Chapter 26 #2
The strength of it snaps something inside me, and the starshine snuffs out.
I tumble forwards, butting against Astrophel’s back.
He steadies me, as ashes fill my mouth and an icy rush of pain ricochets through my chest and head, as if my ribs and skull are cracking apart.
Every muscle is screaming. I feel hollow – cold. So cold.
Another rumble.
Serafine is still perched on Blayze’s shoulder, and he’s sitting straighter, master of himself again. The emberwing must have conjured her storm, after all.
But Serafine hasn’t summoned a storm, and the sound isn’t thunder. The rumbles are coming from the mountain above us.
‘Avalanche.’
Orthriel’s warning reverberates inside my splintering head, loud as the grumble of the mountain I’ve made fall.
‘Make for the tower,’ I rasp.
I point to the white spindle-keep, lined with arched windows. The cragstalker carrying us turns in the direction of my trembling finger and snarls.
It must be a signal to the other pack members, for they pitch forwards, the injured cat lagging behind the others as they snake through the trees in the direction of the abandoned watchtower.
Arrows sleet down as we break cover, but most of the guards have dropped their bows in horror as the mountain quakes beneath their feet.
‘I can’t run,’ I whisper to Astrophel as he dismounts. My legs are shaking almost as hard as the mountain; there’s no way I can sprint for the tower. I’m weak, dulled by spritesong, drained after summoning starshine.
He lifts me down. Gathers me to his chest. ‘I’ll carry you. Of course I will.’
What have I done? The thought echoes with every laboured step Astrophel takes towards the tower.
Blayze rams his shoulder against the door.
It caves under his weight, but mercifully remains on its hinges.
We all pile inside. Briar and the cragstalkers huddle in the stairwell.
I join them, collapsing to the dusty stone floor along with Delphine to catch my breath, while Astrophel pulls the door closed, barricades it with our saddlebags.
Blayze races up the spiral staircase, barring any shutters left open as he goes, before regrouping with the rest of us.
I strain my ears as my eyes adjust to the gloom.
The lustre of my skin has dulled again in the moonsrisings since I drank the tincture.
The faint glows emanating from Serafine and the starstone around my neck are our only sources of light now the windows are barred.
Outside, the wind wails. The tower vibrates.
The rumble of the mountain grows louder.
We cluster beside the cats, the staircase circling above us.
‘I’m too weak to weather-weave,’ Delphine whispers, staring up at Maris. She’s shivering wildly. ‘I-I can’t stop this.’
Maris clasps her hand. ‘You’ve nothing to apologise for, do you hear me? If you hadn’t sung back there, we’d all be pincushions.’
The rumble swallows the rest of Maris’ words. We look at each other with wide, darting eyes. Tansy places a trembling hand on Briar’s neck, as if anchoring herself to the sylvanmare. Everyone stiffens, bracing ourselves for impact.
Astrophel reaches out to me. Some part of me wants to take his hand as I did in the cave, to feel the warmth and comfort of another body. But instead, I ball my fingers into tight fists.
I don’t deserve the consolation.
‘I’m sorry.’ The words sound small, pathetic. It’s all I can say, but it’s not enough. I’ve done this.
Delphine’s hands might be clean – if this avalanche kills us, she can pass into the Void knowing she did everything she could to save us – but what about mine?
When I look at my clenched fists, I see the bloodied hands of a murderess.
No wonder my mouth tastes of ash, no wonder Blayze is staring at me with that pained expression on his face.
My father was right – I’m a starbinger of death.
‘This isn’t your fault. You never intended this.’ Orthriel’s words are gentle, tender as they ease inside my mind.
My Guardian means well, but they’re wrong.
Because here’s the bitter truth. Some part of me liked it. Craved the thrill of that power flowing through me.
Some part of me would do it again.
I break away from the group, unable to bear the terror on their faces. Darting to the nearest window, I place an eye to the seam of the weathered shutters. At first, I see only swirling snow, but then a wave appears: a wall of white barrelling towards us.
I glance back at Blayze. Maris slips an arm around his waist, her other hand clasping Delphine’s so tightly her knuckles whiten. Blayze is expressionless, unnaturally still, but he lifts his gaze, meeting mine. The tower narrows to the unfathomable golden depths of his eyes, and I can’t turn away.
His face might be the last I ever see. Surely, there’s no harm in it. Not now.
I turn back to the window as the white wave strikes the tower with an ear-splitting roar.
*
WE’RE STILL brEATHING. Buried but alive.
The ancient walls took a battering but held fast, shielding us from the surge. Outside, the wind moans over the mountain, but the sound is muffled by the snow, rocks and ice now blanketing the watchtower.
We remain huddled in the darkness. Frozen in place. Numb with shock. Silence stretches for what seems like hours.
It’s Orthriel who eventually speaks. ‘Which of you has the starfruit?’
The soft pull of my Guardian’s disembodied voice stirs me to action. ‘I put some in my pack.’
I should have thought of this myself. The sooner we ingest it, the better.
I search the saddlebags, locate my pack and root inside it, pushing the maps and the box containing the mooncrystal to one side.
Items Astrophel mercifully deemed important enough to save in Galtair, despite having no knowledge of what the box truly contains.
My fingers close around the precious parcel of dried fruit. I pass it around: one slice apiece.
Blayze sets upon his like it’s his favourite chop.
In any other moment, the sight of him attacking starfruit with such relish might have made me laugh, but there’s nothing funny about any of this.
The tower stands, but even with the starfruit and the tincture, it’s only a matter of time before we freeze to death. Unless we suffocate first.
Delphine’s teeth chatter as she chews it. She should never have sung.
I shrug out of my fur and place it around her trembling shoulders. The least I can do.
Maris’ eyes are moist as she looks up at me. ‘Thank you.’
I lean over and give her hand a gentle squeeze. And maybe it’s just the starfruit taking effect, but the air in the tower seems to thaw.
‘It’s a shame those bastards slung out half the contents of my pack,’ Blayze mutters, rocking slightly as he hugs his knees to his chest. ‘A nip of flamead would have come in handy right about now. Or, better yet, a hit of dreamroot.’
I try to smile, but my lips won’t curl. I’m in no mood for jokes. Besides, it’s a blessing that blasted root is gone. The only positive to come from our time in the Last City is Blayze no longer chomping on the stuff, fouling us all with its choking stench.
Astrophel takes a lantern from his pack, asks Blayze for a taper and fire-striker. Soon, wavering candlelight licks our faces.
‘Arcuri, come with me,’ he says. ‘Let’s try and find a way out.’
Blayze hesitates, then clenches his jaw and gets to his feet. Together they clamber the darkened staircase. Shutters rattle, close at first, then further away. The grunts and mumbled obscenities confirm what we already knew.
There’s no way out.
When Astrophel and Blayze return, they’re both pale. Sweat pearls the Clanschief’s brow despite the biting chill in the air.
‘We’ll have to dig,’ Astrophel says. ‘Use the ice axes. Start from the highest window and tunnel up.’
Blayze lifts an axe from the pack he carried through the peaks.
His lips thin to a taut line as he leads us to the tower’s uppermost floor.
Windows fan out on all sides. Blayze strides to the one closest to the stairwell.
He unbolts the shutters, tears them easily from their hinges, like pages from a book.
He lifts the axe to shatter what’s left of the glass, revealing a solid wall of compacted snow, dense as stone.
Blayze hacks: once, twice, then over and over, in a blind frenzy.
I try not to think of the guards he felled in Galtair, of all the other lives ended by his powerful arms. Eyes glazed, Blayze’s movements grow desperate.
But still, he doesn’t stop. Remembering his account of the Necropole, the dungeons he endured in Galtair, I understand something of his need to escape another dark prison.
He strikes at the snow till his blows grow aimless and clumsy. Till he can hardly swing the axe.
Astrophel stands ready to replace him.
He works more methodically, chipping away at the snow, starting a tunnel. I admire Astrophel’s zeal too, his refusal to give in. He must know how hopeless this is. Save for a Sister-given miracle, we’ll never make it out of this tower alive.
We’re fighting more than just exhaustion; it’s the cold. A cold that doesn’t even feel cold anymore. My body is tingling, throbbing, burning, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I want to sleep, to curl up and sink into oblivion.
I could summon starshine again. There’s a chance the force of it might dislodge the snowfall. I moved the mountain in the first place, why not try and move it again? But it might make things worse, spark another avalanche, bury us deeper still. I can’t take that risk.
My magic is not a force to be trusted. It’s too easy to be seduced by it, to thirst for more till it consumes you, stripping your reason away like a cragstalker strips the flesh from its prey, leaving behind only bones.
I start to my feet.
The cats.
I stumble for the stairs. Astrophel calls after me as I clutch the handrail and feel for each new step with the toe of my boot.
‘Ingenious,’ Orthriel whispers, as my plan crystallises for them. ‘Now you’re thinking like a leader.’
‘Leaders don’t place their friends in danger,’ I snap back.
Friends? Yes, they are that now.
A warm animal scent tells me I’ve reached ground level. The air stirs.
‘Briar?’ I call gently, not wanting to startle the cragstalkers.
There’s a rustle. The sylvanmare’s warm muzzle noses into my hand.
‘I need the pack to help us tunnel out of here.’
The cats appear to understand something of the shared tongue, perhaps I should have asked them directly. But I can’t risk any margin of error. Not with this.
It’s too dark to see clearly, but I think Briar nods. She leaves my side and soft nickering erupts in the far corner of the stairwell. I wait in the darkness, chest so tight I can hardly breathe. Or perhaps the air is finally running out.
Something warm brushes my leg. The cragstalkers, filing up the stairs.
It takes every ounce of my remaining strength not to crumple to the floor in relief.
The candle inside our lantern flickers, spits, snuffs out as I arrive. We haven’t any more. A last tendril of smoke curls upwards, fading with all hope of escape. Without light, how can the cats dig?
‘I can help.’ Orthriel answers my silent question. ‘It’s time I play my part.’
Opal flames flicker as they materialise before us.
Their aura flares, till I have to shield my eyes to look at them.
They might not be able to wield an axe, but by radiating Star-Aether, Orthriel can allow the cragstalkers to continue their work.
Not indefinitely, though. The tincture restored their heartcrystal, but flaring like this will soon drain it again. And then…
We don’t speak as the cats claw the ice. The cold has robbed us of the power to move our lips. We press close together, eking out what little warmth we can.
The mood in the tower plummets the longer the cragstalkers continue to dig. I can taste it in the fast-cooling air. It reeks of despair.
This is taking too long, and we all know what that means.
I’ve failed to fulfil Noelani’s prophecy, but that’s hardly surprising. I’ve been disappointing people as long as I can remember. The understanding that my time here might be ending dawns on me as a strange kind of a relief.
I’ve been fighting since the moment I was born: fighting to fit in, for validation, for respect, for forgiveness, for freedom… I can finally stop. Stop fighting and close my eyes.
A faint buzzing tickles my ears.
Darkness closes in, but for once, I don’t flinch from the shadows.
I let the darkness take me.