The Outcast and the Survivor: Chapter One

As I trek forward, continuing to use the ridges between mountains to cut a direct course, I notice a break beyond the peaks just ahead. It is long and wide, perhaps even larger in area than the entire plateau. Once I get a little further along, the source of the break comes into view. It is occupied by a great body of water, which I presume to be the lake my father spoke of. The presence of a lone building on its southern shore confirms this to me.

I try to move down the mountains as fast as I can, but I am so high up that it takes several hours. As I descend, the sky above slowly transforms from its midday blue to the mixture of red and light-blue that precedes the evening. It is very beautiful, even at this time when the blue sun and the black stars are close together. When they are further apart, the setting blue sun creates vivid red streaks across the sky, while the black star that still hangs higher in the heavens creates a lighter-blue hue, giving the illusion of a midday sky during sunset. Still, the clash of blue and red I see right now on the horizon is itself mystifying and wondrous.

Finally, I reach the shore of the lake and walk along it, taking in its natural beauty. I have never before seen a body of water that was not manmade. The reservoir in the city is lined with beautiful stone and crystal, but it is also uniform in shape, which takes away from its appeal. The canals and aqueducts that exit it and run through the city are also very straight-edged, which to me has always made them feel artificial and less attractive. That’s why I’ve always preferred the small streams that run through the fields.

The lake here, in contrast, curves and molds to fit itself into this expanse between the mountains. The trees that line it are themselves disorderly, and in that chaos I find so much more variety and beauty than anything I have seen in the city. The reflection of the ice-capped purple and blue mountains in the water is by itself absolutely captivating, though I have little time to enjoy it.

Once I reach the lakeshore, it doesn’t take long for me to follow it to the old building. I cannot imagine what purpose it might have once served alone here by the water. Its architecture is like nothing I have ever seen in the city, and from the looks of the broken foundation, it must have been many times bigger than what remnants of it now remain.

When I step inside, I find that what floors remain are covered by boards of wood. Some of the boards conceal dirt, while others conceal rock and a peculiar cement mixed with decorative pebbles. My steps echo throughout the structure and make me nervous.

Despite how time has worn the building down, there is still much left of it, and it takes me several minutes to finally reach its southeastern corner. The room there is large, much larger than any of the others I have seen. Its floor also remains surprisingly intact, meaning it could take a while for me to find what I’ve come here for.

I immediately worry that I won’t find the hidden box before the patrols are upon me, so I run across the room hoping that something will quickly stand out. I notice a couple of open spots closer in

toward the center of the room, but the ground there is of rock, not of dirt, so I keep searching.

On the eastern wall of the room is a window, and it is just a few feet from that window that I find an area of dirt where the floorboards are broken up more than in most other parts of the room. I pry up a couple, which come loose with surprising ease, and then drop myself down onto the surface below a couple of feet beneath the flooring.

I run my hands along the dirt, raking with my fingers in search of the edges of the box. Within seconds, I find them, and a relieved and excited smile stretches across my face. My hands brush over the top of the box and around its edges so that I can open it without dirt pouring in. I then lift off the lid and examine its contents.

The first thing I notice is a collection of several cloth sacks, each one containing some kind of food item. Many of these are the same sorts of supplies I brought with me: salted meats, dried fruits, nuts, seeds, and double-baked biscuits, which are meant to stay good for a long time. The biscuits however, seem to be oddly fresh for being in such a place.

I hurry and put these items into my pack, which still has plenty of supplies in it, but I welcome the extra weight since it means I can travel that much

further without having to forage or hunt, things I learned to do in recent years. That’s why I’m carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows with me despite having little use for them right now.

Beneath the sacks of supplies are two boxes, one large and one small. I open the small one first. Inside are an old worn key and piece of paper. On the paper is a list of directions. My eyes move from step to step as I try to memorize them, but as I get halfway through the steps, they become too complex to remember accurately.

The first part is fairly clear. It gives directions to a pass between two mountains northwest of the lake. Within that pass is a cave that leads through to the other side of the mountains. The directions through the cave itself are complicated and require the counting of distances from tunnel to tunnel. I cannot lose this paper, so I fold it up and place it inside of my vest pocket.

As I remove the lid to the second box, a potent smell surprises me, causing me to slam the lid back in place. I open it more carefully the second time and find that part of the box contains a fuel soaking rope and cloth. It also contains a long metal handle and fire steel, the rest of what I’ll need to make a torch to get through the cave. I will just need to store the cloth and rope well so their smell is not so strong as to lead the patrols my way.

I take the rope and cloth and force them to fit inside the smaller box, removing the key first and placing it in my pack. Once I have it sealed shut, I take one of the empty sacks and place the box inside along with the torch handle and fire steel. I then wrap it several times and place it inside my nearly-full pack.

What I don’t see, however, is the animal pouch my father spoke of. This worries me at first because it appears that I have already emptied all of the box’s contents, but then I realize that the box itself is lined at the bottom with dirt. I dig several inches into it until I locate its last content.

The pouch is thick and seems to be well insulated from the inside. I can tell because pouches like these, unlike typical pouches, don’t completely conform to the shapes of their contents. I am somewhat disappointed at this. Even though my father had told me not to open it, I was hoping to be able to maybe guess what was inside based on its shape.

Still, this presents a new problem. I am not sure that I will be able to pack it with everything else I am carrying. The thought crosses my mind to empty its contents just to make everything fit, but I cast the idea away. Whatever is inside, it’s important that I not see it. At least not yet.

So instead, I have to spend several moments reorganizing everything inside of my pack. To my chagrin, I realize that because of the pouch’s shape, the only way that it will fit is to put it in last, meaning that every time I need to remove something, I will have to take it out.

With everything else packed and ready to go, all I have to do is place the pouch and be on my way, but despite my previous sense of urgency, the pouch itself once more entrances me with its mystique. I hold it in my hands and feel its shape once more with the edge of my fingers.

“What are you hiding from me?” I ask as though it can tell me its secrets without me having to open it up. “And why do you need to get to Eliana so badly? What’s at stake in all of this? And why can’t my sister know?”

My eyes study it for a few moments, the temptation of opening it up becoming stronger and stronger. I am almost about to when at the same instant, the echo of footsteps comes trailing into the room from some distant hallway.

I grab my pack, which had been lying on top of the floor, and bring it down to the dirt with me. I then franticly replace the floorboards to cover myself up, though I am unable to press them down firmly from my position.

My back is pressed down on the ground beneath me, my eyes gazing up toward the broken ceiling of the room, as someone walks in. To my relief, the footsteps initially head in a direction away from me, but then I swallow hard as they suddenly turn sharply my way.

The steps are not quick, but they are heavy as though filled with purpose. I feel them bounce into the floor and reverberate through my whole body as I imagine the person’s eyes studying everything around, looking for anything that seems suspicious, like the loose and broken floorboards above me.

I begin to tremble as the steps get closer. My breathing also becomes rushed, matching the pounding of my heart. I try to calm it down, but I can only do so much. Moments ago, I felt somehow safe and far from harm. Now, I am closer to it than I ever have been.

The person slowly starts coming into view through some thin cracks in the floor. It is a man, a warrior, but he is not dressed in the uniform of the Warrior Cult. His uniform is that of the Temple Guard, the only sect of warriors that reports directly to the queen. Why is he outside the city?