“Dead, too. I’ll explain everything, once we’re inside.”
They labored ahead a few more steps, and then a few more. The snow swirled viciously about them, attacking with tiny, stinging bites. Angel had never been so cold, but at least she was feeling something again. Not everywhere—much of her body was numb and unresponsive—but enough that she could tell herself she was still alive. She thought fleetingly of the dream and of Johnny, leading her from life to death, from this world to the next. It had seemed so real, so close. She had wanted to go with him, to be with him. But now she understood that it was the hurt and the cold that had seduced her. The dream was a trick, a way to steal away her willpower and make her a slave.
She wasn’t ready yet for death. Death would have to wait.
But maybe not for long, she added. She had pushed it away, but it lingered at the edges of her vision and in the corners of her ruined body. It would come to claim her quickly enough if she faltered even a little. Kirisin had saved her for the moment, but only that. If she were to survive this, it would take an immense effort on her part.
An effort that only a Knight of the Word could summon.
She stumbled and nearly went down. Kirisin tightened his grip to hold her upright, pausing in his efforts to guide her until she had regained her balance. She straightened, and her gaze locked on the darkness ahead where the side of the mountain was a black wall rising to meet the stars.
“I almost didn’t find you,” the boy said suddenly, his voice nearly lost in a sudden howling gust of wind. He was struggling for breath, his own strength depleted from his efforts to help her. “I didn’t think of it at first. Too new, I guess. But the Elfstones can find anything. Even you.”
The blue light, she thought. It was the magic of the Elfstones seeking her out in the shroud of darkness. Kirisin had come looking for her using the Elfstones. Clever boy. She wouldn’t have found him on her own, wouldn’t have made it out of the snow and cold. He must have realized this.
“I had given up,” she admitted, her voice a whisper.
He didn’t reply, but his grip tightened about her waist. Don’t give up now, he was saying wordlessly. I’m here for you.
Locked together, they staggered ahead into the night.
THREE
K IRISIN TIED OFF THE LAST OF THE STITCHES closing Angel’s many wounds, put aside the needle and thread, and rocked back on his heels, looking down at her still form. She was sleeping, the medicine he had given her to take away the pain and render her unconscious working as it should. Numbed to the point of senselessness, she would have felt almost nothing of the work he had done, which was a good thing, given the extent of her injuries. But when she awoke the pain would be back, and he would have to give her another dose.
He was aware suddenly that he was staring at her nearly naked body, the tatters of her clothing removed to give him better access. He hadn’t even thought of it at the time, thinking only about how much blood there was on her body and clothing, how much more she must have lost back on the slopes, and how close to death she probably was.
He pulled the blanket over her and tucked it in carefully. She would forgive him if she lived.
“Finished?” Simralin asked from one side. She was sitting up now, leaning her back against a rock outcropping.
He glanced over and gave a quick nod. “I’ve done what I can, Sim. I just hope it’s enough.”
They were settled well back in the ice caves where the wind and the blowing snow couldn’t penetrate. Only the cold refused to be kept at bay, and there was nothing they could do about that. They were dressed in their all-weather gear, and Simralin and Angel were wrapped in their blankets, as well. A pair of the solar lamps had been placed at the perimeter of their little campsite, lighting the dark interior of the caves. A fire would have been better, but there was nothing to burn except for their gear. Simralin had given Kirisin a sun tab, an artificial heat generator, to place under Angel’s makeshift bedding, but it wouldn’t last for more than three hours and she didn’t have any more.
He smiled at his sister. “You seem better.”
She grimaced and touched her head experimentally. “Don’t be fooled. My head feels like it’s been split open. But the bleeding’s stopped.” She cocked one eyebrow. “Mostly, it’s my ego that’s injured. It never occurred to me to wonder what Culph was doing here, how he had survived his supposed death, or how he had found us. I just accepted it. I thought it was a miracle of some sort, turned my back on him, and gave him a chance to whack me on the head. Stupid.”