Chapter 80: One More Night

  Sid led his following through the pines. Silver light pour from above. Giving the timbers a faint glow. Shimmering dust of purple and green washed the night sky. Pulsing like a heartbeat.

  He looked to the dust above—clutching the pouch around his neck. Memories were fading. There was no congratulations of becoming a father. No celebratory day of birth. Was his boy, “his boy” he looked to Fenrir—hoping the Shadows eyes could reveal anything.

  Fenrir met his eye and eyepatch stone. Tongue rolling with happy boy panting. Nose twitching at a new scent—mice in the grass. Trying to be a clever boy, he pounced. Then again. He never caught his target—but it was a merry game. He bounced for the rodent—better luck next time Fenrir.

  Sid smiled at the pup—but the weight around his neck tugged. His memories. Everything was leaking away like a pond behind a poorly built dam. The more he tried to remember, the more the dam crumble. Memories of Sophie—like logs snapping under pressure. Thoughts of Clayton—like sandy banks giving way. What was left of this metaphorical memory pool was that of survival. His passion for the iron works. What he knows—was what he already knew.

  His thoughts though could never go uninterrupted—even more so irritating because he was supposed to be taking a moment of silence. Not only had he been following his nose—smelling donkey farts from somewhere—he was also practicing his symbols. Apparently repeating them from start to finish, then from finish to start, while sounding them out perfectly helps earn Stars in Reading—he wasn’t going to argue how the star system worked. If anything he wanted to ruin it.

  This was his moment of silence though—a beat for his mind to ease, and Abram just had to ruin it. “C’mon big guy what be the next symbol?”

  “Abram, please. My head is going to explode. I’m not going to magically learn to read tonight.” He rubbed his temple with thick fingers.

  Xantrilexa chirped in—soft voice as always. “That’s actually kind of how it works.” Quickly lifting her hands as if to redact her answer—Sid was glaring at her too.

  “I can’t,” Sid started, voice catching with faint layers. “My head is throbbing. My tongue is sore from sounding out the symbols.” He waved the two off with hand—the other cane-walk a sword. “I just physically can't anymore. Seriously, I think my mouth might be bleeding.”

  Abram rubbed his hands together and clapped once, edging him on. “C’mon Sid one mores.” He clapped with each word, like he was teasing a dog.

  Sid narrowed an eye. “Abram, don’t talk to me like that.

  “It’s fine Abram,” Xantrilexa spoke low, almost conspiratorial. “When he’s ready to grow up and be a man he’ll say the next symbol.”

  Sid snorted. “I know what you’re doing Xantrilexa. And once you grow up you’ll stop trying to force it.”

  Xantrilexa narrowed her eyes—he had a good point. “You’re right Sid, I apologize,” looking up her blue eyes gleamed with suspicion. “but, if you have a prophecy to follow you really should learn to read.” She was curious how he even got the prophecy—being illiterate.

  “He don’t have a prophecy, Ant,” Abram said—casual as the pulsing sky. “He is the prophecy.”

  “Either way,” Sid snorted. “I’m done for the night.”

  And with that he broke away from the group—eye on the ground searching for flint; he was done walking for the night. Done with the learning. He just wanted to sit down. Build a fire and warm up—let his mind rest. He had been practicing for so long and it felt like he was making no improvement—sometimes the best way to progress is to step away.

  Xantrilexa was fine with stopping for the night. She was tired as well. Her armor is heavy and she wouldn’t mind taking them off and resting in linens. She was a bright one and picked up quickly on what he was doing—she gathered rocks for a fire-ring—instructing Abram to gather small sticks.

  “We can’t stop for the night. Arieo be out there alone,” the words tremored from his mouth like a plea—tomorrows dread lingered—Arieo was his crutch. A support without destroying aura. Abram didn’t suspect the two of them to double cross him or leave him the woods. But the thought of waking up in the static gray without Arieo was more terrifying than staring down the barrel of that Barking-Iron.

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  “Oh, that’s a good one, keeper.” The mustache wiggled while Sid bent for the rock—tucking it in a pocket, he liked having pockets—he took a deep pull of air through his nose. Once. Twice. Smelling the wind. Then pointed a heavy finger into the distance. “Your donkey is that way. Thing hasn’t moved since the moon came out.” Abram frowned at the “thing” remark.

  Abram’s chest tightened. His vision hit with a quick blur before straightening. He swallowed and took a broken breath—not now, please not now. “God’s damn it, Sid. Yer fuckin stubborn ye knows that? Don’ts ever wants to do nothins.”

  “Abram, I will help you find Arieo in the sunlight. Its dark and I’m tired—”

  “I’m tired too. I’d like to warm up by a fire as well, Abram,” she chirped. “Arieo is a donkey, I’m sure he’ll be fine for a night.”

  Abram shook his head there was no way he could stay up all night—certain a crash would take him. “Ye two makes me sick. Sid yer ‘posed to be her warrior, protector of the wilds,” Sid only scoffed while he collected dried branches.

  Abram then pointed to Xantrilexa next. “And yer ‘posed to be a Crusader. Me thought yer bunch was ‘posed to be righteous and ever-helping to others.”

  “Abram,” Sid sad—he was gouging an old stump for dry wood pulp. “Nobody is at fault for your loss.” He said between swings.

  “Actually mate,” he waited until Sid looked at him. “If anyone be at fault, it be you.”

  Sid barked with a laugh. “My fault?”

  “Yeah, yer faults. Making us chase yas all over this mountain.” His arms were wild like a windstorm. “Sid yer a pain in the ass and me hardly knows yas. Every time me tries to talks to yas ye takes off running. It be embarrassing. Cowardice. And nows me gots to teach yas to read just so ye understands what it is me talking about, and yer exhausted after three symbols” he clenched his fists. “Do ye even know the next symbol?”

  Sid half ignored him. He was going to build a fire whether Abram liked it or not. “I think its pronounced “dee” makes a “duh” sound.”

  “Get used to making that sound Sid. It suits yas.”

  Xantrilexa studied Sid—while Abram yelled on and on—the way the big man approached the craft of fire. She was fascinated with how he formed the lichen into such a precise funnel. Capping the fine chippings of wood pulp from the dry rotted stump. Incredible technique—she was never good at the craft; she always used a special black tincture her uncle made.

  Sid picked up on the hidden scent of adrenaline. Abram’s heart was thrashing with it—oddly adrenaline has a sweet floral smell. He glanced at the Voyager. Eye narrow. Stone heavy. “What’s the problem Abram?”

  Abram looked between him and her. Heat creeping up his neck. Stomach feeling deep and hollow. Lungs tightening like his ribs were closing in—shame was a feeling that grovels, drags. Guilt eats folks alive—and addiction was a guilty feeling in its own. “Arieo, Sid, be ye not listening to mes?”

  “What’s really wrong Abram? I can smell the panic on you.” The layer in his voice wasn’t predatory anymore, it was guarded.

  Xantrilexa glanced at Sid—kneeling next to the fire-ring—what an odd thing to say.

  Sid grabbed the flint from his pocket—a heavy fist-sized quarts. He slammed it with another. Directing the collision at the funnel of lichen and perfect wood pulp—a delicately placed teepee of sticks crowded the funnel.

  Xantrilexa’s eyes widened. Pupils dilating. He didn’t just throw a few sparks and beat the rocks like they owe him something. It was one clean smack of stones. His action had the finesse of countless seasons. She had never seen anything like it before. Not even the powder her uncle gave her started a fire as quickly as Sid did—as we know he’s quite talented at starting a fire.

  One motion was all it took. It wasn’t just some measly sparks of ember that released either. When he cracked the stones together a full flame came rolling. Completely engulfing the funnel and pulp. Sticks instantly licking with fire. Warmth and light splashing immediately.

  He tucked the stones away like it was a casual night, tossing more sticks in. “Abram, we will go when the sun rises. I only have one eye,” he pointed to the eyepatch. Yellow stone shimmered like a wink. “It’s hard to navigate at night.”

  Abram shook his head—oh the woes of Sid’s life. “Sid, …me won’t be able to see come sun rise. Me vision is temporary.”

  Xantrilexa eyed Abram—still standing, looming over Sid like a bad idea. She jumped as Fenrir walked past—then he lay by Sid—it walked so quietly. That wispy cloth tied around its neck clung like steam, such an odd thing. Such an odd dog, if it was a dog. She was still on the edge about that. She couldn’t stop looking at that strange material around its neck. Eye’s darting back and forth between the two men grumbling about a donkey and who couldn’t see any better than the other.

  Then it hit her. Not only did she realize what was happening, and who was sitting in front of her. A crack of thunder ripped from nowhere—well it sounded like thunder anyways. The sky was clear, the rain had already passed in the early day, it couldn’t have been thundering.

  Abram was now crouched—covering his head like Xantrilexa did. Sid was shielding Fenrir with his body, back against the lightning bolt or whatever it was that struck. All three of them slowly uncurling. Peering through arms to see what made such a commotion.

  Sid and Fenrir stare with confusion. Only seeing the statue of such a thing, they didn’t understand the significance of such creatures.

  Xantrilexa’s eyes swelled. Only wishing her uncle was right here to see them. Five of them. Tall. Proud. Majestic. Scales catching the moonlight with each flex of rigid muscle.

  Abram’s breath caught. It was like the Pioneers answered. His hands quivered at the sight of the beasts. He was already reaching for the mortar and pestle in his coat. Arieo could wait one night. He’d be sure to bring the donkey plenty in the morning.