CANAISIS ∞ Chronicle One ∞ 2: A Captain's Journey

45 ∞ The Promise

He made his way into the cemetery, passing the gray-black mounds that followed the fence line. The fence acted as a windbreak, the ash piling up just inside but leaving some of the way inside easier. He was on a stone pathway, and the sled followed with less drag on his aching legs. His pole thunked on the stone with each step into the darkness receding before him at the same pace as it closed in behind him. Here and there, he made out stone markers standing upright beside the stone path, mounds of ash built up on the wind side. His memory tried to overlay what he remembered with what he now saw, but it was too much for him. He was in a cemetery. In a dead world. He ought to feel something poignant about this, a small thought pointed out before it sank into his fatigue and vanished.

After some time of walking, the gray ahead solidified into a large rectangle of blackness. As he trudged towards it, the building took on a firm reality. When he came close enough, all he saw was a blank stone wall, scorched black.

He'd failed to reach his destination. Profound disappointment, numbed by the cold and fatigue, tried to overwhelm him. Leaning with both hands on his metal shaft, the thought of just giving up became the only thing that offered relief. He stood for a time, his head hanging as the wind blew around him, carrying black ash in hypnotic rhythms.

«Captain, you must keep moving! Your temperature is dropping to dangerous levels!»

Canaisis' voice jarred him into moving again. His legs automatically forced themselves forward, one after the other, to the fire-blackened wall. Then spots and streaks of the original surface shone back at him through the fire damage.

Marble... It was marble. He could see that clearly in the illumination. No other building that he knew of in the cemetery had marble walls. Was this it?

Resolve hardening, he looked to both sides, picked a direction, and made for the corner of the building. The sled runners made that grating sound he'd grown accustomed to as he turned the corner. He had to stop to pull it by the rope past the turn. Then he shone his helmet lights down the next side of the building. Individual squares stuck out from the wall, all in neat rows. Stepping closer to the squares, his lamps illuminated a plaque with a name he didn't recognize. His thoughts jumped as he realized this was it, the mausoleum.

Gathering his last strength, he made his way along the second side of the building. This side was protected from the wind, and he felt warmer because of it. Row after row of nameplates passed him by. Spaced five rows high, only a few blank spots remained.

This is it, he thought numbly. This was what he was looking for. He had to make the next turn—that was all he allowed himself to focus on.

Some plaques had melted, metal drippings hung frozen from the bottom edge. The next corner came into view, and the wind caused eddies of ash to swirl around the edge. Stepping past the corner, he turned and grabbed the rope to pull the sled to him, his arm muscles burning like fire.

The blank marble wall witnessed his passage until he arrived at the entrance. The double doors stood open before him, blown in, but they were intact. Wind danced in over the ash piled to one side as he drew the sled in with him. When he reached far enough inside, the wind died down. He pulled the sled up to himself and unlatched the rope from his waist.

Refusing to let go of his dwindling strength, he returned to the doors and pushed them closed, locking out the wind.

Sudden silence.

He'd forgotten what silence sounded like. In the pitch-black darkness, his helmet lamps shone cones of light as he hobbled back to the sled. Pulling the ropes that held the tarp down, he lifted an edge and found a power lantern. He activated it and looked around. Both walls on either side of the central walkway displayed plaques, many more than he remembered. Stumbling on cold, numb feet, his tired legs carried him forward to the end wall. White marble shone back at him, and in the center of the wall were two squares. One square held a plaque, the other was blank.

He leaned with one arm against the wall. Gazing at the inscription on the plaque, he whispered, "I promised you I would return."

He didn't notice his legs give out from under him as he passed out.

«Captain, you must replace your suit's battery!» Canaisis' voice was the last thing he heard before all thought left him. He drifted in numb blackness for a time, grateful to feel nothing. But it did not last. His mind wandered through memories until one memory pushed to the fore.

He was in his apartment, looking at Caitlin as she stood before him. Determined, she faced him, eyes glistening with tears. "I've waited for you for most of the whole time we've been together, Gareth. It's not easy being a captain's wife, but I felt it was worth it, that we'd have time together later. Well... I've been diagnosed with Ahron's disease.

"I only have a short time left, so I've decided I'm not going to wait any longer to live my life. I'm leaving."

Ayla felt herself return to the darkness with Gareth, but inside, her heart shattered. And the voice beside her could offer no comfort... just as she could offer him no comfort.

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