M.A. Kleen

Twenty-five years ago, I self-published The River of Rain, a philosophical exploration of freedom, human nature, and the modern world. To mark its anniversary, I’m releasing a fully revised edition, one chapter every Wednesday. This is the novel as it was meant to be. Continued from Chapter 15.

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Ariana no longer knew how many days Victor had drifted in and out of consciousness. Mostly out.

Her bath project was finally finished, and she discovered that lying in the cool water soothed both her aching muscles and her nerves. Sometimes she stayed there for hours, eating sparingly from what remained of the dried meat and always setting some aside for Victor.

Looking down at herself, she realized she had changed. The soft weight she had carried when all this began had hardened into muscle from months of rough living. If she ever made it home again, she doubted anyone would recognize her.

Not that going home mattered right now. Not until Victor recovered.

A groan pulled her from her thoughts. She lurched out of the water and hurried to his side.

“Victor!” she shouted, grabbing his hand. “Victor, are you awake?”

“Where am I?” he asked, struggling weakly onto one elbow.

“You’re here. With me.” Ariana frowned, confused by the question. Then his eyes suddenly flew wide open.

“The bear!” he rasped.

“It’s dead,” she assured him, pointing toward the carcass.

His fingers tightened painfully around her hand. “We have to use it for food…”

Ariana recoiled. “It’s been lying there for days. That’s disgusting.”

“No,” he groaned. His face had already gone pale again, his strength fading as quickly as it had come. “The cave… cold enough… preserved… very little bacteria…” The words barely escaped him before his head rolled to the side and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Hours later, he stirred again. Ariana was still sitting beside him. “Give me my knife,” he murmured weakly. “I’ll show you what to do. How’s the firewood?” His voice sounded distant, almost dreamlike.

“There’s not much left,” Ariana admitted. “I’ve been conserving it like you said.” She leaned closer, desperate. “You’re still sick. Please go back to sleep.”

Victor’s face tightened stubbornly. “Nonsense,” he muttered, forcing himself onto one arm. “Take the knife. Cut the thing open from the neck to the tail. Then roll it over.”

Ariana stared at him, horror creeping across her face. Her upper lip twitched involuntarily. There was no chance she could do something like that. The thought alone turned her stomach.

Before she could answer, Victor collapsed backward onto the stone floor with a dull thud, unconscious again.

Ariana let out a long breath and pulled on her heavy furs. She decided to go outside and gather more firewood instead. As she passed the bear’s carcass, she looked at it with sickened dread. Then her eyes settled on the bow and arrows leaning against the limestone wall.

An idea came to her. Maybe she could hunt something smaller. A duck, perhaps. Some cleaner animal that didn’t need to be hacked apart like the bear. She crossed the cave and picked up the bow. It looked simple enough. Pull back the string, aim, release.

Without an arrow, she tested the draw a few times. The bow fought her harder than she expected. The string—whatever strange material it was made from—pulled tight with a sudden snap that startled her badly enough to make her flinch.

She carefully nocked one of the arrows, admiring the colorful feathers at the end. Drawing the string back took far more effort than she expected. The arrow slipped from her fingers too early, clattering harmlessly against the far wall and snapping painfully against her hand.

Grimacing, Ariana retrieved it and tried again, determined to get it right this time. Why did this always look so easy in old cowboy movies? Planting her feet, she pulled the string back with all her strength and aimed once more at the wall.

TWANG.

The arrow shot forward and cracked hard against the limestone. A sharp pain surged through her hand as her fingers snapped shut and trembled violently. Blood welled from a thin cut between her thumb and forefinger.

Forget this, she thought bitterly, sucking at the wound while walking to retrieve the arrow.

When she reached it, her eyes widened. The arrowhead was gone, and the wooden shaft had splintered nearly in half. With growing irritation, she kicked the broken pieces into the shadows and glanced over to make sure Victor was still asleep. They should teach archery in school, she thought sourly.

Abandoning the idea entirely, Ariana decided to gather firewood like she had planned in the first place. She stormed down the well-worn path toward the cave entrance.

Even beneath her heavy furs, the cold bit hard at her face, quickly turning her nose and cheeks red. And this was still inside the enclave, where it remained far warmer than the world beyond. She shivered to imagine how cold the forest must be now.

Frost coated everything. The pool had frozen solid, and the waterfall had stopped completely, leaving only a dull white scar where living beauty once moved. Seeing the place like this stirred memories she would rather have left buried. She could hardly believe how selfish and stubborn she used to be. If she met the girl she had been a few months ago, she doubted she would even like her.

What month even was it now? January? February, probably. She prayed spring would hurry and arrive. At least the sun was out.

Ariana shook the thoughts away. There was work to do. She began by following the river, where plenty of fallen branches lay half-buried in the snow. As she climbed farther up the slope, she spotted deer nibbling at brittle twigs still clinging to the barren trees. Around her stretched an endless world of white snow and dark brown timber.

By her third or fourth trip back toward the cave, she heard the voice. At first it was so faint she thought she had imagined it. Then it came again, louder this time. A girl’s voice. Desperate.

“Hello?” it called weakly through the wind.

“Hello?” Ariana shouted back before she could stop herself.

A figure in pink emerged slowly through the snow. Ariana could make out long blond hair whipping in the wind and a red, chapped face buried beneath a scarf and oversized hood. The two hesitated, cautiously closing the distance between them.

Something about the stranger felt eerily familiar. Ariana narrowed her eyes. The girl wore a bulky pink snow jacket and matching pants, the heavy hood pulled low over her face. Suddenly the stranger broke into a run.

As she drew near, Ariana finally saw her clearly. The girl’s face twisted between disbelief and joy as they nearly collided in the snow. “Oh my God,” Ariana gasped.

It was Jenny.

Her friend looked exhausted, half frozen, and utterly radiant with relief. “You’re alive!” Jenny cried, throwing her arms around her. “You’re alive!”

Continued in Chapter 17…