Off the beaten path, onto the narrow road.
The adrenaline from their recent escape had swiftly subsided. Heading up the mountainside, the boys came upon a staircase carved into the rock. It was a relatively short flight of steps which led to a landing surrounded by a quarter-circle of rock wall. At the centre of the wall was a door cut into the stone.
The first thing Gen did was try to push it open, first with his hands, then with his whole body. When it didn’t budge, Jovin walked up to it and ran his hand down the uneven surface, feeling for inconsistencies in texture and form like the expert he is. There were many scratches and impact marks, as if someone had attempted more than once to break down the door. Then his fingers met a depression in the wall - an inconspicuous keyhole.
“The key…” Jovin muttered, casting his gaze to the ground, a faraway look glazing over his eyes.
“What could be in the mountain that is so important? A tomb?” Gen mused, studying the rock formation. He then placed his ear against the door, though he wasn’t sure what he was listening for.
“Not a tomb. Treasure, riches, wealth,” Jovin replied. There was certainty in his tone. He’d put all the fragments of this shattered family affair together, though he knew not of its reason, purpose or origin. Like a long and deep sigh, the words had left his lips. What remained hanging was an uncertainty more complex than before. Somehow, as he dug deeper into his past, tracing his roots to the very beginning, his unanswered questions compounded rather than came to resolution.
Jovin turned around and leaned back against the rock. Then he slid down clumsily till he was sitting sprawled on the ground, dispirited and defeated.
Gen crouched down where he was, deciding to give Jovin space yet offering solidarity in the little way he could. There was a time for audible words and a time for silent ones. Now was the time for the latter. He would remain silent and present as long as needed, and he hoped that Jovin understood.
“I’d like to believe it was for some noble cause that my parents ran away with the key. To protect the people of the MidLands from Zavus’ plans of conquest…,” Jovin began.
“But what if it isn’t like that? What if they really were traitors wanting the wealth for themselves?” His voice broke and his eyes misted over.
This was fear; in the face of what could be betrayal and disappointment to the bone in those he trusted and looked up to - the image of his parents hanging on the line.
All along he thought that the physical, black-metal key was the key to unlocking the secrets of his family history, but more and more he realised that the key had been buried along with his parents, and there was no way of ever retrieving it.
“I’ll never know for sure…I’ll never know the truth.” This uncertainty pierced him down to the very core of his heart, hurting far more than if he were to find the truth contrary to his hopes. It was an enduring, gaping wound that could never scab over and heal.
“They sacrificed everything - home, comfort, safety, community. I believe they wouldn’t have done that if not for something greater…” Gen heard himself say in the softest of voices.
Jovin found his arms becoming limp - the arms that bore the boulder of his past, carrying it with him across the lands in hopes of laying it to rest in the pasture of closure. The weight was becoming unbearable and he had finally lost the strength to keep holding on. He was tired. He let it slip, and with it came the release of two decades of affliction.
As it all crumbled and caved in, so did he. Jovin wept, curling up on the spot where he was and covering his face with clenched fists. This was not the kind of weeping with only a few sentimental tears shed in beads that rolled down his cheek; this was a heart-wrenching, gut-twisting cry that left him shaking, gasping, and choking.
He was that 7-year-old boy again. Except, this time, there was no threat of being heard; he could finally cry out loud.
“Did you ever...cry?”
“I still do. On nights when the light of the stars falter behind grey clouds, I remember vividly that night when the wolves came. I get scared. I weep.”
Unbeknownst to Jovin, his years of weeping had only been an unending internal cry. He never knew the difference, for the boundary between his realities had been blurred.
Though excruciating, it felt good to finally experience and let out those locked-up emotions. This time the pain was meaningful; this pain led to healing.
Gen’s hug came like a covering to his wounded heart. It shielded him from the echo of loneliness, protected him from cutting doubts and flaming lies, and soothed the aching of his grief.
The clouds parted as though ushered by the wind and a ray of warm sunlight fell upon them. Jovin shuffled away slightly, embarrassed at his breakdown yet thankful for the company of a true friend; a brother.
Wiping away his tears he stood up, unsteady at first, but then he found his ground once again.
They now had to climb the mountain. There was no map to guide them this time but it seemed there was only one path ahead. Jovin started towards it - the very obvious, wide, and cleanly cut path to their left.
Gen didn’t know why but he felt reluctant to move. In his mind there was no question if they should follow that path; there was no other way forward. Yet it didn’t sit right in his heart, and so his feet stayed rooted to the ground.
Something turned his attention to the area on the right of the door. It was overgrown with foliage, with some cascading down the side of the cliff. His feet moved before he could think. His hands moved before he could plan. Clawing through the leaves he discovered a path behind it.
It was narrow and looked precarious. Like a dance with death, it made the other path seem all the more attractive. It seemed absurd to go this way, anybody with any sense would -
“We should go this way.”
Jovin stopped and looked back to see Gen drawing the leaves apart like a curtain.
“It looks like many have gone this way. It’s easier, and safer,” Jovin defended his choice, chary of the dangerous-looking path.
“I think we should go this way,” Gen repeated, and hoped the conviction in his eyes was enough to convince Jovin. There was no rhyme or reason, only a feeling deep within. Unexplainable as it was, this was a conviction like no other; unlike the youthful defiance of yester days.
Jovin stood contemplating for a few moments before walking towards Gen. When he passed through the foliage and walked on ahead, Gen was grateful.
And so they left the other path behind, not looking back.
The path was snug for two and they walked in comfortable silence for the first few minutes, with Gen mindfully tracing the edge.
“You alright?” Gen asked Jovin, noticing the cut on his right forearm. Whatever scraped him had torn through his sleeve. It must have been one of the bushes at the start of the path. Jovin looked down at his arm like it was news to him. As if he was exceptionally experienced in matters as such, he then proceeded to rip off the end of his scarf and tied it flush around the wound. Thereafter brushing it off with a nonchalant smile. Typical of Jovin. Gen was not entirely convinced but he let it slide.
The narrow path was a winding path, but not nearly as steep as they’d expected. It was a scenic path, giving them a glimpse of the expanse of the MidLands. Though the lands - the places with civilisation - were swamped by the darkness, above them were dazzling white clouds that rolled into the distance in a completely separate realm. Hope was present, and their climb upwards only made it feel closer and within reach.
The more they climbed, the more they realised Mount Hallow wasn’t a frigid, snowy mountain like those of Malaban. It was lush and green. The air was fresh. In fact, life and greenery seemed to flourish the higher up they went.
In the red hours of evening they camped in a nook in the mountain wall around a small fire Jovin made. As it crackled and spat, a sense of quietude fell upon them, as if captured by the mountain’s mystery.
“You knew where the key was.” Jovin’s voice broke the quiet. “Why didn’t you tell them?”
Gen looked over at him who was staring deeply into the fire.
“I know what you would have chosen.”
“I hesitated.”
“I trust you.”
This time Jovin looked up and caught Gen’s eye.
“I can’t even trust myself.”
The look on his face was pained. After everything - the wrongs heaped upon him by foes without, it was the foe within that bettered him, that left him in a heap of guilt and disgust.
“That’s what I’m here for. I know you’d do the same for me.”
Gen leaned forward on his knee and offered a smile. Jovin looked away. It was a kindness he wasn’t ready to receive.
The topic dissolved between them and did not resurface again.
They continued climbing, days upon days, putting all their hope in an uncharted path - that it would lead them to the river and to salvation.
Somewhere along the way Jovin slowed. He also stopped surveying their surroundings, all the while keeping his head down. Gen noticed and wordlessly matched his pace, surmising that the high altitude had dulled his nimbleness. Except he then began to stagger, like something had thrown off his balance. Soon he was falling behind, which sounded Gen’s warning bells.
“Hey,” Gen caught him just as his legs gave way. Only then did Gen get a good look at him - he looked ghastly. Lips so pale they were almost white, visible sweat droplets at his temples, veins in his neck distended. Laboured breaths. The rising and falling of his chest exaggerated, each attempt feeble at best, like fingers clawing and seeking grounding but only grasping loose gravel.
Gen set him down on the ground and propped him up against the mountain wall. He was still conscious, though barely. Eyes rolling around in their sockets, unfocused and wandering. This was unlike his indisposition when they were sailing across Tempest.
“Jovin. C’mon, wake up. What’s wrong?” Gen patted his cheek, concern growing by the minute.
When Jovin’s right arm fell limply by his side, Gen connected the dots. Quickly, he rolled up Jovin’s sleeve and undid the scarf. His wound was festering, and the skin around it looked like it had been hit by lightning, with blackened veins creeping up his arm.
He’d been poisoned. Gen stared at the wound, mouth agape, not knowing what to do yet painfully aware that something had to be done fast. In a flurry he emptied the contents of his bag onto the ground and picked through the items with quivering hands. When they closed around the small bottle of ointment, he hurriedly uncapped it and tipped it towards Jovin’s wound. But just before the liquid left the bottle, he pulled back, a million thoughts and doubts running through his mind. Would this make it worse? What if the poison reacted adversely to the ointment? Ma never said the ointment could be used for wounds like this.
He had to decide; Jovin was fading in and out of consciousness. Gen looked around, a desperate attempt at finding help. But there was none to be found save for the unsympathetic whispers of the wind. He was alone with his dying best friend and it was up to him to save him.
It had been long since he felt this way - that the fate of the world and those he cared about rested on his insubstantial shoulders alone. He could always look to Jovin. But now he was back to being that scared young quester leaving Kelv behind, bracing himself to face the darkness alone.
The bottle of ointment stayed in his trembling hand until urgency got the better of him and he poured it over Jovin’s wound with bated breath and gritted teeth.
Even in his semi-consciousness, Jovin flinched and immediately curled up on his side, clutching his arm and crying out in agony. Gen was stunned into silence and he fell back onto the ground from where he was crouching, at a complete loss. Did it work? Is it healing him? Seeing his friend writhing in pain only amplified his helplessness. All this torment, to what end?
It took some time - an eternal time of anguish for Gen who could only watch, with hands that he knew not where to place - but eventually Jovin stopped convulsing and quietened to an uncharacteristic stillness.
The relief that Gen felt promptly turned to worry. Two fingers to Jovin’s neck; thankfully he still had a pulse, but it was extremely faint and slow. His life was still hanging by a thread.
The river. If it was everything legend said it was, its waters would be able to heal Jovin. With newfound promise, Gen squared up. Replacing Jovin’s scarf with his own, Gen wrapped it securely around the wound. Then he lifted Jovin up, draped his uninjured arm over his shoulder, and began walking them forward.
This time the climb was slower, but every step forward renewed Gen’s resolve and kept him going, even with Jovin’s dead weight causing him much difficulty.
The path then became dangerously uneven. Gen failed to secure his footing once and his ankle met the ground at an unnatural angle, throwing the both of them off balance and sending them crashing into the ground.
Gen hurriedly checked on Jovin and found that his eyes were open. He looked alert and responsive though still pale and haggard. He tried to speak but choked on his words.
Nevertheless, he persevered. “Leave me be, Gen…I can’t make the rest of the journey,” he said.
“No. I’m not leaving you behind. We’re both getting to the river. It will heal you,” Gen replied firmly, trying to get them back on their feet.
“Gen, I knew all along that I’m not gonna make it.” When the shadow of night had about stolen the fire, leaving it in embers and smoke, Jovin looked over to see Gen had fallen asleep. Head propped up on his bag, arms crossed, and knees bent, he looked uncomfortably comfortable. Turning towards the moonlight, Jovin unwrapped his makeshift bandage. Now exposed to the prickly air, the wound stung. Wincing, he clenched his fist, then carefully rotated his arm under the light until he caught sight of the lacerated skin. It was worse than he thought. Not only did it show no signs of healing, the skin around the wound had turned a bluish-black. Staring out into the dead of night at nothing in particular, Jovin sat unmoving. Perhaps a few shades of sorrow dimmed his complexion, and the glimmer behind his eyes turned cold. But he was the same Jovin in the morning to come.
“We won’t know unless we try,” Gen insisted, already standing and adjusting his friend’s arm so that they were steady.
“Gen…”
“C’mon.” Gen ignored him, starting forward, jaw taut with determination. It was only now that he felt the sharp pain in his ankle from their fall earlier on. Jovin was too weak to keep up with his protest.
They continued upwards, with Jovin once again fading. Gen checked in on him with every few steps they took to make sure he was still hanging on. His faint breath to the back of Gen’s hand was the delicate assurance that sustained Gen through his exhaustion and injury.
Suddenly the sound of water broke the monotony and monopoly of the wind. It tickled Gen’s ears and hope swelled within him. The soreness in his limbs and the pain in his ankle just about vanished, and his strength was remarkably restored.
“I hear it! We’re almost there!” Gen turned to Jovin excitedly, bobbing him a little. Though there wasn’t any change in the way Jovin looked, or in the way he was out cold and unresponsive, a pang of fear struck Gen right then.
A quivering hand to Jovin’s nose - nothing. Two tremoring fingers to his neck - nothing.
“No, no, please, Jovin, we’re almost there, we’re almost there…” Gen went as fast as he could, feeling hot tears sting his eyes and a terrible trembling overtake his body.
The gushing of the river got louder but it was no longer music to Gen’s ears. The anxious beating of his heart and his accelerated breathing thrown into the mix only made the sound of hope a strident noise.
Still he carried on forward, mechanically, in vain effort, for he did not know what else to do. Till there before him was the river bank. In place of what should have been the sheer rush of exhilaration was the heavy toll of despair reverberating throughout his being.
Gen laid Jovin down and fell to his knees weeping.
They had arrived, but Jovin was gone.
Author’s note: Here is an example of God-inspired salvaging of plot holes and bridging gaps from previous chapters. While writing the recent chapters about Jovin’s trauma and emotional blockage, I keep going back to the contradictory lines I wrote in chapter 7. Here, I had 2 choices - change what I wrote back there, or provide a clever explanation. Thank God for the idea to explore Jovin’s trauma on a deeper level through a ‘plot hole’! I learnt that sometimes people say things that may not always corroborate with what is observed. This is human and it opens up a discussion about blindspots and the deeper roots of these (subconscious) inconsistencies! How interesting!
Might I suggest that the climb looked something like this but the path is wide enough for two to walk side by side. Screenshotted this from an IG reel. The moment I saw it I was like ‘tHIS IS IT’
The second half and ending of this chapter was a wild idea that could only have come from God 🙃 This is not the end, stay tuned for the next chapter!