The night had come suddenly. Sewn with starry patterns, it had spread its dark wings over the world, and I walked along the fence with discernment, attentive to the slightest whisper of the wind. The path I took meandered between small thorny bushes, swollen, blackish patches that dotted the darkness before me. The sparse grass I was walking on reverberated the moonlight, standing in uneven clumps that had colonized the mining plateau with a sad and bare carpet. Even alive, the stems were so thin and dry that they were used to light the furnaces. On my left, groves of twisted pines and clumps of broken stone hid the panorama of the mountains from me.

My first instinct, as I left the camp gate, was to follow the road towards the mines, as I had done every day when I had worked with the crews. I quickly changed my mind. On one hand, there was the ravine that joined the road halfway to come and wind up at the foot of the galleries and that complicated any movement to the east. On the other hand, I was wary of the practicable ground because of the hounds and the Carmians that could take it. A last factor had weighed heavily in the balance. The wineskin I was carrying was almost empty. Around the camp, there was only one source of water: the torrent that flowed from the mountains towards the valley of Ifos. I was vaguely familiar with its course from occasional logging upstream from the reservoir, and despite the gullies, I knew the banks were passable for a few miles. Beyond that, I'd have to find out.

The stockade led straight down to the water, an uneven but easy landmark to follow in the night. I had lived in the mining camp for four years, but at no time had I been in control of my movements. As I walked, it became increasingly clear to me that the free man and the slave understand their environment very differently. On the plateau of Culon heights, where I had spent half as much time as in the mines, I had known every single hollow, and memorized every single shrub. Here, others had traced the paths for me, and apart from these, there was nothing I could have grasped. If it hadn't been for this dark line of dry stones and wood to guide me, I would have struggled to orient myself, even in broad daylight.

Under my feet, the crushed rock skidded treacherously, and I tried to keep my step as light as possible, for fear of being chased. There were few living animals on the plateau, apart from birds and vermin. Herds of ibex occasionally crossed the stream, but the grazing on this side was meager, and I think the scent of burning stoves was enough to discourage most of the animals. I had imagined that the night would be silent. I was wrong. As I moved toward the stream, whose waters I could now hear bubbling before me, the foothills resounded with hooting, strident or melodious songs, the yelp of foxes and the shrill jabber of mongooses. The threat of hounds made me startle at every noise and I often froze as a result. My progress was constantly interrupted by these little anxious pauses, which at least had the advantage of sparing my body, exhausted by the disease.

I finally left the stockade behind me and was forced to advance on the rocky meadow that stretched to the torrent. The wind shivered the pale vegetation, and shook the hollow stems of the tall thistles. I didn't feel comfortable walking in the open like that, and I quickly turned towards the heights, to avoid having to approach the water reservoir. The rocky banks of the small dam were too easy to access and too close to the camp to inspire anything but suspicion. Besides, as far as I could tell, most of the dogs seemed to prefer the area around the reservoir. If the side gate had been opened during the fights with the guards, I had the idea that the dogs must have gone there to drink, and I hoped they wouldn't stray too far from the waterhole. I walked around the pool at an angle, stumbling over a slope of mineral chips and stunted pine trees.

When I finally reached the dislocated banks of the torrent, the moon was high in the sky. I slipped between the cracked rock, skidding on the chaos of stones that the last floods had piled up on the edges of the river bed. The water shimmered upstream, a shiny trench where a succession of small waterfalls were foaming. The moon was reflected in the illusory calm of the deeper basins that had formed at the foot of the cascades. I drank while grimacing. Besides being icy, the water tasted like rock and melted snow. When I couldn't drink any more, I plunged my wineskin into the current, while scanning the darkness with vigilance. The coolness of the stream made me shiver, so much so that I ended up pulling the red cloak out of the bag to cover myself. I then ate a few bites of fish as an encouragement, before crossing the river by the edge of one of the waterfalls, walking from stone to stone to reach the opposite bank. Further on, a steep slope climbed up to the pine forest. I immediately started to climb it, disturbing the wet rock to reach the ridge that overlooked the river as quickly as possible.

At the top, I paused to catch my breath and consider the path I had taken. The panorama of the mining plateau stretched out at my feet, a pale meadow that encircled the black geometry of the camp like a grave in a field of bones. I spat bitterly before turning away. Under the trees, I inhaled the resinous scent in deep breaths, as if it would drive away the stench of carrion that covered my mucous membranes. The owls were howling all around and I still sometimes flinched. Yet I doubted that the hounds could have climbed as I had. On the ridge, I was finally able to move faster. There were still rocks, but they were bigger, massive blocks that I could get around with ease. If there was stone under my feet, it had been buried under the pine needles centuries before. My steps were muffled and silent. I hurried on. The woods spread out towards the mountains, clinging to even the steepest slopes. I used the calloused trunks to pull myself forward.

I crossed two more ledges, then suddenly there was a light in the forest, and voices echoed above me. I ducked, cursing, behind a massive pine tree, burdened by the cloak and bag, and especially the mass of blankets. I held my breath. About twenty spans higher up, a carmian patrol was talking around a fire, up the ridge I had just climbed. I couldn't see the soldiers and I didn't think they could spot me in the night, but I didn't want to take any chances. A burst of laughter came from the darkness. One of the phalangists moved away from the group to urinate, humming, and his silhouette became visible against the starry sky. I sat down until he relieved himself, then I started to crawl. The wind, which had been picking up since I had left, sometimes blew the smoke back to me. Meat was grilling up there, and the worry didn't stop me from salivating copiously.

Like a numbing syrup, fatigue engulfed me with effort, throbbing my body with complaints and prayers. An irresistible weight was tugging at my eyelids. My palms and my knees were sinking in the bed of needles of the pine forest, whose relative softness seemed to me more and more welcoming. I skirted the jagged knoll where the Carmians were located, slipping under the trees and between the rocks with a distressing slowness. Like a clumsy caterpillar, I groped in the darkness for twigs, which I pushed out of the way before each push. My breath came out in front of my face in tiny white puffs, which were immediately swallowed up by the night. Under the clothes of the dead man, the sweat dripped between my shoulder blades and beaded in stinging flows to join the hollow of my back.

I had stopped hearing the soldiers long ago when, shivering and half asleep, I finally dared to stand up, staggering with exhaustion. I continued for several more hours, wrapped in my cloak, until each step became mechanical. I walked between the dark trunks, sometimes brushing their roughness with my uncertain hands. Long, frozen gusts of wind poured over the pine forest from the mountains to bite my face on the highest ridges. I staggered forward like a drunken man, but the roar of the torrent below never left my side. The world was disintegrating all around me in a wash of coal, writhing under the effect of exhaustion to tear itself away from my grip.

I was soon the prey of short blackouts, of brief jerks which lost me entirely and from which I was pulled with violence. Staggering and disoriented, I was sometimes deprived of the very memory of my escape. An accident was waiting to happen. I had to come to my senses a few paces from the precipice that overhung the river for me to finally make the decision to stop. A little further on was a welcoming hollow, sheltered from the wind by some shale concretions. I plunged into it heavily in search of a place to stay. After having drunk a mouthful of water, I took off the cloak without thinking about it and unfolded my blankets under the best shelter I could find: a big uprooted tree, parasitized by big polyporous mushrooms. I unloaded my equipment in a hurry, leaned ruthlessly against the cracked bark and fell asleep almost immediately. My sleep was stormy as the sea.

The next day I opened my eyes to an azure sky and the green tops of Carm's red pines. My hands patted my ankles for chains that didn't exist, my mind haunted by memories of coughs and waxy faces. Trembling and tormented, I blinked as a chirping flight of doves passed over the crucible. A dazzling sun warmed the rocks that crowned the valley, bringing out the color of the mosses and lichens that clung to them. The beauty of the rock and the light filled me with a revulsion that I didn't understand.

I remained for a long time without making a single gesture, half crushed by the anguish that the newfound freedom gave rise to, and the puffs of guilt that there was to live. No comfort, however meager, could be found in the warmth that soaked my coarse woolen blankets. Even the wild rustling of the forest filled me with dismay. I felt like a stranger to existence. Seeking refuge, my thoughts turned to Vaw, then to the huge conifers of the Stone Forest, and I suddenly hiccupped without understanding why I hadn't died like the others. There was too much to rebuild and forget. I came to think how easy it would be to stay there, lying in the pine forest, rather than trying to reach a world from which I had been absent for so long. I regretted not having died with Ulrick in Ac-Pass.

Like a crack of the whip, I realized the danger I was in. It wasn't from the Carmians this time, nor from the hounds or the plague. It was coming from me, and the ghosts I carried. I clenched my jaw until it hurt, searching for my combat composure. With my lips curled, I wrapped my fingers around the bronze dagger. The Vals had taught me to pick my battles, and this one was worth it. I gathered up the dead that besieged me and waved them like a flag, and angrily extricated myself from the covers.

Still shaken and confused I crouched down shivering and eased myself against the trunk to avoid the temptation to lie down again. Then I bit into some bread, noticing the pinkish bodies of the crows that lay at the bottom of the bag. Eating did me good. I chewed my way back to my feet, trying to breathe methodically to get rid of the abjection and the unanswered questions, the bits of doubt that still lingered. My heart finally slowed down. Yet I knew the ghosts were not done with me. I knew they were lurking, ready to jump into any breach. Like all enemies, they would come with the night. I resolved to face them as best I could, to at least honor their memory. My eyes were fixed on the sky. I let the horizon take everything else away, except for acceptance.

To the north, still hidden by the foliage of the conifers, clouds swollen with rain rolled gently towards the mountains, driven by the sea winds. To the south, there was only the gigantic shadow of the grey-toothed carmian Wall, whose peaks were waiting for me like an impatient jaw. I winced at the sight of the cliffs, and scanned the slopes ahead. The torrent must have flowed from one of the three steep breaches facing me, carved like trenches between the mountain edges. The vegetation disappeared with the altitude and was replaced by snow. I couldn't see beyond. Thinking about the journey through the passes that had led me to Carm, I thought that this was a good thing.

Cautious but determined, I stretched under the eye of a handful of fearful lizards that had come to take their morning sunbath on the surrounding rocks. I hoped that the phalangist outpost I had avoided the day before would be the last one before the mountains, but I couldn't be entirely sure. If they were conscientious, they might patrol to the very foot of the mountain range. After some hesitation, I put away the cloak I had slept in and the blankets, then slung the crossbow over my shoulder and hoisted my package. I stepped out of the crucible warily, my senses on the alert, determined not to be fooled by the apparent calm of the forest. Cautiously, I set off again.

A hundred spans from where I had slept, the stream gurgled through a series of narrow gorges. Rainbows formed above the foam and stretched between the walls dripping with moisture, to brush against the greenish flows of the sphagnum moss. Even on the heights of the ridge, the thunder of the water was impressive. In spite of the vigilance that I was still imposing on myself, I couldn't help but admire the jagged landscape of the gorges. Sometimes I noticed that I was smiling. The pine forest thickened at this point. The stream drew a great arc between the pines, its bed wide and sparkling, its roar reduced to a lapping melody. A light mist was still lingering in the valley, a barely visible veil that shrouded the woods in a gentle halo. Up high, the foliage cut out the sun, whose rays shot out here and there like spears of light.

I crouched near the bank, looking for human tracks. I had only a vague idea of how far I had traveled during the night, and I was afraid I wasn't as far from the mines as I thought. If the soldiers came this far, it seemed to me that they would have no choice but to follow the same path as I did, and I wanted to know for sure. At my feet, the gray clay trapped shiny shards of quartz, but also many prints. I picked up the tracks of several foxes, a large deer and a number of birds, but there was no evidence of man's presence. The dale was pristine and gamey, but I couldn't linger, not even a little. I would soon have to make a fire to cook the rooks, and for that I was still too close to Ifos.

Rubbing my thighs and massaging my shoulders, I pondered the possibilities. My muscles were now more sore from the night and the effort than from the illness. I was getting stronger, which was a good sign. I crossed the stream, which reached me halfway up my boots, and walked into the forest on the opposite bank with a more leisurely pace. Some time later, the terrain began to climb for good and I left the stream behind. I knew I would find it again, sooner or later. Ahead, the shale ridges cut the pine forest into an uninviting maze. I looked up at the heights, and the formidable rocks that awaited. I then bowed my head before starting the ascent.