Three days later, Martin walked along a remote mountain path. He remembered the general direction from when he had been carried under Gerald's arm. He kept going east, ignoring the cuts from weeds on his legs.
For a week, he traveled deep into the mountains. Fortunately, there were few dangerous beasts here. Martin moved cautiously, and finally, on the morning of the seventh day, he stood on a lonely peak and saw the familiar cloud-wreathed mountain of the abbey in the distance.
He was exhausted. He sat down on the peak, took out some food, and ate a few bites while staring at St. Helman's Abbey. His eyes were determined. Then he heard the sound of an animal's breath behind him. The hairs on his body stood on end. He turned and saw a huge white tiger with blood-red eyes, staring at him with cold menace. Drool dripped from its mouth, making a soft pat, pat sound as it hit the ground.
The tiger roared and pounced. Martin smiled bitterly and, without hesitation, jumped off the cliff. The wind rushed past his face, and images of his parents' expectant eyes flashed through his mind.
Father, Mother, Allen is unfilial. Farewell.
Branches growing out of the cliff face were thick and tangled. Martin fell rapidly, breaking branches as he went. Halfway down, a powerful suction suddenly appeared.
Martin was pulled helplessly into a cave in the cliff wall, pressed tightly against the wall. He stayed there for a long time until the suction finally faded, then he fell to the ground.
He lay there, dazed. After a while, he struggled to his feet. His clothes were torn into strips by the branches, and his body was covered with wounds. His right arm was particularly swollen and painful. He touched it but could not tell if the bone was broken. The pain surged like waves, and beads of sweat rolled down his face.
He looked around. It was a small natural cave. Sunlight streamed in through the cave mouth. The floor was littered with the bones of birds and animals.
On the wall behind him was a fist-sized hole, pitch black, of unknown depth. He thought for a moment and realized that the sudden suction must have come from this small hole. The bird and animal bones on the ground were probably creatures that had been sucked in like him and died from the impact.
The suction seemed to appear at irregular intervals. It had saved his life by pulling him in as he fell. Ignoring the pain in his right arm, Martin moved toward the cave mouth to look outside. Suddenly, the bones on the ground stirred and rolled backward. Martin wasted no time and rolled into a corner.
An unimaginably powerful suction erupted from the small hole in the wall. The bird and animal bones clattered and were sucked toward the hole. Some larger bones stuck to the wall, blocking the hole for a moment. But the suction continued. A bird flew into the cave and slammed into the wall with a wet smack, blood splattering everywhere.
After about an hour, the suction stopped. Martin stared at the dead bird in shock. He did not move. He sat quietly, calculating the time.
Half an hour later, the suction returned. This pattern repeated several times. Martin learned the rhythm: the suction lasted for one hour, stopped for half an hour, then started again.
During a lull, Martin hurried to the cave mouth and looked down. He smiled bitterly. Below was a forest with jagged rocks visible on the ground. The cliff was extremely steep, and with his injured arm, he could not climb. The distance to the bottom was several dozen yards—a fatal fall.
His food bundle had been left on the peak above. Now, food was his biggest concern. Martin thought for a moment, calculated when the suction would return, and retreated to the cave, pressing himself against the wall.
A day passed quickly. Night fell. Martin felt his body growing weaker. His arm was completely numb and without sensation. He thought about his situation and said to himself with a bitter smile, "If I stay here, I'll die of starvation. But jumping off the cliff is certain death too. Ahh."
He looked at the bloody carcass of the bird in the corner. He hesitated, then gritted his teeth, walked over, and picked it up. A foul, fishy smell hit his nose. Martin sighed, then put it in his mouth and tore off chunks of raw meat.
He barely chewed before swallowing. His stomach churned, but a warm sensation rose from it. He quickly ate half the bird, then felt a strong urge to vomit. He stood up and took deep breaths, suppressing the nausea.
He threw the remaining half of the bird aside, sat against the wall, and let his thoughts wander. He thought of his parents, of Uncle Frederick, of the mocking faces of his relatives, and of the cold, merciless eyes of Brother Malachi from St. Helman's Abbey.
As he drifted in a daze, his eyes suddenly fixed on the half-eaten bird carcass beside him. He stared without blinking, then grabbed it and looked closely. Inside the half-eaten bird was a red bead the size of a baby's fist. Martin dug it out, his heart pounding with excitement.
He remembered reading a book of myths and legends at the village teacher's house. It said that animals that lived for many years sometimes formed a core inside their bodies. If a person ate such a core, they would gain great strength, extend their lifespan, and even regrow lost limbs.
At the time, he had scoffed at the idea. But now he had seen holy monks with his own eyes, and he found himself believing some of the old tales.
If this bead is really a magical beast's core, Martin thought, his heart racing, then if I eat it, my injuries will heal, I can leave this place easily, and I might even be accepted into the monastery. At the very least, I will surely pass the perseverance test.
But the bead was hard and did not seem edible. He frowned and wiped it clean with a strip of cloth from his clothes, revealing its true color.
It was a gray stone bead with five cloud patterns carved on it. It looked ancient. Martin was deeply disappointed. He tried biting it, then touched it and laughed bitterly at himself. "Allen, you're dreaming too much. How could such a coincidence happen? A bird with a magical core just happens to fly in and die right in front of you?"
He sighed. By now, it was dark outside. Exhausted, he curled up in a corner and fell asleep, placing the stone bead casually on a bone beside him.
It was autumn. The ground lost heat quickly, especially in the mountains. A chill crept into Martin's body as he slept. He hugged himself tightly. The night passed.
The next morning, sunlight streamed into the cave. Tiny droplets of dew formed on the stone bead beside Martin. As more dew accumulated, it slowly dripped onto the animal bones.
Martin woke up later. His arm was still swollen. In fact, it showed no sign of improvement—it was getting worse. He sat on the ground, feeling despondent.
Am I going to be trapped here for the rest of my life? he murmured to himself. Then his eyes caught the dew on the bones. He was thirsty, so he carefully picked up a bone and licked the accumulated droplets.
The dew was sweet and refreshing. He did not know if it was his imagination, but after drinking it, his whole body felt warm and comfortable. His injured arm began to itch and tingle, and the swelling seemed to go down slightly.
Martin rubbed his eyes and looked closely. The swelling had indeed reduced. He thought carefully and began searching other bones, but none had dew on them.
Then his gaze fell on the stone bead. He saw tiny droplets on its surface. He remembered that the bone with dew had been right next to the bead. He gently picked up the stone bead, his heart pounding. He hesitated for only a moment, then rolled it over his swollen arm, spreading the dew evenly over the injured area.
A cool, refreshing sensation spread through his arm. Martin stared without blinking. After a long while, his eyes lit up with joy. The swelling had miraculously subsided. He moved his arm slightly. Though it still hurt a little, it was no longer a serious problem.
This stone bead is definitely a treasure! Martin was overjoyed.