Page 45 of Cursed Shadows 4

The trek is as tedious as it is long.

I push on.

I only stop when the sky is a hard grey, and so I know the dark ones will be prowling the mountain. But I am stuck.

I passed the fallen, dead tree, and the spot where I climbed onto land, and I found myself at the perch overlooking the waterfall—a straight drop down to a rocky pool.

It's not a pretty sort of waterfall, with lush greenery all around it and blue waters. It’s the sort that plummets straight down a forever cliff, splashes into a bouldered and rocked pool, then falls again in another drop, all the way down a sun-bleached cliffside.

It’s not a descent I can take.

Even through the woods, with the detours I would have to make, it would be a week before I reached the bottom. I can’t imagine how anyone could climb up this way. Even with the aid of nature, it seems impossible.

I now know for certain, the litalf died in this fall.

I also know that I need a new direction.

I loosen a reluctant sigh.

It deflates my posture.

My shoulders sag against the chill as I turn to face upstream, and I am careful to keep my bootsteps on the dry earth alongside the muddy bank.

I just need shelter.

14

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I am on the opposite bank of the river that I fell into.

If, for a moment, I thought that wouldn’t be a problem, it was a moment riddled with delusion.

On this side, the forest floor has risen.

Moments, minutes, hours of walking, and the earth has risen so far above the river that it is now a steep drop down to the water.

The threat of the fall has pushed me deeper into the forest.

Shelter is my priority.

Still, I forage along my aimless route, picking the right berries, sweeping away nettles from leaking sap.

The direction of my steps has no purpose.

I wander for the most part, but I never stray from the rushing music of the river. There is distance between me and the killer water, but I don’t stray too far, lest I lose my bearings.

The string of an unfastened leather pouch is looped around my finger. Every so often, I crouch down by berry bushes, inspect the fruits, turn them over in my palm, then store the safe ones in the pouch. I was lucky enough to find a fallen beehive about a half-hour back, and I stole a chunk of honeycomb. It’s broken into pieces and stored in the pouch with the berries.

I keep them for when I might need them.

The net of fish—just two left—is tucked in my bag. But to eat them, I must cook them. Build a fire. And Dare told me not to risk that during the darker hours.

I don’t know how long it’s been dark now. I just know that it is—and the dokkalves will be out.

I am headed upstream, and so with every step I take, I draw closer to the threat of enemies, the threat of warriors either aiming to capture me or kill me.

The wariness of my swift moving gaze is as much for the dokkalves as it is for the litalves. Where the litalves will kill me—no doubt about it—the dokkalves will maim me, then drag me up the mountain to the summit.

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