Time skewed in the damp and cool of the ravines. We found a trail heading east down a long arm of the canyon, and though it was old and scattered with debris from rockfalls, it showed signs of recent tending. Smaller boulders and rocks were rolled to the sides, and we found the remnants of fire pits, seasons out of use.
“The Hask?” Berin ventured, toeing the rocks lining the edge of one fire pit.
Ursk only shrugged. We kept our guard up and continued on.
Soon, however, the way became more treacherous. We scrambled through crevices and topped boulders the height of Albor’s Morning Hall. Our progress was painstaking and slow, punctuated by slips and falls that kept me on edge. I fell into a sleep of pure exhaustion the first night, but by the second my muscles were too sore and the rock too hard. I dozed fitfully, and was so tired the next day that I almost cried when we faced clambering over another enormous boulder. But I grabbed the rope Esan tossed down, the same as everyone else, and made the climb. I descended the other side with equal grudging determination, clattering down onto loose rubble to join Berin, Esan, and Sedi. Nui emerged smeared with damp and lichen from her own more subterranean route, and flopped down at my side to pant.
“Look!”
I cast my gaze back up to the top of the boulder, some ten paces above where Seera was partially silhouetted against the gray sky. She pointed down the canyon as the others still on the rock gathered round, their voices distorted with the distance. But whatever they saw clearly encouraged them.
Seera looked down at us, smiled a rare, bright smile, and cupped her hands around her mouth. “We’re almost out!”
An arrow tore past her head. She jerked back just in time, nearly sending Ittrid toppling. Someone shouted a warning, I grabbed Berin’s arm, and an arrow slammed into my thigh.
I gasped and staggered, but was otherwise too stunned to make a sound. More arrows flew, clattering off rock and sinking into flesh. Nui bolted, barking wildly. Berin dropped his pack and jerked his shield free, its boss glinting dully in the meager light.
The shield came over our heads and Berin’s arm slipped around my waist, holding me up—though I couldn’t think why. I was wavering, my left leg threatening to buckle. Why? It was just an arrow, just a short span of wood pinning my tunic to my leg. Surely I could still move. Surely…
Another arrow clipped the rocks at our feet, and my haze broke.
“Berin,” I wheezed, mind filled with blistering awareness. I couldn’t run. I still felt no pain, at least not in the stabbing, screaming sense I expected—but waves of heat began to build inside me, a brooding, pulsing agony that, once it broke, would consume me.
Voices shouted, echoing and bouncing off the rocks—Esan and Seera, trying to coordinate. Bara, screaming Sedi’s name. The savage, roaring bark Nui reserved for rivals and predators.
“I know.” Berin’s arm was a vice around my waist, his other hand keeping the shield between us and the arrows. He tried to shift in front of me, but another arrow clattered off the stone at our feet. “Get behind me.”
“Where are they?” I could barely find my footing on the rubble and with each small movement, the wave of pain reared closer.
“I don’t know,” Berin said. “Stay behind me!”
Two more arrows thunked into the wood. I shifted as much as I could, placing my lower body in front of Berin’s unprotected legs.
“No,” I panted. My breath was coming short now, and my wounded leg trembled. But one thought was clear, simple and unyielding—I’d rather take a dozen more arrows than see Berin take one.
Berin hefted the shield higher over our heads. Light angled over my face and I squinted, taking in our surroundings in that brief moment— Bara and Sedi struggling through a narrow cleft, Ittrid streaking across the top of a massive boulder, Ursk scrambling down the side of another.
Berin’s shield cracked and a spearhead stopped a breath from my brother’s face—close enough to graze my hair. We both cried out in shock, the shield suddenly wavered down, and in that space an arrow thudded into Berin’s chest.
My brother staggered. I twisted away, seeing every detail in terrible clarity: his pale face, the shock and dread dawning in his eyes, the way the shield slipped from his fingers. His hand hovered over the fletching, just below his heart.
I seized the falling shield and threw it up. The spear hinged free, leaving a splintered crack in the wood. Through the gap I glimpsed a blur of descending enemies and rocky outcroppings, figures weaving from shelter to shelter as they closed in.
Then I clamped the shield at my right shoulder and prodded Berin backward.
“Berin!” A new voice battered through my skull. I glanced back to see Esan grab my brother under the arms. Berin sagged into his friend, but stared at me.
“Yske,” he said, his breath a thin gust.
I met Esan’s eyes over his head, the communication between us silent and rapid. Go.
My vision narrowed, ignoring pain and fear and choosing only two things: the men’s progress, and the shield I held aloft. There was no arrow in my leg. There was no me, no self. Just Berin and keeping him alive.
Five, seven, ten agonizing steps and we edged into the shelter of a boulder, nearly a cave. Esan eased Berin to the ground and turned, his eyes sweeping me. He seemed to see the arrow in my leg for the first time and cursed, grabbing the shield.
“I’ve got you.” He crouched in the cave mouth and hefted the barrier. Several arrows clattered at his feet, but he didn’t flinch. He just braced the shield and became immovable.
Berin fumbled for my arm and tugged me deeper into shelter. He had his lips pinned shut, but blood bubbled and dripped into his beard.
“Yske,” he labored. As soon as his lips parted blood overflowed, and I fought the urge to scream. “Yske, please.”
I put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him forward, away from the rock wall. The arrowhead had punched through his back, a good handspan clear. Whoever had shot him had been very close, or very strong.
That didn’t matter. There was already blood in his lungs, and soon he would drown.
I jerked the knife from my belt and stripped the fletching from the arrow, then painstakingly shifted behind Berin to where the arrowhead gleamed a bloody red.
I slit my thumb on its edge. Fresh blood welled as I let my heart rise in a wordless plea to Aita and grasped the blood-darkened shaft.
“Brace,” I warned.
He planted his hands on the opposite side of the crevice, and I pulled.
Berin cried out. The sound was a scream of agony, a bellow of rage and an unfettered sob, all of it clotted with blood. His body convulsed and he buckled forward. The arrow slid free.
I felt Esan shift, saw the change of light as the shield wavered, but he stayed in place.
Curled into himself, Berin began to choke. I grabbed him by the collar and turned him with more strength than I possessed, pushing him upright against the rock with one hand and holding his chin up with the other. His wild eyes pinned mine, the lower half of his face slick with blood.
The runes came to me, silent in my own mind, and slipped from my lips in a droning hiss. I blinked sweat and tears from my eyes as gold-laced magic burst into the air around us. It plunged through Berin’s shuddering lips. It invaded his nose and eyes, his ears and wounds and skin itself. And then, the world slowed. The rush of blood gentled. Berin’s spasming eased.
I became aware of a vice-like grip on my arm. Esan. But instead of stopping me, he’d gone still, gaping at Berin. Another arrow clattered outside, but every other sound had faded.
Abruptly Berin coughed and spat blood, splattering me as he did. I released his chin and he twisted, vomiting onto the rocks. A few gargling breaths later his gasping turned into a wheeze, then cleared into a full, rasping breath.
“Esan,” he said, eyes flicking back to the cave mouth. “The others?”
Esan blinked, eyes glistening. He patted Berin’s cheek in gruff, fraternal affection and moved back to the entrance, hefting the shield again.
Outside, the canyon had gone silent. That silence did not bode well—even I knew it. There was no more conflict out there in the gorge, and little chance that we’d been the victors. Even Nui had stopped barking—somehow the worst realization of all.
Our enemies would be closing in.
Still holding Berin upright, I parted the fabric of his tunic where the arrow had pierced. There was a knot of scar tissue now, soft and pink, but complete.
“It worked,” I panted, elated and stunned and more than a little lightheaded. “It worked.”
Berin grabbed the side of my face and kissed my forehead. It was curt thanks, but powerful and heartfelt, his grip on my jaw tight and just barely trembling, thick with the stink of blood and bile. Then he pulled back and grabbed his sword from the ground.
“Berin!” Seera’s voice echoed through the strange hush out in the gorge. She sounded more angry than hurt, but I caught her desperation. “Berin!”
“Stay here,” my brother panted, edging up beside Esan, who gave him a harrowed, feral grin. My brother’s eyes flicked to my own forgotten wound, worry clouding his expression. “Promise me. Stay hidden.”
Spent and reeling, I sagged back against the cave wall, wiping blood from my cheeks with shaking hands and trying to find my strength again. But I found only a heavy, bone-deep weariness and a surge of pain.
I fingered my knife as Esan led the way out of the cave. Berin wavered after him, found his balance and vanished behind another boulder in the direction of Seera’s voice. Two arrows clattered off the rocks in his wake.
I glanced at Berin’s blood on the floor, then at my thigh. My pain edged toward blinding now, a red mist smothering my vision. I wanted to throw up as Berin had, but my stomach wouldn’t comply. I wanted to run after him, but my leg was becoming heavier by the second.
I had to get the arrow out. I had to heal myself, or I’d be no use to anyone.
I pushed and prodded at my wound, making more blood well. I noted, distantly, that blood shed without direct intent seemed to do nothing for my magic.
The red haze thickened and my vision skewed. The arrowhead was deep. I put my knife to a torn edge of flesh, willing myself to cut down, assuring myself that my magic would return as soon as the knife slit, but my hands refused to move. My breath came in quick, shuddering gasps and my vision blurred even more.
I wanted to call Berin and Esan back. I wanted to shout for Isik, a world away. But I bit my tongue.
I heard a clatter outside and caught a flicker of movement. Twisting blearily, I peered out of the cave.
Our attackers had reached the floor of the ravine and now sprinted through the rockfall. They wore light armor, gambesons and vests of boiled leather scales with sweat-soaked high collars of padded wool. Most had traded their bows for axes and thick knives, but archers still prowled what parts of the slopes I could see.
My silence did not save me. An enemy approached my hiding place, keeping close to the shelter of a boulder.
I had no more time to remove the arrow. I had to run. I forced my leg around, scrabbling at the rock with a scream of shredded muscle.
There was nowhere to go. Broad shoulders blocked the mouth of the crevice and a spear leveled at my shuddering throat. I couldn’t see my attacker’s face, not with the sunlight behind him. Nor could I understand his words, delivered in a language I’d never heard before. But his voice was commanding and even—a warning.
Switching the spear to one hand, the stranger reached for my forearm. His hair was sun-darkened and undergirded with copper, and there was a distinct broadness to his cheekbones.
His touch was almost gentle, fingers easing around my wrist. His voice lowered, cajoling. Obviously, he considered me no great threat.
I felt the knife in my hand, warm with blood and gritty with dirt. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself stab it toward his face. But there was no rage in me to fuel my violence. There was only pain and a profound, crippling awareness of the solidarity, the humanity, in this stranger’s eyes.
Instinct warred with knowledge, with my mother’s voice in my mind urging me to act. Then my pain crested, my vision smeared and my head lolled with sudden, jarring force. When awareness returned I saw a man standing over me, shouting to someone unseen beneath a sky thick with brooding black cloud. I was outside of the cave.
The sky roiled and thunder cracked, making my captor look up in surprise. On the thunder’s heels, wind blasted through the boulders. Shouts erupted only to be snatched away, then drowned under a barrage of rain.
I gasped as cold drops hammered my cheeks, and some sense returned to me. I made myself move, made my body twist and my hands push me to my feet. Rain drummed down so thickly I could barely see and I looked around dazedly, expecting my attacker to come at me again.
Instead, I turned and looked up into Isik’s face. Lightning lanced across the sky behind him, throwing his face into silhouette, but I knew every rain-soaked lash, every worried crease around his lips.
I laughed, breathless and shallow. His being here was so ludicrous, so impossible. I grinned at him with rain in my eyes, sure I was losing my mind, that blood loss and shock had stripped my sanity.
Then the world lurched and I swayed back into blackness.
* * *
It was still raining when I came to. Hands gently lowered me to the ground and I forced my eyes to open, though that small act required all my strength.
I was out of the ravine and in a forest blurred into greens, grays, and browns by rainfall. Isik collapsed at my side, hands on his knees and head thrown back as he struggled for breath.
“Am I that heavy?” I whispered and tried to smile. I couldn’t manage it. Murky thoughts swam around my pain-addled mind, fish hidden in muddy waters. Berin. Arrows. Berin. The way rain ran down Isik’s flushed throat beneath the tangle of his beard.
Isik looked back down at me and gave a rattling, breathless laugh. “You are perfect. But drawing that storm… it took more energy than it gave.”
I reached out and found his hand. No more words came to me, no thoughts or awareness—even of Berin, and Esan and the others, Nui or our attackers.
His fingers cinched around mine and for a time we lingered there—I with an arrow in my thigh on a bed of sodden moss and jutting roots, he fighting for breath as the wind tossed the glistening autumnal canopy over his head.
I must have slipped into unconsciousness again, for when I next blinked, the rain was gone. Isik lay curled around me, my face tucked into his chest, under the shelter of his arm.
The intimacy of the moment might have unsettled me if I hadn’t cherished the contact so much. I pressed my nose into the damp of his tunic and gave a soft, oblivious sigh.
It was only as the sound faded, swallowed back into the silence of the forest, that I realized what had woken me. Berin’s horn. It bayed in the distance, so far away I barely registered it.
I fumbled for my own, still clinging to my belt. But before I could unfasten it, I heard feet shuffling in the forest.
I turned slowly, twisting out from under Isik’s heavy arm. He did not stir, even when I gasped and let his arm fall, too suddenly, to the ground.
Creatures of moss and bone stood to all sides beneath drooping leaves of red and gold and umber, two dozen or more watching us without sound, without movement, save for the drip of rain from claws and a few mismatched racks of flaking, half-skinned antlers.
A creature stepped forward. This one was no construct of forgotten bones and forest growth—the way he moved was too human, too intelligent, too self-aware. His skin was woven reed, his eyes polished stones. And his smile, when he unsheathed it, was horribly familiar.
“I know you,” said the riverman I’d once watched Aita banish from the High Halls. He spoke in the Divine Tongue and his voice was sonorous, undergirded by delight and the rushing hush of water. “Aita’s little shadow.”