Pathways - Jeri Taylor [186]
Getting through the portal to the access tunnel wasn’t difficult, but the drop to the floor on the other side was a long one, and Kes felt the impact in one of her ankles. She sat for a while, rubbing it, until it stopped throbbing.
She was inside a stone-lined shaft, around which wound an old and dilapidated metal stairway. Light stanchions were embedded in the walls at regular intervals, but most of them were dark, and those that weren’t provided only a fading, flickering light. She peered up the shaft, trying to see where it led, but the stairs disappeared into darkness within a few meters.
She glanced once at the opening she’d come through and realized that even if she changed her mind, she wouldn’t be able to scale the wall to get back through it. Of course, if she simply waited here, Daggin would realize where she’d gone and come looking for her, and would help her climb out. That was why she had to move quickly, why she couldn’t afford this last-minute hesitation. She drew a deep breath, trying to quell the nervousness that tickled her belly, and put her foot on the first step upward. It wobbled somewhat precariously, but successfully bore her weight.
Slowly she climbed, so as not to tire herself early. She had no idea how far she had to go, but suspected it was a long way. She would need all her energy. And as she climbed, she focused on these last remarkable, painful weeks.
Her father had entered the morilogium just over a month ago, and began the swift aging process that signaled the end of life. Gradually he became weaker and weaker, until finally he was confined to bed, where Kes and her mother stayed by his side as was the custom among their people, sharing memories and remembering the loving moments of their family life. It was a process which helped the waning person to move gently into the next stage of existence, and helped the surviving family members to accept their loss.
Except that it didn’t work that way. Kes was grief-stricken, devastated, although she worked very hard not to let either Benaren or Martis know that. But they were too wise, and knew her too well, to be fooled. The process of leave-taking became much more about helping Kes to mourn, until finally she was able to accept, as her father clearly did, the inevitability of his death. His last words to her and her mother were of love, and he closed his eyes peacefully before breathing his last.
When that happened, Kes felt a huge stillness, a void, settle within her. As though recognizing that, her mother turned to her, took her by the shoulders, and said, “You must see the sun.”
The black void dissipated, and a lightness of being overtook her. Her mother’s generosity was astonishing, for she was giving Kes permission to do something that would possibly take her away forever, leaving Martis alone—and yet she knew it was what Kes must do.
And so Kes found herself now, climbing ever upward, into the unknown. She alternated between moments of exhilaration and terror. It was entirely possible the Kazon still existed on the surface, and that she was walking into terrible danger.
On the other hand, they might have departed long ago. All the water on the surface had been burned away, and the terrain was anything but inviting—at least, that’s what the most ancient journals indicated. Why would people remain in such a hostile environment?
But what impelled her upward most of all was her mother’s simple pronouncement: She had to see the sun. She had to know its light, to feel its radiant warmth on her skin. Why that was so important she wasn’t sure, but it was a vision that kept her climbing, even when her legs began to ache and quiver from the thousands of steps she’d taken.
She stopped to rest periodically, eating some food rations and drinking the water she’d brought along. Then she would rise and begin climbing again, sometimes holding the deteriorating handrail,