The Missing Traveller

Alister strode to where higher Rindor became Pillian Falls Passage. He’d never been out of the town before, and now he would never return. Every step became the farthest he’d ever travelled from home.

Alister pushed this thought away, but focused instead on the endless mossy steps above him as they twisted around trees and steeper slabs of crumbling cliff. He kept his mind from the family and friends he’d left behind, but missed a step when he caught a glimpse of Gale’s house next to a big sideways yewen tree. Alister glared ahead. His quick steps took him higher, until Rindor disappeared in the trees below him. It was no different to any other cloud of fog anymore.

The Passage’s name came from its alignment with Pillian Falls, which Alister visited each hour to refill his water pouch.

“What am I going to do?”

The sky darkened from its persistent light grey to a dull black. He pulled a wooden torch out of his pack and lit it with the flint. On the chance someone had been sent after him, he couldn’t afford to stop. He passed one traveller’s outpost—a small structure which protruded from the sloped Mount, with only a thin sheet and fireplace inside to protect wanderers from the dangers of the night—and pressed on. Hours waned on; he would usually be long asleep by this time.

His trek up Mount Era reminded him of the history scrolls back at the academy; his steps followed those who travelled over six hundred years ago. Hours of recital for a presentation etched the words of Into the Age of Sanctuary into his mind, and Alister reached for the distraction.

“‘After The Cleansing, King Osaiah’s Unmarked and Prince Amus’ Sympathisers descended Mount Era. Attacks from Sala eagles, jaguars, wyverns, and ringing spiders—also known as cliff-crawlers—halved their numbers.’” Alister shivered, pulled his coat tighter, and buried his nose in his scarf. He held the burning torch close to his body, but more than the bitter hours of the night made him shudder. “’Due to the thick mist of the Mount which shielded the sun and moon, the Sympathisers—or Marked, as they are now called—lost most of their connection with sura and candra. The company fled back up the Mount to return to the peak, but the highest elevations were shrouded by an invisible toxin, now called The Madness. Leading members of the party, including Prince Amus himself, returned from their scouting mission with a complete loss of sanity. Upon the company’s second descent of the Mount, they followed the central waterfall and discovered the plateau now called Bastium, beneath Sanctuary Falls. Thus began the Age of Sanctuary.’ Hmm. I’m sure glad those animals are nearly extinct now.”

He forced a hollow laugh.

Despite the rarity of those vicious beasts, occasional tales of travellers who disappeared made it to Rindor. Traders found their half-consumed entrails months later in the huge nests of cliff-crawlers or giant Sala eagles. Scepticism met any reports of wyverns, which were so fabled Alister doubted they still existed.

The damp leaves made no noise beneath Alister’s feet, but wind rustled the trees. The endless path twisted around dense forest, and his torch lit a small circle around him. Alister didn’t know anybody in Rindor who had walked to Materon, the town at the end of Pillian Falls Passage. If Lark flew there from Rindor on his wind-chaser, it would probably take him less than a couple of hours. On foot, the journey could stretch from days to weeks. Alister was unsure of exactly how long it would take, and even less so of his intended destination.

Away…anywhere away from Rindor.

Alister walked until his legs were about to collapse beneath him, and the early hours of the night turned late. He walked until the soles of his feet strained in his boots, and his pack slowed him.

Finally, he squinted at the outline of a second traveller’s outpost through the mist. The idea of a warm room, hidden away from any dangerous beasts—no matter now close to extinction they were—lifted his spirits only a fraction. Just one day ago his biggest problem was the search for something to entertain him for the week. After he pressed the door open and his fingers fumbled at the lock, he stumbled across the floor to the sheet in the corner and collapsed into it. He paused only for a second to release his pack from his groaning muscles and burning calves, and another to extinguish his torch.

Alister awoke in an intense panic. He felt as if he’d not slept for over a minute. Horrible nightmares of the incident plagued the time he’d spent with closed eyes. It played in his mind over and over again, until it was as familiar as the passage from Into the Age of Sanctuary. Only small details changed, like where he stood, and whether Morgana screamed accusations at him. Even with those small changes, nothing he could do would stop it. He was forced to watch it time after time.

His heart hammered, and although sweat soaked the sheets he slept in, he trembled. The tiny room held too little air to fill his lungs, forcing Alister to gasp for breath. Thoughts of Morgana’s death consumed his entire being. Something drowned, choked, and crushed his chest all at once as he re-lived the moment when Morgana fell through the floor, her eyes wide with terror. Again, and again, and again…

Am I going insane? The thought echoed around him.

His mind clouded with hysteria. If I’d only checked more thoroughly nobody was home…If I’d just stayed home…If ma had never told me about the Atwoods’ house reconstruction…If I hadn’t stepped on that panel…If I’d waited until Gale and Louis could come with me…If I could’ve got to Morgana on time!

It could’ve been minutes, hours or even days to Alister, but finally he made a persistent effort to take deep breaths—just like his mother had told him to do whenever he scraped his knee as a child. All his childhood injuries together pained him less than this panic, but, at long last, he was able to take steady breaths again.

Shaken, he opened his scrunched eyes, put on his pack, and headed out the door. His body moved autonomously as he began his endless ascension of steps up the Mount. Nearly one hundred steps later he regained an amount of mental clarity. I need a distraction.

His fingers itched for his carving knife, and so Alister trailed off the path to snap off a thick branch from a low tree. A small family of birds screeched and took flight as the yewen tree swayed from its lopsided perch on the sloped cliff. Alister climbed back to the Passage while his knife shaped the wood.

Whittling was so familiar, his hands moved from instinct. He shaved off slivers of pale wood with his old carving knife and worked the edges of the branch to a fine shape. It was just enough to keep his mind off unpleasant thoughts. He left behind a trail of shaven wood, and soon his branch reduced to a finely cut pole. Alister couldn’t help but to allow himself a brief moment of pride as he admired the smooth branch, with no traces of the stubborn knots which once speckled across its length. His father wouldn’t have been able to do a better job.

You’ll be better than me before the year is done. That’s what his father said, before anything had happened. Back when his future was a whittler with his parents, and he might’ve married Estelle Holt and lived his life amongst his friends, if Gale had ever come around to the idea. Alister’s mouth twisted into a grimace, and he fixed his eyes on the branch.

Ordinarily, once all of the outer bark was removed, he would dry the branch overnight. But now he flipped his carving knife to its blunt edge to smooth the branch.

Alister was so invested in his work, the rumble of his stomach an hour later surprised him. He continued carving while he chewed on a piece of bread from his pack.

Soon he formed rounded edges on the pole, and the day weathered on. At home, he would use the wood burner to carve intricate patterns into the staff. He cringed at the thought of home. If he were there, he would be facing the consequences of his foolishness, not carving a walking staff and heading up the elevations of the Union to an unknown destination. He would never be in Rindor again. He would never see his parents again.

Even so, Morgana was on his mind, a constant presence as he obsessively refined the edges of his staff. The Atwoods were a family of whittlers, like his. Alister slit his finger mid-cut when it occurred to him Morgana would never have the chance to carve wood again. This small habit he practiced most days of the week, which he could do even while he walked up a never-ending stream of steps, would be forever lost to her.

Alister scowled, returned his carving knife to his pocket with the cover on, and sucked his bleeding thumb. He was a fool if he believed he would be able to rid his mind from Morgana by carving a branch into a staff. Because of what he did to her, and the rest of her family, he deserved that moment of terror and panic.

“I have no right to be content,” he muttered to himself, “not when somebody is dead because of me.”

Sweat dripped from his forehead to his chin, and soon the hand gripped on the yewen staff was clammy. Alister looked to the sky, at the brightest circle of fog. The sun glowed behind it, an orb so bright it burned the eyes to look at, and cast shadows on the ground sharper than a light flask. When they were taught about it at the academy, Alister asked if there had been a time when the Union wasn’t shrouded in fog and the sun shone down uninterrupted. Professor Knot, usually so full of responses, told Alister nobody knew. The gruff old man, disgruntled to be answerless, proceeded to flaunt his knowledge about how the fog had blocked the sun and the moon. This, in turn, restricted most of the powers of sura and candra, which was why Marked could do little more than light a candle or heal a scab. Professor Knot said this in irritation as a flame danced across his knuckles. Alister watched with jealous eyes. As an Unmarked, it was difficult to sympathise with those who complained about their lack of power. To even summon a small flame would be better than being ordinary.

Alister was told the Union would be much warmer without the fog. Now, as sweat dripped down his chin and soaked his back, he was grateful the sun was shrouded.

He heaved a sigh and examined the staff as he put one foot in front of the other on the now rocky ground. It seemed to take twice as long for the sun to even reach its highest spot in the sky.

Alister just finished a lump of bread for his lunch when a distant shout echoed through the trees. He stopped in his tracks to listen.

Another yell followed the first, a woman’s this time. He recognised the voice immediately.

“Alister!”

His fist clenched around the pack’s strap, and he turned at once to the sound. “Ma,” Alister breathed, every part of him ready to run to her call. Wayra would throw her arms around him and tell him everything would be alright, like she did when he was a child, and he wouldn’t care he was supposed to be a man. He would tell her what he did, and she would shush him. I’m just glad you’re okay, she’d tell him.

But it won’t be okay. Alister’s face twisted with pain when his mother cried out again. He shut his eyes for a moment, drew a shaky breath, and stepped with light feet off the path and through the trees.

“Alister!” His father’s voice this time, his voice raw enough to send an ache through Alister’s chest.

Alister pulled himself up the trunk, and dumped his pack behind a thick limb. He climbed higher, likely covering his hands in splinters, until he found a branch wide and long enough to hide him. It hung over the side of the path.

Another voice called out his name; Gale’s, he thought. Alister shifted to see the path below him.

Ewen walked up out of the mist, followed by Wayra, Gale, and Louis. Dark circles shadowed their eyes as they surveyed the path. Alister clenched his jaw. How long had they searched for him? All night? Alister wondered briefly if Estelle considered joining them, but Morgana had been her best friend, and Alister had taken her away.

As they walked closer, Alister strained to hear their voices.

Louis shot a careful glance at Wayra. “The ground’s too rocky to see footsteps, anymore,”

She spun, her eyes wide. “Then we’ll just have to keep looking.”

Ewen reached for her hand, but she folded her arms. He sighed. “Wayra…”

“We keep looking.” She stalked faster up the passage, until she crossed right beneath Alister.

Worry replaced the usual mischievous glint in Gale’s eyes. “Those footsteps might not have even been him.”

“Who else would they be?”

Gale exchanged a glance with Louis, who grimaced. They followed Wayra up the path.

Ewen placed a hand on her shoulder. “Wayra, we’ll be in Materon if we keep going. We haven’t any food, or much coin…”

Wayra swung around to stare at the others. “So we should just give up? My boy is out here somewhere, and I need to find him!”

Alister scrunched his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“We don’t even know if he’s out here.” Louis shoved his hands in his pockets.

Alister tilted his head towards them to hear as their conversation slowly drifted further away.

Wayra’s voice rose in pitch. “Journ said he went to the upper districts with his pack.”

“He also said he was staying with Gale last night,” Ewen said in a hollow voice, “but he didn’t. Perhaps he went back down to the Atwood’s after Journ saw him…”

Alister inhaled sharply. They know about Morgana?

“I still don’t think he would go there by himself.” Gale crossed his arms.

Louis rolled his eyes. “If you had nothing to do and there was construction in town, wouldn’t you go by yourself? If Alister and I were busy?”

Gale glared at him. “Who cares if I would or not? Alister…he wouldn’t have.”

“It just seems like the only thing that could’ve happened.” Louis shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why would he just leave?”

Alister frowned. Didn’t they know what he did?

A screech pierced through the trees, unlike those from the birds in the area. Alister’s head snapped up.

A crimson hawk swooped and landed on the branch in front of him.

“Ronan?” Alister hissed, his hands clenched into the bark. Lark’s magnificent bird was dishevelled. Cuts covered both wings, and around his neck hung a silver chain. What put him in such a state? Where was Lark? Ronan lifted a wing with a croon, and a small pouch—strung through the chain—fell from the bird’s back. Alister reached for the pouch, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Louis’ yell tore his attention from the bird and the mysterious pouch. He turned his head back to his family and friends, his heart hammering. They’d stopped walking, and stood, half-shrouded in fog, a little way up the path.

Louis rubbed his shoulder and glared at Gale. “Bane of the—I only got my tattoos yesterday, you gama! That hurt!”

Alister frowned; Louis hadn’t mentioned he turned sixteen yesterday.

“Good,” Gale spat, and flexed his fist. “Why don’t you go home and have Estelle heal it, then, if you’ve resigned yourself to Alister being dust and ashes!”

Alister’s mouth fell open. They think I’m dead?

A choked noise came from Wayra, and Ewen stepped between Gale and Louis.

His voice was sharp. “Stop it, the both of you. We don’t know where Alister is. He may not have fallen with the house. It’s just as likely he left Rindor.” He turned to Wayra, his expression pained. “You know he always wanted to travel. And he’s nearly seventeen.”

Her voice shook. “But he would’ve told us.”

“I think we should go home, Wayra. We need to sleep. We need to eat. We can decide what to do after. Maybe he’s just in the forests back home.”

Gale’s fists clenched and he shot a glare at Louis. “We can’t just give up.”

“We won’t give up.” Ewen placed a hand on Gale’s shoulder. “But we’re no use tired and hungry.” To Gale and Louis, Ewen might’ve appeared sure. But Alister saw the damage his departure caused in the worried crease of his father’s brow, and the tightness of his jaw.

Alister strained to hear his mother’s low reply. “I don’t care how tired and hungry I get. I need to find my son.”

Ewen reached for her hand again, and she let him take it. “He may’ve turned up back at home. He’ll wonder where we are, then. We could be looking in the wrong place.”

The four of them stood in silence for a prolonged moment, and Wayra nodded as a tear glistened on her cheek.

“Okay. Okay. We’ll go home.”

Gale’s anger slipped into a dejected grimace, and Louis shoved his hands in his pockets again.

As soon as the boys turned, sorrow cut across Ewen’s expression.

They turned around and walked slowly down the passage.

Alister opened his mouth; all he had to do was call out and run after them. Instead, he shut his eyes again and clenched his jaw. They didn’t know what he did. If they had, they wouldn’t have come after him.

As much as Morgana’s death haunted him, he hadn’t considered his own departure would haunt his friends and family just as much.

He counted up to one hundred before he climbed back to the ground, Ronan on his arm. Alister fixed his eyes on the bird instead of the path his parents and friends came from.

What happened to Ronan?