Chapter 25 #2
Grasping the rough edges of the blown-out wall I assumed was supposed to provide a barricade for this sort of thing, I treaded the more compact snow, slipping around to the other side.
My breath caught in my chest. A swell of fog rose from the snowpack, billowing into a sparkling cloud. Tendrils of shadow curled through the haze—traces of dark magic.
There must’ve been dozens of elves, both Eyes and royals, helping clear the road—the number of footprints gave that away. Why hadn’t anyone mentioned… this?
Same thing as yesterday: no one had made a single comment about the black veins trickling through the frozen moat. Clearly, we weren’t dealing with a natural problem. It was supernatural. Evil.
The queen was far too cunning a woman not to know that. Far too powerful a being not to notice it. What was she hiding?
I crossed my arms. The shadows trembled, gathering together like an incoming storm.
Doubt pressed in on me like a cold front, curling my spine.
Sure, there’d been a handful of times I’d called upon water—but that felt more like a miracle than a testament to my magical abilities—and it was purely redirection.
I’d never created something out of water; that sounded about as possible as pulling something out of thin air.
Fuzzy dots speckled my vision. I’d been staring at the snow for too long.
Turning away and finding—surprise—more ice, something caught my eye: a pair of fresh footprints, but instead of the toes heading back to the castle, they pointed in the opposite direction—towards the mountain. Strange.
Even stranger, the fog hadn’t dispersed at all despite the frigid gusts rolling off the ridge, seeming to be suspended over the debris.
Someone else was out here. Maybe the one who’d caused this mess.
I glanced back at the rampart. Between the thick layers of stone and the massive mound of ice and snow, the queen and her minions couldn’t see me—and I doubted they could hear me, their own conversation muffled on this side of the wall.
Squaring my shoulders, I shut out the noisy fear and followed the mysterious tracks into the heart of the mountain.
Palms pressed against my thighs, I hunched over, the air thin and stabbing.
Those damn footprints had disappeared, leaving me alone and confused on a narrow path between the peaks. But, of course, only after I’d climbed over piles of rubble and dodged the icy rock still dropping down from the avalanche and reached an elevation where I could hardly breathe.
A draft tunneled through the pass, whistling in my ears.
I looked over my shoulder, the immediate area surprisingly free and clear of debris—aside from the small towers of rocks stacked along the cliffside, which were arranged a bit too perfectly to be a natural phenomenon.
From here, I could make out the entire lay of the land. The castle, a glistening carving of ice. The elves, nothing but specks.
The sun beat down. Sweat gathered along my forehead. I wiped my brow on my sleeve. For an arctic world, it was so hot.
As much as my body screamed to turn around, I spotted a shadowy alcove ahead, and I needed some shade before making that hellish trip back.
Blisters rubbing against the heel of my boot, I hobbled along the trail.
The alcove was bigger than I’d thought, a glistening hideaway carved into the side of the mountain, sheets of translucent ice creeping over the stone.
A cauldron sat in the middle. I peeked inside, relieved to find it empty.
Sticks, leaves, bits of hay and flower petals scattered the floor—remnants of a bed. I kicked an apple core, the bittersweet stench of rot tickling my nose.
Who or what had been living here?
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The quiet, the stillness—it was too staged, as if someone was watching. Assessing.
As I spun around, a pair of glacial eyes greeted me from the wall. I sucked in a breath.
In a few short strides I was standing in front of them, gaze tracing the curious drawing: the sweep of their lashes, the smudged outer corners, the lines drawn in ash and paint—the same turquoise as the ice that crept over the sides and the ceiling of the cave.
I reached for the surface.
The second my skin touched the rock, those blue eyes whipped through my mind. They sat deep within the folds of an aged, wrinkled face, one I did not know, crinkled in manic delight.
I jumped back, my heart ramming against my rib cage.
A sadistic cackle ripped through the space, a harsh echo in my skull. A gust nipped at my clothes like fingers; the eyes pierced me as if they saw into my soul.
Without a second thought, I sprinted down the trail, not stopping or slowing when I slipped on the frosted gravel, not once looking back.
That creepy laugh intertwined with the howl of the wind, seeming to follow me all the way down. I paused at a lower elevation, before the path dropped nearly vertical to the base of the mountain.
The elven kingdom sparkled in the distance.
That mysterious cloud still hovered above the runout zone; in the short time I’d been away, more misty plumes had drifted up the cliffside.
Tendrils of them slithered into the compact snow.
Fissures broke through the white surface, the outer layer of powder trickling down the slope.
Horror hit me like a bone-chilling cold. The evil magic threaded in the strange fog was going to trigger another avalanche.
I glanced at the glacier. The elves were still nowhere near done clearing the first one, and if I peered closely… the sage satin robes, the fur-lined mantle, the silver armor flocking—the queen was right in its path.
There was a bustle of movement next to her, much too animated for a guard or one of her dreadfully old court members, paired with a flash of pink hair. Freyja. No doubt Gunnar stood next to her, and Eva and Siebel and Fritz. Another person hustled towards them, her raven curls bouncing. Olivia.
Loud booms, like thundercracks, rattled the air.
The escarpment shuddered. Fragments of rock broke off the crags, tumbling towards the messy pile below.
Projecting my voice, I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Get back!”
It was no use.
Those eerie, arctic eyes from the cave zapped across my mind. A mass of ice and snow and shadow separated from the mountain and sped towards the fortress.
Towards my friends.
That witchy cackle that’d been bouncing off the pass, echoing in my mind, roared in the debris. Between one blink and the next, the second avalanche was already halfway to the bottom.
Colorful specks skittered in the distance, aiming for the castle—people had finally caught notice and started running, but it was too late.
The snow was moving like it was ravenous, too fast, too deadly.
It shot by me, spraying me with a violent wave of rubble. The ground shook beneath me, splitting the path, knocking me to the ground.
My fingers grazed my temple, coming back wet, soaked with blood.
Head pounding, vision blurred, I tapped into the only thing left—the one thing that felt like home in this iced-out world: my Source.
Readily, it flared beneath my skin, spreading to my hands, my heart.
There was no time to sit and channel correctly, no energy to spare on second thoughts. Power wrapped around my limbs, squeezing and tingling until the air left my lungs and it had nowhere to go but out.
Turning to the base of the mountain, I thrust my hands forward, transforming every bit of myself, every ounce of rage and hope and fear, into a shimmering streak of Source that shot past the sweeping snowfall and slammed into the ground.
The earth quaked. The dark magic shuddered.
The service road—what was left of it, at least—parted in two, the ice folding in on itself.
Everything—the frame of the truck, the boulders marking the lanes, the piles and piles of snow—was swallowed by an emerging crevasse that stretched wider, plunged deeper, each passing second.
With a final push and a broken scream, my upper body slumped over, palms meeting the frigid ground.
The avalanche plowed onwards, falling into the deep, icy pit I’d just made, narrowly missing the castle’s defensive wall, where my friends had been gathered only moments before.
A white cloud pulsed up and out, billowing into the sky. My breath wisped in front of me, the cold air stinging my lungs. Gathering my senses, I slowly rose to my feet. The silence was harsh, grating, so at odds with the roar of the avalanche, as if the entire world was in shock.
Elves scurried across the yard, sneaking out from behind boulders and dips in the terrain. Fingers pointed and shouts rang out—for reassurance, for help.
A line of people slithered through the hole in the rampart, halting at the newly forged rift. Voices drifted up the slope, but they were too far away, too muffled for me to make out anything they were saying.
I slid down the last steep incline, landing on the skirt of rocks at the base, nearing the new seam in the earth separating me from everything else.
“Angel?” I recognized that pitch, that sense of disbelief lacing Freyja’s tone.
“River, oh my God!” Eva’s hands shot over her mouth. “Are you okay?”
“She’s bleeding!” Gunnar yelled. “Can we get a medic?”
My pulse stuttered. I brought my fingers back to my temple, confirming I was very much still bleeding.
“What are you doing out there?” Freyja called.
“It isn’t safe,” Eva added.
Olivia rushed up to their side. “River, we’re going to get you out. Are you okay?”
“Grab a ladder and line!” someone ordered as I approached.
Toes flush with the edge, I peered into the crevasse. The sleek ice walls disappeared into a pit of shadows hundreds of feet down. With an acidic swallow, I stepped back, unease lodging behind my ribs.
“I’m fine.” I gave a halfhearted smile. It hurt.
Everything hurt.
Spindrift floated in the air, catching on clothes, dusting hair. The queen’s lavender eyes narrowed when my gaze crashed into hers. I couldn’t decipher the look, but it was something along the lines of pissed… or impressed.
Leaning onto my good hip, I crossed my arms. I’d built her damn wall, it just happened to be going down, not up. Maybe she should specify next time.
A silver ladder arced across the sky, thudding to the ground mere inches from the drop-off, right beside my feet. Royal guards hooked the ends into the snow while another one of them clambered across, the metal rocking with every determined shift of his legs.
Safely at my side, he fastened the lines, tying one tight around my waist.
Clipped in with nothing but a carabiner and a fistful of the nylon rope, I approached the first rung. Powder slipped down the steep walls, drifting into the depths of the glacier, glittering as it illuminated just how far I’d have to fall.
I gulped. Pretty soon that’d be me.
“Best to crawl,” the guard grunted. “And don’t look down.”
Too late. Sinking to my knees, I wrapped my fingers around the rail, the aluminum rough and biting. The ladder tilted.
The elves watching gasped. Not helpful. My heart beat wildly, nearly leaping out of my chest. Gritting my teeth, I leaned in the other direction, snapping the shoddy, makeshift bridge back into place.
“Careful!” Olivia shouted.
Breathing in on a ten count, I held my chin high, and started again, avoiding eye contact with the wedge of shadows beneath me.
Wind blew through the pass, numbing my nose, my cheeks, my ears.
This was the worst, but at this point I’d do anything to leave this cursed mountain—this cursed place—behind.