The Whippoorwill Trilogy - Sharon Sala Page 0,31

puddles inside the mountain no longer drained away. He knew that his first breaths of life had been taken while floating inside his mama’s belly. But he’d willingly sucked his last lung full of liquid just before he’d been born. He had no desire to die by drowning inside this mountain’s womb. Even with all the warnings, he had still not prepared for the internal devastation, or the fact that Mother Nature was about to reveal on her own what he’d been unable to find.

Morning dawned wet and gray. The air was thick with mist that hadn’t decided whether to fall or hang loose. But for Miles, it was a day like any other day. Whether it rained, snowed, or burned hot with overhead sun, he still spent his days in the dark, in a hole in the ground.

He lifted his head, sniffing the air as he stepped outside the lean-to, letting the mist settle his sleep-ruffled hair and beard in lieu of grooming. Relishing the cool dampness, he combed his fingers through his wild curls then tied them away from his face with a thin strip of leather.

A slight breeze lifted his beard, stirring the singed scent from yesterday when it had come too close to a lantern’s flame. He tugged at its weight, thinking that the last thing he needed was to set hisself afire.

Yanking his skinning knife from its sheath, he began to hack at the thick growth upon his chin, wincing as it pulled the tender skin beneath, and hacked until he was finished. The dark, springy pelt covering the lower half of his face was now only a mere six or so inches in length, and as shaggy as a molting wolf. Far off in the next valley he heard the rumble of thunder, but it did not deter him from heading up the slick, mud-covered path toward the mouth of his mine.

Swirls of mist hovered just above his feet, moving slightly like bashful ghosts as he passed through it. Water dripping from the leaves along the trail fell on top of his hat, splattering upon the heavy leather with intermittent plops. He ignored the discomfort as he continued on, his long legs carrying his mighty weight as if it was of no consequence.

The toothless mouth of the mine gaped similar to that of his own, and as he entered, he had the unusual impression of being swallowed whole. His stomach lurched, because this sensation was not normal. The skin crawled on the back of his neck and he even considered not going inside. Then he thought of his Truly and shook off the hesitation.

Just inside the opening, he paused to light the lantern he’d carried up from camp. The scent of coal oil and smoke hung heavy in the damp air, stinging his eyes and nose as he adjusted the flame.

Where there had been darkness, there now was light; small, but persistently yellow. He started down the corridor, pushing the empty wheelbarrow ahead of him, and as he did, the rest of the world fell away. The deeper into the mountain he went, the quieter and colder it became, until finally the only sounds that he heard were those of his own making.

The squeak of the wood wheel on the barrow.

The splat of his boots as he walked through water.

The soft gasp and hiss of his own breath as it clouded before his face.

The reverberating hammer of his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

When the tunnel ended as suddenly as it had begun, he hung the lantern on a peg. Then as he’d done every day for the last seven years, he ran his hand along the wet, seeping walls, stroking it like a lover; searching for the perfect place to plunge himself into her depths.

He lifted his pick, squinting his eyes just a bit as he aimed for a small seam in the wall that hadn’t been there the day before. He inhaled and swung, and the moment of connection coincided with a belch and a roar from the mountain that sent a fresh fall of earth and rocks tumbling down upon him.

Oh hell!

It was Miles’ first and last thought as everything went dark.

At first, he had no way of knowing whether he was dead or just buried alive, then slowly, pain became the focus of his existence and he decided on the latter. His face hurt. Everywhere he touched, it felt wet. The morbid scent of blood was thick in his nostrils and