After he’d taken his first breath, I noticed he hadn’t opened his eyes. Hadn’t said a word. I’d tried to speak with him, to lift his head and get him to make some other voluntary movement, but he’d been still as a board. I’d known then that I was in trouble—with his burly frame, there was no way in hell I’d be able to get him back to the cave. So I’d brought the cave to him—or tried to, anyway.
Juniper sits patiently near the top of Haskell’s head, watching me as I organize the items currently littering the forest floor. The still-lit lantern flickers in the night, but even so, I’m having trouble seeing what I’m doing. I know I need to make shelter, so I unfold four or so linens and gather some rope. I eye the trees around us, devising in my head how to use what minimal supplies I have to make a fort.
Suddenly, I feel inadequate, wishing for everyone else’s abilities—Estelle’s cloaking to hide us from any potential threats; Rydan’s igniting to start a fire to keep us warm; Haskell’s transporting so that I wouldn’t have to do any of this in the first place . . . and my own abilities that, for some reason, have decided not to make an appearance when I need them most.
Frustrated, I throw the linens to the ground and kick them with my boot—which only makes things worse. They wrap themselves around my ankle as if they have a mind of their own. I yelp as I trip and fall backward onto the ground, kicking my feet in the air to free myself from the tangled trap.
When I finally stop flailing, my arms and legs are splayed out in a starfish position. I heave a loud sigh as I gaze up at the night sky. A waning crescent moon is the only thing illuminating the black abyss—not a star in sight.
I angle my head toward Haskell and the array of items sitting next to him. I push myself onto my elbows. “You’re an ex-Cruex and a Caldari,” I mutter to myself. “You can make a damn fort.”
I roll over onto my stomach and spring to my feet. The crumpled linens and knotted rope are in my hands before I know it. Working meticulously, I knot the ropes together to make two separate lines, then secure each end around four different trees. I cross them over one another to form an X above Haskell’s body. I then shake out the linens and begin to place them methodically over the ropes. It takes a few adjustments, but eventually the top is completely covered and the sides are enclosed.
I duck down and crawl underneath. None of the linens seem to be sagging and, even though it’s a little off center (and clearly made by an amateur), it does the job. I lay on my stomach and finish organizing the various items I’d brought from the cave—books, spare clothes, parchment, wax, canteens, and two loaves of bread. Realizing my hands are shaking from lack of sustenance, I grab one of the loaves of bread and bite into it. Even though it’s on the verge of being stale, I devour most of it anyway. Juniper rubs up against my arm, so I break her off a small piece. “Sorry Juni. No berries tonight.”
*****
I wake to a sliver of sunlight peeking through a gap in the linens. I blink, feeling disoriented, and it takes me a minute to remember where I am and why I’m here. I turn my head to the left to see Haskell still lying there—still unconscious. The rising and falling of his chest is more noticeable—surely a good sign—but his eyes remain closed. I sit upright and stretch my arms overhead before crawling to the edge of the fort. I poke my head outside.
No sign of anyone.
I’d slept with my boots on as a precaution, in case an unexpected visitor had decided to show in the middle of the night. I can feel my hair matted against my forehead and the back of my neck, my shirt sticking to my skin. The thick linens overhead really restrict the airflow. “Keep an eye on him,” I say to Juniper as I grab a spare shirt and trousers. I’m about to head out to bathe in a nearby spring when I eye the canteens. I take three empty ones with me.
It’s not a far walk, maybe about ten minutes or so, but it feels so much longer. Needless to say, I hadn’t slept well, so when I finally reach the spring, tucked way back in the trees, I feel as though I’ve been walking for hours. I pull my boots off and throw them to the side before dipping my toe in. The perfect temperature. I smile, pleased that at least one thing’s going right, then strip down and wade into the water.
The cool rush over my shoulders is enough to make me shudder with delight. I swim to the center of the spring, to the deepest part, then shake my hair loose. I tilt my head back so that it’s completely immersed, all the way up to my forehead. Slowly, I lift my right leg up, then my left, so that I’m floating on my back. Water pools onto my stomach, just above my belly button, before spilling over the sides and back into the spring. Eventually, I’m so still, my breathing so shallow, that everything around me becomes still too, as if I’ve become one with the spring.
With my ears bobbing at the surface, I gently close my eyes, listening to the ethereal sounds both above and below. The swishing of minnows darting to and fro. The soothing sway of bulrushes and cattails. The low hum of toads and the chirping of crickets. The subtle droplets of rain as they hit the water.
When I open my eyes, I’m surprised to see that a dark cloud has rolled overhead. I sigh, knowing I should probably get back to Haskell. Somewhat reluctantly, I swim to the edge of the spring. I pat myself dry with a linen before fastening my damp hair into a side-braid. I pull on a fresh shirt and pair of trousers, followed by my boots. Grabbing the canteens, I walk back over to the spring, kneeling to fill the first one. As soon as my hand touches the water, I stop. The hair on the back of my neck rises and a chill works its way down my spine.
It’s here.
Slowly, I lift my gaze. A familiar cloak hovers over the
motionless water, its red reflection scattering throughout the spring like a viral disease. The canteen drops to my side as I rise. I stand in place, waiting for it to move toward me, but it remains where it is.
Watching.
Waiting.
My words find me. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me what it is.”
Except for the rustling of its sleeves in the breeze, it doesn’t move.
I try again. “You ask me to join you and I—I’ve been tempted.” I choose my next words carefully. “But I need to know what you are, why you’re here, and why you’ve chosen me.”
Without warning, it begins to slink toward me, like a serpent after a small mouse. My mind screams at me to take a step backward, to run—but I stand my ground. It stops just inches from my face.
Close your eyes.
The words aren’t spoken, yet I can hear them all the same. I do as it says.
Now open.
I’m met with darkness. I stick my hands out in front of me, trying to force my eyes to adjust, but it’s useless. I can’t see anything. I reach for the creature, but my hands only grasp the air. Just as I’m about to speak, a reel of various images appears before me. I scan each one as they draw closer, finding a small recognition in every frame.
This one.
Suddenly, as if I’m somehow being pulled in all directions, vivid colors zoom at my face, swirling around me until I’m moving so fast, they all become a blur of beige and white. My insides scream as if they’re being ripped apart, my head throbbing from the intensity, until I finally manage to squeeze my eyes shut.