CHAPTER NINE

Crawling

Qello slithered sideways, as the mists from the gorge chilled her. Any part I move will hurt and help to keep me awake. Vague, dizzy thoughts swam in her head. Devil's Dive Gorge—the place where ancient courses of River's former incarnation ran deep between worlds, allowing the gilt of the sun to reach one world and the darkness so deep to spring into form on the other. Why do I know this? Qello's head was fuzzy. She blinked, clearing her eyes and tried to keep from relaxing, knowing she would never get up, if she did. She used her own pain and exhaustion to stay conscious, clambering more toward and onto the small downward back slope, away from the crest, then onto its smooth, more moss-covered rock toward the open fields beyond.

For a while, Qello just lay there. The part of the slope below her would rarely receive sunlight, through most times, but now, just at this moment the light was still there. She longed just to reach that spot and lay still. She breathed deeply on purpose, expanding her lungs, and grunted, giving her strength to move to her front.

She struggled over the stone, it felt still cool, but less cold than the rock at the top of the falls. Thinking this was as far as she could get, now—she let out a moan. She had nothing remaining to make her arms and legs move. Fully tapped from exhaustion, she bawled in a roar, to give herself power—as loud as she could. Limbs seemed unconnected. Oh, Mama, I can't do it. I can't find anything left. She rolled onto her back and mentally called, I'm not going to make it. I'm sorry. The great Nought has come calling. I fear we're both beyond help.

Qello's arms flung wide in her sprawl, lying face up. The back of one hand found a patch still in the sun that was warmer further down on the side. The rock curved out and into a field, and she resolved to pull herself to it. Knowing she was nearing her end, she gave one more heave, so her body might at least roll and warm kindly before she would clearly take leave of this world. Muma, will I see you? Whatever happened, this warm wonderful rock would hold her in full sun through to her end, if that's what it wanted. I'll stay with you, forever in my mind and my spirit. I love you, Muma. I love you. I hope your heartsong finds me.

As Qello slipped from consciousness, she left all hope and all reason. And the rock made off with her shivers. It did begin to warm her. It seemed that the rays stayed just a little longer here on this day—some or somewhat—or mostly warmer. And that helped.

But time had been passing.

Agony came with Qello's stillness, now—sometimes drifting, sometimes unknown thoughts of places took her off to journeys she couldn't recall. She returned in confusion and finally, yes—eyes blurred and swimming, she looked out, unsure if time had passed or where exactly she was now, but she was coming back to her senses. She pushed herself up.

Wide open space before her, like Qello had never known in her whole small life supported the rise she was on. It sloped away to a great upper valley that was shallow. She was high in the hills—blue, purple and green grandeur, unfolding forever. White slivers of snow still high up, melting, ran in delicate streaks, carving the mountains into beings from beyond this time.

On one side of this highland was another mountain, wide on its face, that embraced several more mountains all rimming the high side. Her River ran along hills and toward her, in a trench she could not really see. The valley, scooped like a large flat bowl, was huge and the air was crystal clear. Angular portions of rock rose in stands to meet smaller cliffs and far across the bowl the land to the southeast dropped away toward a broader upward slope, where she couldn't see detail, but from a distance, she noticed it climbed gradually, to form faraway hills and still more purple-blue mountains. Her lungs drew in this part of the world. Faraduke? Is that where Faraduke is? Eldrid! Are you out there? Her longing reached all the way over to him.

On her right, the green shallow bowl dropped gently westward, but just enough lay in her sight that Qello knew there were lowlands, beyond the low-lying ridge that would offer a view, likely a bottomland valley and somewhere maybe a village, just like Muma had said they were near. And then Qello remembered, Trader Joe, too, had said something. I think, sometime, in my sleep, maybe—something about the village he had just come from. I remember him saying—that that might be where I or he could find help for my feet.

She wanted to stay still. Every movement she attempted caused her some pain, but she forced herself back into the forest, and approached the wet and slippery edge, on her knees. When she looked up, she couldn't believe what she saw. There it was! She blinked and squinted. She was staring at the very thing for which she had most desperately searched through the whole of her climb, ahead—there, in patches of sunlight.

There it is! In all of her heart, she wanted to get to her Muma! Now she could do it!

A tree, once tall and narrow had been straggling alone, unprotected, at the top of the gorge. A storm or some wind, had felled it across the wide open throat of the falls. The gorge opening had a bridge cap close to the top, or so it looked from this side of the hill slope. The tree had made it across.

She had been right to come up! There it was. She had done it. Qello needed to have a better look. She had found her best way to get to her mother on the other side of the chasm, if only she could manage, now, not to let herself fall. How could she do this? She could barely move. She could not cross it like this, most surely.

Her breath was returning, although her head still pounded and rang. Propelled now, by fortune's change, and choosing the warm side, toward sun, she forced herself moving, whimpered and slid a little way down to a dip, close to the drop—her tears rolling, at once, with the effort. Everything hurt.

Qello crawled and dragged herself as close as she could, but it worked. She stood up again and found herself looking straight on from the side, at a long thin length of tree, some distance slightly above her. From here, I might be able to see how to cross along and over, without losing balance. She didn't look down.

She squinted to find out whether the tree had landed right onto ground on the opposite side or only just hung up above it. She gauged its probable drop from the end.

From the thin end of that long skinny bridge, she could quite likely jump over to the far side of the gorge. If she could get at least far enough along it, when going across—to then jump before the branches interfered with her leap, Qello was thinking, It might bounce. It clears the span—it seems to. It doesn't touch the ground on the far side of the falls, but I could jump it.

The long, narrow tree was the luckiest thing she thought she could have imagined. Her gratitude poured out through her heart to the air and the All and to the thin, narrow tree, above her—loving it, loving her, loving Muma, loving the clouds in the sky. I'm coming, Muma! She hoped for a landing, well across River, with all of her things still tied tight to her.

She was just shifting in place, still gauging the jump, but before she could judge any further, her foot moved, twisted and slid in a mossy patch in the shadow. River! No! She slipped, grabbing at air. A bush found her hand and she clamped onto it, tight. The bush, roots and all, slid closer to the edge of the gorge along with her; they moved in slow motion—through loosening soil. She hadn't slipped far, but there was nothing more she could grab onto to stop her. No! River! No!

She braced herself to go over the rim—down to the depths, but the bush then seemed to quiver and strengthen, pulling itself taught. The slope of the ground was levelling more and it held her. The bush, at last, clung onto the rocks. The sliding had slowed.

Had it not stopped, she would have been into the gorge, already and gone! She was close to the edge. She stayed very still. Her heart was racing now. Her dread awoke and took over. By the time she had made her way back the few paces up and onto the rise, her heart was still banging louder than River's waterfall pounded.

Qello knew she needed more time. She could not fail. She could not slip, again. 'Be clever up front,' she thought. Think. Plan. Be more careful. I have to ask for more strength, Muma. Hang on!

Recovering from panic, Qello dragged herself back to her rock in the sun. She pulled as much moss as she could onto her barely warm stone on the slope, chose a hollow in it and tunnelled under the padding, as best as she could.

The moss softly held her. With no control left, Qello lost consciousness. I need strength for Muma, were the last words in her mind. Her eyes swollen, she fell deeply asleep, until cold came and settled in for the last pale of evening. No moon was in sight, no owl to be heard; only afternoon stories with River wove through her mind, as her body was aching.

The rock soon cooled down. Qello shivered, at last, waking. Her smiling sun had long ago abandoned her—left her for lands beyond the hoped-for lower settlements. It would soon turn to night and Om was days old and gone for a time. She couldn't have light.

She tried to imagine how she would imitate the shelter the trader had built her, last night. She could move again, but she was too tired to think.

She stood in the fading pale, crying out often from pain, and paced all her work, conserving her small bit of strength. It was darkening, quickly. She was bolstered by thoughts of finally finding the poor little tree bridge for crossing. Thank you! It gave her hope, if not strength. She fought through her weakness, asking All for her strength.

She thought to build a fire for that night but, once she had half of the wood assembled, she realized she really did not know how to think her way to get it to light. She thought of the fire horn and wished she'd gone back, but the ember was dead, now. She couldn't go down, if she wanted. This wouldn't be helped.

She remembered just two days before when she had made twigs into matches—big matches. Luu had been tiredly smiling at her, as she showed Qello where and how to forage for more partially dried leaves, and drier twigs buried deep at a tree base, away from the damp. They had gathered dry material and stacked the moister sticks in a pointed circle around the growing flame. Each piece was intended to become more or less dry, as the tinder burned down, and just in time to light the next sized stick in the pile until, at last, their fire would have been boiling water for tea and for food. But, she didn't know how. There will be none of that now.  At best, she might make herself shelter. The world was echoing darkness before she was ready.

She collected some tea twigs her mother had showed her, hearing Luu's voice often, retrieving all she had learned—and bitter buds for some food, she nibbled while working. Without really thinking, she had managed to follow all of Luu's lessons so far. Right!

Qello grunted out loud, as she went through her own mental list to build it: gather dead wood, fallen limbs, break some branches, interlace them, find soft ends, but some parts of the job she couldn't recall, exactly from Trader Joe's build. The blue evening sky was starting to deepen. She persevered and when it was partly constructed, she was fairly sure if she rolled over, hard enough, she would knock the whole thing onto herself. She held her breath. Safe enough. I hope. She put her hand on it. Please hold still! I hope that this works.

She surveyed her 'nest of a camp'. With her new ideas of shelter construction, from Joe, she had done a partly good job—from what she recalled, but that wasn't enough.

No furs or a fire, but the day had been fine and Qello saw fog begin to crawl down the tongue of the mountain. She longed for their home and the village. Mr. Groote had said, "Cloud is like a blanket on the world. It keeps the warm in." That made her feel better.

Qello glanced toward the last of the light, then just like the Trader had done, she built an even tinier play shelter and took the stick figure that he had carved, wrapped her scarf around it to make the figure a red dress and put it to bed inside the miniature shelter, just like her own. Don't worry. I'll make you better in the morning. She gave it a kiss, as if it was Luu, and put it onto the tiny eclait branches she had laid out for its bed.

Thirst became Qello's main torture. She only had the moisture collecting and condensing on rocks to save her, by the slippery patch where she'd almost fallen, unless she climbed back down below to a spot where trickles pooled.

She pulled the doll from its shelter and clung to it tight. As the dark rolled in, she peered close at the ground with her eyes and felt with her hands. She crawled through dangerous blackness and used the red scarf to reach out, in among rocks and shadows and mop up the moisture. She stopped and sucked it out of the scarf. It was getting much harder to see. She crawled back to her shelter of branches. The clouds had rolled in. Do the things that live here in the caves come here in darkness?

Without Om or her mother to help her or keep company with, she was hungry, and in sheer sudden fright and exhaustion—she choked, Muma! I want you!

Her shelter was cold. The black night moved round her. She remembered her mother's warning to wriggle a lot and started to think how her limbs could be persuaded to move some, when the blackness, suddenly, took her away from her pain, from her body—awareness. She let herself go—trusting, and the void of 'no mind' took her to All.

≈≈≈

Qello's done it. She's finished her climb to the top. But our poor girl's paid dearly for it, hasn't she? Her survival rests in the hands of the All. Will all give her support? Keep reading to find out.

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In Chapter Ten | The Crossing Ceremony - In acknowledging death, Qello sends a loving goodbye to her family.