Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [263]
The days grew shorter.
The nights grew longer, so long they began to seem endless.
I tried to keep the flame of hope alive in my breast; Elua knows, I did. But the place was simply too vast, the task too hard. The long hours of darkness, the eternal loneliness, took their toll. Bit by bit, the flame guttered.
My supplies were running low the second time we encountered the big deer; low enough that I reckoned I'd have to turn back within a day. The first time, I'd seen the herd at a distance. This time, we came upon them at close range. The herd weren't scared of us, but only watched us with mild gazes as though wondering what strange manner of deer this was with a second body sprouting from its back. My horse stood patiently as I took off my fur mittens and reached for the hunting bow. I nocked an arrow and drew, aiming at the nearest.
The deer watched me, brown ears pricked.
It was an easy kill. In this cold weather, the meat would freeze, so I wouldn't have to worry about it spoiling. I wouldn't even have to dry and smoke it. Now I could keep searching longer. Weeks, mayhap. It was a very big deer. Of course, my horse would starve. But mayhap if I turned it loose, it would find its way back to Miroslas. And I could continue alone, on foot, lugging my packs and pounds and pounds of frozen meat. Tramping through the Vralian wilderness and searching for Berlik, who might well be on the far side of the Narodin Mountains, a hundred leagues from here.
I couldn't do it.
The flame of hope was extinguished.
I lowered the bow. "Blessed Elua forgive me," I murmured. "I don't want a reason to keep going.”
The deer walked calmly away toward the herd, its tufted tail flicking. I took a long, shuddering breath, releasing it in a sound that was half laugh, half sob. Tears stung my eyes, threatening to freeze on my cheeks. I swiped roughly at them with one hand, then stowed my hunting bow and put on my mittens, turning my mount's head.
"It's over," I said.
There is a certain peace that comes with accepting failure, too. It settled into me like a stone. I accepted it. Accepted the knowledge that I had failed.
I had given up.
There are people in this world whose wills are capable of exceeding the limits of mortal flesh. I wasn't one of them. I was lonely and hungry and tired, and so cold that I'd forgotten what it felt like to be truly warm. I had failed, and nothing in my life would ever be quite right again. But I simply didn't have the will to continue.
I made camp that night thinking about all the people I had disappointed. About Urist and the men of Clunderry. Drustan, Breidaia, Sibeal, Talorcan…all of those who had loved Dorelei. Alais, and ah, Elua! I was ashamed to face Sidonie, knowing that the shadow of Dorelei's death would always lay between us. I had tried to atone for our guilt and failed. And Phèdre and Joscelin …the thought of the compassion and understanding they would extend made me cringe inside.
They'd never given up. Never.
But even the mortification of that thought wasn't enough to force me to keep going. The prospect was like a blank wall, unscalable and daunting. I could trek through this trackless wilderness for months. If Berlik was hiding here, I could miss him by a matter of yards. Then spring would come, and he would move onward into even vaster territories. And it wasn't just the sheer difficulty of it. Every step of the journey had chipped away at my will, ever since I arrived in Vralia. Micah ben Ximon, Ethan of Ommsmeer, Rebbe Avraham, my own doubts…all of them had led me to question the merits and cost of this quest.
In the end, it wasn't why I'd chosen to give up.
It just made it easier.
"I'm sorry, love," I said aloud to Dorelei's spirit. "You deserved better. You always did deserve better from me. But I did my best.”
She would have understood, I thought. Truly understood. Dorelei had never expected the sort of heroism from me that I expected from myself. That the