Chapter 8 Abandoned

Concealed beneath a shallow ledge of rock, Delaney Jefferson hugged the sandstone wall so hard that pieces of it crumbled through her fingers. Devilish shrieks shattered the stillness as she tried to stand on wobbly legs, praying again for a deliverance she had long since discounted.

Raised in the cocoon of wealth, with a passion for cleanliness (as long as she was not the one expected to maintain any of it beyond personal hygiene), comfort, and fashionable, high-quality merchandise, she had adapted poorly to the realmlands.

Not that anyone could have prepared for the shock of emerging from the cyclone of light and sound with her hearing partially impaired, face down in a cold, muddy street of some distant land. But she had reacted in most unfortunate way--screaming and flapping her arms as she frantically tried to shake off the filth. This had attracted the attention of several rancid and ill-humored constables of Rushbrook whose combined sensitivity rivaled that of a door post. Unable to make sense of her antics or her screaming, they classified her as a public nuisance. As protectors of order in the public venue, they saw no choice but to drag her off the street and out of the public eye, or ear.

Unfortunately, a harvest celebration among the field laborers the previous day had degenerated into a drunken brawl of epic proportions, the consequences of which taxed the capacity of the city’s ancient prison. For lack of an alternative, Delaney’s jailers had hauled her down to a decaying pit dug out of clay in the darkest reaches of the prison. This cramped cellar closet had been seldom used in recent generations. Occasionally, rumors flitted about that it had once served barbarous purposes and that the spirit of the evil done in secret, and never acknowledged to this day, festered and brooded in its dark corners.

Delaney had never been miserable a day in her life, at least not for an entire day. She was well acquainted with misery, to be sure, and when she chose to wallow in it, she performed the task with a zest and depth of emotion rarely matched outside community theater. But she could seldom maintain the feeling for more than a few minutes at a time, never more than a few hours. The same held true for her entire range of negative emotion, mood, and personality. She could approach platonic standards of infuriation, devastation, crabbiness, terror, sadness, spitefulness, hatred, despair, and apathy, but her energy, curiosity, and short attention span always managed to burn off her emotion du jour in short time. She could no more stay in one mood for a day than she could bear to sit still for the same period.

However, the recent cascade of cruel misfortune had buried her buoyant spirits beyond recall. Isolated in the moldy darkness of a tiny cell teeming with insects and their larvae, bewildered and terrified, she had screamed and sobbed for days on end. No one knew what to do with her, nor did anyone want to claim responsibility for her. So they left her where she was, in hopes that this problem would solve itself or at least be dealt with by someone else.

As a result, Delaney became lost in the system. Except for the daily arrival of a repulsive, decaying meal of unknown composition, she saw no evidence that anyone was even remotely concerned about her existence. After many weeks without a glimmer of hope, her mind had shut down as a survival mechanism. The absence of cognition shielded her from awareness of misery beyond endurance.

By the time Ehiloru had discovered her and obtained her release from prison, the damage to her psyche had been extensive. Any budding regenerative efforts during her subsequent journey into the Third Realm withered on the vine as regained consciousness revealed the extent of her deprivation. The loss of hearing, the constant itch of prison lice that continued to crawl and breed in her greasy, unwashed hair, and the sight of her long, ragged, dirt-packed fingernails made her sick to her stomach. By day she stumbled about, so deep in the throes of grief for the world she had lost that she seldom heard or saw anything of the present one. Each night she coiled into a wretched knot, fighting back silent sobs while gravel and sticks ground into her hips. Periodically, sheer exhaustion granted her an interlude of sleep. This was a mixed blessing, however, for she would wake afresh in clammy clothes to the realization that the nightmare continued.

Now, as the ghoulish howls of the Raxxars echoed about her, she saw the latest chapter of her nightmare mirrored in the eyes of her two travel mates. The three of them had submitted to Digtry’s instruction to hike up to the spring, although she was not aware of the request and had not consciously followed it. No sooner had they lost sight of the base camp than Windglow coaxed them into foregoing the drink and instead hiding at the edge of an eroded gully. At his insistence, they had crouched and waited in silence.

Blood-chilling shrieks from the hillside below had roused her from her apathetic state. Before she could even sense the direction from which they came, antiphonal yowls and caterwauling, louder and more immediate, exploded from the hills around them. Within moments, a mob of Raxxars poured down on them from their ambush positions at the crest of the ridge.

Delaney caught only a glimpse of bat wings, bald heads with crooked noses and sunken eyes, powerful shoulders, yellowish claws, and a single dagger-like toe jutting from the middle of each foot, before Windglow pulled her back and pressed her against the sandstone, blocking her view. The horde swarmed past them, beating down the brush and raising a chalky dust as they converged on the base camp where Digtry and Roland remained.

As the din receded down the hill, Windglow pulled himself up onto the ledge. With a furtive glance downhill, he turned and helped Delaney up behind him.

“I do not wish to cause panic,” he whispered, bug-eyed, as if anything he said could possibly intensify the sense of peril, “but we must run for our lives! Once we reach the top we shall be stuck out in the open with no place to hide. On such terrain, a small lead is as good as none.”

He clattered across the loose, crumbling rock above the spring to the crest of the ridge. His stride was long and far swifter than either of his companions. Delaney and Berch struggled to keep up, gulping air as they lurched from side to side, struggling against the steep slope.

Delaney glanced down the hill but could see nothing. It had been so long since she had formed any coherent line of thought that it did not occur to her to wonder how she came to be in this predicament. Had she even remembered the two members of their party who had stayed behind, it would not have occurred to her that the blood-lusting demons were converging on them.

Upon reaching the top, Windglow bent into a semi-crouch and broke into a run. He raced far ahead of them over the rocky ground, weaving a course through the sage brush and boulders, windmilling an arm to encourage them to follow. When he finally checked on their progress, he discovered his companions were two specks in the distance, barely visible in the spreading darkness. Grabbing his head with both hands, he jumped up and down in exasperation at their pace.

He raced back to them, all the while bracing himself for an attack that he expected at any moment. “What are you doing?!” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Did I not make myself clear? We must hurry! Our lives depend on it!”

He streaked off again, only to discover almost immediately that his directive had produced no effect whatsoever. Berch and Delaney continued to lag far behind, panting heavily. Windglow spun a complete circle and chewed the palm of his hand, writhing in torment, before returning to them.

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“Please! You MUST go faster!” He grabbed Delaney by the shoulder and propelled her forward.

His uncharacteristically forceful display aroused in Delaney perhaps the one emotion strong enough to jump-start her gear-stripped senses. A spark of rage, fanned by the raw winds of fear, began to burn within her. From some faraway recess of her mind, she recalled a conversation about the realmlands. This Tishaaran had spoken of his people’s unusual stamina. That ability was a gift, not something earned. What gave him the right to snap at less gifted runners who were doing the best they could?

They ran for a time until Berch, whose pride had pushed himself to the limit of his strength, staggered and fell. Delaney reached to help him up, glaring all the while at Windglow.

“I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m be all right,” wheezed Berch. “Stepped in a hole. . . that’s all.”

“I beg your pardon, but please save your breath for running,” whined Windglow. He grabbed Delaney’s hand and jerked her ahead roughly, then grabbed for Berch.

The anger welling within, the frustration at the twist of fate that had ruined her life, and the unrelieved agony of weeks in that black hole, all burst at once. Blind with rage, she jumped on Windglow’s back and flailed at him with all her might. Windglow, unsure of what had attacked him, tried to shake loose. Grinding her teeth and snarling with fury, she dug her fingers into his neck and pounded him with her free hand.

Windglow dropped to the ground and began to roll free until all at once he recognized his assailant. “My lady!” he gasped. He repeated this again and again but she continued to pummel him as one possessed. She punched, clawed, and kicked. She sought out his eyes with her sharp fingernails. Windglow fended her off, at the cost of deep scratches in his forearms. When at last he was able to grab both of her hands, she bit savagely at his wrist.

“Ow! Berch, perhaps you could be of some use here!” Windglow pleaded. “My lady seems to have lost her mind.”

“Don’t touch me, either one of you!” Delaney cried, finding the voice that had lain dormant since the third week of her unbearable ordeal in the dungeon. “And stop calling me that stupid name!"

“A thousand pardons, please. I do not mean to offend. But please, what shall I call you? You have not given us the pleasure of your name.”

“It’s Delaney, you douchbag, and I’ll give you the pleasure of it,” she snarled, swinging wildly at him.

“Defend us, you bedwetting breadsop!” Puddles shouted at Windglow from his perch inside his master’s collar. “I’m the innocent bystander and I’m getting the worst of this beating.”

Berch made no move to join the fray. No question this was an astonishing turn of events. But whatever demon had suddenly possessed Delaney was not his problem at the moment. Windglow appeared in no mortal danger and was getting no more than he probably deserved. All in all, it seemed a good opportunity to sit on a rock out of harm’s way and recover his breath.

His calls for aid unanswered, Windglow could do nothing but crouch and shield his most vulnerable parts until Delaney wore herself out. When finally she fell to the hard ground, exhausted, Windglow moved solicitously toward her. As he drew within range, she aimed one last kick at his groin.

“I am sorry that you feel-” started Windglow, jumping back just in time.

“I hate you all!” Delaney sobbed. “I hate everybody and everything that ever lived!”

“Really, I am sorry that you feel-”

“What has happened to me?!” she pleaded. “For the love of God, will someone please tell me what is going on!”

“Here, here! Time for some answers,” said Berch, pushing himself up from the rock. He completely misread Delaney’s questions and her attack on Windglow, who was merely the first convenient scapegoat she had encountered in her cosmic disaster. “You can start by telling us what happened to those two we left behind. Torn to pieces while we turn tail just as fast as your feet can fly. Makes a fellow wonder who you’ll sacrifice the next time your butt’s in a sling.”

Frantic to keep moving, Windglow pleaded, “Please save the questions for a better moment. You do not understand. If we do not keep moving, it is we who shall be torn to pieces!”

For the first time in their travels through the Third Realm, Delaney felt a spark of interests in her surroundings. They mesa offered no concealment except for a few isolated boulders and an occasional stunted juniper that poked up through the scree. Windglow had a point. If the Raxxars had any kind of eyesight at all, they could spot them up here from miles away. For the time being, she stowed her fury at Windglow as they continued to wind through the sagebrush across the rocky highland, feeling dreadfully exposed.

Long after the shadows had blended into darkness, the three scuttled along under starlight. Finally Windglow, who showed no evidence of having expended so much as a calorie of energy during their flight, called a halt. The stars blinked out just enough light for them to set up a makeshift camp beyond an eerie grouping of house-sized monoliths that ringed a shallow crater.

“Best to keep some distance from those,” Windglow noted. “If the Raxxars search for us in the moonlight, those rocks would be an obvious landmark.”

“Okay,” gasped Berch, collapsing on the ground as they reached their chosen rest site. He pulled off his boots and began rubbing his blistered feet. “We played it your way. Answers, now. And they better be good.”

Windglow sighed, offended and bewildered by the tone. “Please, friends, what have I done to incite your hostility? And your contempt,” he added, shooting a wounded look at Delaney. “When I agreed to escort you, all I knew was that Roland was in some sort of trouble with Rushbrook. I tried to help him escape into the Third Realm. How could I know that trouble would find us here as well? The Raxxars, the mortal enemy of my people, have not been active in this area for many years.”

“What about those other two?” demanded Berch. “Ratzor bait, weren’t they? Let me tell you something, mister, you try sacrificing me to save your butt and it’ll be your guts spilled on the rocks.”

“Forgive my dearth of patience,” said Windglow in a wounded voice. “I confess to many faults. I admit that in the heat of the moment I forgot the limits of your stamina. I sincerely apologize and humbly beg your forgiveness. But please do not accuse me of a lack of concern for our companions. I am only carrying out Digtry’s instructions, and not willingly! Until this very morning, I had never set eyes on the fellow, so I cannot judge his mettle. He knows Ehiloru so-”

“Says he knows Ehiloru,” said Berch.

The possibility of deception apparently had not occurred to Windglow. The thought of it clearly bothered him as he continued. “Well, assuming he is what he says, he seemed rather sure of himself--recklessly so, if you will forgive me for speaking ill of the---- I see now that he has sacrificed himself and Roland to purchase our safety. Had I known what he intended, I never would have--”

“Oh stuff it!” sneered Berch. “Those two were the meat you threw to the wolves so we could get away.”

“Get away?!” exclaimed Windglow. “Begging your pardon, but do you think we have gotten away? Safe and cozy are we? Once and for all, I did not seek this adventure. If you feel you would fare better without my help, by all means do not let me stand in your way.”

In the faint starlight, his shoulders slumped and the long chin dropped to his chest.

“Listen to me,” he said, suddenly meek. “So self-righteous and all. Forgive me, please, but I am a bit down at the moment. Our luck has not been good.”

“Funny how it’s always the stupid who have the bad luck,” said Puddles.

“I don’t get it,” said Berch. “I thought you folks avoided traveling to other realms because it’s too dangerous. Well, here you are traveling in your own realm, practically in your own backyard, and we’re worse off than we ever were back in that Second Realm.”

“Begging your pardon,” said Windglow, “but I do not understand what gets into you when the sun goes down. Instantly you have breath enough to talk through the night. Daylight comes and you have none to sustain a slow trot.”

“You aren’t thinking about going back to help them two, are you?” said Berch.

Windglow's anguished whisper could barely be heard even in the silence of the mesa. “What good would it do?”

After a long silence, he added, “Sleep now. Get your strength back. Tomorrow shall likely be no easier than today, if indeed we live to see the end of it.”

Delaney curled up in her blanket on the slate-hard ground. Too weary and sore to sleep, she tried to summon memories of a bygone world. Didn’t I once eat real food with a fork? Drink cold milk from a clean glass? Scarf chocolate candy bars? Didn’t I sleep in a soft bed with big oversized pillows, with music putting me to sleep, every night of my life? Could I have dreamed did all that?

This, perhaps, was the cruelest blow of all. Reality and fantasy had exchanged places. Anything she associated with normal, anything smacking of comfort or hope, had transformed into the wildest fantasy. Far worse than mistrusting her most cherished memories, she could barely even access them. Only specific stimuli could precipitate a specific memory out of the haze that shrouded the realmlands. The rest of her past had faded away. She could no longer even picture the faces of her family.

Delaney looked forward to morning, the only thing in this Godforsaken world that had ever held the remotest appeal for her. While it promised no hope, it at least meant the end of another night.