To this day, I'm not sure if it was a dream. The sights, the smells and the sounds were all too vivid to have been a dream, but I remember waking up, and the next day, I wasn't tired.
We didn't bother to set up the tent that night. The sky was clear, and whenever possible, we preferred to sleep under the stars. I laid in my sleeping bag, listening to the night noises of the forest, and watching the stars creep by. I heard David's steady breathing nearby; he was having no trouble sleeping. I found myself replaying his words in my mind, "I don't think he would. But I think that as he walked his own path, he might find that magic had left his path instead of the other way around." I had to wonder, did he know what I was asking? How would he react if I told him everything?
At some point, I must have fallen asleep. I found myself staring down a narrow dirt path that stretched across a desolate landscape toward a single cinder cone in the distance. The path threaded its way between jagged outcroppings of lava, looking like a pale gray ribbon twisting across the blackened land. I tried to look around, but found that I couldn't; my gaze was riveted to the path before me. Slowly, cautiously, I began to walk.
Someone was behind me. I couldn't see who, but every time I took a step, I heard a step behind me. When I stopped to rest, my follower stopped also. Somehow, I knew that he was a friend. The cinder cone in the distance seemed to beckon to me. I began hurrying toward it, never quite running, but walking as quickly as I could on that circuitous path.
As my mysterious companion and I neared the mountain, the wind began to blow. At first, it was little more than a breeze, a breath of hot air in my face. With each step, however, the strength of the wind grew. Soon it was a blasting roar, hurling grit and oven-hot air at us as we pushed forward.
I suppose that we could have stopped, taken shelter, waited for the wind to pass, but it never occurred to me. I simply ducked my head, squinted my eyes, and plodded onward.
All at once, we reached the base of the cinder cone. The path, at least as far as I could see it, carved a straight path up the shoulder of the mountain. I wanted something to drink, but knowing that there wasn't any water in that bleak place, I took one small step forward, then another, and another. I stopped looking very far ahead. Instead, I looked down at the ground six inches in front of my feet, watching the clouds of dust that my shuffling footsteps raised as I trudged up the mountainside. One foot in front of the other. One step after another, never wondering why I needed to reach the top, just a simple knowledge that I had to reach it, that the summit was where I needed to be.
I stopped abruptly, surprised when I realized that the trail was no longer as steep as it had been. It had leveled out, and begun circling the mountain. My way was easier, and I began looking further ahead. That was when I noticed the fork.
I stood at the fork, trying to decide which way to go. The wind had died, and for the first time, I could look sideways. Ahead of me, the main trail continued its gentle rise to a switchback in the far distance. On my left, a narrow, rarely used trail climbed at a steep diagonal up the slope to where, far above us, it appeared to rejoin the main trail. I was tired. The main trail looked easier, and far more friendly, but the rapid rise of that rarely trodden path beckoned to me. That was the way to reach the top quickly.
I was several steps up the steeper path when I realized that my follower was no longer with me. I tried to shift my gaze, to see where he was, but once again, I found that I could not move my eyes from the path in front of me. I began pushing myself once again, moving as quickly as I could, reaching out and grabbing onto ledges and outcroppings on the side of the path, pulling myself upward with my arms while I pushed with my legs.
I heard myself scream when the rock moved beneath my feet. I found myself sliding backwards, flailing desperately trying to find a hand hold or ledge to break my fall. Below me, rocks slid down the slope in a cloud of dust, each one dislodging two others. My sliding descent stopped suddenly when I bounced against a large stone. My breath came in ragged gasps. Blood trickled from several nasty scrapes on my arms and legs. My clothes were shredded.
I stood up, shakily, and looked around. There was nothing to stop me. The power that had held my gaze was gone. In the far distance, I saw green land, and a wide river. Beyond them, blue on the horizon, snow-capped peaks formed a foundation for the cloud-studded sky. I saw my path meandering across the blackened plain, and then, in heart-stopping clarity, I saw my follower.
David lay sprawled face down on the trail a short distance away from me. Blood oozed from a large wound on his head. I ran to him, knowing before I ran that it was already too late, knowing that he was dead.
