This was a place for spirits and monsters. Not for the likes of us.
We reached the glacier that afternoon. Though much of it was covered with rubble and snow, in some places we were walking directly on the ice, which was as smooth as a river-washed stone and gleamed blue-black. Water could be heard flowing beneath its surface, as faint as a whisper. I felt myself becoming lost in the sound as I trudged along. There was something lulling about it. It was like music from a ghost realm.
Tem placed a hand on my arm, pulling me to a stop. “Kamzin.”
I turned, expecting to see that Norbu had fallen behind again. However, Tem’s gaze was fixed on the sky. The thin line of clouds River had been eyeing that morning had thickened into something far more troubling. A storm was clearly brewing. It stretched to the ground in long curtains of gray.
“We should look for a place to take shelter,” I said. “Somewhere out of the wind where we can set up the tents.”
Tem coughed. “River wants to reach the mountain today. He’s not going to like that.”
“Then River can carry on alone.” My voice was hard. “This time, we’re doing things my way.”
“Don’t do anything rash,” Tem said. “Let’s wait to see if the storm swings west.”
I made an exasperated noise, but did not argue. We continued on, our footsteps barely audible over the shush-shush-shush of the glacier. I began to hope we would escape the storm, that it would turn to the west, as Tem had suggested, and miss us entirely. River set a punishing pace; even Dargye and I were having trouble keeping up. Norbu walked behind River, no longer struggling, but moving with a strange, stiff gait that made me suspicious—it was so unlike his usual stride. Had River, frustrated by Norbu’s sluggishness, put a spell on him to strengthen his body? If so, it was a dangerous thing—Norbu might not feel the strain being placed on him now, but he would later, when the spell wore off. Depending on how ill he still was, such a spell could break him.
Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by a crash that shook the ground, followed by a terrible cry.
I whirled. Behind me, the terrain had broken into shards, fissures radiating from the jagged crevasse that had materialized in the glacier. I blinked, unable to make sense of it. Aimo and Dargye had been behind me—now Dargye lay at the edge of the crevasse, where the ice sloped toward the sudden void, shouting and clawing at the ground. And Aimo—where was Aimo? Something inside me shattered, and for a second I could only stare—it was as if the world had frozen, like a nightmarish scene on a silk scroll.
I ran. Dargye slid another foot toward the darkness. One of his gloves had come off. Against the snow was a smear of blood from where the ice had grated against his fingertips. He held on, but barely.
I leaped across the crevasse at its narrowest point, trying not to think about how deep those shadows went. Throwing myself to the ground as close to the opening as I dared, I slammed my ax into the ice and reached for Dargye.
My fingers grasped the sleeve of his chuba just as he slipped farther away, the fabric tearing from my grip. Swearing, I stretched my hand out again, praying that my ax would hold. The crevasse was deep—so deep I could not see the bottom. Dargye gazed up at me, his eyes wide and uncomprehending with terror.
“Climb!” I shouted. Dargye slipped another inch. His hand—the cut one—shook uncontrollably as it gripped the ice.
“Do it, Dargye,” I ordered. Ice crystals stung my throat. I couldn’t hold on much longer myself—every muscle strained and protested. If he could gather enough energy to raise himself to meet my hand, I thought I had enough strength—just—to pull us both to safety.
Dargye slipped again. His mouth was open, but he made no sound. Tangled in his fingers were strands of torn, tan-colored fabric.
Aimo’s chuba.
I shouted at Dargye again, my voice so hoarse I barely recognized it, but still the man made no move to heed me. He continued slipping, down, down, down, until he had reached the very edge of the abyss. I could do nothing but stare in horror as his grip began to falter.
A whirl of movement on my left. “Kamzin!”
“Tem!” I almost let go of my ax, I was so startled. He had seemed to step out of the wind itself, appearing in a space he had been nowhere near, just seconds ago. “Tem, I can’t—”
“Leave it to me.” Sounding the kinnika, he shouted a word, some incantation I didn’t recognize, and suddenly I was falling uphill—as if the rules that bound the world together had been upended. I tumbled up the slope, my ice ax and Dargye skittering after me. My breath was knocked from my body as the man collided with me, and we sprawled across the snow, coming to a sudden, chaotic stop.
Before I could even catch my breath, Dargye was on his feet again and sprinting back to the crevasse. “Aimo!” he shouted.
But River had reached us, leaping across the crevasse. It was farther than I had thought, but he cleared it as easily as I had. Barely pausing, he grabbed Dargye by the shoulder and forced him back.
“I tried to catch her,” Dargye stammered. “I don’t know how it happened; it just appeared—”
“Stop, Dargye.” River wrenched the large man back again. “It won’t do any good.”
“Are you all right?” Tem caught my hand and pulled me to face him. He was very pale.
“I’m fine.” I kneaded my hand. It was red and tender from gripping my ax, but nothing seemed broken or pulled. “Tem, how did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You just appeared.” I touched his arm to reassure myself that he was there, that he was flesh and blood.
His eyebrows knitted together. “I ran. As soon as I heard you shouting.”
“But you were so far ahead.” I shook my head slowly. I knew what I had seen, and yet it was impossible—not even the most highly trained shamans could materialize out of thin air. “How could you—”
“Let me go!” Dargye shouted. He had broken free of River’s grip. “Aimo’s down there!”
Tem and I raced to his side, and between the three of us, we managed to wrestle Dargye to the ground. He was still holding the scrap of Aimo’s chuba.
“She’s down there!” Dargye said again, but the fight had gone out of him. Moisture ran from his eyes and nose. He made no move to wipe it away.
I whistled for the dragons. Two stirred from their napping perch on the yak’s rump and fluttered to my side.
“Find her,” I ordered. The dragons hesitated only a moment before darting into the crevasse. Their little lights were soon swallowed up. The crevasse, though narrow, was even deeper than I had imagined—a darkness thick as ink lay just below the threshold. But there would be ledges, places where Aimo’s fall could have been arrested.
“Tem,” I said. He nodded, understanding where my thoughts had gone, and extricated a length of rope from his pack. He made a loop on one end and began feeding it into the opening.