“Yeah, but if you do, I’m going on your back.” I flashed him a faint grin. I thought about turning into a bat, but I really didn’t want to be in a form that was more vulnerable while we were here—not if I could help it. “Seriously, is that overpass safe? I seem to see pebbles and rocks falling into the lava.”
Trytian shrugged. “What’s safe and what isn’t? Safety is an illusion, anyway. But to calm your fears, yes, it should hold us up as we pass—it’s been there for thousands of years. And whether or not it does, the fact remains it’s the only way across unless, as your friend says, he turns into a dragon and flies. But that will surely attract some unwelcome attention and I highly recommend you think twice about it.”
The sound of the coiling strands of flowing rock hissed and popped, sending cinders up onto the edge of the bank. I shivered, again thinking of how far we were from home, and how much I’d hate to be stuck down here.
“Then let’s get over it and get done. The more we stand here, the more I really don’t want to go.” I moved forward, but Trytian stopped me.
“Let me go first. And when you go, don’t run, be cautious with your footing, but keep a quick pace. That will prevent you from being burned. If somebody attacks while we’re up there, I don’t care what you want to do. You get to the other side before you return the attack. Fighting up on top of the arch is suicide.”
“What’s the river called?” I followed as he neared the start of the overpass, trying to keep my mind from thinking about just what we were about to do.
“We call it Xilan Ki, but the closest translation would be Fiery Mother’s Milk.” Trytian was setting a good pace and I followed, watching where he put his feet. Several places along the overpass had been broken through, so that there were a scant few inches of stone on either side, which left a gaping hole in the center of the overpass. The lava boiled below us, hissing on its frantic journey through the heavily fortified channel, where years of buildup had produced a smooth half pipe of hardened obsidian stone.
As I watched, Trytian edged along the left side, testing each step, clinging to the stone rail that rose up to keep us from falling over the edge. I followed suit.
“Do you have any rivers here that have actual water in them?” I shuddered as a few rocks the size of my fist broke away and fell into the seething river below.
“Yes, we do. Some of them are quite beautiful, too. There is beauty in all places, even this gods-forsaken wasteland.” He was edging over another dicey area, but once we were beyond that, it was relatively easy going to the other side of the bank.
When we were all on solid ground again, well away from the heat of the flowing lava, I leaned back against a nearby boulder and tried to regroup. I was eminently grateful I had refused Camille and Delilah’s offer to come with me. They were tough, but this was really rough going.
“Where to from here?” I glanced around. Now that we were over the river, all I could see in either direction was barren, red dunes. The rust of the jagged outcroppings had weathered away here, I thought, leaving only worn sand behind.
Trytian shaded his eyes, gazing around at the plains. “We cross the Plain of Winds, and then we will go through a petrified forest, and after that, we come to the detention camp where they are holding your wife. The plains only go on for a couple of miles, but they will not be easy. The gusts are constant and stiff—between that and the shifting sand, it takes time to pass through. Watch your footing; there are creatures that hide in burrows waiting for people to pass by, much like trapdoor spiders. They will eat anything that moves. And there are dunes that are very much like quicksand, easy to sink down into and not so easy to pull yourself out from. Follow in each other’s footsteps, stay in your lines, and try to keep up.”
He started off. I wanted to ask when the winds would pick up, but it was like stepping from night to day. The moment we started out onto the rolling hills of sand, the winds swept in, shrieking past with a fury that was reserved for the strongest windstorms back Earthside. I estimated the gusts to be running close to fifty or sixty miles an hour, enough to knock a person off their feet if they weren’t prepared for it. Combined with the blowing sand and the difficulty of gaining even footing, our progress slowed tremendously.
One foot in front of the other. That was what I focused on. Keeping in Trytian’s path, following him as we trudged along. It was useless to speak here—a waste of breath for those who actually breathed, and a waste of energy for those of us who didn’t. The sand was blowing in my face and eyes, and the granules stung as they blasted past me.