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An unexpected feeling of emptiness comes over me. This is goodbye to everything I've ever known. Even though it has been many days since I was cast out of the city, going back always somehow felt like a possibili
ty, albeit an unlikely one. That hope is about to become a distant dream. I can't imagine how I'll ever get back up this mountainside. Then again, I still don't know where my father's plan goes from here.
All I know is that I must find some woman named Eliana and give her the animal-skin pouch. There are no instructions beyond that, not even a hint of guidance. I don't know what direction I'm supposed to go when I reach the bottom. How is this ever supposed to work if I don't even know that?
"Stop it," I scold myself.
I need to take this one step at a time. My father trusted me to come this far, and I haven't disappointed him. If he didn't give any instructions beyond what I have, it means that he trusted that I would be able to make it the rest of the way on my own. Or even better, the way will be much more obvious from here.
This encourages me, and I continue my descent. The fog below slowly envelopes me as I step into it. It reminds me a lot of the dense clouds that sometimes settle over the plateau and completely immerse Kalepo in grey, though these clouds are unusually warm, like they have risen from boiling water, or even vents of lava like those that heat the springs near Kalepo's eastern cliffs.
The possibility that the Ethereal Plains are actually
covered with lava excites me, though I find it unlikely that that is what the source of the mist is. Like most people, I've always wanted to know what the plains look like. It's unbelievable that I'm about to find out.
Before I can give it much more thought, something above me catches my attention. It's not anything in the air or the sky, which is now concealed by sheets of fog, but a strange tension on the rope attached to my harness. I can feel a subtle vibration in it, like it is caught or snagged on something.
I try to bounce on it to get a sense of what it could be, but then it completely loses its support, sending me falling. I grab firmly onto the free rope, it being the only thing stopping me from plummeting to my death, as I watch the harnessed rope fall from above and then dangle below me. It was cut!
The same vibration then starts coming from the free rope, and I begin to panic, my eyes desperately searching around for something to hold to. A couple dozen feet to my right along the mountainside, I spot an ice-covered cliff with some trees and snow at its top. The cliff itself folds gradually into a steep slope, and at the bottom of that slope is a dead drop.
Realizing that that is my only hope, I begin running and swinging myself along the mountainside toward the top cliff and push off of the rocky surface of the mountain just seconds before the free rope is cut loose. I fly through the air, my momentum carrying me toward the cliff and trees, but too quickly for my legs to be able to absorb the imminent impact.
I hit the landing above the cliff hard. A layer of snow at the base of the trees softens my landing to some extent, but it is too powdery and the slope too sharp for me to gain any stability. I tumble forward and roll over my shoulders, careening off of the cliff and, after a moment in the air, landing hard on my back.
My head snaps sideways and bangs against the ice, leaving me dazed and confused, but I stop falling. At the same time, I feel a tight, painful tugging across my arms and chest, though I hardly react to it. I close my eyes and try to alleviate the pounding in my head, which takes all of my concentration. Only after a moment of this am I able to open my eyes again put together what happened.
The tension across my chest is the rope, which is still looped to my harness and has somehow wrapped itself around me a second time. The other end of the rope got caught among the trees, the only reason I didn't slide over the edge. Although my arms and chest feel tense and constricted, the rest of my body lies at rest on the icy slope, which is just gradual enough that I probably wouldn't slip and fall off of the drop below even without the rope now that I'm not moving.
I breathe deep, heavy breaths as I try to keep myself calm. This means that I have to close my eyes periodically to prevent myself from freaking out at being up so high and seemingly helpless to save myself. A short while passes, and I collect my thoughts enough to consider what I will do now. My eyes shift down to my pack, which is loose and dangles from my left shoulder. I turn my neck to get a better view of it and feel a pit in my stomach when I realize that the top has been partly torn open and the animal-skin pouch is gone.
My attention returns to the cliff above me. If the pouch isn't there, then it could be at the base of the mountain. I need to somehow get myself back up to the trees to search for it, and if I don't find it, then I can anchor the rope once more and finish my descent at least knowing that I'll eventually find it.
The push up the twenty-foot cliff takes a lot longer than I expect. My sore and aching muscles struggle to pull me up as I reorient myself and make the climb. The tension I cause on the rope loosens it above me a couple times, making me feel like I'm about to fall only for the remainder of the rope to catch onto something else and stabilize me. After a great amount of exertion, I finally reach the top of the cliff, and to my relief, the pouch is there, caught in a snowbank.
Once I have it packed again and pull the loose ends of the rope up from the cliffs below, I tie the rope firmly around a tree trunk with several knots and continue downward. Wasting no time, I move as fast as my strength will allow me. After maybe half an hour, I reach the bottom, giving a relieved cry as I touch flat ground again, but it's not what I expected.
The fog around me remains thick, making me worry that I have not made it completely down the mountain yet. I search around until I find the free rope, which doesn't end up being too far away, and coil and tie it to my pack in case I need it. I then light the other rope on fire and begin my next journey.
The scenery around me is bland and changes little as I distance myself from the mountains. Lifeless trees and plants surround me even though it isn't winter, and the ground is rocky, covered only sparingly by thin, yellow grass. The fog keeps me from seeing more than few dozen feet in any direction, but the further I walk, the more I get the impression that I shouldn't expect anything different, at least not at this elevation.
The unevenness of the ground makes me feel like I'm walking along hilltops, though I can't ever seem to find a direction that takes me downhill. This troubles me since I had before convinced myself that things would be easy once I got down from the mountains, but I don't let myself think much about it and instead move forward with greater pace.
After a while, I start to notice signs of life, or rather, signs that life once dwelt here. Broken and crumbled walls pop up now and again, along with the ruins of small homes or other much larger stone structures. Like the building on the lake, I find their designs strange and struggle to imagine what they looked like before the wave of destruction that swept through here.
A shadowy figure suddenly appears in the distant haze.
"Hello?" I call out, but it immediately vanishes.
I run the direction it fled, but soon have to stop myself when I come across something terrifying. A large gate forms before me in front of a tall, fragmented wall, one that almost rivals the Northern Gate of Kalepo, and it is lined with the bones and remains of armored men who must have died defending it.
The horrific scene makes me gasp as I reach my hands up to cover my mouth. I close my eyes in disbelief, but force them open again, wanting to see and understand what this place is and how it came to such ruin. I study the armor on the deceased soldiers. It is metal and similar to what the Warrior Cult wears, though not as elegantly designed.
The dark figure appears once more beyond the gate, and I chase after it. By the time I am through to the other side, it is gone, and I am left alone to witness the remnants of even more carnage. Those who perished inside the walls of this place were not just soldiers, but also innocents, even children. Tears form in my eyes as I walk among them, but I force myself forward nonetheless. The remains of these people are nothing but bones and ashes now. Many years have passed since they met their ends, and that makes it somehow easier to not think of or become too emotional about the suffering they likely endured.
Despite the wear of time, I can tell that the town was burned with fire. Many of the buildings were made of wood, not stone, and still appear black and charred. Although most of them are nothing but rubble, some remain partially standing, giving an eerie glimpse of how the town once looked.
High above the city and beyond the rubble, I see the faint outline of a great structure in the distance. A large street before me heads toward it, and I follow it. The further I get, the clearer the structure becomes. It is a great fortress or palace of some sort, one that reminds me a lot of the temple in Kalepo. It is impressive to behold, even tattered and in ruins.
