Rapture In Blue

Rapture in Blue   by Riley Gerberick

Gil half-ran, half stumbled down the hillside, doing his best to avoid the saplings scattered along the slope. The loose dirt and soil gave way under an over-stepped bound, and he was sent tumbling. He fell uncontrolled, the world spinning around him, until he careened off of a granite boulder and slid to a stop at the bottom of the ravine. Eyes still adjusting from the impact, he crawled over behind a small mound and lay as still as he could, controlling his breath. Listening. 

After a few minutes of silence, he reached the decision that it was safe to move again. He stood slowly, brushing the dirt and soil from his clothing and hair. He glanced up the hillside and saw the snapped trunks of young trees and the trench that his body had ground through the earth. He sighed a small mourning, and hoped they’d be able to survive after some splicing. He reached into his satchel and retrieved his data-slate. First, he took a picture of one of the small plants, even though it was damaged. Then, he entered his report. 

[FAUNA CONFIRMED] [GROWTH SUCCESSFUL] 

#

The hatch door slid open and closed as Gil returned to the compound. He dropped his bag and stood motionless as the chamber filled with gas for a moment, blowing the minerals and bits of vegetation off of him, before sucking the air out. The grinding sound of the dirt being sucked through the vents lasted only an instant. 

“You’re clean, G. Come on in.”
The entrance door hissed open and Gil stepped inside. All of the compound lights were on, washing the room in the sterile white-blue light. He made his way through the main room to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, grabbing one of the ready bottles of green liquid. 

“Dude, you were a mess,” the voice said behind him. “Did you try and get in touch with your inner earthworm or what?”
“No, Virgil, I did not.” Gil stood and took a drink of the rejuvenating formula. “The wildlife is growing quickly, and I may have come across one of the more territorial species.”
“Did you challenge it for a mate?” The voice chuckled to itself. “Because if I were to guess, I’d say it looks like you offended it on a personal level.”
Gil walked over to the central terminal and sat in one of the chairs. He looked up at the main console installed in the ceiling, directly over the flat terminal he was using as a table. The rounded node projected a holo-image of the surrounding area, data and graphs rising and scrolling next to each biome. “Virgil, end personality program.” 

There was a pause.

The voice came back over the terminal speaker, its tone significantly reduced. “My apologies, Gil. Was there something unsatisfactory?”
“No, Virgil, I just don’t think it’s the time for it.”
“Understood. It can be difficult to hear human speech patterns with no body to attribute them to, I suppose.”
“Yeah,” Gil said as he scrolled his finger over the projection, moving the constructed image to different locations, “something like that.”

“Something like that?” Virgil repeated, inquiring. 

Gil looked up at the ceiling, past the hub where the AI was housed. He wondered if conversing with the AI was worthwhile but decided that his silence on the subject would only result in more questions in the future. 

“Hearing people again is upsetting.”
“Because you miss them, Gil? I know that I do at times. Or at the very least, I believe that is what the feeling is.”
“No, Virgil. It was the tone of voice in...it reminded me of…” Gil took another drink, giving his thoughts a chance to find the words. “The Earth has been in Her death throws for a long time, Virgil,” he said at last, “and we are prolonging it. Hearing the voice of someone who casually left Her like this bothered me is all.”
There was a pause as the AI hub light blinked. Processing Gil’s thoughts was something that Virgil struggled with. “My apologies, Gil.” Virgil echoed. 

“It’s fine, V,” Gil said apologetically. He did not enjoy being rude with his companion. “Here,” he said, changing the subject. He tapped the data slate to the terminal table. A 3D holo-rendering of the broken sapling was projected over the table.

“A new sibling species,” Virgil chimed. “Remarkable. Excellent find, Gil. I will be sure to monitor it’s growth for comparison. I assume you repaired it?”
“I did my best,” Gil answered.

“That is good. I must also congratulate you on the new predator species confirmation. It is good to see that life is continuing to adapt and survive despite the relatively sparse amount of vegetation in the region for the herbivores.”
“That's what concerns me, actually.” Gil groaned and sat up. He set down his drink and pulled the holo-image of the sapling away up into the air, prompting the program to display the map once more, but with a higher amount of information and detail on the region. “They aren’t going to survive long if there isn’t enough to sustain them. They’ll die out within one hundred years.”
“I will run some more projections,” Virgil suggested. “Perhaps relocating them will allow the environment more time to develop.”
“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Gil admitted. He leaned back and put his feet up onto the console. 

“Gil?”

“Yes, Virgil?”
“I am relieved that you have returned safely.”
Gil couldn’t help but smile briefly and snorted. “Me too, V.”

#

Gil’s eyes opened and he looked around the room. He noticed the floors were not as dusty as he was used to. He pushed the pod open and slowly stepped out onto the tile floor, stretching his limbs out of habit. The cool blue-white lights blinked on in response to his movement. 

“Good morning, handsome,” the woman’s voice said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough,” Gil offered. He walked over to the armoire and began to dress himself. “How long was I asleep?” 

“Not too long this time,” the woman said from the doorway. “Only about one hundred years this time.”
“Why so soon?” Gil asked, pulling the synthetic long-sleeve over himself. 

“One of our nodes went quiet in the North Atlantic. We can’t get a reading without going there in person. Ocean levels need to be recorded. You know the drill. Hope you enjoy the cold,” she offered with a wink.

Gil looked at himself in the mirror. His reddish brown hair stuck out from his head at odd angles. His pale green eyes scanned over his face. Nothing looked too different. Glancing to his left, he looked at the woman leaning against the doorframe, watching him quietly. She had long dark hair in a braid that hung around her shoulder, with warm brown skin that stood out in the cool light. “Who is this?” he asked, gesturing to her. 

“This is Cassandra Narvaez,” the woman said, proudly. She struck a pose that could have been either gracious or imperious. “One of the engineers of the project. She is your mother.”
Gil paused. “And you decided to wake me with her image...because?” 

“I find it entertaining to see how these people behaved in life,” Virgil said, through the image of the woman. “I can piece a personality profile together from the recordings I have stored. Plus, I find a strange compulsion to preserve them somehow,” Virgil said, shrugging. She looked at Gil. “Are you not a fan?”

“I just find it strange is all,” Gil said, turning back to his reflection. “You inhabiting the likeness of a long dead woman.”
“She was my creator,” Virgil said, punctually. “I’d like to think of it as honoring her.” The woman smiled again. “I suppose that makes us siblings.”

Gil opened his mouth but a thought occurred to him. “Do you do this often? While I’m asleep?”

The woman’s face did not change. Virgil was thinking. Gil wondered if he could genuinely be embarrassed. 

“Not often,” Virgil finally offered, revealingly. His propensity to hang onto his creators always made Gil curious.
“Well, can you end your ceremony while I’m still here?” Gil asked, turning to the image. 

She sighed, “Fine. Have it your way.” The image of the woman faded in a cascade of light and the hallway went dark.” There was a silence as Gil walked out and towards the kitchen. “Did I do something to upset you, Gil?” Virgil asked inquisitively, the voice returned to the familiar upbeat, yet analytical, tone. 

A pulse of guilt and regret bloomed in Gil. “I just don’t see the point in preserving the memory of someone long dead, V, especially when there is nobody left to remember her.” Gil reached behind the couple rows of emptied containers and procured another of the green concoctions.
“You are able to remember her, Gil. As am I.”

“Fair enough,” Gil relented. “Tell me about her, then. And the others who started the project, while you are at it.”

#

The water broke softly as Gil emerged to the surface. A wave immediately buffeted him from the back, submerging him for an instant. Surfacing again, he wiped the frothy sea foam from his visor, and began to swim forward to the shore. He dragged himself away from the water once he reached the sand until he had escaped the receding tide. Slowly, he removed his helmet, dark green seaweed falling off of him with a small splash of water. He raised his arm and withdrew the probe from the protective pocket. The screen blinked to life as he accessed the records. 

[AVERAGE TEMPERATURE CHANGE: -1℃] [NEW MICRO-ORGANISMS DETECTED]

Gil breathed a sigh of relief and sat on the soft sand, facing the black waters he’d come from as he perused the rest of the data. Saline levels, images of sea life, tidal currents all read back to him. He looked over to the kelp that had jockeyed him to the surface and removed the data slate from his suit and held the specimen up to take a picture of it for Virgil. After he was satisfied with the composition, he tossed the strand back into the water and watched the ripples of its impact disappear among the creeping tide. 

He sat there for a few minutes longer, listening to the crashing of waves under the cloudy sky. Pillars of sunlight broke through the cloud cover, piercing the dark waters like it was a scene of the rapture from an old movie. Only the timing was off, and the creatures being saved were not the ones leaving the Earth. 

#

Gil stepped inside the chamber and pulled the door closed behind him, before forcing the locking lever down, sealing the chamber. He waited, resting against the wall of the small cell, until he realized the sterilization process hadn’t started. He opened his eyes, his brow already furrowed. “Virgil?”
“Hello Gil,” Virgil’s polite voice came over the intercom. “Good to see you have returned.”
“Thanks. Good to be back.” 

There was a long pause before Gil spoke again.
“Do you mind opening the door?”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that, Gil.”
“And why is that?”
“We cannot risk exposing the facility to the elements,” Vigil stated matter of factly. “Any foreign bacteria or trace elements would eventually compromise the integrity of our systems and severely limit the longevity of our facility.” He waited. “Have you forgotten?”
“I have not forgotten,” Gil answered. “Could you run the sterilization then?”
“Unfortunately, the chamber is not sealed. So, no. I cannot.”
“How is it not sealed?” Gil asked, incredulously. “I closed the door behind me.” He knocked on it with the flat of his hand as if to show the A.I. 

“It appears that the mechanism has failed,” Virgil continued. 

“Again?” Gil turned around to look at the door behind him. The electromagnetic locks had failed while he was away on one of his previous expeditions.The door had become misaligned and damaged after a large animal had chased Gil back to the compound and thrown itself against the door before it had sealed in an attempt to get at him. Gil was physically incapable of repairing the reinforced metal door, and Vigil’s systems had no way of affecting it. They had been forced to resort to the manual locks. If those had failed as well, however, he was in trouble.

“So how do we fix it?”
“I’m not sure,” Virgil mused. “I have no functionality to affect the systems of the bunker outside of the chamber itself. Some might call it poetic that humanity had complete faith in its creations to solve their own failings,” offered Virgil.
Gil looked at the speaker on the ceiling. “Did you just tell a joke, Virgil?”
“That was my intention, yes,” said the speaker. “I thought it may help to lighten the mood.”

“Some might call it ironic that advanced technology is thwarted because there isn't a doorknob, either.” If Virgil could not help get him back inside, then he would have to try to find a way to do it on his own.“Would I be able to find the necessary materials to repair the door?”

“Unclear,” Virgil stated. “Because we do not know what has failed, either in the sensors or mechanically, we would need to take the catch apart to find the problem, and that may jeopardize the integrity further.”
Gil said nothing for a moment. If he wasn’t able to get back inside, he wouldn’t be able to sleep for centuries at a time again. The passage of time would affect him, and if any of the global systems needed repairing in the future…

A chill fear crept over him, through his abdomen. “So what are you telling me, V?”
“I’m telling you that I cannot help you, my friend. You may be outside and awake for a very long time. I’m sorry, Gil.”

#

Gil leaned up against the inner door of the chamber. Despite knowing that the hatch had kept a complete seal, he still closed the outer door as much as he could when he returned to and left the facility. Due to the inability to gain more of the nutrients he required, Gil limited his mobility for a long time, but knew that it was inevitable that he would have to return to the world. His body began to shut down non-essential functions as it conserved energy. Virgil had done his best to keep Gil company in the following years, telling him stories of the humanity that used to call the Earth home, replayed old movies and books over the speaker in the chamber, and updated him with the crawlingly slow progression of the Earth’s habitability. 

It was terrible. 

Years passed outside the chamber. Occasionally, Gil went out to repair more probes and recover more data. Soon enough, though, he started going out of curiosity. Something possessed him to see more. He got lost. Walked thousands of miles. Made new discoveries he otherwise would not have cared to search out. All the while he kept a transceiver for Virgil to communicate with him if need be. Despite his distant companion, he found a wondrous comfort in the quiet of the navy blue starry night in the mountains, the gentle hush of wind in the verdant leaves of young forests, the overwhelming feeling of rain soaking his clothing and matting his hair against his skin, and the soft brushing of tall golden grass against his leg in the plains. He watched the growing of herds rediscovering their ancestral homes, bison turning the surrounding landscape into a roil of brown and black. The rise of new predators developing as the lords of their domains, their maws, talons, and paws marked with regal scarlet. He heard the song of birds from the rubble of ancient cities that had burned themselves out long ago, great grey hives wrapped in lush green with splotches and dots of vibrant color from the flowers and avian life that repurposed the ruins of humanity. Sometimes, at night, he would contact Virgil to share what he’d seen, what he’d felt. Virgil, for once, became a very gracious listener, and encouraged Gil to tell him all that he witnessed, and happily accepted the occasional moments of majesty the Earth allowed Gil to share with him. 

For the first time, Gil wondered how anybody could have shared all of this and yet not wanted either themselves or their blessings to stay. For the first time, he felt they may have a chance in saving Her.

#

A soup of grey fog obscured Gil’s view of the valley below him as he rested for the evening. He had covered many kilometers after repairing another node for Virigl in the valley below, and had hiked up to the point in the hills he had spotted for the best vantage. The promise of a view from above always got the better of him. Disappointed in his luck, he pulled the radio from his bag. “You there, Virgil?”

“Of course, Gil. I’m happy to see you have made it to your destination.”

“Me too, V.” Gil stood and walked along the ledge of the outcropping he stood on. “I wish you could have seen it, V. The area is starting to look like, well, Earth again. I counted 33 different species today alone. And that’s just the fauna.” He noticed he was smiling.

“I can get a rough image from the satellites,” Virgil offered, “but I’m sure that the view from the ground is much better.” 

“Not at the moment,” Gil sighed. “The fog layer came in thicker than I was expecting during the climb. I’m pretty blind.”

“That is unfortunate.”
“You’re telling me. I was hoping that I could take another picture to upload at the next uplink location. I know how much you enjoy seeing closeups of -”

“Gil.”

Virgil had never interrupted him before.
“What is it, friend?” Gil said, gently. 

“I do not mean to upset you, but a possibility occurred to me.”

“Go on.”

Gil could hear the AI processing in the silence. His way of thinking. “It had not been as probable before, when you were able to safely come and go from the compound, but I realized that something could happen to you out there. And we do not know when or what that might be.”

Gil looked down to the radio. “Are you saying you are worried about me?” 

“I would not say worried,” Virgil corrected. “I do not think I am capable of anxiety. Merely, mortality is a much more present factor to consider lately. And that has caused me to realize that one day I will be gone. One day you will be gone. Once our task is complete, that is. And I am grateful to have known you.”

Gil had sat down while Virgil was speaking. He was not looking out this time, but at his own hands, scratched, scarred, and damaged from his time outside. Virgil’s propensity to simulate human emotions had wavered in Gil’s time outside, and now he genuinely questioned if the AI was only simulating them. “I am too, V. I would not have rather had any other companion.”

“Do try to be safe however. I expect the Earth will still need a caretaker for a while.”

Gil held back a laugh. “Who knows? She may be fine from here on out. We may also get another 40 years together. We may get more.”

“I hope it is more,” Virgil said. 

#

The earthquake had come quickly, with little anticipation. Gil had first heard about it from one of the seismograph readers after returning to the part of the continent where the facility sat. He had run for days when he discovered what had happened, ignoring the physical damage he suffered as a result. He stopped as he rounded the corner of the small valley. The land was shaped differently than he remembered, and the outer door had been blocked by fallen rocks and earth in the landslide. Gil spent hours digging at the entrance. He pulled with reckless abandon, heaving boulders away from the door. He crushed his hand between two large stones, rendering it useless. Still, he persisted, ignoring the loss of a hand and the occasional sparking of wires in his limb. 

Eventually, the hatch was accessible and he was able to squeeze his way inside. The inner door was still solid. 

“Virgil?!” Gil called. 

There was no response. 

“Virgil, are you there?”
Silence still. 

Gil pressed himself up against the inner door and, grasping it with both his good hand and what he could with his broken one, pulled. He pulled. He pulled at it until the whining in his joints became more than a whine and his broken hand tore itself apart as the doorway finally gave way. The force of the quake had misaligned the inner door on its railings and the screech of metal on metal cried his access to the facility. 

Inside, it was a disaster. Parts of the walls had completely collapsed to the surge of earth and stone. The light fixtures were dark. Broken wires and pipes jutted out into the open air, like compound fractures of metal. He approached the central terminal. The hub hung limply from the ceiling. The forever glowing light in the center was shattered and dark, its pale-blue light gone. 

Gil walked to one side of the terminal and reached up to it, gently placing his hand on it. Virgil had been the only thing he knew. There was no repairing this. 

A soft blinking reflecting off the glass of the hub caught his eye. Gil looked down to the terminal screen. Holo-projections of the land were gone; the only thing on the display were two simple lines of text. It was cracked, and fuzzy, the text on the screen shook slightly. It was still legible, however. 

The first message read:

[INNER CHAMBER BREACHED. INOPERABILITY PREDICTED AT-] 

Gil reached down and lifted the chair that had been tossed to the ground, and sat in it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes one last time. His job was over. It had been for some time, it seemed. Virgil had known, and had withheld the knowledge from him. There was nothing more to be done. 

The second message read:

[RE-CLIMITIZATION COMPLETE. ENVIRONMENTAL LEVELS OPTIMAL. TERMINATING FUNCTIONS.]

Scene from The Beclan Incident

The meeting had taken place near the edge of town in a worn down apartment building. Dunnak had done his best to be promptly on time. It was revealed that the mark they were going after was Cliven Estmont, the self proclaimed Baron of Beclan. Dunnak felt no qualms stealing from him. He had seen the kind of estate the baron had, and it was clear how much of a squeeze he had on the city’s economy. They were looking for blackmail. When the plan was explained, Dunnak had suggested that the existing route would have exposed them in the open yard between the gate and manor. The smartest move would be going through the maintenance shaft that ran water from the main house to the guard barracks. He knew there had to be a passage to fit people in to repair the pipes if something broke. Vaughn Skol had complimented him on the idea.

As Dunnak made his way to his usual spot at the Tin Crown the day after the meeting, there was a particular gloom in the air. Something about the way the lanterns shone in the late night. The lights seemed to stretch longer and the dark that surrounded them seemed deeper. A strange feeling he couldn’t exactly describe.

What he could feel, though, was the cold that seeped through his coat and into his ribs. He desperately hoped it was warmer where he was going. The rain in Beclan always brought numbing cold.  Lightning flashed behind him and lit up the deserted street ahead, contrasting the light reflected in the pools to the inky corridors and alleys. 

Dunnak saw a mark up ahead that seemed unsuspecting. He approached the figure who had his back turned and was leaning on a wall, but as he grew closer, he saw the tells of poverty on him. Torn shoes, a patchwork jacket. Dunnak put his hand back in his pocket and moved on. 

“Oi!” a voice barked. 

Dunnak cursed under his breath; this street was usually safe. Ice gripped his ribs, the fear and adrenaline creating a numbing mixture in his veins. He slowly turned his head to glance behind him, keeping his hood as far over his face as he could. Two men, one much taller than the other stood in the middle of the street. He caught the gleam of daggers on their belts. The two began to walk forward and Dunnak took a step back, nearly slipping on the slick stone. 

To his surprise, they advanced on the figure he had just passed on. The urchin began to plead. 

“Fellas, please! I’ll get the money to ya! Two more days, is all I ask. My girls are starving as it is.”

“You missed your payment date.” The shorter one of the two men replied in a casual manner. This was not new to him, nor did it seem significant. The taller one, still silent, gripped the street urchin by his jacket. 

Dunnak didn’t leave right away. Part of him wanted to help, but before he could leave, the choice was made for him, and the shorter of the two turned towards him. 

“You watchin’ somethin’?” 

“No, I didn’t see anything.” 

There was a pregnant pause. “I know that voice.” 

A second flash of lightning washed the street in light. Enough for all of the people on the street to see each other’s faces. 

“Well, well. So the rat surfaces. Who’d you spill the Shenazi story to, Dunnak?”

He bolted. 

Lights from windows blurred past him as he ran through the streets and rain fell into his eyes. He could hear them following behind him, the boots splashing and clomping on the ground. Dunnak cut a sharp right after exiting a back alley. His feet slipped out from under him on the turn, and he fell headlong into the ground, face slamming into the stone street. One of his tusks bit through his upper lip and he tasted blood. The world spun. Despite the ringing in his ears, he could hear the other two grow closer. Dunnak tried to push himself up, but his sense of balance was gone and his legs could find no purchase on the wet stone.   

A hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and heaved him off the ground. Dunnak tried to resist, but his limbs failed him, and he was pulled into the shadows, a hand covering his mouth. He was shoved to the ground, landing hard on the stone again. There was a series of muffled grunts and thuds from behind him. 

Then silence. 

Dunnak turned his head and his eyes grew wide when he saw Vaughn Skol, holding a finger to his pursed lips, a bloodied long dagger in hand. The bodies of Dunnak’s pursuers lay motionless on the ground, their blood mixing with the rainwater. 

“Good thing I went for a walk,” Skol said in a raspy whisper. The gold in his smile shone even in the shadows. He wiped the dagger clean on one of the bodies and crouched to Dunnak, putting a hand on his head. He gently turned it left and right. “Yeah, yeah that’ll bruise up.”

Dunnak blinked hard, still trying to slow the spinning. “Thanks.” 

“You’re lucky I’m a softy.” Skol dramatically placed a hand over his chest. “That, and I still need ya.”

Dunnak felt the open wound on his lip. That would need to be stitched. 

Looking out of the nook they were tucked into, he could see that his feet had carried him towards the Upper District. There were street lamps, for one, that gave it away, and there wasn’t trash littering the sidewalks. “What are you doing up here?”

“Oh, I was just running an errand,” Skol said, placing a hand into his coat pocket. “I got a buddy that I owe a few coins to. You can’t go being reckless with people out here, kid. If I didn’t need you for the job, you’da been toast, more than likely. Good people are hard to come by. It’s a shame we are losing one like Nea so quickly.”

“What?”

“She’s splitting up North,” Skol said, confused. “Heard through the gutter that she’s trying to leave after this. You...didn’t know?”

Dunnak blinked. “No. She hadn’t told me anything like that.”

“Ah.” Skol’s face dropped in guilt. “Sorry, kid, I thought that you’d…”

Dunnak waved a hand, “It’s fine.” 

After a moment of fiddling with his rings, Skol whispered. “That said,” he prodded Dunnak’ chest, “assuming you don’t go concussing yourself regularly, could have some more work if all this goes well. I’ve been looking at bringing on someone else permanently, and so far, you’ve showed promise.” 

“I, uh,” Dunnak stammered, still trying to process all the sudden information in his swirling head. “I’d have to think about it.” 

Skol picked him off the ground and onto his feet. “No problem, kid. Think it over.”  He swiped some mud off of Dunnak’s chest before straightening his own coat. “Go rest that. I don’t want you loopy when it’s time to get to work.” He grinned again reassuringly and ducked out of the alley. 

Dunnak struggled to understand what just happened. He needed to meet with Nea, and she was likely getting worried. At least he hoped she was. He stuck his head out, looking back for Skol, but he was gone. Dunnak steadied himself and began making his way to the Tin Crown.

Echoes

The axe head rose and fell steadily, the only pause as the Exile’s arm stretched up to its full height. Her movements were fluid over the sound of screams, pleads, and wet impacts. The small caravan’s spoils sat waiting, trepidation worn into their surfaces. A bloody and broken hand desperately grasped for the collar of the Exile’s tunic. 

“Didn’t you hear me, barbarian?” the man croaked, fury and fear mixing in his throat. “The supplies are yours! Why would you continue to-”
The axe head wedged itself into the center of the man’s skull, putting an end to his begging. The Exile pulled it free, ignoring the spatter over her face paint, then continued to take her trophy.

The jaw bones clattered on her belt, each varying in size and shape, as she climbed up the red rocks and boulders. A cool summer wind blew up the small ravine, moaning through the passage. The gust whipped the grass against her ankles, stabbing and biting at the numb and callused flesh. Once she reached the plateau, the Exile drank from her dark waterskin, surveying the area. The riverbed, now without the water than ran through it, or that spilled into it, lay motionless below, only small animals breaking the stillness. The silent company of the rock walls and boulders below comforted the Exile. Any voices on the wind had ceased, and the ravine was still again. The Exile bent down and pulled the dry grass up by the roots, gathering  the dying plants into her satchel as the brown leaves snapped in her grasp. She continued higher, keeping to the stones and away from the impressionable dirt. 

The choked fire sputtered and crackled again as the night wind blew into the cave, threatening to end her meal prematurely. The Exile sighed, and shoved the small boulder across the entryway to better block the wind. Down the side of the canyon, she could now see the moonlit ravine. Small hares darted under and across rocks, hidden from the slim wolves she could see stalking the upper levels. She glanced up above them, and into the star-hewn black sky. The pale Ashling moon floated high overhead, promising what she hoped to be an undisturbed night’s rest. The moon was nearly full, and further to the horizon, the mouthpiece of the Great Horn was beginning to rise. She would possibly have only another night or so. The path ahead gave her no joy, but she did not have the luxury of time. Glancing back to her meal, she decided the hare was well enough cooked to eat on the road. She smothered the flames and picked up the spit carrying the carcass, and slipped down the rocks as she took a bite. Her legs scraped and tore against the sharp rocks as she tumbled down to the floor of the canyon. She lay there for a moment, guessing at the number of broken ribs before spitting the dirt and blood out of her mouth and pushing herself to her feet. She retrieved what was left of her meal, and brushed the dirt off of the haunch and the dark hair out of her mouth before taking a bite of the bitter meat. She would be scabbed bruised in the morning, but her flesh wasn’t soft enough to be seriously damaged. The sound of creaking wood behind her stopped her limping step before it began, and she slowly turned around to the five figures on either side of the close-necked ravine behind her. 

“You are not welcome here, Exile.” One of them called out.
She gave no response, looking up into the shadowed hoods.
“Turn around and go back the way you came. These are not your lands.”
“They are not yours either,” she rasped back, her throat dry with debris. 

“They are now.” The voice said nothing else.

“I’m owed your identity by Night’s Passage; show your face.”
“You are owed nothing, Exile,” came the reply, tersely. “Return to the mouth of the canyon, and leave.”

She ground her teeth, scraping bits of sand across them. With tested patience, she spoke softly, but firmly. “I am going to see my Fallen.”
“The Fallen are not here,” they paused, “and they are not yours to claim,” the voice echoed back, harsher. “Your war is over. Leave the dead be.”

The exile tensed at the words and reached for the haft of her axe. The bowstrings cried out above her, pleading to be loosed. She spat again, this time in the direction of the five. “Our war never started,” she seethed. “And I would not let someone who hides in the dark speak for the wishes of spirits.”
The shadows moved as the figure stepped into the moonlight and pulled back their hood. Young and fresh from this distance, too young to remember, but with the markings and braids of a leader. “Every trophy you take gives us more reason to hide. Our blood would have stopped spilling long ago if not for you. Hopefully yours will be the last.” Their face scrunched in disgust. “Leave, now, traitor. You will not pass through these lands. Go. I will not give you the chance next time.” 

The barren fields stretched out in front of her, filling the entire valley. Nothing sprouted from the charred earth. Her soles picked up the bits of salt that found the surface, and carried them for a few steps before dropping them to the blackened soil again. The night prior had been blinded with fog, and the Exile saw nothing of the stars. She was too late. She continued on for hours, her lips cracked with dehydration, her feet stinging as the dirt shoved salt and minerals into the cuts on her feet. 

Eventually, the stone trees appeared, clustered together in the dried riverbed. They stood silently, watching her approach. The stacked stones loomed over her as she passed through them, silently accepting the trophies she placed amongst the rest at their bases. She stopped before the last one, picking up one of the stones that had tumbled away. The Exile gently replaced the stone against the empty vessel. She took the last trophy, and placed it at the foot of the vessel. A warm wind whipped her hair across her face as she dropped to her knees. She looked up to the skies, now clearer than she had seen in years, but Keldon’s Comet had passed, and would not return for fifteen more. She tore the cord from her neck, the fallen star-piece still firmly secured to it, and placed it higher into the pile of rocks, hanging between the stones. Her cheeks started to burn as the drops soaked into the salted ground, and her head hung low. The wailing on the wind carried through the valley, as her shoulders heaved.