Another breath. Then another.
Abruptly, Azar-at came to a halt. He nosed at the loose snow next to a boulder, only the tip of which was visible. The fire demon’s tail wagged frantically.
“Is it Tem?” I surged forward. Wordlessly, Lusha unslung the small shovel from her back and began to dig. River was already digging. I didn’t have a shovel, but I knelt anyway, trying to shift the snow with my hands. Lusha grabbed me by the shoulder and shoved me away.
“That’s not helping,” she said shortly, lifting the chunk of snow I had been scrabbling at with her shovel. “Stay out of the way.”
I sat there, helpless and ragged. Lusha and River did not speak a word. Their shovels slicing through the snow was the only sound. My breaths rose in the air, vanishing one after the other.
Suddenly, a hand poked up through the snow.
River tossed his shovel aside. He and Lusha reached out as one and dragged the hand’s owner out into the light.
It was Mara. I suppressed a sob as the explorer fell forward onto the ground. With my disappointment came guilt, but I barely noticed it. Where was Tem?
The chronicler doubled over, coughing. Lusha handed him a flask. “Here.” Mara took a sip, and the coughing subsided somewhat.
“Thank the spirits,” he said, his voice a tremor. “I had just about given up—”
“Where’s Tem?” I demanded. “Was he ahead of you?”
Mara blinked repeatedly. His expression was dazed, and he seemed to make an effort to focus. “Last I saw. Perhaps twenty yards.”
River motioned to the fire demon, who darted forward, snout to the ground. I watched, frantic, as the seconds passed. Azar-at paced back and forth, his nostrils snuffling against the snow. But still he did not give any sign.
“He may be buried too deep for Azar-at to smell him out,” River said, his brow furrowed.
“Can’t you do anything?” I said, desperate.
“That’s not a good idea.” Lusha gave River a dark look. “The slope isn’t stable. If he uses magic—”
“We’ll have to deal with the consequences,” River said. It had the air of an announcement. “Lusha, take Mara back to camp.”
Scowling, Lusha knelt over Mara, helping him to his feet. She supported him as they made their way back along the path of our footprints. Even through my panic, I couldn’t help feeling a grudging admiration for my sister. She knew what to do in the face of danger, knew that pausing to argue—even if you were in the right—could make the difference between life and death. She wasn’t going to sway River. So she didn’t bother to try.
“Thank you,” I said.
River only shook his head, giving me a faint smile. Then he turned away.
“All right, Azar-at,” he said. “Let’s find our shaman.”
He raised his hand, and it was as if the air began to hum. My teeth chattered; my skin tingled. I was suddenly very aware of my heartbeat, the feeling of my breath in my throat. And another sound—a strange, distant thudding. Slow but steady. It was a heartbeat. From beneath the snow, some yards upslope.
“Tem,” I breathed. “Is that him?”
River made no reply. He closed his eyes briefly.
A crack appeared in the snow. It widened into a crevasse that branched outward, splitting enormous chunks of snow and rock. The crevasse was deep—I couldn’t even see the bottom. Startled, I took a step back, though I was in no danger—the crevasse did not extend to where we were standing. River raised his hand again, his brow furrowed in concentration. The heartbeat grew louder as a limp figure rose out of the tear in the mountainside. It was Tem.
He floated toward us before coming to rest gently at my feet. I knelt beside him, checking to see if he was breathing. His eyes fluttered as I touched his face.
“Tem!” I dashed away the tears that trickled down my cheeks. “Tem, can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes. They wandered for a few seconds before focusing on my face. His mouth moved. Kamzin.
“We have to get him back to camp,” I said. “Lusha will know a healing charm.”
River made no reply. He had fallen onto the snow, and sat with his head bowed and his hand over his eyes. Azar-at, standing at his side, licked his arm.
“River?”
“I’m all right.” His voice was distant. “Just give me a minute.”
But as if in response, the mountain gave an ominous rumble. It was even louder than the first. The ground shook so violently I stumbled and almost fell. Tem moaned, muttering something that sounded like not again.
I looked up and choked on a scream.
A wall of snow swept toward us—so fast, faster than anything I had ever seen, monstrous in size and utterly unforgiving.
River dragged himself to his feet, and stepped forward to meet it.
“River!” I screamed.
River stopped, raising his hands toward the wall of snow. I stood frozen, unable to speak or even breathe. I was about to die. We were all about to die.
Then the avalanche struck . . . something. It seemed to collide with an invisible place just beyond River’s outstretched hands, as if we were a rock in a stream—the snow surged past on either side. The sound was that of a ferocious wave pounding against solid rock—a terrible roaring, as if the mountain were placing its will against River’s. He staggered back a step, but did not fall. Azar-at stood still as a stone at his side. I sensed, rather than saw, the connection between them—like a rope stretched taught. I stared at the snow pouring past, only a scant few yards from where I knelt next to Tem. It was like the landscape was being pulled out from underneath me, while I sat motionless, a mere observer. Even after the mountain grew still again, I could only sit there, staring, as the snow cloud swirled and settled around us in thin sheets.
We were still there when Lusha returned. Tem was awake, though dazed and groaning in pain. I was certain his leg was broken, and possibly several ribs. River, who had collapsed once the mountain had fallen silent again, was alive, though he didn’t wake no matter how loudly I called his name. Azar-at was silent, watchful, thinking his impenetrable thoughts. He alone was not dusted with snow—anything that touched his fur melted almost immediately.
Lusha lifted Tem, staggering slightly under the weight, and hurried away, leaving me to drag River along. When we finally staggered back to camp, we found that Mara already had a fire going. Apart from a reddish bruise darkening the side of his face, he seemed to be the most mobile of all of us. Lusha collapsed next to the fire, holding her ankle, her face a grimace of pain.
I chafed River’s arms and hands. His face was pale; the scattering of freckles across his nose stood out in stark relief. He seemed to be barely breathing.
“Mara, help me bring him closer to the fire,” I said.
He is unhurt, Azar-at said. He requires only rest.
I glared at it. “Unhurt? How can you say that, after all you’ve done to him?”
His choice. Always his choice.