Chapter Nineteen

In his sleep, Soren was chased by flocks of Griffins, water Griffins, composed entirely of clear liquid, streaking after him through the sky.

He was entering the large clearing where Istelle had lost her life. The redheaded girl was facing away from him, her bow drawn, pointing at something in the dark, so far away that Soren couldn't see it. Then she turned around to face him. It wasn't Istelle. She had Cyan's face...her arrow was pointed at his heart.

He was taking a walk on a sleepless night when the stars caught on fire and fell from the sky. They hit the ground with amazing force, causing explosions all around him.

He was back at the scene of Istelle's death, kneeling over her. Suddenly she opened her eyes, but they were colored blue instead of grey. She leapt up, blood still dripping, speak sticking out of her back, advanced on Soren…

He walked through an endless desert, the sand burning his feet. He would have stopped if he could, but he was powerless against fate. He plunged through the hole and plummeted to his doom.

And though all his dreams were nightmares, they were the things he looked forward to. Cyan couldn't predict his nightmares, the things that happened in them were the only things unexpected, the things he could not predict. Or rather, the things that had not been predicted for him.

His waking moments were miserable, his thoughts took him places he didn't want to go, and his body moved on its own, just following fate…

It had been four days since he dropped the mages off at the Cabin where Istelle was. He knew he didn't have much longer anyway, his days were limited. Only ten more days, he would tell himself. Ten more days to live.

It felt like ten years.

He spent much of his time at or looking for water.

It hadn't rained for over half a week now, which was unusual. Cyan hadn't predicted the weather. It rained often, every few days regularly...the lack of rain for more than three days was unusual. If it didn't rain in the next few days...that would be unheard of.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not for Soren.

He stood up from the place where he lay under a tree and walked down to the creek bank. Without hesitation, he stepped into the water and walked across to the opposite bank. There he ate some chickweed and went to check the traps he had set up the evening before.

He just barely felt the stirrings of hunger, it wasn't a problem for him, he was content to eat nothing and sit by the water for the remainder of his days, but setting up traps, preparing meat, these things kept him busy and distracted him from his thoughts.

But he knew he wouldn't be eating much, so he had set up only three. The first was empty, but in the second, set in the middle of a small creature-made path down to the water, there was a squirrel.

After checking to see that the third trap was empty, he took it back down to the water for processing.

It wasn't long before Soren was sitting by a fire, cooking the squirrel on a stick. He gave it his time, making sure every part was perfectly cooked. These days, he made everything last. The more time he gave to cooking the squirrel, the less time he would have to kill later. Because he didn't want to be left without anything to do. Then his thoughts, his miserable thoughts would consume him. But of course, if fate wanted him to be without activities to rest his mind, then he would be without activity.

Really, there was no point in living such a life. Soren cursed himself. If only he hadn't been such a depressed idiot. If only he hadn't been so stupid as to say that line. To trap himself in this fate. Because Istelle came back. And even without Cyan's predictions, she would still have come back. And if only he weren't stuck powerless to stupid predictions, he might see her again.

Soren finished his squirrel and stood up. Not bothering to put out what was left of the fire, he stepped into the creek.

It was cool and refreshing, sneaking its way into his leather boots, flowing smoothly around him.

He traveled up it, looking for some deeper part. It took a little while until he found a spot where the water was up to his knees. Without hesitating, he sat down in it. And there he stayed for the next hour and a half until his thoughts drove him to despair and he no longer could stand the cold.

No. He couldn't do it. He couldn't live without her. He had to go to her now. But Soren couldn't stand up. When he tried to get to his feet, his body didn't move. He couldn't control his own legs. Because they weren't his legs anymore, they were fate's legs.

He wanted to get his knife and cut them off. But his arms probably wouldn't listen anyway. Soren slumped on the sand. A slight wind started blowing, causing him to shiver harder. He removed his wet shirt and jacket, leaving them to dry in the branches of a tree.

So. If he completely relaxed and let his body do what it wanted, it would move on it's own, fueling off of Soren's energy, controlled by something else altogether. If he tried to do something else contrary to fate's agenda, he would feel the struggle of the body fighting to do the other thing, but outwardly, things would flow as fate wanted, with no sign that anything else was happening. But it would still drain Soren's energy and leave him exhausted. Just as if he were stuck in someone else's body.

Well then, he might as well just sit back and enjoy the show. What was to happen next?

Soren went back across the creek and began a wood project. He was carving a bow. Soren remembered the end of Cyan's prediction of his life. He looked sadly down at the bow taking shape in his hands. Too bad it would snap in the last minutes of his life.

He killed a lot of time carving it. Eventually, he laid it aside and went on a search for wisteria. After a little while, he found a part of the forest overgrowing with the invasive vine. He gathered song pieces and began to peel off long strips to make cordage for the bowstring. This too was very time consuming. In fact, it was so very time consuming that he still hadn't finished when he knew he had to lay aside the project to get himself some food.

Still, he was able to harvest some arrowwood while making a trap. He just needed to find some feathers for fletching…

He wondered if it would rain that night. He had no shelter, so he hoped not. In any case, his body decided it was better to be safe than sorry and he found himself lifting piles of leaves onto some sticks he had leaned against a fallen log. Well, some things were out of his control.

Over the next few days, Soren finished his bow and a couple of arrows. It took him a little while to get feathers for fletching, but when he did, he completed a quiver of twelve arrows that he spent afternoons practicing shooting. It reminded him of practicing with Istelle. She had always been a superior shooter, while he could easily defeat her with a sword. They each had their strengths and weaknesses.

Seven more days until death. Soren couldn't wait.

Tiring of archery practice, Soren used what was left of the feathers to make two more arrows, then began a new project. He finished a rabbit stick in an hour and spent the rest of the day hunting.

Every day, Soren rolled out of his shelter and went to check his traps. He would process and eat whatever he caught, then spend some time in the creek. He did some hunting practice, using his bow, his rabbit stick, his atlatl, and dart when he finished it a couple of days later...it became an unwritten schedule, an agenda he followed every day. Of course, it was dull, he had no control over anything, but his mind adjusted and soon he didn't care anymore.

It didn't rain, but he had the creek. He didn't wonder about the weather. He had water anyway, so why did it matter if it was all dry. At least he didn't have wet nights. And it drove the animals closer to him, making it easier to get more food. They all needed water, and the plants that grew by the creek grew greenest.

The worst part of the drought was just the heat and the plants turning brown, making it harder to find good greens to eat.

But it didn't matter what he ate. He wouldn't be dying from hunger or poison. He still had three more days to live.