The path up the mountain had been winding and perilous and took much longer than I had feared. I had wanted to cross Fool’s Gash by daylight but the sun had been far too low already when I first saw it in the distance; that unwelcoming canyon with steep cliffs rising on each side, its ground littered with rocks and bones.
If crossing it by daylight was dangerous, doing so at night equated to a death sentence. Unpredictable rockslides and twists with a potential to lead you astray seemed merciful in comparison to the tales few survivors had told of the “pale ones” that lurk in the darkness at every turn. And the Gash was all twists and turns.
I decided to instead climb the canyon’s left cliff and follow the ridge all the way to Silverspur Saddle where the Fool’s Gash petered out towards civilization.
Night had almost suffocated the dark blue of the wide open sky when I could continue my journey. It was very quiet save for the gusty wind and my footsteps that echoed in the canyon. With the dark of the night a sudden fog crept up that swallowed most of my flimsy lantern’s light. Any misstep would have been my last.
I forced my racing mind to focus on the rhythm of my breathing and on the footsteps so as not to be overcome by terror. Step by step, hour by hour I progressed. After an eternity, the black fog slowly turned dark blue, then azure, and then thinned out in a wispy turquoise at the arrival of dawn. At last I could see farther than an arm’s length. Off in the distance sparkled the roofs of Silverspur Saddle in the first timid sunrays and I stopped for a moment of relief.
Yet my echoed footsteps went on. As I looked over my shoulder in an attempt to discern their source, I looked into the fathomless void of the Pale One’s face who had been following, two steps behind.