THE ROOT OF DARKNESS

THIRTY THREE

Three days.

Three days to break the thick sheet of clouds hovering around the top of the giant plant like a mist. We persist through the fog like mad men, losing the strength to even talk.

Every breath is precious in the thin air, and every step higher, drains our strengths faster than our barely existent food supply can replenish. Despite our strict rationing of hard bread and stale water, there is nothing left in our satchels.

"Ah! I can barely feel my back anymore!"

It is Sir Berret who exclaims, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

I glance sideways at him, barely seeing him through the fog. I croak back,

"I can't feel mine either. Only the pain in my fingers guide me. I reckon if I take my gloves off and see the state of my fingers, I would definitely faint and lose my balance."

Sir Victor let out an exhausted wheeze that he probably intends to be laughter.

"Look on the bright side, lads. We are about to break the clouds. Look up!"

I look up and a relieved smile stretch my parched l