the illness first hit him, he fell into a deep sleep. In the days that followed, the strength seemed to leak from every measure of his being. His vibrant skin wrinkled, and his dark hair thinned and began to grey. Any fat or muscle on him faded to nothing, leaving him old and frail as though he’d aged a decade in no time at all. It was horrifying to witness.
By the time he awoke, even his voice was so dramatically crackled and aged that I couldn’t recognize it at first. A day later, his speech became faint to the point that I could hardly understand him without sitting directly by his side. As I leaned in close upon his request, however, I learned that this last symptom of his condition was just an act.
“My voice is not actually weak, and I do not need to whisper to speak,” he quietly but clearly said into my ear, which was inches from his lips, “but it is the only way that I can tell you things that she must not hear before I enter my final rest.”
With those words, I could feel the presence of my sister Mariam like a dark cloud around me as though she could hear my father’s whispers even though she stood at the foot of the bed. I did not want her there. Her presence felt like an intrusion on my final moments in my home with my father. I suspected that she was only there because she felt threatened by whatever he might tell me. Based on his first few words to me, she was right.
I pulled away from him just slightly to study his eyes. He smiled at me as though he had just said something loving, and I smiled back, realizing that it was extremely important that Mariam not suspect a thing. Whatever he was about to tell me, it was important enough for him to deceive her.
“I love you, too,” I affectionately replied, trying to really make our conversation appear as something that it wasn’t.
Then I leaned in to let him continue.
“To the north of the city several days is a lake. On the shores of that lake is an abandoned structure. Beneath its floorboards at the southeast corner is a box covered by loose dirt. Find it and open it. There will be a slip of paper, supplies, and a small animal-skin pouch. Do not open the pouch. You are to find a woman whose name is Eliana. She will explain everything to you that I cannot.
“The paper slip has directions on it that will take you to a hidden staircase on the western edges of the mountains. Make sure you are not followed. When you see it, you will notice that it goes down but not up. Do not be afraid to make the descent. The plains are dangerous, but there is safety there, too. You will understand when you get there.
“Kaela,” he then said, his voice becoming soft and emotional, “I will miss you the most.”
Everything he had told me up to that point was so astonishing that I’d almost forgotten he would be gone very soon. This heartfelt reminder of how close we always had been brought the emotions back like the rushing of mountain waters over the plateau cliffs.
I instantly started bawling, gently placing my hands around his tender frame and crying into his shoulder as my sorrow completely overtook me. My head pressed up against his cheeks as I squeezed him tighter and tighter, perhaps too strongly, though he never winced or groaned. He instead lifted and placed his arms weakly around me and kissed my cheek, continuing his words to me.
“You are strong and yet loving, just like your mother was. There may come moments when you doubt yourself, but you have many great things to accomplish. Leaving this city will not be the end of your life. It will be the time that your life finally begins. You are ready for it.”
After that, I rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes, something I did often when I was younger. He placed one arm around me and let me be for a while. The peacefulness that followed was powerful, a feeling that I will not soon forget.
Eventually, Mariam interrupted us, and I was asked to leave. When I got back up, I held my father’s hand again and admired him as I stood tall and firm.
“Goodbye,” I said calmly, holding back my grief until I could be out of his sight.
My lips quivered as I spoke, but I wanted him to see me strong, like he said I was. Like he wanted and needed me to be. He believed that I could handle the task that he had just given me, and I wanted to show him that I would.
“Until we meet again,” he choked back, his feigned, crackling voice returning for the sake of Mariam.
As I now admire the beauty of the city and the plains beyond, I see his glow. These last seven days, I have seen the plateau in a way I never could have dreamed of. I wonder if even my father ever saw it from here. No one ventures beyond the Northern Wall except warrior patrols, which protect our water sources, quarries, and mines, but even they wouldn’t have a reason to come this high.
That is except to get me. Suddenly, a unit of warriors marches out of the Northern Gate. Instead of taking the river roadway that patrols normally tread each morning, they head my direction. They must know that I’m here.
I’m not surprised that I’ve been noticed even though I camped very high up. The spot I chose to stay is quite conspicuous, a ridge that juts out toward the city away from the mountain. I have not made it a point to keep myself hidden, having also surveyed forward into the mountains and determined the path I will take. They will require hours to climb up here, and by then, I will be far from their reach.
One more time, I pause and glance hesitantly toward the city. This is it, my final farewell. There will be no more seeing the reds, blues, oranges, and purples of the sky reflecting off of the city’s white stone walls and buildings. No more flickers of the fires that light the city at night. And soon, no more viewing the mist from high above the plains.
My eyes shift to the layer of fog beyond the cliffs. Though it has always intimidated me, I now look excitedly toward it. It hides many secrets, ones that will soon be revealed to me. I just need to be quick and cunning to evade those who pursue me, and that means leaving now.
I pick up my full pack, which is already prepared, but I do not put out my fire or gather what other things I have left, including another pack. I intentionally brought two heavy packs, which must have appeared awkward to the temple guards who escorted me out of the city. The second pack is a diversion, meant to be exhausted and left here to make the guards think I have hidden myself but have not left. Hopefully, it will throw them off or at least slow them down and provide me some extra time to slip away.
Shortly into my brisk hike up the mountainside, my muscles begin burning and my lungs begin gasping for air. Having never before trekked so high, I am surprised at how much different it is from simply running through the fields.
Over the last several months, I spent a lot of time training my body for the eventuality of leaving the kingdom. Of course, I never suspected that it would be so soon since my father was doing fine at the time, but I had just turned twenty-two years old and simply felt like I should be prepared. As part of my training, I would run through the fields that surround the city to build up my endurance. Although my father didn’t like me being so far from the temple, the residence of the royal family built at the center of Kalepo, anywhere within the city walls is fairly safe, and so he allowed me to do it after some pressing on my part.
The fields are a place of peace, at least relative to the loud, bustling streets of the city. They stretch around the kingdom on its eastern and southern edges, going all the way to the cliffs above the plains. Because they are within the city walls, these fields are protected and allow Kalepo to remain self-sufficient.
I enjoyed being among them. The aromas of grass and flowers would fill the air during the spring and summer, and in the fall and winter, the air was crisp and unpolluted by the smells of burning wood and food being prepared. The farmers and workers there also seemed to be a bit more pleasant than the average person in the city.
At the time, I felt like that’s what nature was like, well-mannered and organized, but as I enter a space between two mountains, leaving the view of the city and plains behind, I find that nature has no organization to it at all. Trees, plants, and grass shoot up wherever they seem to find space, making
many areas impassible. There are no paths, just whatever I can find that allows me through. And cliffs seem to appear out of nowhere, cutting me off and forcing me to backtrack and lose precious time.
By the time the evening settles in, I become distressed that I have not made the progress I had hoped to. Even though the guards have likely turned around for the day, I still somehow feel them closing in on me. The darkness that comes once the last sun sets makes me feel even more encompassed, and so I continue my hike through the twilight until I am completely out of strength.
Once I stop moving and try to lay myself down in the grass to sleep, the silence of the night becomes unbearable. Without the paranoia of my rustling footsteps helping me feel less isolated, I become enveloped by how alone I really am. Most of those I love are dead. The one still alive will have me killed if she ever sees me again.
These thoughts bounce around my head until I begin to sob uncontrollably. I miss my father, as much if not more than he does me wherever he must be. The priests teach us that there is some place where the dead go, a place where they can be with those they lost again. There, he will be with my sisters, along with my mother, but I am trapped here.
The tears don’t stop, but at some point I become so fatigued and