“Why have you brought me here?” I rasped. I drew myself to my feet. “How dare you—”
“How dare we?” the ghost said. “How dare you—trespassing on the forbidden mountain.”
“Forbidden,” the ghosts whispered.
“Nobody gets away with that,” the bodiless head said, with a snort of mad laughter. “We certainly didn’t.”
I was baffled, even through my terror. “Forbidden? By who?”
“What shall we do with her?” Orti demanded. “Shall we play with her before we kill her? Or watch her starve to death?”
The ghosts began clamoring at that. But the young man waved his hand.
“No one will hurt her. Not before we’ve determined her purpose here, and located the others.”
“I don’t mean any harm,” I said. “And I’m sorry if I disturbed your rest. I’m here to find the sky city.”
A hush descended. Goose bumps spread over my body as the dead gazed at me in silence, their stillness more disconcerting than a threat.
“Luta, Penzing,” the leader said at last, motioning to two ghosts, “find her some accommodation.”
I was lifted into the air again and borne down another passageway. This time I didn’t scream or flail about—I tried to focus on my surroundings, to commit the path to memory. But after numerous twists and turns, I was no longer certain of anything, even which way was up or down. The end of the passage had caved in, revealing a gaping, open pit. Into this pit the ghosts half dragged, half dropped me. I barely had time to take in the terrifying sight of bones piled in the corner, and the towering, featureless walls, before my head struck the ground and the world dissolved.
I fought against unconsciousness, willing my vision to steady and my head to stop pounding. The darkness was absolute—the ghosts had gone, taking their lights with them. The only sound was that of my own breathing, and my pounding heart. I would have given anything to hear the murmur of the wind or patter of snow—something, anything to prove that there was a world somewhere beyond the black place I had fallen into.
After two failed attempts, I managed to push myself onto my hands and knees. My head swam, and I had to lean against the wall, which was cold and damp, and smelled like a grave.
What did the ghosts want with me?
Where was River? Had he been captured too? He must have been—I pictured the ghosts dragging him away as I slept, as surely as they had dragged me. I thought about shouting his name, but I didn’t want to draw the ghosts’ attention.
I put my hand to my head. Despite the pain, it wasn’t bleeding. I held my hand in front of my face and waved it. I felt the motion stir the air, but that was all. I could see nothing.
A sob escaped me. Where was I? The ghosts had carried me some distance, but precisely how far I had traveled off my course was a mystery. River and I had come so far—we had only a few thousand feet of distance between us and the summit. And now—
Now I was lost. And for the first time since leaving Azmiri, I was alone.
Forcing back another sob, I pulled myself to my feet, using the wall for support. My balance was shaky, but I was able to take several tentative steps. Something crunched beneath my boot.
I knelt, fumbling around in the darkness. My fingers brushed against what was, unmistakably, a thin, curved bone, possibly a rib. I jerked my hand back as if burned.
Whose bones were these? Did they belong to the ghosts? Had they kidnapped other explorers and left them here until they starved?
I was shivering. The silence was spiteful; it played tricks with my ears, making me hear bumps, groans, and mysterious rustlings. I knew the pit was empty, apart from the bones; I had seen that. So why did I sometimes catch a flickering movement out of the corner of my eye?
I gave my head a hard shake. No. I would not start doubting my sanity now.
The rustling came again, louder this time, a pat-pat-pat as of tiny feet against bare earth. I was certain now that there was something in the pit with me. The something brushed my leg and let out a low growl—a familiar growl.
“Ragtooth!” I almost passed out with relief. Faintly, ever-so-faintly, I could make out the green glow of the fox’s eyes, which even in this dark place found a little light to reflect. “You followed me.”
The fox nipped my hand and darted away. Now that my eyes had adjusted, I could just make out the blur of movement in the darkness. His claws scrabbled up the side of the pit.
I ran my fingers over the wall—it was solid rock, much of it loose and crumbling. And it was high—thirty feet at least. It would be an impossible obstacle for most people, particularly in total darkness.
But not for me.
I set my jaw. Wherever River was, I knew that he wouldn’t simply give up—it wasn’t in his nature, no matter how terrifying the situation. So I wasn’t going to give up either.
I braced my foot against a tiny crevice, lifting myself cautiously onto the wall. But the rock was softer than I had expected, and it collapsed beneath me with a shattering crash.
I fell with it, rolling onto my back, my injured shoulder spasming in protest. The crash seemed to echo endlessly, reverberating through the empty caverns of the mountain.
I lay there, motionless, suddenly fearing the return of the light—for it would mean the return of the ghosts. My heart thundered in my chest.
All was quiet and still.
I drew myself to my feet. Ragtooth had already reached the top. He made a questioning sound, a low squeak that emanated from the darkness above me. I couldn’t see him.
All right, I thought. First things first. I removed my boots and hurled them, one after the other, over the top of the wall. It took several tries, but I finally succeeded. Then, balancing carefully on the sides of my feet to spread my weight evenly over the rock, I started climbing.
It was an uneasy balancing act. I had to move slowly to find the strongest holds, but not so slowly that the weak rock gave way beneath my weight. When I slipped, I sent showers of rubble to the floor of the pit. Each time I froze, holding my breath. I focused on moving as silently as possible. I pictured a mouse scurrying up a tree, a spider clinging to a wall—River could move that silently, when he wanted to.
My foot slipped, sending another rock tumbling to the bottom of the pit. I put River out of my mind, forcing myself to concentrate on rock, hands, feet.
Finally, I felt fresher air against my face—I was almost there, mere feet from the top. Conscious of the distance between myself and the ground, I slowed still further, testing each hand-and foothold. My feet, by this time, were scratched and bruised, and so cold I could barely feel them. My hands too were battered by the jagged rock, my nails broken and bloody.
When at last I clambered over the edge of the pit, I collapsed. I felt as spent as I had when I reached the top of the Ngadi face, though the distances were not even close.
Ragtooth pressed his cold, wet nose against my temple and let out another squeak.