Sixty-one

The blade falls to the ground with a loud thud the moment I let go, and I eye it for a second trying to understand how it felt so lightweight in my hands but it became unbearably heavy when it touched him.

It must adapt. That is the only explanation I have.

As for the creatures that are kneeling on the ground and wail, I have no clue what to make of them. They seemed so ominous, and now they look lost, and sad.

The aches and pains in my body make a resurgence, reminding me of every bruise and cut that now marrs my flesh. Limping, I pick the jar out of the hole I've stashed it in, leave the daggers behind, and tuck the jar under my arm.

A way out. I need answers which I doubt my windy friend would provide eagerly. Once again, I'll have to drag Laira and David into this, and I already know David will be extremely displeased.

One problem at a time.

As I put distance between me and the horde, their wails fade into the background, replaced by the breeze that sweeps over the land, kicking up debris.

My windy friend is quiet or dead. I don't even know if you can kill air but I'm pretty sure there is a way.

I walk, for what feels like an eternity. This is nothing like the pockets I've created before. It is not small or contained. It's expansive and a little bit repetitive if I might add. It feels a bit like going around in circles.

The terrain seems to follow a pattern, a few knolls on my left, a leveled field on my right, a valley somewhere in the distance on my left with flowing mountains as a backdrop, and then we begin anew, only this time the horde is missing. There is no evidence of the battle I've just barely managed to survive. No trace of blood, no stampede chasing after me.

And I feel like I'm losing the last vestiges of my sanity.

Crippled and tired, I settle on a rock to catch my breath and use the last remaining grain of grey matter to figure this out.

I've tried to create a path out of it but unfortunately, I'm out of steam. I've used the last bit to create or enter this place by the looks of it and in the process, it has also become my prison.

" You wouldn't know the way out by any chance?" I try my luck with my windy friend.

He snickers, " Let me out and I'll show you," He taunts from the jar, and I heave a heavy sigh of defeat.

" I'm sure you would. I'll think about it, but if I were you I wouldn't hold my breath," A smile creeps on my lips," Or perhaps you should, you must be running low on oxygen," It's a shot in the dark. I know nothing about him, but it's worth a try.

The sound of his chuckle gave me the answer I was looking for. He doesn't rely on oxygen to survive.

Without Mason, I always found myself back in the real world just as I was about to die. So perhaps, it is my way out or a certain death sentence. Who knows, but there is a good chance I'll die anyway if I don't find a way out. It will only be agonisingly slow and painful.

I eye the horizon and find my target, with one laborious push, I stand and begin to trek my way towards freedom. There is a good chance I'll end up back in Kush but it's a risk I'll have to take. I know time flows differently, so there is a good chance that the officer who was about to throw my ass in jail is still there, patiently waiting for me. Probably tapping his foot and glaring at the spot I was standing on before he put new shiny bracelets on my wrists.

Letting my mind wander to more light-hearted matters helps to some extent to keep me from going into full panic mode. Which is never good.

It takes a good while before we even come close to the mountain. The terrain is deceptive, and navigating it takes an incredible amount of concentration.

In the time I took to walk- what it appeared from my vantage point a short distance on foot- in a strange twist of faith, the closer I got, the further away it appeared to be. So, I'm either hallucinating or the terrain is shifting, working against me.

Of course, it would. It treats me as an intruder. The problem is, I don't know how to make it change its mind.

It sounds insane, so I'm probably hallucinating.

Forging forward, I keep a steady pace keeping the weight off my bad foot as much as I can with my eyes on the mountain, trying to spot any discrepancies.

The twilight lighting doesn't help either. Darkness is not my ally in this case.

Dog-tired, parched and starving I decide to take a moment to rest my weary bones on a small mound that looks slightly more comfortable than the previous one I sat on.

Eerie silence surrounds me. A few gentle gusts of wind kick some ash and embers but that is pretty much it.

The mountain doesn't appear to be any closer than it was when I started nor farther away. The optical illusion is mind-boggling and driving me closer, and closer to insanity.

Dropping my head, I close my burning eyes for a few moments trying to clear my head. This brings back a few memories from Helej Norun, only this time I know there will be no Denmar or Nareen to save my ass. I only have myself to rely on, since I didn't tell anyone where I was heading.

A bad decision, another, out of many I've made along the way.

When the stinging pain in my eyes is tolerable, I raise my head and once again I scour the surroundings trying to spot the rift in the pocket.

After a few good minutes, the coiling knot of hunger and failure tightens in my stomach.

With one malandroit push, I stumble to my feet determined to keep going, despite my head feeling like there is a swarm of bees droning inside it.

Determination is my only driving force and hunger, I decide at the sound of my rumbling stomach.

Drowsiness slowly creeps in making my limbs feel as if they've made off lead, and I recognise the signs of physical exhaustion before it hits me in full force. I collapse to the ground like a boulder, the jar falls to the ground rolling a few paces away from me.

" Shay," It could lead me to my salvation or damnation. Either way, I'm doomed.