Remember Not the Past - Part 1

[This is the first part of a sci-fi/fantasy story I'm (a little hesitantly) returning to. I'm now wondering if I should just do a full rewrite of what I have (about 7K), and would really appreciate a second opinion. My main concern is the POV - first person present seems difficult to pull off -, but all kind of criticism is very welcome :)]

Aled died alone.

He was a guard, not a hunter, but he liked to come with me. It isn’t allowed, though I never reminded him of that. That’s how we got to know each other before the marriage, and how we stayed sane afterwards.

It seemed like any other night. I’d shot a few rabbits, they were dangling on my belt. Aled carried an avanc on his back. I don’t usually bother with them, but he’d shot this one himself and so, naturally, we couldn’t just leave it. We were hurrying — avancs have to be prepared quickly, or they’ll rot apart in your hands. We talked and joked as we went. I don’t even remember what about, though I remember the glint of Aled’s eyes in the dim evening light, the ring of his laughter in the stillness of the moor. We were still far from the base, so we walked as quickly as we dared. Too quickly.

Aled slipped. One moment he was beside me; the next he’d fallen. The moss under him had given way. He was sinking, looking around, staring at me, saying something, something I knew I didn’t want to hear. I reached out: he was too far, and I was going to take a step, but he was shouting now. “Don’t leave the path. You can’t leave the path.”

We’d come to the Fellstep bog a thousand times to admire the beauty of the landscape and enjoy the perfect quiet and solitude. It was a safe haven close enough to the base to reach, yet far enough to be deep in the clutches of the wetlands. I knew the paths there as well as I knew the specks of gold in Aled’s eyes. We had fallen in love with the Fellsteps, and so imagined we had conquered it, made it a home. But nothing lives in the Fellstep bog, and one slip on the wet moss is enough to kill a man.

I looked around for trees, branches, grass, anything to throw out to him, but there was nothing. I began taking off my coat. The cold fog stung my skin as I did. Aled didn’t move, but he was sinking quickly. His eyes were fixed on me. And then he said it: “Run”.

I couldn’t understand him, I told him to grab the sleeve of my coat with his free arm. Aled stared behind me, his eyes filled with terror and moonlight. I turned around.

It was a shadow far greater than the largest slink. It towered into the heights, branched into leaves that glinted as it strode towards us on its many roots. We call walking trees shades. They don’t usually give us trouble, since they move rarely and don’t actually eat humans. But that doesn’t mean they can’t kill you if you’re in the way.

“Run.”

I looked at Aled, but could not speak.

I ran.

We never found his body. Small wonder.

We’d been married for two years. Shortly after I gave birth to our son and buried him. It didn’t take long, he was so small. I still wonder if it was something I did, or if it would’ve happened anyway.

***

I try to avoid the deeper reaches of the wetlands now and always give the Fellsteps a wide berth. I’d stay nearer the base if I could, but us hunters don’t usually get a choice. Today I’ve been sent south. It’s been slow going: I’ve only found one rabbit and a handful of herbs. That’s not even enough to keep myself for tomorrow, and I’m expected to pay up at least half of what I find. I can’t go back yet.

Using paths for hunting is safer than going off into the wilder areas, but animals learn which parts of the wetlands to avoid, and it seems to me this path has now been used one time too much. I stop. The ground under my thin leather boots is soft but steady. We’ve laid it with dry earth, rocks and hay. It’s all covered by a thin layer of mud and moss to camouflage it, though the change of undergrowth makes it stand out clearly to my eyes. Off to both of my sides a shrubby swamp stretches into the distance. The dryer patches are revealed by stunted willows and bloodleaves. Here and there green pools, covered with weeds, peek from under the moss and grass.

This is not a dangerous area. If I slip here, I’ll most likely live. The waters are deep but clear, and there’s always something solid to grasp at. Still, I hesitate before I step off the path.

I make sure my gun is fully loaded before continuing. It’s not only prey that learns to avoid paths. After looking around, I decide to make my way to what looks like a wetter region with less trees. It hasn’t rained for quite a while now: it should be traversable again, and the lushness of the undergrowth there might attract some avancs if nothing else.

I keep my steps quick and light to avoid getting stuck in the mud. My eyes dart from bush to bush, tracing my path downhill. I pass through another patch of trees and shrubs and stop, crouching, just before stepping into the open.

A stream feeds what seems to be a small lake. On its bank there’s a band of miners standing in a dense group. I straighten. Any game that was here is now gone for sure. Miners have no business here. We allow them in the eastern regions, but this is definitely off-limits.

Frowning, I start walking towards the miners. They’re immersed in discussion, so despite the open ground I approach undetected. I’m almost next to them before they notice me with a start.

“If I was a slink, you’d be the easiest feast I’d ever catch”, I say.

A miner steps forward — though young, he’s their leader. The alarm fades from his face when he recognises me.

“Elen”, he says and smiles. “Long time no see. What brings you here?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Michael. You already owe me one. I’m going straight to my superiors with this.” I turn away.

“No, wait!” he exclaims, and grabs my arm. I tear myself from him and grab at my gun. Everyone around me tenses. Michael slowly backs away.

“Do you really want to see me banned from here?” he asks. “We’ve worked well together in the past. You’ve helped me, I’ve helped you…”

“I don’t need your help, thank you. This is ridiculous. What do you think you’re doing, coming out here?” I ask. “Did you think you were going to get away with this?”

“Well, nine times out of ten we do”, Michael says and grins. “A risk worth taking. Even now it’s just you.”

“I’m not letting you off the hook.”

“But you will once you listen to me, I bet”, Michael says and points to the lake. “We were scraping the bottom here, and my men have just made a discovery. It’s something your people will be interested in.”

I raise my eyebrows. I can’t imagine how any artifact would survive functioning in such a lake. If it can’t fire, it’s miner junk. Even so, I say: “Go on.”

“We aren’t exactly sure sure”, he halts, “Not sure of what it is yet. It’s big — could just be a wing of the ship, but honestly, it seems bigger than that. I’m sending some men to take a look. Will you wait to hear what they have to say?” Michael glances back to see two of the miners standing ready to dive. One of them is a small, skinny boy with wild golden curls. He’s staring at me expectantly. I walk closer to the water and look down. It’s too muddy to make out anything, though it does look fit to swim in.

I grimace, then shrug. “Don’t be long about it”, I say with a sigh.

“You’re a treasure”, Michael laughs. He waves to the two half clad figures and they begin wading amid the reeds. They’re both wearing harnesses that connect them, by a long way of rope, to the hands of their mates. I can’t imagine it will do them much good if they get stuck. The thought makes me slightly nauseous. You can count on the miners to be mad enough to try swimming in this place. Still, I can’t help but look as the two make their way into the centre of the lake, then disappear.

“Do you think this is it?” Michael asks from beside me.

“The place of the ship? I suppose... It’s close enough to our base.”

“You call this close? This is hours of walking away!” Michael chuckled. “I would’ve expected you to virtually live on the thing.”’

“Don’t be ridiculous”, I mutter. “There are few places in here that can be permanently inhabited. This certainly isn’t one of them.”

Michael moves away after some moments of silence. I’m glad he’s gone. He behaves as if we know each other, which is embarrassing. My head is starting to pound. The sun is setting and I can feel the first tendrils of fear clutching my guts. I’m supposed to be turning back right now. Instead, I’m standing, staring at a lake, waiting for the divers — who, I realise, have been gone for an awfully long time.

I shoot a quick glance at the men holding the ropes. Michael is chatting to them now. Nobody seems to even be looking at the lake. I scan its undisturbed waters — there’s no sign of the man or boy.

I am just ready to shout out to the miners and make a fool of myself, when suddenly there’s a splash and a shout. The two miners scamper out of the water. They have weeds in their hair and their skin is splashed with mud, but their faces beam with smiles.

“It’s it, it has to be”, the child says to Michael, who’s hurried to meet them. “It was huge, and round, and there seemed to be windows, only they were covered with something. It looks intact!” The other man simply nods. In a daze, I find myself a fallen log and sit down.

Trying to arrange my thoughts, I close my eyes. There are a million questions racing by too quickly for me to grasp at them. Is it the whole ship? Can we lift it? Might it still be sealed? The ship itself won’t be fit to fly, of course, but if it’s not flooded the records might be accessible, or some radios might still function. A spark of hope cuts through me. Will we go home?