My teeth teetered; my body shivered. Walking kept me alive. Whatever lay ahead could not be worse than what had come before. Something deep inside me had snapped, the parts that made me whole broken, rattling miserably with each wobbling step.

Faces came and went, shadows on the road. People, I think. They eyed me with incredulity, and on their lips: “Are you deaf?”

I am. But I couldn’t answer. I could only keep going.

Go home, little human, the trees said. Do you have a death wish?

“I don’t care.”

Don’t underestimate winter. It’ll kill you.

“Shut up.”

Where’s your mommy?

“Shut. Up.”

Look here! Compost walking!

“SHUT UP!”

The stars hid behind clouds. The sun hid behind clouds. The moon hid behind clouds. The blue sky tainted gray. The pain was gone, or had my body dissolved into a ditch somewhere? That could only be a good thing. Was I thirsty? When was the last time I drank? Yesterday? I bit snow. Had that been yesterday? Was I hungry? No, I ate. Jerked meat. Was that yesterday? No, yesterday was…

I was still moving. Wasn’t I? I don’t remember my feet at all. I floated, coaching above the road. Or was the world simply turning around me, and I was the one who stood still? Were those stars? Empty houses. Empty lands. Despondent trees. Why won’t they shut up? Victims of the mountain, singing songs of sorrow as they faced the looming darkness.

It has never been this windy,

It has never been this cold.

Summer days will have me,

With our wild Light to hold.

My leaves will be gleaming,

In Leohirin’s might to glow.

Darkness a stream, Life a show.

New beginnings of a story long told.

The moon came up, full and bright, surrounded by streams of dancing lights. The trees were gone. Finally. My former village formed around me. I could barely recognize it. No, it was no longer my village. It was a geological feature, a dent in the world.

A tree stood alone, broken, and dying.

“Which way to the mountain?” I asked.

Ludik?

I regarded the poor creature. Frostbitten, blight-afflicted leaves, broken wood, she would not survive long.

Don’t you recognize me? Well, I suppose I am very different these days. The cold…it has never been this cold. The trees are singing. We only sing during the darkest hours. I’m so happy to see you. I’m so happy you survived—makes my end a little more bearable. I’m so tired.

“Peachtree!” I lumped to her side and sat against her. “I’m going to find the mountain. It’ll make amends. I promise you,” I said. Why was I so hot?

What a foolish little boy you are. I’m too weak to change your mind. Where is your mother?

“She’s gone. Aureberg claimed her too.”

But you’ll die. The winter will kill you. Even if you survive the journey, the mountain will kill you. You don’t look more alive than I do.

“I will find it, or I will know I tried. Bastard, I feel so hot.”

What are you doing?

I shed my jacket and sweater.

Ludik. You’ll freeze.

“I’m fine.” Only a shirt and undergarment covered my skin, every fold, seam, and crease, a branding iron. “Peachtree?”

Yes?

“What’s your name?”

Oh, even in the end, you make me smile. Laurin is my name. Will you stay with me for a little while?

“Laurin, I need to keep moving. If I stop too long, I won’t be able to get back up. Tell me, where do I find the mountain?”

Follow the lights; they’ll lead you there, to the northern death, beyond the shattered mountains. Follow the broken trail. I’m afraid all roads are broken. The cold can be deceitful—you won’t get far without clothes.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Goodbye, Laurin. Thank you for all the stories.”

Go in Light, then, my stubborn little boy who disobeys his mother.

I was on the float again. The Shattered Mountains loomed closer, making me small and insignificant, like a grain of sand. The lights blurred, and the world became fuzzy. I could not stop. I would not stop. I’m coming for you, Aureberg.

I am coming!

A damp and swampy smell tickled my nose. My hand touched something wet and lumpy. It wasn’t ice or rock. I cracked my eyes open. Stacks of turf and wood lay by my side while a thick white canvas flapped gently above. Something else bothered me. I was warm and cozy. Moreover, the abundant aches that populated my body were gone, and soft, yellow blankets wrapped me in a bundle.

Was I moving? There were bumps and shimmies. And the light coming from tiny holes in the canvas above me shifted as it moved through shadows. I was on a cart. But how? I was just with Laurin, saying goodbye to her, wasn’t I? Where was I being taken to? Who was taking me? And what were they doing with blocks of stinky turf? I shifted carefully not to announce my awakeness and walked on all fours to the end of the cart. I peeked through the gap between the canvas and the box.

A pair of eyes stared back at me, piercing, and fed up. The man began to say something, but before I could see what it was, I scrammed off the box cart through the rear end, and the bright light of day dazed me.

Something was odd in how the breeze touched my body. I groped my chest and slid my hand down to my legs. I was naked. I shaded my eyes with my hand, trying to make sense of things. The snow was gone, and so was everything else. There was a road, some hills, a dilapidated house, and endless meadows. Where in the Bastard’s name was I?

A thick finger poked my shoulder. I turned and found the cart driver, his beard gray, his hair grizzled, his demeanor grizzlier. His lips moved as I stepped backward. What was he going to do to me?

“Are you deaf?” he said. I almost got mad at him. How dare he? Again with the “are you deaf” crap. After all that I had been through—wait! He hadn’t specifically said it. He signed. When you sign “Are you deaf?” it means something completely different.

I stared at his rough hands forming words. Then I looked him up and down—a frowny face, rough and edgy, body dressed in all shades of rock and stone. Muddy shoes covered his feet, and a tattered beanie hung over his hair. He had the patient look of a mother bear protecting her cub or an angry anthropomorphic piece of limestone.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Hums,” he said with his mouth, his hands unsure if they should step in to translate.

“Hums?”

The man frowned. Apparently, he wasn’t frowning before. He spelled it with his hands, “Heimee Heims.”

“Heimee,” I nodded to myself, half convinced he wished me no harm. Not because he didn’t seem threatening, he could probably kill me with his eyelids if he so desired, but he hadn’t killed me and knew sign language. “What do you want from me?” I signed back to make sure I wasn’t dreaming up his gestures.

“Why would I want anything from you?” Heimee signed.

I glanced at the cart. An old broken thing, on its side, large white letters read HEIMS DISTILLERY. A large stone-ox, with long, large horns and a bored expression, waited to continue. “Why... then... uh?” I mumbled.

Heimee shuffled through the cart and produced a bundle of clothes. He tossed it at my feet. Shirt, sweater, trousers, and a pair of old, worn-out shoes. All gray like his. Who was this man who gave me shoes just like that? Like they’re as easy to have and give as giving stale bread to birds.

“Had to guess your size,” he signed. I stared at the clothes, then at Heime as he climbed into the driver’s seat. I picked up the clothes and ran after him.

“Where are we?”

“Halfway between Ullroton and Guillingsbaer.”

“What? Ullroto… Gui… what?” I had never heard of such places. “Why are you transporting dirt?”

“Not dirt. Peat,” he signed, his forehead and eyebrows folding in on themselves. “You’re very lucky. I don’t travel north so often. My peat supplier stopped his shipments. What an oat. You can’t trust anyone these days, I tell you. Everything’s fine until one day, they fail you and die. That’s why I came this way, to find a new supplier.”

“Yes, lucky,” I signed, though luck was not a friend of mine.

“Was about to burn you—built a pyre and everything. I even tried to light it—the fire wouldn’t stick. That’s when you decided that being dead wasn’t suiting you—wish my former supplier had your grit. Where was this place?” he rubbed his scruffy beard. “Who cares? All the names here are dumb, anyway. This absolute oat gave you those clothes and asked if I needed a haircut while he chopped a lamb—one of the weirdest moments of my life.”

“The barber-baker...” I mumbled in disbelief. “I stole a jacket and food from him.”

Heimee made something with his face. I think he was laughing, but it was hard to say. Can rocks laugh? “I sold him Heims at a discount. With the money he saved, he can buy a new one. The ordeal with that, he can buy two. Maybe even afford soap.”

So I never left the Leftover? The whole event zoomed around me, making me dizzy. But Peachtree? I surely couldn’t have made that up. Could I?

Heimee snapped me out of it. “Are you going to put those on?”

A thousand thoughts raced through my head while I dressed, only to end up looking like a mini Heimee. The big novelty was the shoes. They weren’t perfect, too big for my size, but what did I care? The barber-baker had shoes to give the whole time. Despite all the help he gave me, I hated him. But that didn’t matter now—I had shoes on my feet.

Heimee observed me and said, “You look good for someone who was dead three days ago. Do you need a ride somewhere, or are you okay here?”

I looked around again. There was nothing in sight. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I failed, I—”

Heimee curled his lips. “Alright, bye.” He hit the reins, and the ox looked back at him as if to make sure it hadn’t been just another whack of his tail and began to pull the cart.

I watched him go, my mouth agape. “What? Hey, wait!”

The cart came to a halt.

“Do you need something else?”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“You said that. It means you don’t have a where in which I can leave you. Thus, here is as good as anywhere.”

“But— but—”

“But what? I already wasted enough time with you; I still have at least two weeks of travel ahead.”

“But you helped me.”

“And I haven’t heard a ‘thank you,’ but that’s alright. You’re welcome.” He hit the reins again.

“Wait!” I said.

Heimee pulled the reins.

“Thank you,” I signed.

Heimee slumped his shoulders. He looked ahead, then back at me, then ahead, then back at me. “Fine, hop on.”

I hurried to his side. “What are you going to do with the, uh, pee?” I said as Heimee hit the reins again.

“Peat, boy. Peat.” He dropped the reins to sign. “Man has been using it for thousands of years. Every hearth, every stove, every kiln. Don’t you know what peat is?”

“I thought it was called turf.”

“What a tasteless word. Start saying peat, or I’ll leave you right here.”

“What do you need peat for?"

“Whisky.”

“Ah,” I said. “What’s that?”

“You talk too much for a deaf kid. Whisky’s a spirit. I burn peat to smoke malt in the kiln—there ain’t no better peat than the one found in the flatlands—has a mineral character.”

What a load of gibberish. “Interesting.”

“You’re not a good liar. Why were you butt naked in the middle of nowhere?”

I shivered, the memories still fresh, horrible, guttering, unrepentant. To Heimee’s credit, he stared blankly at the road and continued as if having little boys about to cry on his cart was part of the job. I held tightly to my hate for Aureberg and stopped the tears from pouring out, gritting my teeth.

“The Collapse left its fair share of orphans. Guess I was unfortunate enough to stumble upon one. Can you use a spade?”

“Anyone can use a spade.”

A wide grin dashed across Heimee’s lips. “Spoken like someone who never held a spade in his life.”