Farland, David - Serpent Catch 02 - Serpent Catch by Farland David

Author:Farland, David [Farland, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction, Adventure, Genetic Engineering, High Tech, Hard Science Fiction
Publisher: WordFire Press
Published: 2014-04-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22: An Empty Heaven

“How will you begin your journey?” Phylomon asked Ayuvah softly.

“There are many gates to the Land of Shapes. For a Spirit Walker, it does not matter which path he takes, as long as it brings him to the gate of death. My father always chose the path of starvation.”

“I have heard that it is easiest,” Phylomon admitted, “But it takes many days.”

“I will take the gate of blood,” Ayuvah said. “It is quickest.”

Before Phylomon could warn him against it, Ayuvah unstrapped the knife from the sheath on his hip, and slashed both of his wrists. He held them up and watched the blood pump out in great bursts. “The gate of blood,” Ayuvah said, and he got up and paced around the fire, dripping blood into the dirt.

Phylomon growled in disgust. He got up and walked over to Tull, who sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, looking off at the river in the torchlight. The river had swollen over the past three days from rains somewhere far upstream, and the dark water swirled quickly and almost silently. Phylomon sat and watched Tull, looked at Ayuvah. I should watch them both for the night, he thought, make sure Ayuvah doesn’t bleed himself to death and Tull doesn’t jump into the river.

After an hour, the torches by the river had burned down to the ground, and the camp fire grew dim. Ayuvah walked in circles around the camp until he finally stumbled and fell.

Phylomon and Scandal bound Ayuvah’s wrists to stop the bleeding. It was impossible to tell if he was on a Spirit Walk. He looked only as if he slept, though his face was drained. After they bound him, Scandal excused himself and went to bed.

Woden rose. The clouds were thin feathery streaks, and the moon shone through dimly. A strong wind began to whip down the canyon, carrying a chill. As Phylomon’s eyes grew tired, he rested them, and at last Tull spoke.

“She betrayed me,” Tull said. “I don’t know which hurts more, the fact that she is dead, or the fact that she betrayed me.”

Phylomon searched his memory, wondering exactly what Tull meant by ‘betrayed.’ “She didn’t betray your marriage,” Phylomon said. “You married her the night before we left, and if she was carrying Garamon’s child, she must have been with him sometime before that.”

“I would have forgiven her,” Tull said. “She must have known that I would have forgiven her of that.”

“Ayaah,” Phylomon said, “I think she knew. But she could not forgive herself. She loved you, I think, and she felt shamed by her own deeds. Your forgiveness would have only hurt her more. I am sorry that she’s dead. Often when a person dies, a grandmother or a sickly child, your friends will tell you that ‘It is better this way,’ that the sick are no longer in pain. They try to disguise the fact that life sometimes feeds you a bowl of dung. At least no one will tell you that it is better this way.

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