Laurie Marks - Triad 01 by Delan the Mislaid

Author:Delan the Mislaid [Mislaid, Delan the]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-06-03T19:46:34+00:00

Guideless and mapless, I followed the roads as well as I could, using the sun to give me direction. East and north I went, walking a long, dreary, lonely way, on feet which never ceased to hurt, in a haze of weariness which never entirely lifted. I stole food and fuel, and used many a kitchen stove without permission. I might have been the only person alive in the world, so silent was it, so still, so empty. I welcomed the sight of a herd of drafs, huddled against the shelter of a barn wall. They were alive. Their breath and body heat laid mist over their shaggy backs. I did not even consider taking one with me, but the reassurance that I was not alone in the world made me glad.

As I lay down to rest that first night after leaving Och, on the wooden floor of yet another farmhouse filled with hibernating Walkers, I could not sleep. As soon as I closed my eyes, I knew that someone was following me. It was a knowledge beyond reason, a physical knowledge that throbbed in my blood. Tenaciously, heartlessly, tirelessly, someone was following me. My follower was not close, but was getting closer. How my follower knew where I was I could not begin to guess. How I knew that someone was on my trail was even more of a mystery. I scolded my active imagination. I told myself that it was my inheritance from Teksan, that because of him I was unable to believe in my own safety. But I could not sleep.

My certainty never left me; not that night and not in all the days and nights which followed. By the second night I was tired enough that it didn’t matter. I slept anyway, but in a room with an exit, with my knife beside me. In the morning I panicked and took flight, walking at a grueling pace along a smooth road. My blood told me that my pursuer lost ground. But I had worn myself out, and so I lost my advantage in the afternoon when weariness slowed me down.

I decided to pretend that I was playing a game. All I had to do to win it was to keep ahead of the one following me. I steadied my pace. I had a long way to go.

By the fourth day, my anxiety was dulled by the monotony of walking. My stolen shoes did not fit well, and I had wonderfully painful blisters to distract me. I slept soundly at night. Eventually I was laughing at myself: how ridiculous this game was, this imaginary pursuer and the strange compulsion to keep ahead of him. But I did not stop walking, though I was footsore and all my muscles hurt, though my torn flight muscle throbbed miserably, though I had lost weight rapidly until my ribs stood out sharply under my clothes and fur.

In my imagination, I began to lose ground. I could not go as far or cover as much distance as I had been able to at the beginning.

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