by Jamie Smith
The frostsliver’s ice felt oddly warm, like gentle steam against her skin. She didn’t feel as cold as she had before either—it was as if a low fire within her resisted the chill.
None of it made Sabira’s knee any better. Putting weight on it was like driving in needles, so instead she sat and drank in the new sensations. As she did, she registered an unfamiliar knot of thought behind her own. It was tightly coiled, but slowly its cool tendrils were uncurling.
STOP POKING ME. I’M SETTLING IN.
Sabira nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice chiming inside her. It felt like the frostsliver had slapped the back of her hand.
“You should eat,” her uncle murmured, interrupting. “Get your strength up.”
She looked over at him and noticed for the first time the pallor of his skin—a deathly pale, almost. She hurried to his side.
“Uncle, what’s wrong?” she demanded, angry at herself for not attending him sooner.
“Took a tumble getting in here. Survive an avalanche, and get caught out by a little fall. Silly, really.”
He punctuated his words with a hacking cough, the kind that made you worry. She slid over to him and noticed his hands were positioned to cover a spot on his side. He resisted briefly when she tried to move them, but relented when she gave him her best glare.
Pulling Mihnir’s furs loose was obviously painful for him, but she did not hesitate. A patient’s discomfort was often the only way to find out what was wrong. When Sabira made an opening, she gasped. The flesh under his ribs was purpled with a mass of bruises and disturbingly swollen.
She’d seen that kind of injury before, and it was much worse than Sabira had guessed. He wasn’t just bruised or exhausted, but seriously hurt. Whatever internal damage had been done was beyond her skills.
Her breathing quickened. Without the bonding path, rescuers from Adranna might be weeks away—if they were lucky. The food might stretch to that, but could Mihnir last as long? Sabira didn’t think so. Not from the way her uncle lay slumped and barely moving after the strain of her examination.
Panic flickered in Sabira. Tserah had already paid for Sabira’s life. She couldn’t let Mihnir die up here too.
THERE MAY BE NO SAVING HIM. YOU MUST BE PREPARED.
The voice, like the gentle tinkle of tapped icicles in her head, made Sabira jump again. The frostsliver was hearing her thoughts! She tried to stand to fetch the pack and find out what she could use to help her uncle, but her knee twinged painfully again.
“I can’t do anything with this,” she said, indicating her leg.
If only she had her father’s equipment—and his expertise with medical bracing.
Then an idea came to her. She knew something of what frostslivers could do—this could work. Sabira would have explained, but she found that the sentient ice was already moving, sliding across her skin in an undulating motion.
AN INTERESTING CHALLENGE.
The frostsliver’s weird warm-coldness shivered down her torso and all the way to her knee, where it settled and solidified. Sabira could feel the weight being taken up by the frostsliver instead of the joint. It had formed the shape of the brace she had imagined.
Expecting another shooting pain, Sabira gently put a fraction of her weight onto her leg. There was discomfort but not agony. Gingerly, she flexed her knee joint and smiled.
“That’s amazing,” she admitted.
YES. BUT IT IS NOT A MIRACLE. YOU ARE STILL INJURED. YOU NEED TIME TO HEAL.
“What about walking on it?” Sabira wondered. “I don’t want to make the injury permanent.”
THIS WILL KEEP THE WORST AT BAY.
It would have to do. Maybe it would be enough for her to do something. She looked at her uncle, who had shut his eyes. The pain was still obvious on his face, and she couldn’t help thinking that Aderast seemed intent on claiming her and Mihnir. Just two more scarlet prayer flags in waiting.
Her uncle would go first, but Sabira would fare no better in the end. Without another plan, they would die out here above the Tears of Aderast. She didn’t think the mountain would shed any more for her. Then, as she looked over to the skies above the mountain peak, where there had been blue between the clouds, Sabira saw the truth.
The blue had been filled in with swirling whiteness that licked and touched the mountainside, closing in even as she watched.
Sabira knew now that her growing feeling that the mountain hated her had to be right.
A blizzard was coming.
THE BLIZZARD LOOKED almost peaceful from the valley top, a puff of white cloud in the distance. Soon it would fall on them with all of nature’s fury, and here they were defenseless against the storm.
WE MUST GO.
“But where to?” There was nowhere to go, no shelter in sight.
DOWN.
“What?”
THE VALLEY IS OUR BEST CHANCE. HURRY—DO NOT LET TSERAH’S SACRIFICE BE IN VAIN!
Sabira’s heart slowed, ever so slightly. It was true. There could be some shelter down there. Maybe. If there weren’t so many steps, and if Uncle Mihnir was in any state to walk them.
MOVE EVERYTHING TO THE TOP OF THE STAIRS. QUICKLY.
Sabira wasn’t sure why the frostsliver wanted that, but with no other choice, she dropped back into the hollow.
“Sabira?” Mihnir questioned. She cut him off before he could get any further.
“No time. Storm’s coming. We have to go. Can you get up?”
THE PACK. YOU WON’T SURVIVE WITHOUT IT.
Heavy as it was, Sabira went to the thing and began hauling it. Her uncle, however, did not move, his face creased with pain.
UP, PACKMAN MIHNIR!
Even the frostsliver’s words ringing out did nothing to rouse him. Sabira started forward.
THE PACK MUST GO FIRST. COME BACK FOR HIM.
“I won’t leave him,” Sabira insisted angrily. After hurriedly moving the pack to the edge of the stairs down to the glacier, she charged back for her uncle.
As Sabira arrived, her eyes flicked to where Tserah’s corpse cooled. A pang shot through her. She didn’t like it, but she knew Tserah’s body would have to be left behind. A desolate end, but it was the way of the Aderasti people. Her funeral would have seen it left out on the mountain anyway, returned to nature.
Sabira heaved Mihnir up with all her strength. She didn’t quite know how she managed it, but after a minute’s manhandling and pain, somehow they both flopped out of the hollow, just in time to be dusted with the first real lash of blizzard snow. They would be buried under more of the stuff if she didn’t hurry. When she had struggled and hauled her uncle up and over to the pack, the frostsliver instructed again.
SIT. YOU AT THE FRONT.
“What?”
NOW!
Sabira did so, positioning Mihnir behind so that he could wrap his arms around her. She felt his arms grasp her waist—he was partly conscious, at least. Looking down into the sickening depths of the glacier valley, she had a horrible feeling she could guess the rest of the plan.
YOU MUST DO THIS.
Could she?
YES. AND YOU WILL.
The frostsliver liquefied, running down her leg. She felt it trickle over her foot. A moment later she felt the oozing sensation tear a hole in her layers of socks and wriggle through. The stitches in her boot creaked as they were forced apart by flowing ice.
To her shock, Sabira found herself raised onto a thin glassy pane, shaped for speed. Her boots were locked into place on it by clawing tendrils of ice, leaving her unable to escape as it spread and jammed under the front of the pack, turning it into a primitive kind of sled.
Her breath quickened as the frostsliver worked and extended, her heart beating even faster than the terrifying situation already deserved.
I NEED TO TAKE THE STRENGTH FROM YOU.
There was no time to worry about exactly what that meant, as the frostsliver suddenly tipped forward, launching the pack and its riders down the stairs. Sabira
screamed, her voice snatched away by the whipping wind.
The gale pulled off Sabira’s hood and raked through her hair with icy fingers, snow like needles against her bare skin. The frostsliver-sled descended faster and faster until Sabira was convinced they were falling straight down. The strange magic of the frostsliver hammered on her heart, and Sabira felt like she was running at full pelt. The jaws of the valley opened up before her—the glacier’s snow-covered bulk growing closer by the second. The frostsliver’s voice sounded in her head, ringing in sudden fear.
I MUST NOT TOUCH THE GLACIER—I WILL BE ABSORBED BACK INTO IT. YOU WILL DIE!
“What?!” Sabira cried aloud. “Why didn’t you say that before?”
NO TIME!
At this speed, they’d never be able to stop before the end of the stairs—and the glacier was only seconds beyond that. Suddenly feeling very sick, Sabira remembered the sight of her own frostsliver sinking back into the ice, gone forever.
“Retract, before we hit it!” she shouted.
BRACE YOURSELF.
Sabira wound in every muscle even tighter than she already had. The sled juddered, and the valley floor was rising fast. Moments before she hit the snow, she felt the frostsliver deform and shrink under her feet. The pack, Mihnir, and Sabira tumbled through the air until Sabira’s shoulder whacked into the snow. She slid a little, then opened her eyes to see the moving edge of the glacier just paces away.
Sabira couldn’t move for shaking, unable to believe what they had done. She forced herself to her feet and went to Mihnir, who was lying on his back, blessedly still breathing. His eyes flickered as she knelt at his side.
“Are you all right?” she said.
“I’ve been better,” Mihnir grimaced.
I’M FINE TOO—AND YOU’RE WELCOME.
They didn’t have long. The snowfall was getting heavier, and a cruel wind was starting to whistle, though they were more protected down here at the bottom of the valley. Sabira decided she’d have to leave the supply pack and hope to recover it later. There was no way she could carry it as well as supporting her uncle.
“Up,” she demanded, though she knew it was a difficult thing she asked. Mihnir managed it, with her assistance, but he leaned heavily on the steps when he was done.
Aderast howled a weather-tantrum at Sabira from the gray sky ahead. It didn’t like where she was going. Neither did she. The landscape was starting to fade into the encroaching storm.
If the mountain really was a god, then it was a cruel one. Sabira debated cursing the place aloud but decided not to risk further retribution.
Throwing her uncle’s burly arm around her shoulders felt a little like picking up a log, but holding tight, Sabira struggled along the glacier shore, up the gentle slope of the valley toward the mountain peak, looking for cover.
The snow fought them, obscuring the way, getting into Sabira’s hood and face within. She fought back as the minutes passed, but no shelter came into sight. Instead, the little color remaining in the world drained away, replaced by the blankness of the blizzard. It turned out that death wasn’t darkness—it was overpowering white.
On they went, until Sabira’s arms felt like they might drop off at any moment. Mihnir stopped walking and then stopped supporting his own weight. Sabira wanted to demand that he move, that he keep going no matter what, but she knew he had already given everything he could. This was it. This was as far as they were going to get.
“You should have left me, found shelter on your own,” mumbled Mihnir, barely audible over the mountain’s frenzy.
Still dragging on his arm, trying to coax a little more out of him, Sabira shouted back, “Just count yourself lucky I didn’t! We’re going to be fine, Uncle!”
She didn’t believe it, though. In hours, or less, they would be dead.
Wait, that darker patch on the valley wall—was that … ? The frostsliver chimed happily, encouraging Sabira to take a closer look.
Hope kindling inside her, she found the strength to drag Mihnir closer. Salvation awaited in the form of a shadowed gash in the rock.
They stumbled into it, falling to the ground of the shallow cave as soon as they had passed the mouth. Sabira would very much have liked to sleep right there, but the mountain had other ideas.
Even several paces inside the cave, the storm continued to claw at them, like a predator trying to maul a mouse from its hole. The wind blasted in through the entrance, leaving the cave no more than a mild windbreak—at the back, however, a small curl in the passage offered some relief. She led her uncle farther inside and settled him as far from the cave mouth as possible. He was exhausted and still deathly pale.
Sabira quickly found a place on the ground next to her uncle and huddled herself into a shivering ball. The lack of wind was one of the greatest presents she had ever received, and flakes of snow blew in from outside.
Sabira didn’t like it, but she thought that she knew the answer. She remembered the last thing Tserah had done before her death—shielding that tiny hollow from the apocalyptic mass of the avalanche.
“Could we keep the storm out? The cold too, I mean?” Sabira said aloud, with more than a little trepidation.
SOME OF IT.
“Should we try?” Sabira asked, feeling like the answer could go either way.
IT WON’T BE EASY.
That was no endorsement, though when Sabira looked at Mihnir, she knew he wouldn’t make it through the night if they didn’t.
HE MAY NOT ANYWAY. ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO RISK US FOR THAT?
“We have to try.”
Getting a sense of the frostsliver’s intentions through the bond, she held out her hand in anticipation. Once again her companion turned to flowing creature and back to solid object, pushing out from her glove in a wide umbrella of ice that filled the crevice entrance with a thin, partly transparent barrier.
Sustaining the shield was not a pleasant sensation, the high heart rate an ugly beat of near pain in her chest—she felt as if she’d been running uphill for a week. She didn’t want to think about the fact that such a feeling could grow strong enough to kill her, as it had Tserah. She had held back the incredible weight of the avalanche for only moments, and Sabira had no way to know how dangerous what she herself was doing was by comparison. Maybe the frostsliver could shield them all night, even through sleep, but Sabira was too wary to try it. It offered her an answer, unbidden.
IT IS INADVISABLE—BUT IT PROBABLY WON’T KILL YOU. PROBABLY.
She peered out through her protection to the storm shrieking and blasting the mountainside, buffeting the frostsliver. Night was coming, and Sabira guessed that heavier snowfall was on the way. The blizzard didn’t show any sign of abating, battering at their thin defense with ever-greater strength. Storms like these had been known to last for days. If that happened, stranded here without their supply pack, they were done for.
They were in the grip of it now, with no end in sight. Sabira had seen how bad a blizzard could get even in the safety of Adranna.
This one had barely started, and it was only going to get worse.
NIGHT CAME, AND it was harder than Sabira could have believed.
Cramped and cold, Sabira did everything she could to forget how bad a situation they were in. It was impossible with the heavy rhythm of her heart fueling their only shield.
Mihnir had it worse, with his wound troubling him and no frostsliver bond to protect him from the chill. He shivered and shook, making noises of pain that a day ago Sabira would never have expected to hear from her tough, stoic uncle.
The only saving grace was that they were not out in the snowstorm itself. Through the shield, the whirling whiteness was almost pretty, lit only by the frostsliver’s soft glow. It was small comfort.
Frost-clerics supposedly kept the worst weather away, their prayers artfully written with calligraphy brushes and left in the elements for the mountain god. So much for that. Maybe Aderast hadn’t thought much of their latest poetry.
YOU MAY HAVE TO LEAVE THE PACKMAN BEHIND. WE’LL NEVER SURVIVE DRAGGING HIM AROUND THE MOUNTAIN.
Sabira saw the truth in it but didn’t like how coldly the frostsliver put it. The thing seemed to care for its own survival above all else.
“That’s not an option. When the storm clears, we have to fetch the pack and divide it between me and Uncle Mihnir,” she said. “After that, I’ll climb across where the bonding path was. Then we can get help from Adranna and be back for Uncle Mihnir in a few days,” Sabira said, trying to convince herself as much as the frostsliver. A croaking from behind her showed that Mihnir had heard too—her part of the conversation, at least.
“That’s a bad idea,” he said. “The climb would kill you.”
Sabira knew he was almost certainly right. There just wasn’t any other way to save him, and she wasn’t going to give up. Her uncle must have seen the determination on her face, for he quickly wheezed,
“There might be another way.”
Sabira turned to face him. “Another way? Isn’t the bonding path the only one between Adranna and the glacier?”
“Tserah must have taught you that the glacier rises from the depths of the mountain,” Mihnir said, though the words did not come easily, “but I expect you don’t know that people used to live up where it emerges, near the mountain summit. There was a monastery there once. Before the disaster of Aderast’s Nightmare put an end to it, centuries ago. No one could live there through those conditions.”
He coughed a few times, before continuing, “It’s long-abandoned now, but those of us who make our lives climbing the mountain hear tales—have even known a few adventurous sorts who claim to have seen the old place. There will be shelter there, if you can reach it, and maybe supplies. If you can build a big fire, Adranna will see the beacon and send help.”
He wasn’t offering options—he was trying to get her to abandon him, just like the frostsliver was. Despite the cold, she felt a flicker of heat rising in her. Sabira fixed Mihnir with a stare and said as firmly as she could, “You know you can’t go anywhere. You think I’m going to leave you to go and hide in a ruin until someone comes in, what, weeks?”