The Mistress of Eagles lived atop the tallest hill in all the land. From there she said she could hear the voice of the wind more clearly, and who better to listen to than the greatest traveler in the world?
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
“Are you sure you don’t want to rest some more?” Jasminda asked. “The storm seems to have lessened a bit, but it will still be a treacherous climb.” A trickle of Earthsong zipped through Jack. He did his best to straighten and pretend he did not hurt everywhere.
“No, we don’t have any time to waste. And you had better save your magic for the Mantle.”
Her lips thinned, but the tingle of power ceased. She marched over to a wide tree and retrieved a thick branch from beneath it, then presented it to him. He accepted the walking stick gratefully. His shoulder and abdomen were both ablaze with pain; each breath was a struggle.
He fished the little map stone from his pocket and rubbed his thumb across the sleek surface. Then he pulled the knife from his belt—the same one he’d used to kill the soldier. It was clean now, but still he hesitated before pricking his finger and touching it to the stone the old man had given him.
The valley disappeared, the smell of smoke left his nose, and every sound was silenced. All of his senses were overtaken by the magical vision stored in the map. He was transported onto the mountain, walking high in its peaks behind a darkly hooded figure. The summer sun shone overhead, and sweat trickled down Jack’s brow. His body was whole and healthy. Gravel crunched under his feet and birds trilled nearby.
The most recognizable landmark was up ahead. A peak that was flat on top, making it look like a table sitting high above the earth. The hooded figure’s path took him straight toward the flattened pinnacle. He approached, but then veered north-northwest, toward a ridge that in summer was coated with a dense layer of green shrubs. It was across this rise they had to travel.
Jack wondered if the person in the hood was the one who had created the Mantle. Such things were lost to history without so much as the whisper of myth to give any clues. The Mantle had always been, at least for the past five centuries. And whoever had created this map had been to the cornerstone before. For now, that was all Jack needed to know.
He struggled to leave the vision—though it had been much harder the first time he’d tried it, the night the old man had given him the map.
Jack peeled his lids open and found himself staring into the eyes of a scowling Jasminda. She looked from him to the ground where he’d dropped the map after being torn back into the present. “That’s an ugly bit of magic,” she said, nudging the rock with her toe.
Ugly or not, it was the only way to find the cornerstone, and he needed it. When he bent to retrieve the map, she stopped him and picked it up after wrapping her hand in her scarf. Grimacing, she dropped it into his palm like a hot coal.
Jack described the flat peak and the green ridge to her. “I know that place,” she said. “We can take the path on the north side of the valley.”
They set out through the garden rows and trees, Jasminda holding the sack containing the items saved from the house. He protested, but she would not let him carry anything, giving a pointed look at his limping legs when he tried to insist.
“I’m not an invalid.”
Her arched eyebrow contradicted him. “Focus on staying upright. I’ll do the rest.”
He noticed the wince she tried to hide from some injury she wouldn’t acknowledge, but overall, she was in far better shape than he. Common sense told him she was right to insist, but his pride stung.
The moon peeked out from the overhead clouds, brightening the way out of the valley and up the trail leading into the mountains. Though the valley was calm, the storm raging ahead worried him. Their path rose, and the temperature fell drastically. Beneath their feet the ground changed from grassy, to dirt covered, to snow covered. Each torturous step brought not only a deepening of the snow but increased pain.
Jasminda led the way, the light from her lantern reflecting off the icy whiteness, now knee deep. But the surrounding darkness swallowed up the illumination. He trusted that she could find the landmarks at night. The walking stick was a godsend as each step became more difficult than the last. Pausing to catch his breath, he was struck by a coughing fit, leaving red splatters on the pristine white.
When he straightened, he found Jasminda staring at the blood on the ground. Almost immediately, the warm hum of Earthsong rippled through him.
“Save it,” he rasped. “I’m all right.”
She scowled. “You are not all right. You are worse than when you arrived. Stop being such a fool.” The buzz of Earthsong continued for a few moments before she turned and stomped away.
They battled the storm for hours, their progress arduous. Strong gusts of wind blew against them, sometimes knocking them on their backs and forcing them to stop until the intensity eased. Icy blasts whipped through Jack’s coat, freezing his fingers until he could no longer grip the walking stick and had to leave it behind.
“Let’s stop here for a moment,” Jasminda shouted, pointing to a notch in the rock wall just big enough for two people. Underneath the overhang, the snow stood only ankle high, and the sidewalls protected them from the worst of the wind. They crouched down together, shaking from the cold. She took his hands in hers and rubbed, bringing some feeling back into them. In the flickering lantern light, worry etched a frown on her face.
“Does this storm seem strange to you?”
“Strange how?”
She swiveled her head from side to side. “I don’t know. It’s almost like it’s … alive.”
Jack’s teeth were chattering so hard that he wasn’t sure what sort of expression crossed his face, but Jasminda blinked and looked down. “Never mind.”
“Is that possible? Can Earthsong do such a thing?” Jack flinched at the thought. A living storm? Could this be the first wave of attack? The True Father had long used environmental means to wage war, but such a storm was unprecedented.
Jasminda brushed away the snow that had accumulated on her lashes. “It would take a great deal of his power, I’d think. An unbelievable amount, but it might be possible.” She shivered in a way that didn’t seem like it was purely from cold.
“How much farther is it?” Jack asked.
She motioned with her head, and he craned his neck around. The tabletop crest of the next mountain was just ahead of them, glowing in the filtered moonlight reflecting off the snow.
Excitement coursed through his blood, and Jack rallied, drawing whatever inner strength he could into his depleted limbs. He cracked his knuckles and tried to fashion his frozen face into a grin. “We’re nearly there.”
Jasminda nodded, and they stood. Some previously untapped fount from within propelled him forward. Though snow covered everything, he recognized the change in elevation as the green ridge from his vision.
“Where to now?” she shouted over the vicious wind.
“Just across there.”
They had to hold each other up to continue, but pushed forward. Jack had no feeling in his feet or hands, and not much in his face, either. He could almost believe that the storm did have some evil intent.
The wind battered them as they crossed the narrow ridge single file. Jasminda held the lantern, leading the way across the icy path. Snow crumbled, tumbling down steep inclines, and was swallowed by the darkness.
Jack’s foot slipped. He tipped forward, crashing to his hands and knees. Jasminda wrenched him up, and they shuffled forward, bitterly slowly, but his legs would not move any faster. The path disappeared over a slight incline in front of them.
“It’s j-just…” He raised a hand to point. Jasminda looked over her shoulder, her expression more grim than he’d ever seen it. They crested the rise, and Jack blinked snow out of his eyes, wonder growing at the sight before them.
He slipped again and thundered to the ground, sliding down the hill on his back. Jasminda cursed behind him, falling on the ice as well.
When he caught his breath, he lay looking up at a giant pillar of stone rising from the ground. It had to be five stories high. Another stood ten paces away. Jack turned his head to find an entire circle of such irregularly shaped pillars, but the more astonishing sight was that none were touched by snow or ice. Inside the perimeter of rough columns, green grass covered the earth.
Jack crawled forward, seeking the warmth. Once he crossed the perimeter, the thrall of the storm no longer touched him. The stone circle must have held magic that protected it from the elements. Feeling returned to his senseless limbs. Wondering if he was hallucinating, he made his way to his feet. But beside him, Jasminda’s slack-jawed face reflected his awe.
“Is this what you saw?” she asked.
“Yes.” The first time he’d used the map, he’d seen the hooded figure enter this circle of stones. In the vision, it had been summer. Now, it seemed, no other season existed here.
“What now?” Jasminda’s voice held an edge of wariness.
Jack tore his attention from the stark delineation of winter and summer to look to the center of the circle. The space was twenty paces across. But unlike in his vision, the inside of the circle was empty. “It was there. Just there in the middle.” He turned to Jasminda.
“A red obelisk rose higher than the outer stone columns. In the vision, I knew it was the cornerstone.” He stared at the empty space again. Well, not entirely empty. Where the obelisk had once stood now lay a smooth patch of what looked to be dark glass. Somewhat irregularly shaped, the sleek surface held ripples, as if a stone had been tossed in a puddle and then the whole thing had frozen.
Jack moved toward it, studying the area.
“Could it have been moved?” Jasminda asked.
“I don’t … I don’t know.” He dropped to his knees, exhaustion catching up with him. Was it his imagination, or did the glass move? Jasminda kneeled beside him, her attention caught as well. Had she seen it?
Like they had practiced the movement, both reached a hand forward at the same time. Only the tips of their fingers brushed the surface, but the glass shattered as if hit with a hammer.
Shards exploded outward, lacerating their hands. Jack dove for Jasminda, using his body to protect her from the spray of sharp fragments. She landed with an oomph beneath him, and Jack struggled to catch his breath. Blood seeped from the many shallow wounds on his hands. It was not so much that it should have made him feel light-headed. He’d had worse wounds only the day before. But still, before he could move off Jasminda, his head dove toward the ground and all went black.