Activity

CHET GABE

Chet leaned against Brand’s warm, round stomach and sighed. The camcal snorted, his belly jerked, and out came two big globs of snot. Chet’s lips twitched, but he didn’t quite smile.

“You’re lyin’ on my hair!” A girl’s voice hissed through the muggy night air.

Chet glanced over across the dead fire where Chaha and her sister were trying to get comfortable on the bumpy ground. The old woman was already asleep, and Tyag was tactfully ignoring his daughters’ bickering. Chet’s lips curved up a little bit more, but then he caught the gleam of Nakkali’s eyes in the jungle trees.

Ah, that’s right, you worm, Chet thought, and his face was a complete frown. You’re too good fer us, ain’t ya? Well, you can have your scratchy tree all to yerself. I’m jist glad to be down here with folks who care fer me —

Chet’s eyes had shut, but now they popped back open again in shock.

What? What are ya thinkin’ ya dumb boy? 

He tried to pace his breathing with Brand’s, but his mind kept racing with scattered, tumultuous thoughts.

“All gone it,” he snarled softly. Instinctively, he reached for the saddlebag beside him and searched with his hand for a leather pouch. He pulled out a flask and lifted it to his lips.

Delirious sleep was better than no sleep at all.

***

His dreams were no better than his thoughts. They were the same dreams, replayed over and over again in vivid detail. There he stood, an onlooker watching his terrible deeds march before him in single file, each one leering at him and snickering at his terrified face. His dream self shivered and tried to close his eyes, but to no avail. They were glued open.

Something touched his nose.

Chet’s eyes opened slowly, wary of intrusive light, but there wasn’t much more than a dim glow. He brushed his hand across his face to clear the tickle, but his glove was wet — and cold.

I mustn’t have slept it all off. 

He rolled over to go back to sleep, but when he did, he felt a strange crunchy cold wetness.

The Aridite sat up so fast that his head swirled and it was a moment before he could take it all in.

What is this stuff?

Brand’s soft belly was covered in a white dust.

Chet himself was covered in a white dust.

“All gone it!” he breathed in amazement, and even if the drink hadn’t quite worked itself off, he still would’ve bent down and felt the snow, clenched it in his fist — and licked it.

The snow melted in his hand. Chet stared at it.

Then he stood up — by the Blades of Fire, where was he? Where were the others?

Chet turned around and took in the cold, rocky cavern. For the first time, he realized that the hair on his arms was standing straight up and that his face was probably red from something other than the sun.

The lack of sun. 

His heart started racing almost as hard as it had on his first raid. He stumbled over to Brand and brushed the snow off of the beast’s large, gangly head.

“Git up, Brandy-boy. Come on, git up!”

The camcal snorted again in defiance. But when Chet dumped snow on its face, Brand rapidly gathered his legs together.

Then the raider and his ride walked carefully through the only opening in the cave.

I must still be dreamin’, or hallucinatin’. This jist ain’t possible. This ain’t able to happen. Where’re the others?

Chet guided Brand through the corridor, trying to quiet his nerves so the camcal wouldn’t panic.

So that he wouldn’t panic.

Chet’s boots crunched on the snow and when he and Brand breathed, a cloud of vapor appeared in the air.

Then Chet strained his ears, for he thought that he had heard something.

The sound of voices.

Is it them?

He started forward again — and then stopped.

But it might not be. 

But I’ve got to see anyhow. There’s nowhere else to go.

So he turned a rocky corner, and there was another cavern. This one was even larger, and this one had people.

But they weren’t his people, and they looked like they were as cold as he was.

And standing right in front of him were too dark figures.

By all the hogs of the badlands, this ain’t good. What can I do? I cain’t go back, I cain’t leave . . . and I cain’t act frightened. I cain’t let that happen again. I cain’t.

So he forced himself to speak — he forced air through his dry vocal cords — and he introduced himself.

“Hiya, I’m Chet Gabe.”

Then he closed his mouth again and hoped that they thought the red of his cheeks was only from the cold.

And that he hadn’t made some kind of mistake.