DUSKLIGHT ODYSSEY

Chapter 3

I'm a dead man, Ion thought.

He blocked the sunlight with his hand, but couldn't block the heat. It was so incredibly hot. Ion instantly began to sweat, wasting more of that precious fluid.

He looked behind him and saw the entrance to the bunker from which he had emerged—an unassuming door in the side of a small hill covered in dead grass. Ion clambered up the hill and saw, just as he thought he would, the bent building pointing towards the oasis... and a figure walking towards it

Ion's eyes darted around. The coast was clear—for now. He tried calling out, but his voice was a hoarse whistle, nothing more. Ion coughed, tried to clear his dust-choaked throat, and ran in the direction of the figure who so calmly strode to their doom. Ion huffed and puffed, the sun beat down on him, his legs hardly had strength to carry him.

Ion had seen this place countless times before, but it was unrecognizable to him in the light, all except for that unmistakable crooked building. Ion was still far behind the figure, who then disappeared behind another rise in the uneven landscape; they would doubtlessly reach the oasis before he could catch up.

Finally, Ion saw the shimmering water not far ahead. He'd never seen it reflect the brilliant sun, and for a moment he halted in awe. The oasis was perhaps the remnant of a park. It was surrounded by plants of every kind, a true refuge amidst barren nothing. The light brought out such vivid greens that Ion had never seen.

He looked around again—no danger could be found, nor the person he pursued. Ion lost his self-control and sprinted to the edge of the water. He hurriedly rummaged through his pack. Where was his waterskin? It was missing.

Ion cast his pack aside and brought his head to the water, drinking deeply with the desperation of a dying man. Ion forgot about the sun. Further still from his thoughts was the one he followed there. The cool water greeting his lips was all that mattered, all that existed.

When a hundredth part of his thirst was quenched, Ion snapped back to reality. You idiot, he thought, you're going to die! Get out of here! Ion's eyes darted to and fro. Where had that person gone?

In the distance, across the wide reservoir, there they were. Ion peered closer. It was a young girl. She filled some vessel with water and poured it out beside her for a reason Ion couldn't imagine. She hadn't seen him; didn't know he was there.

Ion thought he saw a shadow move behind her. He had to act, and fast. Swimming to the other end of the pool wasn't an option—Ion didn't know how. He grabbed his pack and ran around the edge. He tried to yell, to warn her, though his voice was still weak. He was nearly there.

Inexplicably unaware of both the danger behind her and the man running toward her, the girl was still focused on whatever strange ritual she was performing.

A lump formed in Ion's throat, a pit in his stomach. Standing over her, directly at her back, a thing of pure darkness looking down at the defenseless girl. It was motionless. She was oblivious. "Hey," Ion shouted, "Hey!" The girl looked up at him, clearly frightened. There was no time, Ion met the girl and flung her on his good shoulder, running as hard and fast as he could toward the building which was bent.

The girl struggled against him. "Stop it! Put me down!"

Ion didn't listen to her objections. He glanced behind him. That thing of pure dark was in pursuit. It was as fast as him, maybe faster. Ion looked ahead. The building was close.

"Stop! Stop! Let me go!" She kicked and cried and hit. One of her legs struck Ion firmly in the stomach, which knocked the wind out of him, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

The girl got up and started to dash the opposite direction, toward the thing of dark which fast approached. Ion grabbed her hand and pulled her as he ran. They were so close. The entrance to the building was right there. But she was dragging her feet, slowing him down.

She's done for. Let her go.

We're almost there, just keep running.

She'll get us both killed. If she wants to die, let her die.

Just a little further.

Ion mustered his strength and swung the girl into the building, diving in after her, scrambling to the shadows. Their pursuer vanished as soon as it touched the darkness. It was gone, and they were safe.

The girl coughed and caught her breath. Wild, fearful eyes darted between Ion and the exit. Ion's eyes were equally intent, conveying his message: "Don't even think about it."

She was thinking about it.

Faster than Ion could react, she lunged out of reach and scrambled toward the door, into the sunlight streaming through it. In her haste she stepped wrong and rolled her ankle. Ion winced with second-hand pain as she fell. He ran toward her, hand outstretched to prevent her ill-fated escape. She looked back at him. Panic drove her forward all too quickly, and as she stood on her injured foot she fell again. Her head made a sickly smack as it rammed into the corner of the doorway from which she intended to flee.

She slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Ion stood still a moment. She wasn't dead, was she? Ion tentatively approached her. She laid face-down at the door. Ion edged around the sunlight, grasped her legs, and dragged her back to shadow. Ion flipped her onto her back and studied her a moment. He took her shoulders in his hands and shook. A little air passed through her lips. No blood was drawn from where her head was hit, though there was a bright red spot significant of an impending bruise. She wasn't dead, but she was completely unconscious.

Ion let out the anxious air he had been holding in and rubbed his temples as he rested himself against a wall. This girl had almost killed herself, almost killed them both, for what? Ion looked her over. She was older than she first appeared—Ion guessed twenty—though she was certainly small, no more than five feet tall. She wore a simple woven shirt and rough-spun trousers cut off at the calf. She had no shoes. A sense of familiarity made Ion pause. He looked at his hand, wrapped in bloodied bandages. The coarse material matched the shirt. One sleeve of hers was shorter than the other. There was no doubt: this was last night's savior.

At least we're even.

The sun was still high in the sky. Ion could only hope the girl maintained her uneven rest till twilight was come. He'd spent too much of his dwindling energy saving her life just for her to rush to its waste again.

Ion's stomach growled and his eyes grew heavy. The adrenaline had worn off, and Ion now felt just how run down, tired, and hurt he truly was. He opened his great canvas pack and rummaged through it for the hunk of élaf he'd stored away the previous night. His fingers brushed over the cloth he'd wrapped it in, but when he pulled it out, the meat was nowhere to be seen. Ion looked at the girl. He supposed that she must have helped herself both to his food and his waterskin in return for last night's good deed. Ion's panged stomach and parched lips disagreed on the proportionality of this trade.

Frustrated, Ion set his pack aside and looked the girl over again. She seemed more restful now, as if she had transitioned from knocked unconsciousness to a bonafide sleep. She shifted from her back to her side—curling up, as it were. Ion thought he could see her eyes moving beneath their lids. Dreaming. Ion couldn't quite recall what it was like to dream, nor truly to sleep. A mildly sour sense of envy trickled into his mind. Here this girl was, sleeping and dreaming with a bellyful of élaf, carefree as could be apart from her bruised head. Ion laid his head atop his pack in a corner across the room and closed his eyes; tried to sleep, tried to dream, but that rest never fully came.