Chapter Twenty-Five

Drip. Plunk. Ping.

Winter was melting all around him, falling from the forest. The ground drank it up, taking it deep down where the life of the trees and the plants and the flowers waited to live again. Jak stepped on the soft ground, his eyes looking for some mushrooms or something else to fill his empty belly. Soon there would be enough food again, and that thought brought a faraway gladness, though the heavy feeling that had weighed him down since Pup died felt like it was crushing all happiness, making it smaller, not important. The heavy feeling was bigger, shadowing everything.

Pup.

A lump moved up Jak's throat, and he swallowed it down, his steps slowing.

The wind moved, a terrible smell making his nose wrinkle, his attention turning right before he heard a low grunt. Something moved in the brush to his left. A boar. He went into a slow crouch, waited for the fear to come, but it did not. That heaviness inside him made that small too.

Pig meat is going for lots of money in town. If you can kill one, I'll bring you your own bow and arrows. It had been a long, hard winter without Pup. Jak had gone hungry often. Scared. Alone. His ribs could be seen easily under his skin. He needed the bigger weapon now if he was going to live. Not only to have meat, but to kill animals big enough for the furs he needed to survive the freezing cold. And if he wasn't going to live, then why wait for starvation to take him, slowly and hurting? Why not let the pig do it with one angry, squealing stab to his gut? Wouldn't that be better anyway? Quicker?

He knelt down next to a mossy tree trunk, going still and waiting for the pig to come out of the brush. He let his breath out slowly. Pinging water. Pig stink. The low growl coming from his own throat.

But the snuffling of that wild pig was not soft. It let out squeals—the ones that had always scared Jak before now. It sounded like a monster or something he had thought might be under his bed when he was a little boy. The thing he'd asked his baka to check for but that she'd told him he must face himself if he was a strong boy like she thought.

He'd done it then. He'd do it now. Face the monster. Even if it felt like he'd already faced too many monsters.

And he couldn't figure out if he hoped to win against this one. Or lose.

The pig came out from the brush. A huge male that had to weigh more than ten Jaks. Prickly white hair covered his black and white body. Short, sharp tusks sticking from his mouth. He had the biggest set of balls Jak had ever seen on any living thing. He grunted when he saw Jak, letting out one of those high squeals and shaking his head back and forth.

Pig stink. Crazy stink. The scent of decay coming from his nostrils like his brain was rotting. As crazy and mean as Jak had ever seen before.

Jak moved toward him, taking out the pocketknife, the blade worn small after many winters and summers of using and then sharpening it again and again against rocks. But he hadn't known he'd be facing down this beast today and hadn't brought the hunting knife.

The sharp gift of life the dark-haired boy had given him so long ago was all he had. It would help him live or help him die. Either was okay.

The pig raised its head, squealing again—the scream of a devil—and Jak felt the first sprout of rage begin to grow, wrapping around his insides. Jak raised his own head, letting out a scream that rang through the forest. He laughed, a crazy sound that came from deep inside his soul, a mix of the loss and fear and hurt and suffering he'd lived through. "Come and get me, you damn pig!" he screamed, rage exploding in him. "Do whatever you want!"

For a minute, the pig stood there grunting, its head lowered, and Jak thought it was going to turn in the other direction. He leaned forward, ready to chase it, when it suddenly charged forward, taking him by surprise. He stood his ground, planting his feet in the soft earth and bending his knees, the knife stuck out in front of him.

Fear swirled through him but so did a wild excitement. "Come and get me, you ugly thing," he said, only this time instead of yelling the words, he grunted them out under his breath, his jaw grinding. The boar lowered its head more and sped up, charging straight at Jak.

Jak had a second of confusion, his instincts screaming at him to run , his mind and his heart saying no . The forest was quiet for a heartbeat, two, like every animal, leaf, and branch had stopped to watch the beast and the skinny man/boy slam into each other, eyes stuck as the animal rushed forward as fast as its fat body would let it. And somehow, that huge animal moved with the quickness of a lightning flash.

Everything exploded through Jak as the animal ran straight into him, Jak's body flying backward and slamming into the trunk of a tree as the animal let out another war scream and kept coming.

Jak hurried to his feet, fighting to fill his lungs with the air that had been knocked out of him. He jumped to the side just as the animal came at him again, the sick smell of it following him, even though its body went to the side. Jak rolled and hopped to his feet, just as it came up too short and turned back, charging at him again, its eyes crazed, spit flying from its mouth.

Jak held up the knife and rolled again, a deep yell coming from his chest as he rolled away from the pig and stabbed his arm forward, the blade ripping across the animal's shoulder. It let out another demon scream, this time of pain.

"Come on, you dirty beast!" Jak yelled. "That's all? That's the best you can do?" He felt as crazed as that pig looked. Nothing mattered. He would die, but first, he'd get in as many good jabs as he could. The boar wanted to kill him, but Jak would make it a fight that nasty thing would never forget. That ugly monster would be telling his ugly grandkids about Jak someday. Jak figured he had balls big enough to make at least a hundred ugly kids as sick smelling as himself. He laughed crazy-like, spinning as the huge pig rushed him again.

Jak went the other way quickly, but he didn't move fast enough this time. As he threw his body forward, his foot caught on a tree root and he went down hard, the wind knocked from his lungs again as pain rattled his bones. He cried out, the hurt making him curl into himself as the pig head-butted him where he lay, the edge of its tusk slicing down his arm. Jak grabbed the beast, squeezing big handfuls of hairy meat as the animal shrieked, its heaviness coming down on top of Jak, crushing him, his air whooshing from his lungs.

He wrestled with the animal, fighting with all his leaving strength. I can't breathe. I can't breathe was the only thought rushing through his dying mind. The forest around him blinked out for a second, dark spots coming in front of his eyes as the stink of the animal filled his nose.

I'm going to die.

His head fell to the side as the pig kept up his shriek, its hoofs digging into Jak's body, its tusks scraping across his flesh, the wounds he'd opened gushing blood. Jak opened his eyes to see the glint of shininess. He was still holding the pocketknife loosely in his fist.

The dark-eyed boy from that very first night showed up in his mind like he was right there beside him.

Why are you here? Jak asked, and the boy didn't answer, but he looked down at the pocketknife still held barely in Jak's hand as the boar continued to tear at his body. What happened to you? Jak wondered. The boy looked down at the knife again as if to say, I gave you that knife. My dying gift. Use it.

Jak's final boom of strength came from nowhere, from everywhere, from the memory of that other boy and the way he'd held his hand and Jak had told him to live. Jak raised his hand, and with the last of his might, he let out a battle cry and swiped the knife across the pig's throat.

Later, he would remember only feeling nothingness as he dragged that dead pig body through the wilderness, his wounds tied with torn pieces of his clothing but still leaving drops of red in the melting snow. The gaping one at his side burning like fire.

Driscoll was outside when Jak turned the bend, and he stared at him with wide eyes, his jaw loose. When Jak made it to where he stood, dropping the dead boar at Driscoll's feet, Driscoll threw his head back and laughed. He's as crazy as that pig.

Jak tilted to the side, catching himself and pressing his fingers to the gaping tear at his side. "Iwantmybowandarrows," he said, the words running all together.

"Oh, you shall have them," Driscoll said. And with that, Jak turned and walked away.

The next while was spent somewhere between life and death. The dark-eyed boy did not come to him again, but his baka did, telling him he was a strong boy and not to give up. Jak wanted to give up. He was tired of living. Tired of fighting. Tired of surviving. And most of all, he was tired of the never-stopping empty aloneness.

But Jak's body didn't agree that he should give up. It kept on fighting, even though his spirit did not. There were no whispers inside, no deep-down life. Only silence. His soul had died. Along with Pup . He cleaned his wounds and laid clean cloth on them, changing through the pieces he had, washing them in water from the pump behind his house and drying them in the warming wind, to go back inside to sleep again. He woke only to gulp down water from the pump, clean his wounds, and eat the small bit of food he had.

***

Many, many days passed. He didn't know the number, but one morning, he woke, noticing he felt better, less sore, less achy. For many minutes, he lay there, staring at the wood ceiling, a beam of sunlight from the window, dancing and sparkling before his eyes. Maybe I am dead, he thought. Maybe those dancing lights are tiny angels and I'm in heaven.

A twist of hurt in his side spoke up, telling him he was wrong. No angels, just dust pieces, and two things could not be more different than those.

His belly spoke up next, telling him that it wanted breakfast. He pulled himself from bed, cleaned himself up, dressed, and picked up his hunting knife.

Another day. Many more to follow. He walked in a different way than he usually took when hunting. Maybe it was toward town, maybe not. Maybe he would walk right into the middle of enemy territory. Maybe they would kill him on sight.

Maybe…he didn't care.

He'd thrown himself in front of a huge, wild, crazy pig with sharp tusks and lived. He'd laugh, only it would open his wound back up again and he didn't have any clean cloths.

He didn't know if he could do it anymore, the constant suffering. The winters always coming, the hunger, the loneliness that felt like darkness carved deep into his bones. Why should he fight? For what? Why should he survive? He understood the look in the blond boy's eyes now. The happiness that it was finally over. Jak should have died on that cliff that night, with the other two boys, maybe three. But he had fought to live. Why? He didn't want to fight anymore, and there weren't any pigs nearby.

You could find a bear with cubs. A mother bear would rip you to shreds if you went too close to her babies.

But that would take too long. He didn't think he wanted to live, but he didn't want to be torn apart by a bear over a whole day either. Plus, he liked bears. He didn't want to make one mad.

He came to a canyon and stood at the edge, looking down. He could jump off a cliff. But not this one. This one wasn't high enough to make sure he died, but there were lots of others that would.

As he stood there thinking about the ways he could make sure of his death, sunlight blinked off something shiny through the leaves at the bottom of the canyon, blinding him for a second.

Curiosity made him pause, the fog that had been hanging over him clearing for a quick minute, the need to know what large shiny item was hiding underneath the leaves, a spark of…life. Jak climbed down the canyon slowly, not out of being careful but because it was all he could do. His body was still healing; he could feel a trickle of blood from the barely closed-up tear on his side sliding down his skin.

His feet hit the bottom with a crunch, and he moved toward the glint of what looked like blue metal from this closer place. He blinked in surprise when moving the thick leaves aside showed a…car. It took him a minute to put together this large thing from that other world with the one he lived in now. What is it doing here ?

Had it been someone trying to escape the enemy, who'd driven far into the wilderness and over the edge of this canyon? How long has it been here?

Glass crunched under his feet, and he bent, looking inside the broken window and pulling back when he saw the skeletons inside. Clothes hung on the bones, and by their look, he could tell that the one at the wheel had been a man and the other one a woman.

Another beam of sunlight caught something shiny lying on the seat, and Jak reached for it, bringing it out of the car and opening his hand. A silver necklace with a tiny opening thing on the side. Jak used his thumbnail to pry it open, showing a tiny picture of a man, a woman, and a baby inside. A family. Jak's stomach knotted up with wanting as he stared at the three smiling faces.

His eyes moved over the people one by one, the man wearing a small smile, one hand sitting on the woman's shoulder. The woman's smile was big and shiny, her blond hair pretty and bright. But it was the baby who drew him in. It was the baby who made him stop and stare. There was something about her eyes…something that made his heartbeat go faster and his skin feel sweaty. He gripped the necklace in his hand and moved to the back of the car where the trunk was opened a crack.

He pushed on it, the metal creaking as it went up. There were piles of wet leaves inside, something that looked like it had once been a blanket but had rotted with wetness. He pushed that to the side and found that under it, there was a blue bag, mostly not touched by weather.

He unzipped it and looked inside. A few paper pads with writing in them. He wanted to know what they said, but he made himself wait, putting the things back into the bag, zipping it closed, and swinging it over his shoulder.

Something that felt like excitement sang inside him. It'd been so much time since his mother had dropped off those kids' books, the ones he could now say by heart. The ones he still took out many times a day to read so he would remember what words looked like. What they felt like in his mouth and in his mind. Maybe what he had in the bag wasn't a story, but to have something new to read…new words… They were…light in the dark.

He turned toward the canyon wall and started to go up. He could figure out a better way to die tomorrow. Today, he had new words. And he didn't feel as alone.