9. Marmots

ENTIN

CHAPTER 9

Entin's mouth still tasted of roe. The flavor had gone from good to neutral to unwanted. And now it had passed the threshold into vulgar. His stomach heaved. He steadied himself against the broad trunk of an evergreen with one arm as he bent over double. The vomit was a pinkish, orangish goo—and the feeling of the roe pearls traveling back up his throat en masse before he heaved them out onto the ground caused the involuntary purge to redouble itself. Cascade had initially tried to comfort him, but the sight of Entin's vomit had caused him to vomit, too. The two heaved and gasped in equal measure.

"Is this to be expected?" Entin groaned.

"No," Cascade spluttered.

"Good to know," Entin said raggedly.

The pair, despite their sick, began to laugh. It took some time for them to settle their stomachs. But at last, Entin was relieved to eventually turn away from their twinning roe vomit and resume following Cascade up the trail. His mouth tasted even worse than it had before, but at least he wasn't hungry anymore. For now, it was effort enough to focus on the final switchbacks as they approached the rimrock of the valley. It had been steep work making the climb. He imagined the path was an old hunting trail, or perhaps animals used it to migrate to and from the creek below. Regardless, it wasn't well traveled, and the footing made him nervous after what had happened back on the pass.

"We'll be able to make it to Mountainhome by midday tomorrow if we bed up top and get an early start," Cascade huffed.

Entin felt his feet grow heavy at the thought, and the effort it now took to keep up with Cascade pushed him to near his limit. It had been easy enough to avoid reality while they'd been back in the valley. But now, the fantasy they'd been living these past days was about to come to an abrupt end. His worries were gathering like storm clouds.

"This… trail… is… evil…" Entin said between breaths.

Cascade slowed down a bit, and Entin was grateful for the reprieve. By now, they'd practically reached the top of the climb, and he heaved himself up the final incline. At long last, he crashed to the rocky ground atop the valley's edge. Entin's legs were on fire, and his head spun wildly from strain. His heart thumped in his chest as he pressed his cheek into the cool of the stone and let out a contented sigh. Cascade sat beside him and offered him the waterskin.

"We'll have to make you a skin of your own when we get home," Cascade said. "I have some spare hide in my cave. Enough for moccasins, too."

"I'd like that," Entin replied.

He pulled himself up and took the water, sipping it gratefully. Entin was glad that the taste of fish had finally left his mouth. Far below, the graveyard of the mastodons and the burn scar arced out in the valley. He could even see a hint of the ocean in the distance—the last bit of view of where he'd come from. He found he missed it far less than he thought he would.

Unexpectedly, Cascade placed his hand on top of Entin's. His palm was rough and calloused, but his touch was gentle—tender, even. And Entin, who had wanted nothing more than to be held and made whole by another for his entire life, suddenly panicked at the reality of it. He stood up abruptly, knocking the waterskin to the ground and causing it to waste its contents.

"Is everything okay? Is it the roe again?" Cascade asked with concern.

He rose and followed Entin away from the view and down the trail toward the forest. Entin's eyes burned, and he was crying before he knew where the feelings were coming from or what they meant.

"Did I do something wrong?" Cascade asked.

"No! I don't know. I…" Entin trailed off.

He couldn't attach words to what he was feeling. It was something raw and primal—a sense of worthlessness, of not deserving to be loved. That belief had defined his experience as a person. And while he'd fantasized so much about his desire for closeness, he'd never deigned to imagine that it would terrify him as it now seemed to.

"Can I comfort you?" Cascade asked quietly.

It was a good question, one Entin didn't have the answer to. He nodded, though. His childish desire to be known and cared for outweighed the fear of not being enough. Yet he worried that he was foolish or mad for wanting it. Even as Cascade wrapped his long arms around him and drew him in, a part of him resisted. The taller man enveloped him completely, and for a moment, there was nothing else in the entire world but them.

Entin, for the first time, felt safe. The paradox of finding surety in his captor's arms near the eve of Armageddon was nearly more than he could bear. His whole life, the current of fate had swept him along, and he'd barely managed to stay afloat in it. Now it seemed that same current desired nothing more than to funnel him straight toward a waterfall that spilled endlessly into the vast unknown…

But he wasn't alone. Not anymore. And he now felt that whatever fate awaited him was bound to both of them from that moment on.

Entin slept better than he had any right to. Cascade held him long into the night, breaking contact only to keep their fire going until he'd finally drifted off.

They made small talk all morning as they crossed the final distance to Mountainhome. Entin pointed out this and that flower to Cascade, who seemed never-endingly interested in his knowledge of the various uses of the world around them. The pair connected easily over a shared love for learning. Though Entin knew the skills Cascade was waiting to teach him were far from the wisdom he had to offer.

"What if your uncle has us killed?" Entin asked.

The thought had been idling in his mind all morning. The sight of the God so near and the caves of Mountainhome just beyond had finally brought the worry to the surface.

"He's far too clever to do anything openly. My father had many supporters; even if he's reached Mountainhome before us, he'll have to lie low, as I have to. A fracture in the tribe now could cost all of us everything. He is like poison in a wound. I must draw him out carefully."

"And should he come for us in the night?" Entin worried.

"I think you'll find I can hold my own—I won't let anything happen to you," Cascade said.

The trail they followed had forked and branched many times, and at each juncture, Cascade had been quicker and quicker to judge which route was theirs. The terrain here was strange. Copses of trees looked like green islands floating in a seemingly endless alpine meadow. Giant fins of volcanic rock bladed out of the hillsides, and boulders of many shapes and colors were piled across the expanse as far as Entin could see.

"We're close," Cascade said.

He'd grown quiet as they'd neared. Entin hadn't minded—he had his own apprehensions about what would come next. And so he busied himself trying to locate familiar plants, but found even that distraction challenging. The flora and fauna here were far different than down on the plain. They'd gained altitude—a lot of it. The air was thinner and cooler, and the plants resultantly stunted and twisted.

Entin spotted a series of burrows just off the trail. Bewilderingly, out from one scampered a bizarre little creature. It was like a mouse but huge, nearly reaching Entin's knee when it approached him. It tried to get his attention by standing on its hind legs and reaching its little paws out to him.

"What in the gods is this?" Entin laughed.

The little creature threw back its head and barked. Another appeared from within the network of holes, and another. Soon, there was a small army of the things surrounding him, all tittering amongst themselves as they tried to grab at the pockets of his leathers.

Cascade laughed mercilessly as Entin was nearly overrun.

"Help!" Entin cried.

"You're fine. Here, give them something, and they'll leave you alone."

Cascade dug through his satchel and pulled out a scrap of dried apple. He ripped it into pieces and tossed it to the creatures, who immediately released a chorus of appreciative chitters before dragging the bounty back into their dens.

"Marmots," Cascade explained. "They're friendly, though the ones who live near Mountainhome have become pushy about getting their tithe. And occasionally, they sneak into our larder and steal from our stores. Still, they taste terrible, so don't think about eating them."

Entin stared at the empty openings of the marmots' dens. He'd never met animals so fearless before. And if he were honest, they had been rather cute as well. Small, brown, with huge eyes and dexterous hands.

When he looked back to Cascade, it suddenly sank in just how new this mountain world was. He felt equal parts fear and excitement, imagining that this was to be his home now. And like the marmots, he would make it burrowed within the earth.

"Come on. It's time to go home," Cascade said.

Entin looked at the marmots' den one last time, then rejoined Cascade on the trail.