They traveled at a steady pace the entire morning, picking up speed at noon, when the persistent snowfall relented a bit. Keeping several yards ahead, Achilles seemed willing to wait for them, halting occasionally on craggy lookouts to mark their progress. As Keech glanced back across the expanse, searching for signs of Black Charlie on their back trail, he spotted a large bird circling high above and worried it might be one of the Reverend’s spies. His fingers twitched to use the Black Verse again, but Duck pulled out her spyglass and clarified they were being scrutinized by a bald eagle.
Keech tracked the eagle’s flight across the sky and caught sight of a colossal mountain farther north. The peak’s pointed summit lay covered in alabaster clouds. The eagle disappeared on the western side of the mountain’s tip, diving into the pearly fog as if it were fishing in the mist. Gazing with wonder at the peak, he felt the familiar crawl of déjà vu, but he pushed away the sensation.
Jumping onto a high rock, Achilles barked at the tall summit. Quinn said, “I think he wants to go up that mountain.”
They followed Achilles through a heavy patch of snow-coated spruce and soon found themselves back in the open, facing a long, narrow ravine. The gorge snaked between two towering cliffs, a pair of bluffs that hunched over the pass like old cowhands with crooked backs. One cliff stood to the east, the other to the west, and they perfectly framed the enormous mountain that Achilles had barked at. When Keech gazed straight through the ravine, he could see the hazy foot of the mountain rising not too far away. They could probably reach that mountain in an hour, maybe less if they rode hard.
“Those two cliffs must be the Suffering Bluffs,” Duck said. “If that fella Hamilton was right, we’ll reach O’Brien’s place in no time.”
Farther up the slender gorge, Keech spotted what appeared to be the carcasses of monstrous animals, their gangly bones and twisted spines half-buried under mounds of snow and shadow. As the young riders drew closer, he realized he was looking not at bones, but at the tumbledown remnants of buildings, long forgotten and left to rot. The structures were only mangled heaps of wood blocking the path.
Lumbering cloud banks rolled across the winter sky, casting a terrible shadow over the Suffering Bluffs. As they approached the dregs of the fallen town, Strong Heart gestured to a weatherworn sign leaning like a wraith against one of the cliffs.
YOU AR ENT RING
TRANQU LITY OVERLOOK
GATEW Y TO TH ROCKIES
Steering Irving past the sign, Duck said, “Mighty unlucky name for a town that dropped off a cliff.”
Keech tried to piece together where the buildings of Tranquility Overlook had once stood—a general store here, a livery stable there—but none of the old wreckage made sense. “Let’s just pass on through. This place gives me the willies.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Quinn said.
“Lost Causes!”
Black Charlie’s voice bellowed at them from the south, echoing through the Suffering Bluffs like the shriek of a hawk.
“Say your prayers, mes amis, because I will find you!”
Duck peered nervously at the forest behind them. “How far back, y’all think?”
Strong Heart said, “He sounds close. Less than a mile.”
“We’re easy pickin’s in this gorge. We have to move,” Quinn said.
Keech took a moment to examine the ravine. Beyond the last skeletal ruin of Tranquility Overlook, a jagged trail cut to the right and ventured straight up and around the east-facing bluff. “I see a switchback we can take. We’ll have to ride slow, but at least we won’t be sitting ducks.”
As soon as they all agreed, Keech prodded Hector toward the sawtooth trail.
Back in the forest, Black Charlie’s voice beckoned. “I am coming, Lost Causes! Weavers never relent!”
After they reached the switchback, Keech goaded Hector up a few steps, testing the terrain for deadfall. When the incline seemed passable, he called down to the others. “We can take this straight up, but we’ll have to be careful.”
Quinn pointed down at all their hoofprints cluttering up the snow. “Black Charlie’s gonna spot our trail. He’ll see every step.”
“Can you hide them?” Duck asked.
“I can try, but my throat’s awful sore. Been hurting ever since I woke up. I ain’t sure how long the tune’ll work.”
“Just do what you can,” Duck said.
Starting up his Odyssey chant, Quinn followed after Keech up the switchback, clutching Lightnin’s saddle horn with both hands. Keech felt the familiar tingles of warmth as Quinn’s magic turned them invisible on the cliff. Seconds later the girls clucked to their own ponies and began the climb. Achilles brought up the rear.
Moments later Quinn coughed fiercely, and Keech felt the buzz of the incantation flicker away, leaving their figures and the horses’ hoofprints visible once again.
“Sorry, but I can’t!” Quinn said, his words breaking.
“Don’t fret,” Keech said. “You did your best.”
For the next twenty minutes they climbed up the angled face of the bluff. Snow-sprinkled sagebrush lined the trail till the brush gave way to jagged rock. Knuckles of sandstone peeked out from the snow. They appeared ready to tumble at the slightest whisper of wind.
By the time they reached the top, Keech’s ears were popping painfully and Hector was heaving for breath. The young riders dismounted. The clifftop ridge was flat for a short pace before the hill rose steeply to form a high wall of snow. They were standing on a checkerboard of stone foundations, a grid of flat rock that appeared man-made. “Hey, take a look at this.” He pointed at the ground. “This must be where Tranquility Overlook once stood.”
“I wonder what knocked it off the cliff,” Duck said.
Keech surveyed the ridge but saw no more feasible trails. They had trapped themselves. If Black Charlie wanted to climb to get them, they would have no good means to escape. They would have to make their stand right here.
“Reckon we better take a peek, see how many we’re facing,” Quinn said.
Keech and Quinn stepped to the edge of the cliff. They had ascended at least thirty yards—enough to make Keech swoon.
Duck said, “Fellas, it probably ain’t a good idea to stand there in the open.”
No sooner did she speak the words than Keech spotted movement in the gorge. He dropped to his hands and knees. “Everybody down!” he said.
Tiny figures were trailing through the white ravine of the Suffering Bluffs like a line of black ants, scuttling around the wreckage of Tranquility Overlook. Quinn grimaced. “Sure enough, he’s got a pack of thralls with him.”
Duck pulled out her telescope. “Five, by my count. Black Charlie makes six.”
Strong Heart asked Duck if she could borrow the spyglass. After surveying the Frenchman’s steady advance, she lowered the scope and said, “When I first approached the wagons, I heard the voice of a Spanish man talking to you. La Sombra. The Shadow. But now I see only thralls and the monster I shot with the arrow.”
Keech kept his eye on Black Charlie’s crew. “Doesn’t mean he ain’t out there somewhere, biding his time. We can’t lead him to O’Brien. Maybe I could tip a few boulders from the cliff. Roll them down on top of the thralls, stop them for good.”
Strong Heart tilted her head. “How?”
“I’ve been working on my focus.” Though even as the words fell, he knew the group would most likely recognize his lie. Keech’s focus would never be enough to topple boulders. If he wanted to dispatch real energy, he would have to use the Black Verse.
Duck shook her head firmly. “Forget it. No power.”
Feeling anger tightening his throat, Keech said, “Quinn’s been using his focus this whole time, and you’re fine with that.”
“That’s different, and you know it,” Duck snapped. “Let’s just push on. Maybe the fresh snow will cover our trail.”
Strong Heart raised a hand to silence them. “Does anyone hear that?”
A peculiar wailing touched Keech’s ears, like a large animal howling in rage. The noise gradually increased, building into a boisterous roar.
“What is that?” Duck asked.
“Sounds like the Chamelia,” Quinn said. “Remember how that thing sounded when it was angry?”
Strong Heart said, “That noise is no beast. We’re hearing wind.”
Keech scanned the upper reaches of the foothills, noticed movement, and felt his stomach drop. A small army of twirling white tornadoes danced along the jagged ridge above their heads. For a moment, they appeared to surge in perfect formation, as though held together by unseen hands, then they branched out and churned up the slope in all directions. Behind the gusts, a steady thunder grumbled over the Suffering Bluffs. A vibration hummed through Keech’s boots, coursed up his legs and into his knuckles.
Duck held out her hands to brace herself. “Earthquake?”
“No.” Keech pointed up the hillside. “Avalanche!”