Chapter 6: Trials of the Wild
As Tobal adjusted the medallion around his neck, its faint pulse from the exam lingering, he followed Rafe toward Old Baldy. The terrain was tougher than he’d thought—broken and uneven, making it impossible to walk a straight line. The snowshoes were awkward, and his legs ached from the unaccustomed effort. He didn’t need the compass but headed as straight as he could toward Old Baldy, trying to keep track of his paces.
Most of the time he could keep the mountain in sight, but sometimes deep brush and thick trees obscured it. That’s when he pulled out the compass and used it as a guide to keep going in the right direction. Rafe made them both snow goggles from gray fabric with narrow slits to protect their eyes from the fierce, blinding glare of the snow. Without them, they could have suffered snow blindness.
It wasn’t long before Tobal completely lost track of how many paces they had gone. Rafe told him when they reached the first half-mile. Tobal kept better count after that, and by the second mile, his count was close to Rafe’s. He was in the lead, using the compass to set the pace. The terrain changed the further they traveled—from meadow around the city-state to more forested and rocky ground near the mountain. Rafe cut a walking stick for Tobal and showed him how to use it to save his balance and navigate rough spots.
“Uneven ground like this is really dangerous,” Rafe said seriously. “You could break a leg or worse. A walking stick can help keep your balance and test for weak spots in the snow and ice before you step into them. With a heavy pack, you’re top-heavy, and the stick gives you something to lean against.”
They stopped a few times to rest and drink water from the canteens. The water tasted terrible, but Rafe made him drink it anyway. “It’s easy to get dehydrated out here. You should drink about two gallons of water a day when living outdoors like we are.” Later, Tobal realized he was so thirsty he didn’t mind the weird taste—it just felt good to have something wet. The afternoon wore on, nearing sunset. He had just finished tying his eighth knot and looked around uneasily. Theoretically, he should be close to where they were going to camp. He said as much to Rafe.
“Hey, shouldn’t we be close to the creek? I have my eight knots. I think we’ve come four miles. Where is the creek?”
“You do, do you?” Rafe said, grinning widely. “Do you see any place that looks like it would make a good campsite?”
Tobal looked around more closely. There was a clearing ahead, a small open area off to the left sloping down toward a line of thick brush. Then he saw it. “There’s a creek!” he pointed excitedly toward the brush, hearing water in the distance. A faint drone hum drifted from the north, catching his attention. He frowned, glancing at Rafe. “What kind of drone is that? Are there many around here?”
Rafe squinted, listening. “Drones? They’ve been popping up for about a month now—odd for these parts. Could be Federation scouts.” Tobal hesitated, wary after Adam’s warnings. “My uncle was recalled to active duty at a Federation outpost here. He might be trying to keep an eye on me.” He clamped his mouth shut, unsure if he could trust Rafe yet. Rafe nodded thoughtfully but didn’t press.
Together they hiked over to the creek. It was a small creek with clear, icy water runoff from Old Baldy, tasting fresh. Tobal asked why it wasn’t frozen. “It was frozen earlier,” Rafe said. “Now it gets above freezing during the day and just below at night. Because the water moves fast, it doesn’t freeze anymore. It’ll flow until next winter.” They emptied the old water and refilled their canteens. The air near the creek was fresh with the tang of spring thaw, but Tobal knew it would be a cold night. He felt elated yet tired and exhausted from the day’s journey. He was hungry and asked Rafe when they’d eat.
“First thing is to set up camp,” Rafe told him. “Then you can eat. Set up a shelter, get your fire going, and then cook food if you have it. First, we’ve got to find a good campsite. I’m taking it easy on you tonight. It’s not going to rain, so we can sleep under the stars. Our sleeping bags will keep us warm if we set up near a boulder to reflect heat. We’ll need to keep the fire going—it’ll get cold.”
“This will make a good spot,” Rafe said, walking to a rock outcropping on a level area clear of brush. “We build the fire here. First, dig a trench in the snow to get out of the wind. Use your snowshoes to shovel.” Together they scooped an area clear and set their packs down. As Tobal arranged wood, the medallion pulsed, and a Wild whisper murmured, “Their prison nears.” He stumbled, shaken, but Rafe steadied him. That night, as he drifted to sleep, vivid dreams haunted him—his parents in a cold fortress, Lucas and Carla guiding him through a crystalline rift, and Howling Wolf chanting under a starry sky. Two hours later, during a rest from testing a plant, a vision flashed—his parents in a fortress, connected to a crystalline device—then snapped back, leaving him breathless.
“Now we’ve got to find firewood before dark,” Rafe said. “Look for old, dead branches not on the ground—small enough to cut or break by hand.” They gathered wood, including pieces from a splintered log, dry and breakable, to sustain the fire overnight.
“Next, the fire,” Rafe said, crouching near a small wood pile. “We need tinder to get it going.” He pulled tinder from his pack, shaving magnesium with his knife into the pile, striking sparks with the blade. The sparks caught, and Rafe blew them into a flame, adding twigs until it roared. “We’ll let that burn awhile,” he said with satisfaction. “Now, get your beds made. Got your knife? Cut pine branches for a mattress, about a foot deep. It creates an air cushion so you won’t get so cold. If done right, it’s like a bed.”
Tobal, dubious, followed Rafe, cutting boughs and lacing them into a mound smelling of fresh pine. “Take your blanket as a poncho—lay it over the boughs to keep pitch off your clothes and sleeping bag. Put your bag on top, use the last blanket if needed.” Tobal did so, sat down, and stretched out, an incredulous smile crossing his face. “Hey, this is great!” He bounced. “Just like a bed.”
Rafe chuckled and started the evening meal, filling canteen cups with water, adding jerky, wild onions, potatoes, and herbs. The stew’s smell drove Tobal wild with hunger. It was one of the best meals he’d eaten, filling and satisfying. He thanked Rafe for sharing rations.
“Tomorrow, you’ll find your own food. The next meal’s on you, but we did enough today. Get some sleep,” Rafe said. Tobal crawled into his bed against the rock, heat reflecting back, warming him. His eyes closed, and he fell into a deep, dream-haunted sleep.
The smell of baking fish woke him. Rafe had set traps overnight, catching a batch. Tobal laughed, “How’d you catch fish?” Rafe grinned, “Luck today—enjoy it.” “Teach me?” Tobal asked. Rafe sobered, “Only so much per day. Relax; it’ll come. A month to learn, then you solo. First week’s tough—building strength. I’ll ease you in.” The fish, wrapped in herbs and baked, tasted amazing. The crisp morning air felt alive.
“What’s next?” Tobal asked. “It’s almost full moon—Osteria time, a big get-together,” Rafe said. “How many of us?” “150–200, varies. We meet, share stories, gossip, initiate newbies like you.” “Initiation?” “Official clan welcome.” “Our clan?” “Forget it for now. Let’s move.” Rafe mapped their route—30 miles north, adjusting for a cliff, using knots. A telepathic reptilian hiss echoed in Tobal’s mind from a shadow in the trees, leaving no tracks in the snow.
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