. He reached out to show it to Bria, thinking it would make her smile, but it made such a violent attempt to escape, he had to set it free. It danced on the wind in happy flight.

  Bria started to cry.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Roh,” she whispered, watching the butterfly flit away.

  His chest constricted. He stared into the swirling water, looking for answers. He had followed the Script and come so far seeking the Voice. Bhau was gone, and Kail, and Deke, and now Roh. What would happen to Roh? He could hardly think his name without breaking down. He thought of all that Roh had given up. And for what? He went over their conversation again in his mind. My destiny is here, Roh had said. But why was he so sure? He had insisted. No, he had forced Kiran to go on. Kiran shook his head. What had he been thinking? And what had he meant when he asked Kiran to restore honor to his family?

  He went straight to Jandon. “What happened to Roh’s family?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Bria came along beside them.

  “I know you know. Before we left, Deke said something about him being a bad seed. What did he mean?”

  “Oh that. Well, about a year or so before we left, Roh’s betrothed claimed she was raped and—”

  Bria flinched.

  “Raped?” Kiran said.

  “At first, folks figured she was lying, you know, trying to hide her sin of fornication.”

  Kiran felt a lump growing in his throat. He didn’t dare look at Bria.

  “But then Roh’s father disappeared. They say he did it and he was banished from the village.” He shrugged. “At least that’s what they say.”

  Bria’s eyes narrowed and she glared at Jandon. “Of course that’s what they say.” She huffed. “Elder Wregan does as he pleases. They say and do whatever they want, take what is not theirs to take, regardless of whose lives are ruined.” She rose to her feet, turned her back on him, and walked away.

  “What got into her?”

  Kiran stared at Jandon, incredulous. “Don’t you see?”

  “What? Elder Wregan? You don’t believe that do you?” Jandon leaned toward Kiran. “I mean, you know how girls lie about those things.”

  Kiran drew back and punched him in the stomach. Jandon doubled over. Kiran stomped away, rage pumping through his veins. He went to Bria, tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  She sat down on the rock, saying nothing. He sat down beside her and looked up at the waterfall and the towering ledge where his pack hung snagged on a protruding rock. The thought of climbing up to get it made his stomach turn watery. But he had to get the Script, then get her away from here. He remembered the giant monkey, swinging across, from vine to vine, with no effort, no fear.

  Bria whispered, “You can’t climb up there. There has to be another way.”

  “I’ll go,” said Jandon. Kiran swung around to face him. Jandon dropped his eyes. “Then maybe you can forgive me.”

  Jandon scrambled up the rock wall next to the falls. At that moment, Kiran didn’t care if Jandon fell and he hated himself for it. Beside him, Pel was calling, “You’re almost there. Almost there!” Jandon was stretched across a cascade, hanging on with one hand, reaching for the pack,
water pounding over his head.

  “Just a little farther,” Pel shouted.

  Jandon swung out, reaching, and when his hand grasped the pack, his other hand slipped and he tumbled downward into the churning pool below. The others raced along the water’s edge as Jandon was carried downriver in the current. He popped up in the center of the river, spitting water, holding up the pack. He swam to shore, shook the water from his hair, handed Kiran the pack, and with a nod, said, “To the Voice.”

  They moved briskly, anxious to leave the jungle behind. Kiran never took his eyes from the faint path Butu had shown them for fear if he looked away for one moment it would be swallowed by the jungle and they’d be lost.

  They hardly spoke, knowing that silence was their best defense against being captured again. When they stopped for the night, they took turns sleeping, each keeping watch. Kiran grew tired of the quiet. He was tired of being scared, tired of running, tired of starving, tired of never getting any closer to the dwelling place—and tired of not knowing why he had been sent or the truth about the Seventh Elder. Aldwyn had told him so many things that night before he left, but the memories were all jumbled in his head. He had said clarity would come with time. But hadn’t it been long enough? Wisdom from humility, he had said. But hadn’t they suffered enough? How many more sacrifices would have to be made?

  Jandon and Bria were the only ones left. Jandon was no leader. He didn’t even want to be here. Bria? Could it truly be her? No woman had ever been an Elder. Yet Roh had clearly said, take Bria and run. He hadn’t mentioned Jandon. Was he just worried about her or was it more than that?

  Kiran noticed Jandon’s ankle was swollen and discolored, the old wound inflamed.

  Jandon shrugged. “I must have knocked it on a rock when I fell from the waterfall. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t worry? You’re limping. You can’t just ignore it.”

  Jandon’s expression turned hard. “What choice do I have?”

  Kiran paused. Jandon was right. They had to go on. Like Roh, they would do what they had to do. Without question. Without hesitation.

  Kiran would have given anything to believe like Roh. But could he ever? Was that the reason he had been sent? To find faith? He’d never be an Elder if he couldn’t find a way to truly believe. It was simple, he thought. If he could get to the Voice, to see for himself. Then he would know for sure. But something haunted his thoughts. Something Aldwyn had said. Or was it Manu-amatu?

  Maybe Roh was right. Maybe it didn’t really matter what he thought. Maybe the only thing that mattered was to persevere. To get to the dwelling place. No matter what.

  After two days of travel, the jungle turned to savannah and they were finally, once again, under broad, blue skies. Kiran felt like he could breathe again. No more wondering what might be stalking them behind every leaf or branch.

  But as they traveled on, the moon waning, the silence between them grew. Bria’s behavior became more and more odd. She’d swing between sudden bursts of rage and long periods of moody silence. And she was tired all the time. Kiran had to shake her awake in the mornings and urge her to get moving again after bouts of nausea. He smiled with his eyes, trying desperately to reach her. She’d stare back at him, emptiness in her eyes, as if she were a completely different person. He had no idea how to help her.

  One afternoon, they came upon a grove of trees, their bright orange leaves swirling on the wind. Is it harvest time already? Kiran wondered. Had he truly lost track of that much time? As they got closer, he saw they weren’t autumn leaves but hundreds of thousands of butterflies that skittered and bobbed, each seeking a foothold among green leaves. Tree upon tree was covered with the black and orange triangles, multiple layers deep, and the sky was alive with soft wispy fluttering of gentle wings.

  Bria went ahead, gazing up in delight at the spectacle.

  Kiran whispered to Jandon, “What if she has what Deke had?”

  Jandon stared at Kiran for a long moment in silence.

  “She didn’t drink the water,” Kiran went on. “I know she didn’t. She’ll be all right. She’s just tired, that’s all. She’ll be all right.”

  Jandon nodded.

  Their journey in the savannah lasted about seven days, then the terrain turned upward and they were climbing into the mountains. The trees grew taller and taller. They walked on, Bria with her head down, Jandon limping along, and Kiran wondering what would happen next, when they entered a forest of trees taller than he ever imagined trees could grow. Soon his neck was stiff from looking up to marvel at them. In silent wonder, they walked on beneath the massive canopy, over and around logs, across trickling streams, listening to the twittering symphony of chirping birds. The air was sweet and clean with the scent of new growth. Kiran lost track of the sun once more, only catching glimpses of rays filtering through the treetops.

  Jandon thought he found a trail amid the web of ferns and grasses and they decided to follow it. By late afternoon, fireflies glinted and pulsed around them, their twinkling lights a reminder of home.

  As they crested a rise, Kiran stopped a moment to listen. Something didn’t feel right.

  From above came a gentle voice. “If you come in peace, you are welcome.”

  Chapter 28

  High above their heads, in the crook of a tree branch, stood a woman wearing a fluttery white tunic and brown, woven pants that cut off just below her knees. Her hair cascaded around her face in soft, brown curls. Kiran blinked to be certain she wasn’t an apparition.

  She called down to them again. “If you carry no weapons, you may join me. I was just about to sit down for a meal.”

  “We mean no harm,” Kiran said, “and we would be most grateful for something to eat.” He turned to Jandon and whispered, “Stay alert.”

  Jandon shrugged. “Alert for what?”

  “Take the stair,” she said, waving them toward the base of the tree. Kiran hadn’t noticed until she pointed toward it, but sure enough, a thick vine spiraled around the trunk, bending and flattening every few inches forming stairs. A second, smaller vine clung to the tree trunk above, serving as a handrail.

  Bria did not hesitate. She took hold of the vine and started up. Kiran took a deep breath, then another. After Jandon hobbled awkwardly upward, Kiran gripped the vine, keeping his eyes fixed on the stairs as he followed.

  When he finally reached the landing where the woman greeted them, he had to lean against the tree trunk to steady himself and catch his breath.

  “Welcome. I am Aurora,” the woman said. She had rosy cheeks and creamy white skin. There was a warmth in her soft, brown eyes that made Kiran feel as though he’d come home.

  The woman gestured toward another staircase. “This way.” Jandon gave Kiran a questioning glance. Kiran shrugged, glancing upward. From this vantage point, he could see tiny treehouses nestled in the great trees throughout the canopy.

  The higher he climbed, the more houses came into view, all connected by a web of branches, braided together, forming bridges from tree to tree.

  The stairs led to an open, porch-like room with a low plank table surrounded by soft pillows and set with wooden bowls filled with berries and nuts.

  Aurora motioned for them to sit.

  Bria plopped down on the nearest pillow.

  Jandon and Kiran moved past her. Kiran chose a spot where he could sit with his back against the solid trunk.

  Aurora joined them. “Please help yourselves,” she said, gesturing toward the food. “What brings you to the Weikaito Forest?”

  Instantly, Kiran’s mind went back to the day they had arrived in the Kingdom of the Kotari. He was certain now that Angei-Ami had betrayed them, taking their story to the Guardian so he could use it to twist and distort his message, drawing them into his web, before separating them to slowly enslave their minds. Kiran wouldn’t let that happen again.

  He stared at Aurora without expression. “We’re just passing through.”

  “Well, while you
are here, our home is your home.” She handed Bria a bowl. “You look famished.”

  Bria thanked her with a smile and took a handful of berries.

  “We serve those in need. Rest here and regain your strength. Stay as long as you’d like.” She paused as if waiting for them to say more. When they didn’t, she went on. “You have traveled a long way.”

  “Yes, a long way,” Kiran said, forcing a smile.

  “If you are lost—”

  “We’re not lost,” Kiran interrupted, then realized he’d been rude. “But thank you.”

  “Do you know the way to the dunes?” Jandon asked.

  Kiran shot him a warning glance.

  “The dunes?” She sat back, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Are you headed to the city by the sea?”

  Kiran shifted in his seat. “We are just travelers who will thank you and move on.”

  “I see,” she said with a kind smile. “Forgive me, but you don’t seem to be prepared to travel the dunes. If indeed that is your plan, I must warn you, the sun is harsh and the wind unbearable. The sands shift constantly. It is a very dangerous place. Many have lost their way.” She looked from face to face, waiting for a response.

  The Torans remained silent.

  “No matter,” she said. “You are safe here among the trees.” From below, as if an affirmation, came the soft fluttering of leaves on the forest floor.

  Until that moment, Kiran had almost forgotten how high they were. “So this isn’t just a hiding place, you live up here?”

  “This is our home.” She said the word with special reverence as she glanced around her room. “We care for the trees and they take care of us. The forest is Mother to all.” Kiran followed her gaze and noticed with awe: the room was part of the living tree, its branches woven into a roof. The floor was made of woven branches as well. Somehow, the branches had grown into shape, forming the shelter.

  Beyond, among the treetops, Kiran caught glimpses of faces popping out to spy on their unexpected visitors. They reminded Kiran of the squirrel on the mountain and the monkey-man by the falls—cautiously aware.