Sample from the first chapter of my novel in progress

[0pheliA]

The northern air was crisp and biting. The ragged cloth she wore did little to repel the icy wind coming up from the canyon the path was carved into. Not much was left of the peasant garb she had begun her journey in. It had caught on far too many branches and rocks and been stained a mottled mixture of blood, sweat and dirt. She was thankful of one thing in the cold; that it kept her own smell down. This was both to her own immediate benefit, and she imagined had kept some wild animal from finding her in her sleep.

Howling? She couldn’t tell wind from predator, though she suspected not many predators would be present at the altitude or under these weather conditions. Anything she would run into here and now likely would be more than a match for her at her best and ideal. She remembered having a dagger but was unsure where it went. Not that she had the space on this path or the feeling in her hands to use it properly against any sort of threat she may face. She imagined the only animals she would run into now would be either a winged predator or a goat, and she couldn’t think of many winged predators native to this area that could stand this icy wind.

Maybe she would run into a were-goat. She smirked to herself at the thought; how absurd.

At least she hoped she had smirked, she wasn’t sure. Her face certainly tried, but she imagined she probably looked more like she was having a case of the fever shakes than enjoying any sort of internalized mirth. Now she imagined herself laying at the bottom of the gorge a broken mess shaking from fever shakes while were-goats devoured her. If she could have a fit of hysterics without plummeting and fulfilling her facetious prophecy, she certainly would. She paused for a moment and regained her composure; taking as slow and deep breaths as she could in this icy thin air. She was unsure if she was managing to maintain good spirits or if she was just going mad.

That brought up a novel thought; if she had gone mad, then was she really on the side of a freezing canyon wall? Perhaps this was all some sort of maddened dream. That would certainly explain why she couldn’t clearly remember past waking up this morning. If she were mad, then she hoped she could have more pleasant delusions. What a waste of madness to be trapped within the icy hell of your own mind. Would a fall now simply plummet her deeper into her own divine comedy, or would it find her floating through warm clouds? She lifted a foot and swung it out into open space and contemplated the action.

No. Even if this were a delusion, this was not the way free from it. Indulging Hell only welcomes it, she could only break free if she continued to fight against it. She had to see this through. She brought her foot back and placed it until she felt the familiar pressure of her stone soles against her numb feet. She shuffled her way along again.

The rocky path zigzagged its way up the side of the mountain; in some places it had been built up with stones into makeshift stairs and in others it was barely wide enough for a person to walk without plummeting to their demise. The stories she had heard of the temple and the trek up the mountain had described it as torturous, yet not done its specific cruelties on the human body and mind justice. Now that was an odd choice of word for her mind to pick while contemplating her journey; Justice. This certainly would not be a just punishment for any crime she could fathom.

She paused for a moment to catch her bearings. She unwrapped the cloth from around her face long enough to shake the snow and ice from it so she could see more clearly, then rewrapped it as she surveyed her position. She couldn’t even see more than a few feet in front of her. The stones she had bound to her foot wrappings with tree sap were pressing and pinching the bottom of her feet, and were they not numb she would be sure to be in pain from them. She was glad for the pressure she felt from them with each step, for otherwise she didn’t think she would be able to tell she had touched the ground with her foot. The same could be said of her hand wrappings as the probed and gripped the sides of the rock face to guide and stabilize her.

Her body felt an odd paradox of pain which blocked out numbness, and numbness blocking out pain she knew had to be there. She knew she had to ache everywhere, must be suffering from frost-rot, and likely had some broken ribs from an earlier fall and some wounds that the cold was keeping from becoming infected. Ironic that the harsh weather that likely would kill her was all that was keeping her mobile at the moment. She wondered what would be left of her once she succeeded in her journey, she would likely be a cripple for the remainder of her life. Death or enfeeblement: a promising future indeed.

She tried to remember her choices and experiences leading her to the base of the mountain and she could not, she could only remember clearly to waking up this morning bundled in fir branches and bound to the side of the mountain. She couldn’t even remember how she got the inspiration to tie herself to the trees rooted into the rock but knew it had saved her from tumbling to her doom in the night. She could not remember where she got the idea to improve her grip with sap and stones. She could not even remember making the choice to make this pilgrimage in the first place. She certainly must be mad to be on the side of the canyon wall in the first place, and madder still to continue when she couldn’t even remember why she was here.

She could remember the goal; where she was going. The events and thought processes between the what and the why simply escaped her, and yet she had no choice but to continue for turning around was no longer an option.

Her foot struck something in her path, something which moved slightly when she kicked against it. She stopped her progress and felt her way down into a crouch, balancing herself as she did so. There was something here that clearly was not rock or even tree. She brushed the snow off of whatever it was trying to discern what it was. With limited vision it was hard to make it out, though its shape was growing grimly familiar as the snow and ice was taken away from it. Then she was face to face with a set of eyes frozen in a permanent gaze.

Another pilgrim who had ended their journey prematurely, a young man with a grimace of terror carved into his face by the razor sharp wind. Arms wrapped around himself for warmth. More importantly he had wrapped a fur cloak around himself. If he had fur for warmth and hadn’t made it, what hope had she in her rags? She fumbled to unwrap him. It seemed callous to steal from the dead and to reward herself with his misfortune, but at the moment all she knew was she was not far off from his same fate. She could ask his permission when she joined him in the Hells.

This pilgrim was certainly much better prepared for his journey than she was. She found a satchel with some food, albeit a tad frozen. He clearly has not been here long as he wasn’t completely frozen yet and the jerky was still edible. It was only when the first bite of meat had finely been bitten through and made its way into her hollow stomach that she remembered just how hungry she was. She devoured everything he had on him and ate some of the snow for water. She shook as she ate, imagining she must look rabid to any outside observer. She suddenly understood why hounds growl when others come near their food when they eat, even when they have plenty of food. Moments before she was unsure she would ever see food again, and even now she was unsure she would taste another bite after this meal.

Removing his clothing it was clear this man was probably the son of some well off merchant. Why would someone like this be making such a pilgrimage? As she was layering his cloths over her own she started feeling better about her odds. This man may have been better equipped, but she didn’t think he had ever spent much time in harsh weather before. She somehow remembered spending a lot of her time working in rain and sleet, what she did seemed to escape her but it was clear her hands were used to toiling in the cold. This man was dressed warm, but not prepared in any meaningful way. This was the first real hardship he had likely ever faced, and he probably just sat here and waited for Hell to collect him.

Hell would not be collecting her this day. Or any day if she had anything to do about it.

Hunger had clearly been her big villain, and defeated he crept away from her mind and removed his cloud. She was starting to remember some details and knew now how important this journey was and why. With a belly full of dried and frozen meat warming her somewhat from the inside and with regained perspective, she felt new drive and vigor. She found that if she scraped the stones off of her foot wrappings. She could fit her feet into his boots. His feet were bigger than hers, but with her feet bundled they fit. She checked him for any religious symbols so that she could make an offering to whoever he called patron in thanks once she was able to do so, but he didn’t seem to have one. She was unsure who the patron of merchants was, but made a point to find out.

She actually found it difficult to remember the names of any of the gods for that matter. The only ones she could recall presently were Infernum and The Masked One; The Lord of the Hell of Fire and the patron of the mad. She wondered if this was a sign that she truly was mad and truly was destined for the Hells at this point. It troubled her that an eternity of fire seemed strangely welcoming at this moment. Had she forgotten the names of the other gods because they had forsaken her completely at this point?

She imagined The Masked One dealing out his cards between himself and Infernum and them gaming for her fate, that the only reason she still lived was simply because neither had won yet. The Masked One would prefer her alive, since insanity was less rewarding in death. Alive he could deal her new hands of random fates constantly, and twist her life to his whim. If it meant finding warmth, she almost hoped Infernum would be the craftier player. She did not want to spend the rest of her life both crazy and lame; she recalled beggars she had met who fit that description. Sad individuals; life a constant struggle yet too far gone to even realize how bad off they are. Surviving purely off of the charity of strangers with no ability to look after themselves. This could be her fate assuming she made it off this mountainside. On the other hand; she could spend eternity having her flesh seared from her bones and regrown only to bubble off again. To be seasoned and devoured by Infernum’s devils, and reconstituted from their waste only to become their meal again.

This morbid train of thought consumed her for the remainder of the day and she started realizi8ng it was getting dark. She would need to find a suitable place to bind herself to the rock face again and get some sleep. She hadn’t been looking for a suitable spot long when she realized the wind had died significantly and she could actually see.

A clearing.

And there were people here. She started to see their shapes as her vision cleared up. She could see the gate to the temple and its high stone walls. She was here. Other pilgrims had set up small camps around a fire pit, and from there she could see them one by one turning to see her. They reminded her of the young man she had found on the side of the mountain; all well-dressed merchants and a few obvious nobles. She was stunned. She expected to find peasants and beggars here, simple people. She suddenly felt very out of place.

Nobody said a word; they watched her for a moment and then turned back to the fire. She limped her way and found a spot of her own and there she sat.