River shouted in pain. He flailed at Ragtooth, but the fox was already in my pack again. To River’s credit, he soon calmed down, and pressed his forehead against the ice. He seemed to be breathing hard.
“Are you going to be all right?” I said.
He looked at me. His face was pale, but he seemed mostly sane again. “Yes.”
“Let’s go, then.”
I helped him retrieve the spare ax in his pack, and then attached the now-shortened rope to his harness again with a crow’s-eye knot. We reached the top of the Ngadi face soon after, having made exceptional time over the remaining distance. It was as if the wind was pushing us up, we were so eager to be off the ice. As I hauled myself over the edge, I found myself facing a narrow ridge of snowy ground, too narrow for two people to stand abreast. Ahead was a small indentation in the rock face that would provide some shelter against the wind. River and I dragged ourselves there, and collapsed. Ragtooth emerged from my pack and huddled against my chest. I folded him into my chuba, grateful for the warmth and the steady beat of his little heart. River lay on his back, his arm folded over his eyes.
I rummaged around in my pack until I found my canteen. I took a long drink, then handed it to River. He drew himself up and leaned against the rock.
“Let me see that bite,” I said.
River was motionless and quiet as I examined his ear. Ragtooth had bitten clean through the lobe, and blood stained his neck and the collar of his chuba. But it seemed to have stopped. I pressed a piece of snow against it so that the melting would clean the wound while it reduced any swelling.
We sat in silence. The clouds below us parted briefly, revealing the valley far, far below. They drifted together again slowly, like a door swinging shut.
“I couldn’t think,” River said. His gaze was unfocused. “It didn’t even occur to me to use magic. I was about to die, that was all I knew.”
“It’s normal to feel that way, in that situation,” I murmured. “You must have had close calls before.”
“Never that close.” He laughed. I watched him warily, wondering if I would have to summon Ragtooth again, but he soon stopped.
“I don’t think there’s another person in the world who could do what you did,” he said. “I don’t think I could have done it.”
I shrugged. I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know about that.”
He gazed at me. “I wouldn’t have made it without you, Kamzin.”
“That’s true enough,” I said, smiling as I heard the echo in his words. He had said the same thing when I led him to Winding Pass, breaking the spell that had hidden it from his eyes. “Without me, you’d still be wandering the Samyar Plains right now.”
He laughed at that. Before I even realized what was happening, he leaned forward and kissed me. His lips were cold and dotted with snowflakes that melted as we came together.
By the time he drew back, my heart was hammering again. He leaned against the mountain and closed his eyes.
“Give me a few minutes,” he said. “Then we can set up the tent. I’ve had enough for now.”
“Me too,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. I was indeed exhausted, my body one large ache, and I was relieved that I would not have to travel farther today. But part of me wished we could simply keep going, to use movement as a way of shaking off this new awkwardness I felt. The wind eddied over the mountain, its voice a distant howl. We were protected from it here in our little pocket of rock.
“You cut the rope,” I said quietly.
River didn’t open his eyes. After a moment, he said, “I guess I must have. I barely remember. It’s all a blur.”
I didn’t reply. I was still having difficulty comprehending it. A fall while climbing with a running belay was dangerous—but one scenario was far more dangerous than the other. If the first climber fell, the consequences were usually minor—the second climber’s weight would stop the first from going far. But if the second climber fell, he pulled his partner down with him, and the force of that pull could be deadly. By cutting the rope, River may have saved my life. At the same time, I thought, stunned by the realization, he had almost thrown his away. It would have been a split-second decision based more on instinct than anything else.
Why?
But the question felt too big to ask, so I didn’t ask it. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I felt drained. Finally, River declared that he thought he could stand again without falling over, and we began setting up camp.
TWENTY
WE WOKE THE next morning to a sky of liquid blue, scoured and scrubbed by the winds to such purity that it almost hurt to look at it. The mountains gleamed in the early sunlight. Raksha’s peak loomed overhead, as if it too was yearning toward the distilled sky. Everything was stark, and keen, and glistening.
River and I had entered uncharted territory. Mingma’s map did not detail the terrain past the Ngadi face. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation.
The vague unease that had plagued me since the icefall was not dispelled by the fine weather—if anything, it had only intensified, dogging my every step like a living creature. I didn’t like the pattern that was emerging. First I had been nearly crushed by the seracs, and then River had been cast off the mountain—both of us brushing against almost certain death within the space of a day. What future calamities did the mountain have in store for us? Could we count on being so lucky next time?
River, by contrast, was merry again, almost as if yesterday did not exist. I recalled what he said about finding it difficult to hold on to feelings. I made a point of mentioning his fall several times, just to see his brow furrow and his expression darken slightly. It was important, I thought, for him to remember what it was like to feel things like an ordinary person, even if those things were unpleasant. Even if I wished for the ability to so easily abandon my own fears and worries.
The kinnika were in my pack. The black bell had sounded briefly that morning, as had the burned one beside it. River, no doubt noting the anxiety this caused me, had encouraged me to put them away. I couldn’t see any reason to argue with him. They were as useful, in my hands, as a lump of rock. Less—I could do more damage with a lump of rock.
Azar-at trotted ahead of us, his bushy tail wagging. The mountain sloped almost gently here, and we were slowed only by deep snowdrifts—some as high as my chest. A rock face loomed ahead, curving around the mountainside. It was hard to tell at this distance, but it looked taller even than the Ngadi face, with few good places to fix ropes.
I clenched my jaw, trying to ignore the now omnipresent pain in my knee. The episode yesterday had not helped it, and now that pain was accompanied by an even worse throb in my shoulder, from my wrenching arrest with the ice ax. I rubbed it gently, praying it wasn’t dislocated.
River stopped suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.
“What?” I came to stand beside him. And froze.