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PART II
The Cold World
The Tao that can be told is not the eternal
Tao
The name that can be named is not the eternal name
The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth
The named
is the mother of ten-thousand things.
Ever desireless one can see the mystery
Ever desiring
one can see the manifestations.
These two spring from the same source
but appear as opposites
And this seems to
us darkness
Darkness within darkness
The gateway to all mystery
---Lao Tsu
Chapter 14
The first snows of December fell gently, blanketing
the valley in a thin veil of white and quiet stillness. With most of the larger beasts gone, and others soon to follow,
it was a time for the lesser creatures of the vales to once again show themselves and become a part of the living world.
For at last the change had come, and the dangers grown less. The weather was mild and predictable. The cold was
not yet piercing.
It was a time when young foxes, weary of caution and hiding, were free to forage among the
brakes and hedges unafraid, leaving behind them tiny craters in the snow. Northern rabbits, now splotching white through
their seasonal brown, could also be seen moving easily through the tree-ringed meadows, stuffing themselves to soft roundness
in preparation for the cold and hungry days ahead. Only the sounds of late-migrating geese disturbed the stillness,
passing over but not touching the thousand microcosms below, alone unto themselves.
It was but a brief respite.
And through all their simple and wordless joys of freedom, the creatures that remained knew it must be used as a time of preparation---that
the Cold World would soon be upon them. Kalus spent the gradually shortening days in tentative hope and lingering doubt,
and wondered at the growing emotions inside him, brought alive and set in inevitable conflict, he imagined, by the girl.
He had never felt life so close around him, and the feelings it brought were not without their measure of apprehension and
uncertainty. So he cut and gathered wood, made and refined tools, smoked meat and packed it with wild salt in the depths
of niches and fissures he had discovered in the mountainside above them. Then covered the hiding places with stones.
Every
pelt, no matter how small, was saved and turned into winter clothing by the girl, who seemed to be more adept at such things
than he. Sometimes Kamela would hunt with him, to help provide for the wolves, but always with a dull and hopeless look
in her eyes that Kalus felt very deep in his heart. The long scar on her underside, which he had seen only once, while
she slept, could tell him only a part of the tale. And of the rest she was closed even with Akar.
But most
of all he thought of Skither, and wondered when he would return.
***
Sylviana lay propped on her elbows, her favorite fur
half in and half out of the entrance of the smaller cave, looking down on the snow-dusted grasses with misting and faraway
eyes. Her mood triggered by the scene, she was thinking of the fragile water domes she had toyed with as a child, all
alone in the unused bedroom of her grandmother’s house. Christmas. Her mind conjured the room before her:
the massive four-posted bed, the mahogany dresser crowned with photographs of aunts and uncles, the lace-curtained and frosting
windows. And she remembered one in particular, a Nativity scene, her favorite. She remembered the way the tiny
flakes would sift softly through the water and onto the roof of the manger, only to be swept away again as she lifted the
glass dome and shook it. The water would swirl like a sudden wind, then the flakes settle slowly.....
She
was aware of movement on the plains below. Her eyes focused, and she saw Kalus walking back towards the mountain through
the snow-covered grasses, turning his head from side to side, watching. Though he would never admit it, she knew he
was worried over Skither’s extended absence, and about its bearing on their safety and their future. He stood
at the edge of the gorge, looked up at her, then descended the steep half-path of stone and was swallowed up in shadow.
Her mind returned fully to the present.
They had moved to the smaller enclosure as soon as Akar was able, expecting
to be there only a short time; but the Mantis had not returned. Nearly six weeks had passed since his departure, and
the girl, at least, had begun to think he never would. But if ever she mentioned the possibility to Kalus, he grew sullen
and cold; and she had decided at length to put the thought from her mind, and let Nature run its course. Still, she
couldn’t help wondering how it would be if the larger cave were truly theirs. She had grown very fond of, or at
least accustomed to, the safety of the ‘mountain’---their word for the higher, tooth-shaped rise in the ridge
of granite cliffs---and leaving it now for the uncertainty that lay beyond was not a thought she relished.
Kalus
made his way up the slope to the Mantis’ ledge, paused for breath, then continued. Climbing ever closer up the
path, he smiled at her with half his face, and reaching the parapet, passed by her and went inside. The pup, roused
from its attentions to a small bone, wagged its tail and ran to greet him as always. Akar sat up gingerly on his two
furs near the back of the enclosure. Kamela was off somewhere alone. The girl rose after a time, ducked her head
and followed him in.
He sat cross-legged on the floor with the pup in his lap, thinking. She knew that
look. Something (more than the ordinary) was troubling him. After a short silence she asked simply.
“What’s
wrong?”
“Skither should have been back by now. The weather is growing too cold, and still he
doesn’t come.” Sylviana said nothing. He looked at her. “I know. I feel it too.
This place is too small for so many to live. If he doesn’t return soon I will try to find us another place.”
She hesitated. “What about the lower cave?”
“Perhaps. But not yet.” He set
down the wolf pup and drew his legs together with his arms, sat gnawing at his knees and looking worried.
The
girl moved behind him and began to massage his neck and shoulders. He reached up a hand as if make her stop, but instead
took her by the wrist and turned to face her. His deep blue eyes studied her with an unreadable expression. Dropping
to one knee in the way now familiar, she stroked his open forearm tentatively.
“Are you angry with me?”
“No.”
He shook his head, kissed the back of her hand. He drew back into his former attitude and remained silent for a time,
occasionally rocking himself and staring at the floor. Finally, as with great effort, he said the words.
“I’m
confused.”
“About what?”
“The Mantis. And you.”
“Why
me?”
“You make the world so much closer. I can’t run, or close my mind anymore.
Almost, I can’t hide from the questions..... I can’t speak of it now. Not yet.”
Sylviana
knew he would say nothing more. Again she stroked his arm, felt his hand encircle her wrist, then rose to prepare a
meal.
*
That night as they lay together among the furs that made
their bed, Kalus moved close beside her and buried his head against her chest. Though they had slept together many times,
he had not yet tried to make love to her. In his instinctive way he sensed she was not ready, and in fact this voice
inside him was correct. He still, in part, represented to her the harsh world from which he came, a world she was not
ready to fully accept, or give herself up to. But this was not what held him back now. A fear that he could not
understand---the fear of losing the things he had found---haunted him now as it had for weeks, seeming to intensify with each
passing day.
Sylviana stroked his hair, now smooth, and felt him warm against her. They lay thus for several
minutes, until she realized he was crying. She took his face in her hands, not understanding.
“I’m
sorry,” he said quietly, shaking his head and clearing his eyes. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
She took a deep breath and rolled onto her back in frustration. But still the warmth that was in her made her reach
out and touch his face, his neck.
“The only thing that frightens me is not knowing what you’re feeling.
You never tell me. You keep it all inside. I know it hurts, Kalus, a lot. But you have to try. I’m
not going to judge you, or think you’re weak..... I care for you very much. In my way. . .I love you.”
Kalus gripped the edge of the fur and curled it tightly in his hand, as if needing to use his body over mind. The night
was quiet and still around them.
“I don’t know what we’ll do if he doesn’t come back.”
“Well, what are our choices?” She truly wanted to know, and she thought it might give him
something concrete to discuss. She knew, or thought she knew, he didn’t deal well with abstractions.
As
he spoke the words, Kalus felt reluctance giving way. Almost it came as a relief to let go. And as he spoke it
took his mind from the place they were, and into something like a dream, however real, that gave him some escape from himself.
Though his worry was not abated.
“I’ve thought about returning to Carak Mesa, where my people live
in warmer weather. There are several caves, joined by short passageways, and one chamber that is large enough for all
of us. It is dry, and gives some protection against the wind.
“But it is too hard to defend,”
he continued. “Even with a man guarding each entrance, we had to keep our fires burning brightly and our weapons
close at hand. Barabbas held it more through intimidation than anything. Perhaps we could block all but one entrance.
But the rock is like hard white earth filled with pebbles---”
“Limestone,” interjected the
girl.
“Yes, and not always firm to brace wooden poles and stones across.” His gaze returned
from the low roof. “Do you want to here this?”
“Yes, very much.” Even this
brief scenario had given a clearer picture of his life among the hill-people than all the shy, abbreviated accounts which
had come before it.
“There are other caves, along the ridge farther north. But they are not large,
and too close to the bottom of the gorge. I don’t like to think that other creatures could crawl down on me: being
below the level of the land. Then there are the earth-holes dug by the wolves in the Northern Hills. With Akar
---the pack has gone to the South, as I told you---it would be all right for us to live there until Spring, perhaps longer.
“But
there also, there are too many unknowns. The great bears come farther south in Winter, crossing the Broad River far
to the west, where it is shallower and stony. Their violence, when enraged, is like no other creature. My father
was killed by such a bear. . .and the thought of finding you, dragged out across a hillside..... That is what I fear
above all else.” He released a troubled breath.
“The sandstone ridge, the caves to the south,
are of stone even worse than the Carak. And there the mountain cats rule. I don’t know where else to go.”
“What
about Skither’s cave?”
He shook his head. “Even if Skither has gone to another place
(the thought that he was injured and unable to return, was something his mind could not accept), the entrance is much too
hard to defend. Perhaps we could block up this passage with stones.” He pointed to toward the smaller opening.
“But what can we do with an entrance so high as the one below? That is the same reason we cannot stay here.
Soon all creatures will know that Skither is gone, and then the shaft becomes the thing impossible to defend.” This
was the chance she had waited for, but now she felt reluctant to speak.
“I think..... I know a way
we could barricade the entrance, and make the larger cave safe.” His eyes narrowed upon her turned form, silhouetted
against the patch of starry sky beyond. “It would be hard work, and you would have to let me help you. But
it can be done.” Again, though his own shape was lost against the back of the enclosure, she felt the deep and
sullen trepidation inside him. “We don’t have to think about it now.”
“There is
a real way? That you have seen?”
“Yes.”
After an interval of silence he
moved away, as if to sleep. But soon the great emptiness and restlessness came over him again. Hardly knowing
why, he moved closer and put his arm across her, feeling her body against him. He lay still for a moment. His
heart beat heavily, and slowly his hand found its way to her breast.
Sylviana felt this, more aware perhaps than
he, of the feelings that lay behind it. She felt his gentle, yearning caress, closed her eyes peacefully and yielded
to it until she felt the hand stop, tremble slightly, and he moved away again.
“No, Kalus. It’s
all right.”
Through the stir of her emotions a feeling of sudden, firm resolve came over her. She
stood up, reached down to her waist, and took off her blouse. She unfastened, and slipped out of her faded jeans.
She removed her underclothes more slowly, her own heart beating heavily, and lay down beside him. And shyly, and affectionately,
and longingly drew him close.
His heart thundering, he pulled away his own garments and surrendered to the torrent
inside him. His last words as emotion and sensation overpowered him were strange, yet he spoke them with all his soul.
“I
need you. Sylviana!”
And her name flowed like water through the piercing of his heart.
Chapter 15
A light snow fell from the silent soft grayness of
the sky. Sylviana stood on the parapet with the fur wrapped around her, immersed in a feeling of peace and attachment to her
world such as she had seldom experienced. She watched Kalus on the ledge below, unaware of her eyes, studying the high
entrance to the Mantis’ cave and pacing uncertainly. At first, as it often did, her mind questioned his mood.
How could he not still feel the warmth and purposeful beauty of their love-making, the gentle gifts that Nature was bestowing
on them even now?
But as she continued to watch him, a feeling of contented understanding had so overwhelmed
her doubts as to make them appear small and mean, a source of reproach and beneath further consideration.
For
here, she then expounded, was a creature untainted by civilization or corrupt society, his roots in the earth, his feet sometimes
painfully touching the ground beneath him, free (indeed unable to do otherwise) to react naturally and honestly, like a graceful
and intelligent animal, to the world and circumstances around him. Therefore, her thoughts continued, his hopes, fears
and yearnings were a direct outgrowth of that world. His morals, free from religious preconceptions, were dictated to
him solely and directly by the needs of Nature.
Her last thought came to her as a culmination, almost an orgasm,
of all the others that had come before it, tying them together and giving them still greater meaning and significance.
Her lover lived, the more so because he did not know it, the deepest and purest human existence: that of spiritual yearning,
and animal desire.
She pulled the soft fur tighter, massaged one arm with the other, and looked out across the
plains. The snow had all but stopped, and far out over the western hills her eyes caught movement against the clouds.
It might have been an eagle but for the unnatural, straight ahead motion of its flight..... Her heart sank. Slowly but
steadily the flying shape drew on, till there could be no doubt. Dejectedly, she called down to her companion.
“Kalus.”
His head jerked towards her. “You’d better come up here.” He turned a quick half circle and
drew his sword as if expecting danger. Finding none, he looked up at her with a questioning gaze. Her arm pointed
out over the grass- and tree-pocked drifts of the savanna. Seeing what she saw, but not appearing to, he sheathed his
sword and began to climb. Not until far past the halfway point did he look up from the stone in front of him.
Misunderstanding, she pointed again.
“Put down your arm,” he said in guarded tones. Soon he
stood on the parapet beside her, and only then looked out at the lowering sky. The girl spoke.
“It’s
Skither.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Then who?” He shook his
head.
Soon she too could see that it was not the mantis they had known. It was smaller, and flew with greater
speed but less grace. Also, the feel of it was different. It was very close now, perhaps a mile off, and though
it struggled in a growing tail-wind, its wing-plates ruffling badly, it seemed determined not to rest until it had reached
the mountain, where clearly now it was heading. Finally it crossed the gorge and landed roughly on the ledge, its brownish-green
armor looking unnatural against the stone and snow. Kalus, whose tracks showed plainly about the entrance, set his jaw
and said nothing. Akar limped out of the enclosure and stood between them, studying the young mantis.
It remained
motionless, head down and breath coming hard, oblivious to anything but its own fatigue. Finally raising its head, it
studied the tracks briefly, then turned towards the three of them with no outward sign of surprise. At length it raised
an unsteady foreclaw and signaled someone, apparently Kalus, to come down. Through her confusion and alarm, Sylviana
suddenly noticed that its other forelimb was severed just below the first joint. One of its antennae was also missing,
and it seemed to stand only with an effort.
Kalus took a step forward but was stopped by Akar, who took his wrist
gently but firmly between his jaws. Kalus relented, and let the wolf pass instead. Akar made his way to the path, and
taxing the wounded shoulder only at greatest need, began to descend. But in an angry rocking motion that clearly showed
its displeasure, the mantis waved him off. It raised the intact foreclaw once more, this time pointing undeniably at
Kalus. He turned to the girl.
“I don’t know what this means. But he will not kill me
like this. It is not their way.” He gave his head a severe shake, and made his way down the slope.
Stepping
out onto the ledge as he had once done before Skither, Kalus felt less awe but greater danger. Not yet an adult, the
creature before him was a mystery. And young and hurt and exhausted, there was no way of knowing..... Stopping
at a distance, Kalus began to signal a greeting.
Brushing off his half understood formalities, the mantis came
straight to the point. “I am only a messenger,” he began, “Sent by others to relay this news.
Skither is dead, killed by a mating pair as he tried to draw them out to the place where others stood waiting.”
Kalus’
heart sank, as if a part of himself had died as well. He hardly noted what followed, and only much later was able to
piece it all together in his mind.
The seasonal battle in the desert spawning place had been fierce and desperate.
Apparently Skither had half expected such an end, for he left word with his comrades of the man-child and his mate, leaving
these instructions for them:
“The cave is now yours, along with everything in it. This, my messenger,
will remain here until he is well enough to move on. Be of good hope, and continue.”
But Kalus stood
in empty disbelief. He could not believe, for all that he held to be strong and unchanging had been suddenly, irrevocably
cut out from under him. Skither had been more than a symbol to him, he had been a living god---strength and courage
and wisdom personified. If he in all his prowess could be broken, then what chance did he himself have against the ceaseless
ravages of his world? The question was too much for him.
In all his days he would see only two more of
the noble creatures. Their time on earth running out, it was perhaps a small comfort to know that the reign of their
enemies was also passing. A thousand years of radiation and unlimited carrion had raised the tarantula to its huge proportions.
But now, like the mantis, who had grown of Nature’s necessity alongside it, the giant spiders were an archaic and dying
race. And though each year the gathering was larger---as if some last instinct called all in desperation to the place
of spawning---each time the number of eggs left untouched (by the mammals which had come to prey on them) was smaller.
And without the ensuing cannibalism among the hatchlings---out of which several hundred would be reduced to perhaps a dozen---those
that survived were more feeble, easier for both the mantises and natural attrition to kill. An era born of the violence
of men was slowly passing.
Kalus turned without ceremony or awareness and made his way back to the path.
He climbed without feeling, or knowing where he was, and heard a voice inside him say it was all right, he still had the woman.
Then
all at once he felt the fullness of what he had learned, and knelt down and leaned forward against the cold indifferent stone.
His arm gave his eyes no comfort.
Skither was dead.
Sylviana watched him with apprehension.
She had felt an unreasoning terror as he stood before the wounded insect; but now a fear more akin to reality, and therefore
duller and deeper, presented itself. She could not know what was said to him, but she knew him well enough to understand
at least a part of what he was feeling. Some grim news (or threat) had been passed on to him; and because he had been
weak, because he had surrendered to emotion, because he had made love, he was being punished, and blamed himself. Such
were the scars that his life had left upon him.
When at length he looked up at her, she knew that her fears had
been realized. The closeness and love that had been in his eyes so few hours before, were gone. All feeling had
left him, and he was again trapped in the world he did not understand.
His guiding star was gone.
Chapter 16
The next morning when Kalus woke, he felt, through
the pain and loss, a resurgence (and need) of life and hope. The cold had crept beneath his fur while he slept, and
all around him hung a chill moist air that called for action. He still cared for the girl, there were other lives linked
to his own, and he knew he must continue. Skither had told him he must.
So he rose and walked out onto
the parapet. Sylviana was there ahead of him, her eyes tearing from the cold and lack of sleep, wrapped in the same
fur that now seemed more a refuge than a friend. And though he was sorry he couldn’t, he did not touch her.
She turned to him a face that understood, but hurt the more because of it. He pretended not to notice.
“Has
the mantis come out yet?”
“No. Akar tried to go to him. I think he hurt his shoulder
again. You can see him---” She pointed just inside the larger entrance, to the place where the wolf waited
on its haunches.
“Yes, but it was not done foolishly. We must move there anyway, and secure it for
ourselves as soon as possible. We will have to work very hard, and you will have to help me.” Again his
emotions had become an unreadable maze. Sylviana lowered her head and sighed, and the breath the wind blew back through
her disheveled hair was clearly visible.
From this, as well as other tokens, Kalus knew that the first real storms
of winter were not far off, and tried to gird himself for the arduous labor to come. He was ready to break his back
and his heart to construct the shelter Sylviana had described, but all pleasure had gone out of the thought.
It
was still morning when the young mantis emerged, looking little better than it had the day before. From the long ripple in
the underside of its abdomen, both Kalus (who had descended) and the wolf could see it had not eaten. But when Akar,
as best he could, asked if he would not stay a day longer and partake of the food that Skither had left him, he was curt to
the point of menace.
“I will not dishonor his memory in that way.”
“But surely---”
“I
will not dishonor his memory!”
And so, without formality or warning cry, without perhaps the proper preparation,
the creature opened its wings, raised itself into the air, and left them forever. Its form grew small and disappeared
into the west like a drowning branch carried past by a river. And the river flowed on, unchanging.
Then
Sylviana climbed down and stood beside them, trying to be a part of, or at least to understand, what had happened.
“What
did he say to you?”
“That he would not eat, or remain another hour. He seems determined to
prove that he needs nothing and no one.”
Trying to think in the vernacular of that world, she put in timidly.
“He will be very strong someday.”
“If he lives.” She said nothing more.
*
As if in imitation, Kalus determined to begin the work
at once. Using one of the poles from the neglected frame, he carved a handle for the rusty ax-head the girl had found.
He sharpened its cutting edge as best he could, and with the sun at its height, set out to begin felling trees.
Sylviana
went with him, along with Kamela, for warning and added protection. He cut and pieced an entire tree before he would
let himself rest. Then together he and the girl carried a twelve-foot section back to the cave, he bearing most of the
weight on his shoulder, asking only that the girl come behind and steady him.
And so the long toil began.
Sylviana’s
plan, which he modified only slightly, was to build a three-sided barrier of interlocking logs, like an open letter C.
Its ends would rest just inside the arch, gradually narrowing as they rose, nearly flush, against the inner walls of the entrance.
It was to be reinforced from within by stout beams, and by the strength of these, as well as by its own girth and weight,
to form an impenetrable barrier against both the elements, and the fiercest predators. A single, windowless door would
pierce the forward wall, and the entire structure be sealed inside and out with mortar, and at the edges, with bricks of stone.
Sylviana had read a book as a child in which a family of pioneers had built a log cabin, using only the materials provided
by Nature. And now the memory of it served her well.
So Kalus cut, and they both carried, till she thought
her back would break and Kalus die, where he stood, of exertion. She could not know that what pained him far more than
the ceaseless labor (he had worked as hard before) was the fact that he was using all his spiritual, as well as physical reserves.
Because
a man can work as hard and diligently as he must, to the extreme limits that mind and body will endure, so long as he has
a reason, and a need to do so. And when it is done to provide food and shelter for the lives entrusted to his care,
he can work harder and more selflessly still. But take away his reason, his hope for some kind of betterment, however
distant, and the strongest, most determined man becomes rootless and lethargic. Tasks and dangers he thought little
of before, become as tedious and harrowing as a literal fight for life. Kalus continued because he knew, as every animal does,
that he must continue. But as the work sapped his strength and the emotional wound caused by the death of Skither bled
unchecked, he became first weary, then angry, then through the ceaseless, hopeless repetition, empty and indifferent.
Sometimes
when he felt weakest he would look at the girl, and remember the beautiful thing they had shared. And for a time these
memories of warmth and desire would sustain him. But soon all fantasies of a peaceful and prosperous future became nothing
more to him than a carrot dangling at the end of a stick, though he possessed no such metaphor to help him understand.
And he had no psychologist to tell him that by submerging his grief and distancing himself from the girl he was hurting himself,
and stifling the healing forces of time and close companionship. He cut, and carried, and shaped and fitted, sometimes
in blinding snow, stopping during daylight hours only to hunt, or to look over what had been done. Because he had no choice.
And
slowly the shelter went up. Pine and birch and gnarled oak, he laid them down and made a refuge of their bones, as dark
thoughts tormented him.
But the shelter went up. And the night the frame was completed, and all work done
save the filling in of cracks, the heaviest storm of the season moved in and piled three feet of snow outside it, blocking
them in with drifts up to twice that high. Without warning or ceremony, their new home had been christened.
The
next morning Kalus had not the strength to force open the frozen door, and sat alone by the fire for hours, speaking to no
one, feeling nothing but weak and shivery exhaustion. The Cold World, which he had said he loved, was upon them.
Chapter 17
That night the two slept together for the first time
since word of Skither’s fall. Kalus had no strength even to touch, and was moved not at all by his lover’s
gentle caresses and quiet words, nor even by the tears he wiped apologetically from her eyes as she said, “I understand.”
From this more than any other token, he knew that the blows absorbed of a lifetime had finally taken their toll. He
was like a hurt fighter, hanging on, half waiting for the knockout blow.
He woke feeling little bitter, his emotions
still dazed and floundering, to find the girl reading quietly on the stairs that led to the silent altar. The sight
reminded him of their first meeting, when he had nearly died a physical death. Perhaps this dull anguish was not as
bad.....
Then he saw Kamela, and his hopelessness returned. It was almost as if she longed for death, in
any form. There was no other way to read the blank despair of her eyes. Akar rested stoically beside the girl,
his own thoughts hidden from view. Only the pup was stirring, poking impatiently at her mother’s underside and
whining plaintively for food. None had eaten meat for several days, and the she-wolf’s undamaged breasts were
dry.
Sylviana rose and came closer, gently brushing his hair with her fingers. “I have to hunt,”
he said flatly. Then suddenly as she turned away he pulled her close and buried his head against her.
“Forgive
me,” he said. And with those words a flicker of feeling came back to him.
“It’s all right,”
she said. “Let it out.” But he could not let it out. His body would not allow the expenditure.
“... When do you have to hunt?”
“In the afternoon, when the sun is warmer and I am stronger.
I feel so weak.” He shook his head to fight off a tear of exhaustion. “Is there any water left?”
She brought it, along with a half-filled bowl of sebreum. He ate readily, though his body cried out for meat.
She
sat beside him on the bed, speaking softly and brushing out his hair. It did not matter what she said. Her voice
was like music, and her nearness and touch a therapy no money could buy. And like a sleeper woken by a lover’s
kiss, he began to respond. His body was still very weak, but Kalus was a creature whose heart held the key to all survival.
And
he began to remember that he was, in fact, a survivor. The fiery vigor of his soul spoke words of endurance and starting
again. In the middle of a sentence he reached over and kissed her with his lips, teeth and tongue, and half playfully,
half longingly, bit her cheek.
As he drew back, knowing he had not the strength, he was struck by the look she
gave him, her face so close. And he was jarred to his very bones by the realization. . .that she wanted him. WANTED
him.
All his life, the best he had hoped for was a companion who would tolerate him, and be grateful for his
strength and affection. But in Sylviana’s eyes there was a longing as deep and real as his. Perhaps she
even loved. . .HIM. In his current state it was almost too much, and he became afraid. Again, through the wild
hopes she inspired in him, he felt the fear of losing her, or of being killed himself. His face could not hide the intensity
of what he was feeling.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“I
don’t know. I..... You know that I am weak now. Is that all right?”
She took his head
to her chest in an outpouring of emotion as primal as any she had ever known. “Yes. It’s all right.”
And in that moment of honesty and total surrender, she did love him. But she too backed away, because they were not
yet in a place to feel love all the way. She cleared her eyes, breathed in and stood up straight.
“Right
now you’re going to eat again, and I don’t want to hear about rationing. You’ve been putting out for
weeks, and it’s time you took something back in. Then you’re going to lie down and rest. Understood?”
He nodded, and touched her hair. Then she took his bowl and went into the back.
He too felt the need to
surrender, and to trust, as Skither had told him. He remembered his words. “Do not carry the weight alone.
It will crush you.” Yes, he felt nearly crushed. Whatever end would come of it, this day at least he must
let go.
So when he had eaten he lay down on the bed, and asked Sylviana to sit beside him. She did, and
to pass the time he asked her a question suggested to him by the altar, the dulled mirror, and the memory of his first days
in that place.
“How did you come to befriend Akar? I’ve often wondered.”
“You’re
not asking just to make me feel better?”
“No, truly.”
She was more than willing
to recount the one glad memory of her long vigil, alone in a strange land with danger and confusion all around. “Well.
To say that I was distraught those first few weeks..... Try to understand. The first thing I saw when I finally
mustered the courage to go out onto the ledge, was some kind of big cat dragging down a horse at the very edge of the ravine.
I got so scared I didn’t know what to do. The cave seemed little enough protection, but at least there I could
hide. I know you must have thought me a coward.”
“No, you were wise. And the big cat
did you a favor.” There was no sarcasm in his voice.
“Anyway. Once I figured out that
sebreum was something I could eat, as much as I cursed myself for it, I just couldn’t make myself go out into that world.
Then there was the Voice, telling me to stay there, and wait for some kind of sign.
“I was alone and scared
and miserable. That anything at all could walk through the open entrance and tear me apart was obvious, and it really
started getting to me. The few animals I saw when I stood just inside it seemed reluctant to venture too close, but
that wasn’t much comfort. And of course I had no idea why.
“But one night, just as the sun
was setting, I caught a glimpse of something slip down into the ravine from the far side, which had always before been the
line they wouldn’t cross. I hoped my eyes were playing tricks on me, and I didn’t see or hear anything else
for a while. But some kind of other sense told me I was in danger, and that whatever it was I had seen was coming closer.
I got so scared I ran to the bed and hid beneath the furs, as if that was any protection, and found myself shaking like a
leaf.
“I couldn’t just lie there, and when I realized how stupid and helpless I was being, I got
angry. So I decided to go into the back and dig out some kind of weapon. It may have been my one real moment of courage.”
“There
have been others,” he said quietly. She turned towards him, and wondered why these simple words meant so much.
“Go on.”
“All right. I went into the back and found the hunting knife. I was so
determined and angry that for about thirty seconds I forgot to be afraid. It was a wonderful, defiant feeling.”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunately
it didn’t last. I walked back into the front to find a big, gaunt wolf staring me down, bristling and snarling.
It was Akar, but he didn’t look at all the way he does now. His ribs practically stuck through his skin with hunger.
His side was gashed and caked with mud and dried blood..... It was horrible.
“I screamed and practically
threw the knife across the floor. I just couldn’t take it. I dropped to my knees, shaking and crying like
a mad thing. I fell forward on my arms and just lay there, covering my head..... I thought my life was over.
But Akar never moved.” She gazed across at her first companion, eyes glistening.
“Do you know
what it’s like to expect death and find friendship? He was hurt, Kalus, badly. And half starved, I’m
sure. He could have killed me so easily, to save himself..... I looked up after maybe five minutes, to find him
just watching me, with all the hatred gone out of his eyes. He came closer and I thought I would scream again, but he
stopped.
“The rest doesn’t need to be said, I guess. But you have to know, I’ve never
been so moved in all my life as when he finally came up to me, and I realized he meant no harm. Just to have a friend,
to hold and touch, after all that fear. To not be alone anymore. You can’t know how much that meant to me.”
She lowered her head and cried silently, and Kalus found to his dismay that a tear had escaped his eyes as well.
“I
know,” he said. “That is how I felt when Barabbas saved me.” He wanted to say that she would
never be alone again, but he couldn’t.
Chapter 18
The escape and release were not lasting. Almost
the moment Sylviana stopped speaking, he felt the cold dread of what he must do return from its small distance. He must
leave this safe place and hunt. And though under present circumstances the odds against him were appalling, he knew
he had to try. If the reserves of salted meat were tapped too soon, the sebreum not rationed, they would all starve
in the cold heart of Winter. Trust, and wishing it otherwise, could not alter the fact.
“I must go,”
he told her. “Keep the door shut and bolted until I return. This is a dangerous time.”
“Why?
I thought most of the predators were gone.”
“There are always stragglers, and outcasts. They
do well for a time, but with the coming of deep snow find they cannot hunt, or even retreat. Near starvation makes them
desperate, and they will attack almost anything.” These words, along with the anxious body language she had learned
to read in him---taut expression and deep, determined breathing---frightened her.
“Be careful.”
“Of
course. I will take Kamela, if she will come.” He put on his heavy winter robe of buffalo skin, buckled
the sword around it, and went to the door.
Kamela rose to follow, but Akar limped down from his place beside
the altar and tried to interpose his body between her and the way she wished to go. Words passed between them which
could not be understood by the others. Kalus saw only that Akar sensed some danger, to Kamela in particular, and did
not wish them to go. But the she-wolf growled sullenly and pushed past him. Akar, who knew her thoughts, relented.
“You
leave love behind you,” he said solemnly, and returned to his place. Her eyes followed him, and she looked to
the sleeping form of the pup. Then turned away almost sorrowfully. She had felt love even then, and it was more
than she could bear.
Kalus could not at first open the door. After several frustrated attempts he set down
his sword, threw off the fur and angrily set to work. He pushed, pulled back, cursed and set his full weight against
it.
At last the snow and icy jambs relented, and they went out into the windy sea of powder. They passed
through the gorge, and out onto the table-like plain.
*
Kamela could not block the images from her mind; they
rose in their full intensity before her. The death of Shaezar, whom she had learned to love. The brutal rape by
Shar-hai and his guard. Then the murder of her two sons, too small even to understand what was happening. A line
of horror had been crossed inside her, from which there was no returning.
They struggled together through the
snow, these two whom life had wounded, the wolf mortally, the man to within the balance of a hair, though he still had hope.
Kalus, knowing her pain, cut the best swath he could, and
Kamela followed behind him. The wind had distributed the
snow unevenly, so that in some places movement was relatively easy, in others, nearly impossible. The thick overcast
of the sky threatened further storm, and the white of the accumulated snow could not fully illuminate the darkened landscape.
They
traveled north where Kalus hoped, though his heart was sickened by it, to find a frozen deer among the outlying forests.
They really had no other chance. The plains animals were gone, live deer were too swift, and no rabbit or fox would
be stirring in the extreme cold of this day.
So he trudged northward, chilled and sweating, using strength his
body did not have to give. His stomach felt hollow and sickly; his muscles trembled with fatigue. But he knew
(or thought) the alternative was despair, and his mind was not clear enough to perceive the danger. So he continued.
And
as he pushed on, farther and farther beyond the limits of endurance, it was as if he passed through a veil and walked, literally,
into another world. Time and distance became confused. . .and still on his feet he dreamed of straggling columns of
men, plodding through a frozen countryside. Ragged blue uniforms clung to their backs, to his. Wounded
and
sick, with helpless eyes searching both sides of the road, fearful of ambush. A comrade addressed him in French.....
He
stumbled forward in the snow, recovered himself. The world was quiet and deathly still. Kamela stood beside him,
tense and erect, ears raised and eyes searching. They had wandered into a recession between wooded hills, where the
snow was thick and visibility difficult. A pine branch released its burden of white, and suddenly he felt it too.
They were being watched. He had led them into an ambush.....
A dark shape flitted between trees on the eastern
slope. A low, impatient growling was heard. Kalus drew his sword to make a stand, but Kamela would not let him.
She bolted toward the slope even as a rush of movement erupted there. Two thin and ravening wolves, along with three
hyenas, broke from cover and began to converge upon the line she made, straight for them.
Her motive was simple.
Her own life meant nothing, and the man-child need not die. Also, there was the chance for revenge. She ran toward
death free and unafraid.
Kalus hesitated, unsure of enemies behind, and by the time he turned and made up his
mind to follow, it was too late. They were upon her, harrying and tearing in a scene made horrible and slow-motion by
the snow. Yet somehow she snarled free and lunged at one of the wolves, who had stumbled. The others tore into
her side and back legs, but her teeth had found their mark, and her last desire was fulfilled. The brutal Armus, black
wolf of Shar-hai’s guard, fell gasping and bleeding, his throat cut. As Kamela surrendered willingly to death.
She
was gone, and Kalus knew it, and the worst part was that his mind had already begun to accept it. Raging at his weakness
and cowardice, he rushed toward the scene of her bloody debauch.
But for all his reckless will and hatred, his
body simply would not respond. He had not gone twenty paces before his heart and lungs screamed in revolt, and all strength
left him. At the same moment the hyenas left their kill and savagely blocked his path. Their bristling, snarling
warnings said as clearly as words. “Be gone, or we will kill you, too.”
And as he stood helpless,
mustering all his courage just to stand and look imposing, the remaining wolf rushed past them and would have attacked. But
the others would not follow, and he was reluctant to face Kalus’ sword alone. By her final act of defiance, Kamela
had saved his life.
The hyenas returned to the still body of the she-wolf, and bickering among themselves, began
to drag it back into the forest. The companion of Armus stood for a time beside him, as if expecting him to somehow
shake off the stroke and rise again. But soon he saw that the wound was mortal, and knew his own life was in danger
if he stayed. The hyenas would turn on him next, and he had no illusions about what would happen to the body of his
friend. He turned to the northwest, and disappeared beneath the silently whispering pines.
Kalus was left
alone with the dying wolf. And as he watched its terrified eyes grow dull slowly like a fire that had burned itself
to nothing, he felt he watched his own death as well. He had failed again, miserably, and felt all chance for survival,
and the will to continue, evaporate. He fell to his knees in exhaustion, and heard the lone wolf at its distance release
a long howl of despair. Night fell, and darkness was all around him.
*
Walking back alone was perhaps the hardest thing he
had ever had to do. In his darkened state he felt he had no reason to live, but some stubborn and unvanquished voice
told him he must return. Weak and trembling, genuinely ill, he had no other goal but to reach the cave and collapse.
Digging deep, time and time again, he searched for the will to go on, just a little farther, holding the image of the girl
like an icon and a Quest before him. Many times he stumbled, and had to rouse himself to keep from lying down to sleep,
and die, in the snow. So weak and pathetic had his movement become that two jackals thought to attack him, and had to
be driven back, though they followed the rest of the way.
At long, impossible length he reached the gorge path
and slithered down. Upon reaching its base he could not at first rouse himself to continue. A great wall of despairing
fatigue seemed to stand before him, on top of him, and in his bones, an impenetrable “No” formed of unendurable
stone. He was tired, and the weight was too much.
His one desire at that moment was to sleep and say goodbye.
Just sleep. Sylviana would understand. After all, she still had Akar. Together they could fly with Skither
to the Island, and all would be well. And he smiled, because Skither was not dead. That was only a dream.
Together they rode on his wings, above the parting clouds.....
Through the delirium he heard a confused sound
of high yapping barks and deeper, more terrible growls. Then he felt a tugging at his shoulder and finally, the cutting
of teeth. He jerked forward in dismay, expecting to be assailed.
But the call to life had come from Akar,
who stood guarding him quietly in the darkness, stood waiting for him to revive, stand, and make the final effort. Kalus
raised himself slowly, let out a groan of pain and loss, then followed him up the merciless incline.
At length
a door was opened in front of him and a feverish light streamed out. He fell forward. Perhaps someone caught him;
perhaps they did not.
He knew nothing more.
Chapter 19
Kalus revived (or came to) the next morning, but could
not at first remember where he was. The events of the day before had struck so suddenly..... Again he lay in the
bed of cool moss, covered with furs, his wounds being treated by the soothing hands of a woman-child. He turned as if
in a dream to look upon the face of his redeemer.
But no, that was long ago. Now the woman-child was his
friend, his mate. Was it possible? Why was the chamber so cold? And what of the wolf-cub that lay nestled
beside him? As the cloud of amnesia, like a blow to the head which jarred him to another time, slowly cleared, he remembered.
And understood. The images of Kamela’s death came back to him with feverish clarity. He shivered, and a
burst of physical panic made him bolt upright, scattering the furs and startling the cub. The girl took him by the shoulders
and forced him back down. Unprotected, his skin felt icy cold, and his body ached with a dull, yellow pain.
One
by one the furs were replaced on top of him. He did not fight, but clung to them as if to life, and tucked the edges
beneath him to block out the cold. The need to struggle back to warmth was so great, and so immediate, that his mind
had no time for despair, or the full realization of his plight. He shivered, and sucked his aching teeth and thought
of nothing. At length he slept, though fitfully and full of dark dream.
He woke to find his worst fears
come true. He was weak and ill, trapped in Winter, physically unable to fight for his survival. There was little
food, and now no chance of getting more. The woman-child he loved, and the pup whose life was now his responsibility,
would perish alongside him. All was ended. He had failed.
But all was not ended. That would
have been too simple and absolute. They still had the reserves, though tapping into them so soon went against all his
instincts, and roused the already powerful voices of fear inside him. And though to one who has never had to survive,
literally, day to day, these emotions may seem mere words, to Kalus they were as powerful and menacing as the physical threat
of a lion. How much more of this could his spirit endure? To rise, again and again, from the decimations of this
world, to go on without hope for so long, never seeing the end of the tunnel.
Because a man who finds the tight-rope
of his existence drawn so fine, the abyss below him so deep and terrifying, can never see the natural and benevolent forces
that may (or may not) come to his aid. But the dangers and possible means of his downfall, wrapped with fear and based
on past experience, are as clear to him as the struggling flesh he inhabits. For truth and fear exist only inches apart,
and fear, by its very nature, will always seem the stronger voice. Men have faced this same darkness for thousands of
years, and many fallen before it. And the darkness never ends.
Kalus felt, as he always had in times of
deep struggle, the eternal desire for life that calls a man to action in the face of danger, and courage in the face of despair.
But he also felt something altogether new, or at least, never before felt at this level of intensity. He felt a flat
and empty indifference that told him all such effort was futile, even laughable, in the eyes of the gods who tormented him.
Just as a laboratory animal that can endure no more torture will simply stop eating and slowly die of shock, he too felt that
he had been punished long enough, that any reasonable bounds of endurance had been long since passed, and that the hopeless
games of this world no longer held any meaning for him. He saw only death: his father mauled by a bear, Shama
torn open by Shar-hai and his guard, who had themselves been dragged back to earth. Skither, who had died alone in a
stinking hole at the hands of mindless brutes, protecting others who were heedless. And at the last, when his spirit
had nothing left, Kamela, who had perished to save his own, meaningless life.
The truth now seemed so clear to
him that he was amazed he had not seen it before. All the useless struggles ended in death, either quickly, or in humiliating
sickness and old age. All earthly bonds were passing, torn asunder by the whims of Nature and uncaring Time. And
therefore all life was futile. Still worse, it was absurd. A man who possessed real courage only wasted it in
endlessly trying to continue. Let him take that courage
instead and say, “Enough! This torture must
not be allowed to continue. If I cannot choose the manner of my life, I will at least choose the manner, and time of
my death.” Kalus knew nothing of existentialism, or the other fashionable philosophies of men. He knew nothing
of the religious fears of mankind, or of his angry, despairing pride in himself. He knew only that his heart was broken,
and he wanted to die. The dull and hopeless look that had fixed itself in the eyes of Kamela, became his as well.
He
no longer cared, and had lost all fear of death.
Chapter 20
The wind howled outside them and the chamber held no
warmth. His body shivered and coughed, and excreted the pain that knew no bounds. Sylviana moved the fire closer
to the bed, then tried to seal out the wind that stole through the cracks in the barrier.
It was hard and frustrating
work. But rather than crumble to see Kalus laid so low, and become cold and distant, she sensed that responsibility
for their survival had been shifted onto her, and she responded. Through all the trials, all the highs and lows that
she had endured the last year of her life, she would have thought she’d have nothing left, and that such a crisis would
be her final undoing. But she was wrong. A quiet strength and maturity had been growing inside her, and now she
put it to the test.
Forming the mortar to fill the cracks required effort and endless perseverance. The
hard earth below them, packed solid for so long, was reluctant to be uprooted and mixed with melting snow beside the fire.
And the straw that was called for was simply unavailable. So she took dry pine needles, ground them up, and mixed them
in by hand. The only large ‘bowl’ they possessed---a curving palette of stone---held only a small amount
compared to the number and size of the cracks she must fill, and it was heavy and awkward. Then the mortar itself seemed
not to want to stay where it was put. It took constant adjustments in the mix and in her technique just to find a half
workable formula. Her hands were cold and ragged and pricked by countless needles, and there was no one to encourage
her or appreciate the effort. Kalus was oblivious, in sleep or in waking, and Akar was off somewhere alone. The
pup followed her with its eyes and occasionally whimpered for food. That was all.
But that was not what mattered.
The man she cared for, and who had
done the same for her many times, was sick and helpless. She stayed with the
task all through the night, until the work was done. Then at last, wearily, she made her way to the bed and knelt beside
him. His fever still burned, and the cold drafts that pulsed down through the shaft still troubled him.
She
thought to make up his bed somewhere else, but realized that laying him on the cold floor might be worse. She looked
over through the shadows at the dais beneath the altar, but could not think how to bring the fire close enough.....
The pup, lonely, hungry and confused, moved beside her and looked up at her with pleading eyes. She comforted it as
best she could, then gently roused her companion.
“Kalus?”
“Yes.”
His voice was flat, though he shivered.
“Later today I have to go to one of the reserves of meat, for the
pup at least. Then maybe move you to the dais, if that will help. Where is the nearest of the reserves?”
He
shook his head without a sound. Misunderstanding, she got angry.
“Why not? Don’t you
even care about the pup?”
Again he shook his head, and said in a hoarse voice. “Too dangerous.”
“Damn,”
she said. “Damn it all.” True, bitter frustration had caught her at last, a destructive anger which
found no release. She stood up and paced wildly around the room. He knew what she was feeling, and it troubled him.
“Where
is Akar?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied, her anger turning swiftly to concern,
then bordering on panic. “He’s been out since last night.” It would be the last straw if something
had happened.....
She stiffened, hearing a scratching sound at the door. Fearing the worst, her mind made
no connection until she heard a sharp bark, and Kalus said. “It’s the wolf.”
As she forced
open the door against the onslaught of snow-laced wind, she slid down, shivering in the cold and wet. Akar slipped past
her. When at last she recovered herself and rose and closed the door, she leaned back against it to face him, her emotions
strained to the limit.
When she saw what he carried she knelt down and embraced him and wept. Though weak
and injured himself, his mobility hampered still further by the snow, somehow he had done it. A large rabbit lay on
the floor beside
him.
“How did you do it?” she stammered. “When we needed it most.”
Again she buried her face against him, in her exhaustion unable to stop crying.
“Because he has the heart
of a champion,” said Kalus, himself both moved and ashamed. The help unlooked-for had arrived, and they would
live a little longer.
Chapter 21
The next day Kalus felt a little better. The
small portion of meat he had been able to push past his swollen throat had calmed his delirium, and seemed to help his body
generate a little warmth of its own. But he was still very sick, and any attempt to get up and move about was met with
failure and a stern rebuke from the girl. She didn’t realize, and possibly shouldn’t have, that to Kalus
being helpless was the equivalent of being dead. This attempt at the least physical exertion, walking, was his way of
rejecting fear and trying, impossible as the task seemed, to turn away from the inner darkness that told him his life was
over.
Because Kalus, too, had great heart. No matter how many times he was broken, he had always been able
to rally somehow and go on. The problem now was that he had lost sight of that faith and hope, the belief that no matter
what happened, he would always find a way to survive, and keep the spirit alive inside him. His confidence in himself,
at best of times uncertain because of the severity of the roads which led to manhood, was all but extinguished.
There
had been so little margin for error in his life, and worse had come to worst so many times, that he could not help but wonder
if he possessed some terrible flaw, some shortcoming which made failure inevitable. But when he looked at this more
closely, he knew in his heart that he had always done his best: that he had taken the only paths open to him, that he
had never quit, or expected anything to be easy or free.
What was it then that defeated him? To this he
had no answer, only frustrated rage that having no release, turned inward upon itself. The bitter maze of his emotions
had joined together into a tightly knotted and irremovable clot, blocking out all light and making life, even the simplest
continuance, seem utterly impossible.
And yet another element had been thrown into the balance. He had
discovered, almost suddenly, the depths of his love for Sylviana. And while this might have comforted him and been a
source or quiet strength, two nagging fears had risen alongside it, which in his present state seemed undeniable. First,
though he knew she cared for him, and in her way even loved him, that was now, when her need was greatest and there was no
one else to choose from. What if someday there were others? And secondly, of more immediate concern, he felt he
could not take care of her, or give her the things she needed to live. His every attempt had ended in failure and near
disaster, and he clearly saw the price it cost her. He felt for this reason, and others like it, that he had no right
to think of her as his own, a belief which galled his animal self to no end.
*
As all of this passed inside him, Sylviana continued to
work quietly away, doing everything she could think of to stabilize the temperature of the enclosure. First she took
pine branches they had used as a blind outside the barrier, and placed them in a careful thatching pattern inside the shaft,
here
at the bottom where it was narrowest. This still allowed the smoke to pass up through it, if more slowly, but
also kept out much of the wind, especially the sudden gusts which seemed to trouble him so.
Then she made a canopy
of the projecting altar above his bed, stitching together a patchwork of smaller skins to hang down from it. She also
heated stones beside the fire, and placed them by his side when he slept.
But perhaps the wisest and most beneficial
thing she did for him in those days, beside not giving up herself, was to read to him. It occurred to her that one of
the things that made his life so difficult was the fact that his deepest thoughts remained isolated: he didn’t
know that other men felt the same emptiness, and confronted the same unspoken fears. So she dug into the long, enclosed
bookshelf that lay half buried in a corner of the treasure room, until she found works of fiction and philosophy which seemed
appropriate. She then read to him fragments of each, asking which he preferred.
He was cold to the idea
at first, not understanding, and expressed no preference. But she noticed that his eyes became puzzled and alert at
the first chapter of “For Whom the Bell Tolls,” and that he seemed to want to ask questions, but did not.
So
she read him several chapters each day, until at last he began to open up, and to ask her. Had men really lived that
way? Why did Robert Jordan not take the woman he loved far away from the war? And was it really possible to feel
the earth move beneath them when they made love?
And slowly, as always, quietly, the profound pain and beauty
of true literature began to work its haunting and healing magic upon him. His thought no longer bounded by the physical
reality around him, he found in books a way to escape and look beyond himself, into worlds he had never dreamed of, and to
empathize with struggles and disillusioning he had imagined did not exist outside himself. Simply put, he became connected
to the souls, singular and collective, of humanity.
And to know the woman held all these things in her mind and
in her heart, put him almost in awe of her. And in truth, she herself received more from the living pages than she had
ever done before. Now that her own life had become so real, she discovered (probably something she knew, deep down)
that the truly great writers did not exaggerate the intensity of human drama, or the power of their own emotions, but only
spoke honestly and
without dilution of the worlds that they had known. Dickens especially she loved, because he
made her feel the joys and terrors of children, who from the outset of life had experienced sorrow and loss, when her own
childhood had been so safe and full, the death of her mother notwithstanding. And she, too, began to see Kalus differently,
and to understand some measure of the invisible pain he felt.
At times it was almost too much, for both of them,
to look at life so closely in the midst of danger, and he would ask her to stop, or she would set down the book she read silently
to herself. Such was the power of those days. With the intensity of Nature’s relentless backdrop, emotions
were tested like ship’s rigging in a gale. And both knew, despite the woman’s stubborn optimism, that it
would take more than all their courage for the ship to still float brokenly at the morning of calm sea’s return.
Invaluable
time was passing, and Kalus’ illness refused to heal. His body had been pushed beyond its limits, and a virus
for which he had no defense (for it was carried by the girl) had entrenched itself in his lungs and intestines, spreading
pain and chill weakness throughout. An unfair battle had been joined inside him, one in which will alone was not enough.
The
man-child’s hand was forced, and all power to choose taken from him. He must learn patience in the face of starvation.
Chapter 22
Two weeks passed, following much the same pattern:
Kalus trying to fight back against sickness and despair, his inner fire burning ever lower, a continuing downward spiral.
And the girl, trying to hold on to hope enough for both of them. But despite the books and her new-found courage, she
too began to feel numbed by the incessant howling of Winter, that raged like a mindless brute outside their doors, reaching
in with deadly fingers at the slightest opportunity. She was puzzled also by Kalus’ inability to recover from
what seemed to her a simple, if severe, virus.
But if she was puzzled, Kalus was devastated. His entire
existence, from youngest boyhood, had been based around hardihood and the ability to overcome wound, sickness and depravation.
In his world those who could not do so perished. All the hard lessons he had learned, centered around one simple and
unalterable necessity: self-reliance. And here he was, flat on his back, unable to fight or recover, unable to
support even himself, let alone those he cared for. He was less than useless, a drain on their efforts, on their need
to reject him and go on. Never had he known such helplessness.
But here the words run out. It was
not a single catastrophic event, nor a succession of smaller devastations, which led him to his moment of destruction, but
a lifetime of endless conflict, broken dreams and dark, twisted, hopeless roads. There was nothing left to say or feel.
He simply could not go on. As Sylviana read to him the last chapter of Hemingway, the futility of life congealed into
a single, inescapable blade that no longer hovered at a distance, but stood poised like a needle above his heart. All
was black, and like Kamela before him the very throbbing of his heart, with its surges of love and hope was the final, crushing
despair.
He waited until the girl was asleep, then put her knife into the soft flesh beneath his ear and began
to cut downward, a sinister, sweeping smile.
But the pain was greater than he imagined, and something yet stronger
stayed his hand. It wasn’t that he lacked the courage. But if felt so very, very wrong. After all
the battles he had fought and the hardships endured, all the times that death had been beaten back. . .to be his own undoing.....
The instinct to survive had been too deeply ingrained. He dropped weeping and bleeding on his face, writhing in unquenchable
anguish.
He still might have bled to death, but for the constant miracle that lived on unnoticed in their midst:
the blind desire and yearning of youth, embodied in the new and emerging life of the pup. His elbow landed hard on one
of its paws as it slept, and knowing nothing of hopelessness and death, it simply did what its senses told it to. It
cried out.
Roused by the sound the girl came closer, lifted aside the canopy, and after a moment of helpless
terror, turned Kalus onto his back and with shaking hands worked to stop the bleeding.
*
But the damage had been done. With that last paroxysm
of emotion, all feeling left him. He was not only resigned to death, he believed the process had already begun.
As the girl watched helplessly, he became like a critically abused child, neither eating nor speaking, without expression
or sorrow or movement. His spirit was already dead, and waited only for the body to follow. The girl wept openly
on his chest, but the seeds of his heart refused to grow. His tale was over, a tragedy.
On the third day
he asked for a sip of water, told the girl that he loved her, and asked her to forgive him. She said nothing and he
went to sleep, expecting never to be wakened in this world again.
*
But just as the spirit is not slave to the body, neither
does the body cease to function simply because the will commands it. Though he had given up on life, life had not yet
given up on him. Death, if he truly desired it, wasn’t going to be that easy.
Chapter 23
The night was bitter and stark, with hard stars like
countless pin-pricks staring lidless upon the Earth. The world itself was equally sharp, trees frozen, rocks cracking
with the cold. But one creature, not yet versed in Night’s supremacy, struggled on against the icy stillness.
The
yearling tiger moved drunkenly forward, at intervals collapsing upon its injured hind leg. Weak from hunger and loss
of blood, the dizziness was becoming chronic. It lay for a time where it had fallen, licking the hard snow and fighting,
instinctively, to remain conscious. Though born to withstand the numbing cold there were other dangers, and death, a
thing it did not understand but instinctively feared, was not far off.
Somehow it had wandered into a cleft between
high walls. Forward or backward, it could not now recall. It regained its feet and struggled on. All bearing
and sense of direction lost, it suddenly found itself confronted by a steep incline, rising darkly from the soft blur of
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