Three more sweeps passed. The crisis of the sickness, and their speedy move afterwards, were forgotten over the perigees. They settled back into their routine, now with fewer trolls than ever before. Kankri and Meulin were beginning to cross the threshold into adulthood at the age of nine sweeps, and were garnering the respect and responsibility that came with it. Meulin was often assigned to leading hunting parties, due to her extreme skill in the field. Kankri helped prioritize what needed to be done and by who, while also remaining one of the most experienced foragers in the Tribe. (He had, after all, been doing it for the majority of his life.) Porrim remained the Tribe's expert seamstress, and always kept one eye on Kankri and Meulin. Just because they were almost grown did not mean that they didn't manage to get themselves into trouble.
Kankri's visions never stopped. He was able to successfully repress them far more frequently than before. But, as time went on, he found he didn't want to shove them aside. Occasionally he would describe things he had seen, and Meulin would draw them out to give them both a visual. Neither of them could shake the feeling that they had everything they needed to understand the mystery behind Kankri's visions and dreams. But they could not even begin to fathom how the pieces of the puzzle fit together.
Not until, at least, Kankri got lost in the desert.
The Tribe was in the process of moving to their next camp, which involved crossing the outskirts of one of Alternia's many deserts. This one, however, was the same desert that he and his mother had just barely survived after their escape from the caverns. (An escape, of course, that he did not remember. But he had been told the story several times by Porrim.)
Somehow during the day while the Tribe slept, a jug of water had been knocked over. Some suspected the harsh desert winds had toppled it, while others blamed the small scaled beasts that roamed the deserts. The fact remained, however, that they needed more water. It was a precious commodity, especially during journeys between camps. Kankri volunteered to find a spring and refill it. He, and all the others, thought it would be a quick errand. He would be back within two hours, perhaps three.
In reality, Kankri would be gone for almost an entire sweep.
"Be careful," Meulin said, handing him the jug. Once it had been heavy, and extremely difficult for Kankri to carry. But that was no longer the case. He was grown, and very used to fetching water. "Don't get bitten by anything."
"And if I do?" Kankri asked, grinning slightly.
"Scream for help until I find you," she answered.
Kankri rolled his eyes slightly and smirked. "My hero."
Giggling, Meulin stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. (Kankri was not a tall troll by any means. But she had stopped growing when she hit seven sweeps, and was so small that many members claimed she could be culled for it.) The gesture was not entirely unexpected, but Kankri's cheeks flushed candy red all the same. Her eyes sparkled wickedly. "Just don't get lost."
"Me? Get lost? Please," Kankri said, smirking.
"Are you going, Kankri, or aren't you?" Porrim said, walking past. She couldn't help but smirk slightly. Meulin and her son had been rather flirtatious with each other for the past sweep or so, and she enjoyed interrupting their conversations. Not because she objected to any sort of relationship between them (In fact, she welcomed it. She wanted both of them to have that much.), but because they thought they were successfully hiding their blooming red feelings. So her sudden presence would always make them take a few steps back or swiftly change to a new topic of conversation. That, to her at least, was incredibly amusing.
Even in passing, it worked like a charm. Meulin stepped back away from Kankri, and they both blushed slightly.
"She's right. I should probably be going," Kankri said. "And don't even think about eating my rations."
Meulin grinned playfully. "Wasn't even considering it."
With that, Kankri turned his back on the camp and began to walk into the heart of the desert.
It took him two hours of walking to find a suitable spring. He set the jug aside and knelt beside it. He was used to work, but the desert was not a kind environment. The cold wind was blowing dust into his mouth and eyes, and carrying the jug had made his arms stiff and sore. Kankri splashed his face with water and sipped from the pond. The water was warm and not very refreshing, but it was water. He sighed with contentment and ran his wet hands through his hair. At that moment, he was given a glimpse at his reflection.
To his surprise, his eyes were as bright as burning coals.
He leaned closer. His face was lean and angular, and was hardened by multiple periods of hunger. Freckles still dusted his cheeks and nose. His hair was getting a bit long for his liking (He'd have to ask Mother to cut it soon.), and his rounded horns had finally grown to an acceptable length. Overall, he considered himself a decent-looking (if a bit rugged) troll. But his eyes ensured that no one would look at his face. They were a remarkable shade of candy red, without any gray to be seen. He hadn't even realized that his eyes had finally changed color. In the Tribe, there was not much opportunity to admire your reflection. He had noticed Meulin's eyes changing to a lovely olive green, but he hadn't ever considered a similar transformation was taking place in his own irises.
There was no hiding what he was now. Anyone who looked in his eyes would know that something wasn't quite right.
Kankri frowned and pulled his hood up over his head. That helped obscure his eyes a bit, so long as he looked down. Turning away from the pond, he grabbed the jug and dipped it into the water. When it was filled, he stood and hefted it up.
When Kankri turned around, he realized he'd forgotten which direction he had come from.
"Oh shit," he murmured aloud. He looked around, hoping for a landmark to guide his course. Some dry scrub dotted the landscape here and there. A few hardy trees had managed to take root. But none of it offered him any assistance.
In the end, he was forced to simply pick a direction and walk.
He knew long before the sun began to rise that he was hopelessly lost. After two hours of walking passed and he still saw no sign of the camp, he turned around and went back the other way. Then he began to doubt whether it was truly two hours, and turned back again. He changed his mind once more and went all the way back to the pond, which he realized was not the same one he had been at before. By that point the sun was beginning to rise. There was nothing to do but find a tree, wrap himself in his cloak, and pray it would be enough to shield himself from the sun's rays.
When night fell again, he attempted to find his way back to the pond he had first visited. His search proved to be in vain. All he did was get himself even more turned around. The sun rose again, and he took shelter in the dry brush. Night after night he would attempt to find his way, only to end up far more lost than before.
He had water, at least, which he rationed carefully. The jug seemed to grow heavier with each passing night. If not for the precious commodity it housed within, Kankri would have gladly thrust it aside. But after ten nights of being hopelessly lost, the hunger was becoming too great to ignore. There were times when food was scare among the Tribe, and he could easily go three to five nights without any food. Ten, it appeared, was his stomach's limit.
All attempts to catch the small scaled beasts that roamed the scrubland were in vain. On the twelfth night he found some cactus fruit. It tasted sweet and bitter at the same time. But at that moment, it was the best thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life. Even better than the chocolate cake Kennoe had once procured for him.
On the twenty-third night, he ran out of water.
It was then that Kankri was certain he was going to die. He was hopelessly lost, and was now without water and food. But he continued to try. Each night he would tirelessly walk through the dead landscape, and each day he would do his best to shield himself from the harsh, hot rays of the sun.
The irony of the situation was not lost on him. He had, essentially, been born in this desert. In the caverns, his fate was sealed. But when Porrim carried him above ground, he had been given hope. Porrim had given him life. Now here, in the same desert where he was born, he would die.
By the twenty-eighth day, he was hallucinating.
Up ahead of him, the desert suddenly gave way to the ocean. He could see an ornate fuchsia palace, poised on a small island. The pink moon hovered just above it. The green moon was entirely absent.
Kankri hurried towards it, but the palace only got farther and farther away. He was sprinting, desperately trying to catch it. To get food, to get water, to get help. It was always safe in the castle. They would open the doors for him, and he'd collapse on the familiar coral-colored tile and they would help him...
"It ain't real, idiot." Suddenly Meenah was standing beside him. He froze and turned to look at her. She had her trident in hand. Instinctively, he took a step back. She smirked. "Heh, you afraid nubs? I don't blame ya. I got you good."
"What?" Kankri asked.
She rolled her eyes. "I know ya remember. During the game? I killed ya to get things going again. Didn't really work, I guess, but it sure made Porrim itch for a fight. That buzzbug was mad as hell."
"I don't understand," he said. His first vision had been of Meenah stabbing him and killing him. But he didn't understand how it connected with this mysterious game. "What game? Get what going again?"
"Jeez, nubs, how hard did you hit your head when your meteor landed?" She walked over and rapped her knuckles against his head. "The game, squid-brain. Sgrub. It got boring after a sweep and a half. Nobody was doing shit. So I had to try and make everyone get competitive again."
Kankri stared at her. "So...you killed me?"
"Not like I killed ya permanently." Meenah shrugged. "I knew Porrim was scopin' around on your planet. Made sure she was nice and close when I got you, so she could kiss you. I could have just let ya die, I guess. But we were were broodsiblings once, so I couldn't just murder you in cold blood. Bitch has to have some standards, ya know?"
Every word she said only confused him more. "Broodsiblings...?"
"Wrigglers culled by the same highblood. Come on, nubs, you know this shit," Meenah said, setting her hands on her hips. "Feferi snatched up both of us so she could have an heir and a mutant to show off at parties."
He remembered Empress Feferi. She was good. She was kind. She was-
A neglectful, privileged custodian who thought that all lowbloods needed to be taken care of and looked after because they were incapable of making intelligent and rational decisions for themselves. He, being lower than even the lowest lowblood, was considered so foolish that he was babied and pampered like some sort of pet while Meenah was actually given respect and listened to and she never appreciated that not once what he wouldn't give to be in her situation, to actually have people shut up and listen when he spoke-
"What the hell...?" he said aloud, gripping his head. It was like another person was in his head.
Meenah grinned. "That's cause there is another person in your head, nubs. It's you."
She vanished.
He collapsed on to the ground. The desert was slowly turning from dry, hot land to sandy dunes. The sand was soft, at least. He closed his eyes. Death was creeping upon him, slowly and silently. Kankri would die in his sleep. That wouldn't be so bad. It was better than bleeding to death, or blowing up. It was quiet. Easy.
"Kankri," said a voice.
He opened his eyes. The Handmaid hovered over him. He knew her face.
"Damara," he whispered. "Are you here to take me?"
She shook her head. "No. You are not allowed to die. Not yet. There is much to do. Much you must do. Then you will be allowed to die."
His eyes drifted closed again. When he reopened them, she was gone. A bowl of water had been left in her place. Kankri gulped it down as fast as he could. It was cold, clear, and fresh. It was amazing. Minutes after quenching his thirst, he laid back on the sand and slept.
A few nights later, thirst and delirium were taking hold again. The mysterious gift had sated his thirst only momentarily. It had brought him back from the brink of the abyss, but it did not deliver him from it. He wandered through the sand, stumbling and having conversations with trolls that weren't there.
A troll who looked exactly like him stood by and watched as he struggled to get up a dune. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Surely there is a better way to go about this."
"Shut up," Kankri hissed, falling to his knees. "You aren't real. Shut up."
The other Kankri raised an eyebrow. "Of course I'm real. I'm you."
"I'm not you!" Kankri snarled.
"You have my thoughts," said his doppelganger. "My memories. You've always had them, and you know it. You remember."
Kankri grabbed a fistful of sand and tossed it at his double. The other Kankri frowned, brushing it off of his ridiculously high-waisted pants. "Really? Resorting to violence? I would have thought my post-Scratch self wouldn't be so...oppressive."
"What in the hell is the Scratch?!" Kankri demanded.
His double walked over and knelt beside him. "You have my memories. Find out for yourself. Just think. I know it can be difficult for someone like yourself, but the memories are there. You've been seeing them your entire life."
"My visions...?" Kankri said, staring at him.
"Are my memories," confirmed the other Kankri. "Our memories. We are the same person."
"How can we be the same person?" Kankri frowned. "None of this makes any sense. Broodsiblings? Sgrub? The Scratch? How does any of this make any sense whatsoever?"
His double sighed. "If you would make an attempt to remember, you would find it would be shockingly easy. Because – once again – we are the same person."
"If I try to remember," Kankri growled, "will you go away?"
"Perhaps," said the other Kankri.
Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes. His entire body was aching. His head, his legs, his arms. Everything. He needed food, he needed water. But at that moment, Kankri pushed past that. He reached into the recesses of his mind, searching for something that might offer answers. Slowly, vague memories began to take form. The long corridors of the fuchsia castle. Books on the floor. Long conversations on his husktop. The moon – the pink moon, the only moon – splashing light on to his floor.
And then, the flood gates were opened. All at once, Kankri remembered everything.
He screamed.