THE FIRST thing Rayel did after she entered the giant cavern at the end of the ice tunnel was take off her boots. She stood on one leg at a time, unwilling to crouch or sit in this strange place, and freed first one foot, then the other. The ice under her soles felt warm, actually warm, like it wasn’t ice at all. And the air around her glistened with moisture. She walked to the edge of the ice and stepped onto the rich, loamy earth. Far above, almost too high to make out, sunlight filtered through an enormous skylight of ice, and refracted and magnified, illuminating the entire cavern. It had been close to dusk when she entered the tunnel; somehow here it was still bright. Birds called and flew overhead; squirrel-like creatures chattered; leaves rustled.
Under the frozen south lay another world, a world of greenery and warmth. Small trees and bushes everywhere, with strange fruits that she’d never seen before. Birds entirely new to her, most of them multicolored and as bright as if dressed for one of her mother’s parties. Lizards that changed color even as she stared at them.
She walked into the underground garden without thinking of danger—this was so clearly not an evil place. And if it was—well, then there wasn’t anywhere in the world that was safe.
She walked for a good while, following what looked like a rough trail, before she came upon a stream—where she drank the coolest, purest water she’d ever tasted. As if all water began here, perhaps. And when she followed the stream toward its source, she began to hear, in the distance, the sound of crashing and splashing.
It was a waterfall. She saw it before she realized what it was—through the trees, water pouring down from a high ledge. When she turned the last bend of the faint path to see the cascade fully, she gasped in surprise—and not just because she’d never seen such a high waterfall before.
There was someone else there. A girl about her own age, maybe a little older. Sitting on a flat rock on the edge of the water, a rainbow behind her and mist hovering all around her. Weaving, on a small handloom, a long ribbon of bright fabric.
Of all things, weaving.
The girl looked up, all brown eyes and sun-filled skin. All smile. All long thick black hair, except a small round bald spot on the top of her head, like someone had pressed a magic finger there. All bare feet and thick eyebrows and five scars down her shoulders disappearing into her shift, as if something had raked her back with sharp claws. All spark and light. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she stood, and Rayel knew her.
“Hi,” the girl said, biting off a long thread and holding up the finished ribbon. “I’ve been waiting for you.”