desert, and still there was no end to his torture. This
was his punishment for being born dead. For betraying his people.
For bringing death through the pass. He had unleashed it, now he
would suffer it. The ages turned, now the Age of Plants, then the
Age of Elements, now the Age of Beasts.
Rivan walked
ahead, his tail twitching. He had such a long tail. Conash had
spent many happy time-glasses playing with it. As a child, as a
boy, when he had been alive. Now he was dead, like Rivan. He
followed the paw marks in the sand. Hand knee hand knee. He would
get there, wherever Rivan was going. It was all he wanted now. He
had to find his dead familiar. Dead boy. Dead cat. So much blood.
He crawled.
The sand ended.
He stared at the rocks under his palms. The tracks had vanished.
Rivan's tracks. He raised his head. A tree stood two man-lengths
away. A real tree? It had shade. A scent came to him, and he
glanced around at Rivan, who sat on a rock a man-length away.
Conash could smell water. Was there water in Damnation? Or trees?
What was Rivan doing in Damnation? He crawled towards the cat.
Rivan waited, purring, his long tail twitching. A trickling sound
came. Conash crawled faster. Water. Real water.
The boy
struggled over rocks and splashed into a tiny pool. His hands burnt
and his throat was on fire. He thrust his face into the water and
sucked. Sand washed down his throat. He gulped. It was cool, and
real. He coughed and choked, sucking it down. His stomach clenched,
and he vomited, then drank again. His thirst emptied the pool, and
it filled again. Water trickled into it from a higher place. A
mountain. A whole line of mountains. A stone barrier that guarded a
verdant land. Jashimari. He was home.
Conash flopped
down. His stomach gurgled, and tears ran down his cheeks. Now he
could die. He had made it. Rivan had brought him home. He raised
his head, searching for the cat. Rivan had vanished.
“Rivan,” he
whispered.
Darkness
slammed down like a closing door.
Conash woke in
darkness. Cold bit through the ragged dress, chilling his skin. He
turned to the pool and drank until his burning thirst was quenched.
His stomach gurgled. He tried to stand up, and fell over. His legs
wobbled and his arms shook. The cold froze him, eating through his
skin to his core. There, it found more frostiness. The dead place
inside him shivered. Frozen. Dead. The cold drove him to move, or
he would die. He chuckled, for he was already dead. His body was
cooling, soon it would stiffen, then it would rot. Why was he still
in it? He crawled. He was mad.
The insanity
ate into his brain, baring its bones to the chill wind that
whistled through his ears. It howled within his bones and blew down
the veins that had once carried his blood. When had he ever been
alive? It had all been a lie, a cruel dream. Rivan appeared ahead
of him, luring him up the slope. Did he have to climb a mountain
now? What did he care? What was a mountain to a corpse? It was an
ant hill, and he was invincible. The dead felt no pain, no remorse,
no anguish. They felt no despair, no desolation, but they did feel
hatred, and rage. That was all he had left. No sorrow. Just hatred.
Endless, sweet hatred. This was good.
The cat led him
up a trail, faint amongst the stones, walking slowly and pausing to
chirp every now and then. Conash longed to feel his familiar's
soft, warm fur again. Catch the cat. Climb the mountain. A corpse
could do many things that a man could not. It could not die again,
for one thing. Crawl. Keep crawling. Never stop crawling. The Ages
turned, centuries passed.
Light warmed
him as the sun rose. Rock passed beneath him, a faint trail. Rivan
waited ahead, purring. The mountain was behind him now, and he
crawled downhill. More centuries passed, and the sun moved over
him. His fingers touched grass. He gripped it with his blistered
palms and clung to it, weeping. Jashimari. His broken wails were
offensive to his ears. How pathetic. Stop it. You are
was his punishment for being born dead. For betraying his people.
For bringing death through the pass. He had unleashed it, now he
would suffer it. The ages turned, now the Age of Plants, then the
Age of Elements, now the Age of Beasts.
Rivan walked
ahead, his tail twitching. He had such a long tail. Conash had
spent many happy time-glasses playing with it. As a child, as a
boy, when he had been alive. Now he was dead, like Rivan. He
followed the paw marks in the sand. Hand knee hand knee. He would
get there, wherever Rivan was going. It was all he wanted now. He
had to find his dead familiar. Dead boy. Dead cat. So much blood.
He crawled.
The sand ended.
He stared at the rocks under his palms. The tracks had vanished.
Rivan's tracks. He raised his head. A tree stood two man-lengths
away. A real tree? It had shade. A scent came to him, and he
glanced around at Rivan, who sat on a rock a man-length away.
Conash could smell water. Was there water in Damnation? Or trees?
What was Rivan doing in Damnation? He crawled towards the cat.
Rivan waited, purring, his long tail twitching. A trickling sound
came. Conash crawled faster. Water. Real water.
The boy
struggled over rocks and splashed into a tiny pool. His hands burnt
and his throat was on fire. He thrust his face into the water and
sucked. Sand washed down his throat. He gulped. It was cool, and
real. He coughed and choked, sucking it down. His stomach clenched,
and he vomited, then drank again. His thirst emptied the pool, and
it filled again. Water trickled into it from a higher place. A
mountain. A whole line of mountains. A stone barrier that guarded a
verdant land. Jashimari. He was home.
Conash flopped
down. His stomach gurgled, and tears ran down his cheeks. Now he
could die. He had made it. Rivan had brought him home. He raised
his head, searching for the cat. Rivan had vanished.
“Rivan,” he
whispered.
Darkness
slammed down like a closing door.
Conash woke in
darkness. Cold bit through the ragged dress, chilling his skin. He
turned to the pool and drank until his burning thirst was quenched.
His stomach gurgled. He tried to stand up, and fell over. His legs
wobbled and his arms shook. The cold froze him, eating through his
skin to his core. There, it found more frostiness. The dead place
inside him shivered. Frozen. Dead. The cold drove him to move, or
he would die. He chuckled, for he was already dead. His body was
cooling, soon it would stiffen, then it would rot. Why was he still
in it? He crawled. He was mad.
The insanity
ate into his brain, baring its bones to the chill wind that
whistled through his ears. It howled within his bones and blew down
the veins that had once carried his blood. When had he ever been
alive? It had all been a lie, a cruel dream. Rivan appeared ahead
of him, luring him up the slope. Did he have to climb a mountain
now? What did he care? What was a mountain to a corpse? It was an
ant hill, and he was invincible. The dead felt no pain, no remorse,
no anguish. They felt no despair, no desolation, but they did feel
hatred, and rage. That was all he had left. No sorrow. Just hatred.
Endless, sweet hatred. This was good.
The cat led him
up a trail, faint amongst the stones, walking slowly and pausing to
chirp every now and then. Conash longed to feel his familiar's
soft, warm fur again. Catch the cat. Climb the mountain. A corpse
could do many things that a man could not. It could not die again,
for one thing. Crawl. Keep crawling. Never stop crawling. The Ages
turned, centuries passed.
Light warmed
him as the sun rose. Rock passed beneath him, a faint trail. Rivan
waited ahead, purring. The mountain was behind him now, and he
crawled downhill. More centuries passed, and the sun moved over
him. His fingers touched grass. He gripped it with his blistered
palms and clung to it, weeping. Jashimari. His broken wails were
offensive to his ears. How pathetic. Stop it. You are
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