Rising Ch. 07

Ahma finally awoke just as Master Methaniel carefully lifted her from Lanion's back. Her dream was still fresh in her mind. It was an odd, confusing dream, and she felt a conflicting range of emotions from it.

It was full dark with a large moon hanging in the sky. She did not recognize her surroundings, and they were far different from the hilly land they'd been in when she'd dosed off. Had she slept all day?

She looked up at Methaniel as her feet settled on the ground. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked very haggard. She forced a smile to her lips. "Are you okay? Can I help?"

He handed her a few items, mostly the blanket and his water skin as he shouldered his pack.

"Follow me."

Methaniel, with Lanion plodding behind him, led her to a small rocky outcropt along the path they stood on. Ahma glanced around, taking in the sight of her surroundings. They had already made their way into the Northern Pass, Ahma guessed by the looks of things. They were on a path that wound its way along behind and before them, a rough, narrow trail that looked as if it saw very little use. This part of the Pass had dipped into a short valley, with rocky cliffs rising up on either side. The cliffs to the left rose up into the sky as far as she could see, its top concealed in the dark while the one on their right rose just past Methaniel's height and then ended in jagged, uneven stone. Ahma couldn't see what was beyond its lip. Several small, scraggly bushes dotted the trail and two trees clung to the rock face a few yards ahead.

On the right cliff face was a rough overhanging, jutting away from the rock wall just far enough to provide a measure of shelter. Methaniel had to crouch to fit under it, and Ahma crept beneath it to sit with him.

They began to eat a small meal, almost finishing the last of the cheese, and eating one strip of dried beef each. They sipped sparingly at the water skins. The night seemed less cold than it was before she'd drifted off.

"How long did I sleep?" She asked as she rubbed her slender hands together, trying to get them warm.

"A day and half that again," Methaniel replied softly.

Ahma's eyes widened. "Have you been awake all that time?"

Methaniel's drooping lids answered for her. He sipped more water from his skin. He sagged back and placed his back against the rocky wall.

"I must rest," he murmured, barely conscious at all. "Please feed Lanion and be sure he rests some. He has not stopped his march since we left..."

The Master's shining silver eyes gazed at her a moment longer before closing as he slipped firmly into oblivion.

Ahma watched him for a moment longer, studying his face. Normally stern and hard, his features softened in sleep to show calm, gentle features. Several long strands of gleaming copper had fallen across his exhausted face, having escaped the leather thong he used to hold his hair back. She brushed the hair away, then covered him with several blankets before tucking the water skin in the blankets with him. She rose, dusting her hands off as she walked to Lanion's side. The great horse stood just outside the overhang, his head bent to the ground as he munched at a thick patch of grass he'd found under the snow. Ahma grabbed another of the blankets and threw it onto his back. Lanion turned his head to her, watching her with his wide liquid eyes while she stroked his neck and did her best to smooth out his mane. She patted his muzzle affectionately.

He leaned forward and nudged the water skin she carried. Ahma smiled widely and uncapped the skin, then poured some into the horse's mouth. He snorted and nuzzled her hand in thanks. She felt bad for him, having to eat on such a slim diet. But then, all three of them would be getting a bit thinner on this trip, she knew.

After eating awhile longer, Lanion shut his great eyes and promptly went to sleep standing beside the overhang. Ahma returned under the rocky ledge and huddled next to Methaniel, pulling the last of their blankets around herself. He was warm, and his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of sleep.

She lay still and quiet, shivering with the cold and thinking on the events of the past week. She was lucky Master had pulled her from the house. She had froze up so suddenly as the news of her brothers and sight of the flames trapping her in the past. She had been little more than a burden so far, she thought glumly. Shehadto maintain her composure and be useful, she told herself, or Methaniel may decide to leave her behind.

Her mind turned to her brothers. How she missed them already! She only hoped they were on their way to heaven to meet Father, and hopefully Mother as well, and be happy with them again.

Her heart ached thinking about them, all of them, so violently ripped from this life. It was probably best Fahl and Kahr had died together. That way, they wouldn't be lonely. She counted the days in her head. Three more, and their journey to heaven would be complete, and her family would be reunited in the afterlife. She hoped Methaniel wouldn't mind her observing their entrance into Father Sky's domain. His Father had never stopped her from observing or performing the rituals and beliefs of her people and thus far neither had he, but she could never be sure, could she?

Ahma felt a well of sorrow building inside. She strove to force it down, to ignore the hurt and despair she felt, but it was impossible. She had lost so much, so many. Despite Methaniel's comforting presence beside her, Ahma felt very, very alone.

Tears rose in her eyes and spilled silently down her smooth cheeks.

***

From that point on, the days passed in a long, uneventful blur. Methaniel had allowed her to observe her brothers passing to heaven, and had shared in her silent observation of love to her brothers.

The weather grew worse and worse, and the Master pushed them hard through it, keeping Lanion on a constant northward course. Ahma was more conscious and collected during those days, but even still the whole exodus seemed no more than a strange dream. The pair talked relatively little; there wasn't much to say, and all their focus was bent on continuing on as quickly as possible. Though the Master was ever tense and hard, his eyes anxiously scanning their surroundings every other moment for any sign of ambush or pursuit, whenever he did speak his words were gentle and kind.

It was a harsh, difficult journey. Ahma soon realized just why so many avoided this pass. The path was treacherous and the danger only grew worse the higher into the mountains they went. Frequently they found themselves on a path leading along the side of the cliffs, with a deadly drop of hundreds of feet to their right and the steady rock wall to their left. Lanion, though amazingly sure-footed and steady, was nearly too wide for the trail, and they often had to dismount to let the horse pick his way along at his own pace and without their encumbering weight. It slowed them, which visibly upset Methaniel, but he refused to leave his beloved horse behind. The weather more often than not went from bad to worse, and a freezing wind and overwhelming swirl of snow and ice compromised both visibility and footing, two things they desperately needed in those tense days.

Several times they'd barely avoided being buried in an avalanche, only escaping with quick thinking and fast feet. Twice they came upon massive gaps in the trail where the ground had crumbled and eroded away. Ahma's wings had healed adequately to carry her across. If not for Lanion's jumping ability, Methaniel would have been stuck.

Food was scarce. Methaniel managed to bring down a good number of mountain hare and other small game, as well as two mountain goats. He skinned them with his hunting knife and salted the meat for future meals. They had already consumed nearly all the travel rations they'd bought. It was nearly impossible to keep a fire going when they settled for the day. The wind and snow snuffed it out easily. Methaniel finally resorted to propping the small pelts up on several sticks he'd found in a ring around the fire to shelter it from the driving wind. It only moderately helped. The freezing temperatures, blistering winds, and harsh weather sapped their strength by the day, slowing their progress and threatening to make them make deadly mistakes.

For two weeks they traveled deeper into the mountains, following the rough and often almost nonexistent trail at a gradually slowing pace. Soon, they were barely making any progress at all, the harsh conditions and treacherous path making their way agonizingly slow. Finally, the path turned east, which both pleased and alarmed Methaniel at once. They had reached the only real marker of their progress that he could think of. Yet they were now only about a third of the way through their journey out of Durinum lands, and the travels from here on would only get worse.

A week and a half after they'd turned east, their progress came to a dead halt.

"We can't go any further," Methaniel yelled hoarsely over the screaming wind that assaulted them. "This weather only gets worse! This blizzard will worsen soon, and it'll only sweep us from the side of the mountain if we try to push through it!"

"What can we do, then?" Ahma shouted back at him.

"The cave we took shelter in this afternoon," Methaniel replied. "I'd hoped we could continue on, but until the weather turns for the better we'll have to use it to wait this storm out!"

The cave was as they left it, dry and nearly featureless, with several stalactites reaching their stony fingers down from the ceiling. The mouth of the cave was high enough for Lanion to stand comfortably under, while further back it lowered till Methaniel had to bend slightly to fit. The cave was spacious enough for all of them to fit inside, with just enough room to move around.

By the time they reached the cave's shelter, enormous chunks of ice were pelting the cliff face outside. The intermittent, booming thud could still be heard inside as both of them dropped their packs to the ground.

"How long do you think this storm will last?" Ahma asked.

"I don't know," Methaniel shrugged. "I hope it abates at least a bit in the next several days. I do not know how long our supplies will last if I cannot hunt for more soon."

Upon a quick survey of the cave, Methaniel noted a small hole in the roof that extended into a shaft leading out to the open air beyond. This was something of a curse and a blessing all at once, as it allowed gusts of chilling wind to blow their way into the cave, adding to the draft from the cave mouth, and made a large pile of snow directly below it. It was a boon, however, in that it allowed smoke to more effectively leave the cave, which meant he could build a fire in the middle of the cave, far enough so that any snow falling at the cave mouth or from the shaft in the roof wouldn't hamper the burning wood.

Soon a small flame was crackling. They sat around it, and Lanion stood as far into the cave as he could without grazing the sloping roof. Methaniel handed out food, giving their last apple to the horse and sharing a shank of hare with Ahma.

The day passed slowly. As the violent storm raged on outside their little shelter, the temperature plummeted even lower than before. The cold numbed them, making them feel sluggish and lethargic as their limbs lost feeling.

"M-master," Ahma whispered through violently chattering teeth. She was bundled up in her cloak and two blankets, her wings folded around her and her arms and legs pulled as close to her body as she could. She was as close to the fire as she could safely get, and still she felt as if she was on the verge of freezing to death. Her people were not well suited to the cold.

"I'm s-so c-cold," she said miserably.

Methaniel himself was not unaffected by the cold, though he fared better than his companion. He couldn't feel his toes, and his ears felt as if they were being lanced repeatedly by fiery needles. He looked to her and nodded slowly. "The best thing we can do is get closer, Ahma. Body heat is all that can keep us from hypothermia now."

He scooted closer and pulled her into his arms. She did not resist. He rearranged the blankets, sharing his with her and visa versa so that both of them were wrapped tightly in them. Ahma shivered violently as his warmth washed over her. He was definitely right; already the agonizing cold was more bearable, though it still filled her with misery. Methaniel reached for another hunk of wood and placed it on the fire, building it higher and hotter.

Ahma sighed as warmth finally penetrated the cold that seemed to fill every pore of her.

It would be a long, uncomfortable wait.

***

A new challenge faced them during their days in the cave, beyond that of simply surviving the overwhelming, numbing cold or their steadily dwindling rations; boredom. One could only sleep for so long before even that became impossible. Sitting there in the dark cave doing nothing was even worse, as the inactivity and isolation drove their attention constantly back to the miserable conditions they were living in. After spending several hours in personal thought, both began to dread the silent, still times they'd fallen into. It was an agonizing wait, and the conditions were a constant tax on their bodies and a drain on what little energy they had. They couldn't get up to do much and couldn't even separate for long. The first time they'd tried, Ahma had begun to turn a faint blue from the oppressive cold around them.

Eventually, attempting to alleviate some of the tedium of the day, Methaniel said, "I've heard tales of a great Wingling Kingdom. If the legends are true, once it was the greatest civilization in our world. But they say it has fallen into ruin. It was supposed to be some place where it's warm almost year round. I often wonder if it truly exists."

"It's a real place," Ahma nodded. "Or at least it was. My parents came from that Kingdom. I don't think it's a ruin now, but I don't know. My parents never said anything about it falling. They lived in the capitol city of the Wingling land. Everything there is always green, and it snows very little, even on peaks of the few mountains they have."

"Perhaps that is why the cold affects you so," Methaniel suggested.

"My family was the same way," she said slowly.

"Yes," Methaniel nodded, staring at the far wall across the dimly lit cave. "Your brothers never liked the cold."

A silence stretched between them as they both remembered Fahl and Kahr in their own way.

"I wish we were there now," Ahma smiled softly. "I'd prefer the warmth over this horrible cold."

"As would I," Methaniel smiled.

"Why did you say the Wingling Kingdom is a legend?" Ahma asked.

Methaniel's brow furrowed and he glanced down at her, nestled in his arms so that she wouldn't freeze to death. "It's regarded as a legend in Durinum culture...we don't have much contact with Wingling, so we know very little about them. There is quite a bit of speculation about your people. Wingling are very rare these days, as I'm sure you well know. My father searched with all the resources he had for three months before he finally found Hannah to help raise you. Even then, he paid double the normal wage for a servant."

Ahma was silent for a brief moment. She shivered slightly, and he pulled her closer, rubbing her arm to try to warm her. She shut her eyes and lowered her head, several long strands that had escaped her braid falling about her face.

"Do you think rain and snow are the same, Master?"

Methaniel stared at her curiously, thrown off guard by the sudden, strange shift in conversation. "What do you mean?"

Ahma's eyes opened and focused on the small fire in front of them. "Hannah probably died in the fire, hiding with the women and children or helping to get them out. When...when a Wingling dies in smoke, we believe their eyes are clouded and blind. And if they are blind, they can't find their way to heaven. We believe that this is one of the reasons Father Sky makes it rain...so the smoke and soot may be washed from the deads' eyes, and his blind children can see again and find their way to him. It is his blessing to us..."

She faulted for a moment and bit her lower lip. "But it won't rain for months. So I'm scared Hannah won't be able to find her way, and she'll get lost. If she loses her way, she may never find it again...she may never ascend to heaven."

Methaniel thought for a moment, then said softly, "Snow melts on your face, yes?"

"Well...yes," Ahma nodded.

Methaniel smiled softly and patted her shoulder. "Then she should be fine. We've had plenty of snow, and in the end, snow is the same as rain. I think she will find her way."

"I hope so," Ahma said, returning his smile. "Thank you, Master."

"You're welcome," Methaniel replied. "Your brothers told me a bit about your religion and customs. I find them fascinating."

"My mother used to tell me stories every day as I helped her with chores. She told old stories that Wingling have used for generations as teaching tools for their children. She also taught me almost everything about our ways and how our religion ties to our lives. I got the impression our religious ways are very important to the Kingdom."

Methaniel made no reply. The fire crackled and shifted, sending shadows crawling and swaying across the walls. The smell of burning pinewood and fresh snow permeated the cave. Lanion sat against the far wall, his great eyes closed and head dipped slightly. The wind whistled violently outside the cave, a constant reminder of the foul weather that surrounded them just outside their shelter, threatening to keep them pinned in till their death.

Ahma glanced up at him, and her heart suddenly beat harder at the pain that swam thick in his shimmering silver eyes. Hardly even conscious of her actions, she raised a slender, pale hand to his handsome face and lightly touched his cheek.

"What is it?" she breathed. She had never seen such emotion, such pain and vulnerability in him in all the time she'd known him. Somehow, she thought it made him look more handsome than ever before.

"Tell me..." Methaniel began, then trailed off for a moment. He clenched his jaw, then tried again, "Tell me about your mother." He turned his bright eyes to her and smiled. She knew it was for her benefit alone; it did nothing to diminish the pain in his eyes. Her hand trembled slightly for a moment before she made it still again.

"Well...she was very tall, or at least she seemed tall to me...she had blonde hair. It was cut much shorter than mine. I always found it strange that she insisted I keep mine long while hers was short. I'm sure that had some kind of meaning, but she never explained it to me if it did. She used to dye my brothers and my wings green when I was very young. She used grass as dye. It wasn't until...until the last few years on our farm that we could afford any other kind."

Ahma's eyes turned to the fire and her hand dropped unnoticed to her lap. The flames reflected in her deep brown eyes as she watched them dance, her thoughts now firmly on pleasant memories of her mother. She smiled softly, and her face looked as if it were in a trance. "Her favorite thing to do was to tell us stories about the homeland and school us on the old faith. It was very important to her, I think, that we knew where we came from. She lived for us...she adored my father, and she was very proud of my brothers. And she cared for me and nurtured me every day, even when she was ill."

Her words trailed to a halt and she swallowed. Bad memories tried to mix with the good ones, but she firmly forced them out. She glanced up at Methaniel nervously, realizing that she'd touched his cheek. It was not something a servant did.