Chapter 16 - Layla
Fifteen hours ago
The trail began just beyond the last houses of Skymist, where the cobblestones gave way to dirt and pine needles.
It was a narrow, twisting path she had only ever seen from afar, the start of the old track that wound toward Aurora Peak.
It had been so clear in her dreams, the taste of pine sharp in the cold air, the gentle sink of wet earth beneath her feet.
Beyond, the mountain called to her like something alive.
Now she stood at its foot for real, breath white in the early morning chill, heart thrumming with both fear and anticipation.
The pack still slept behind her, the town dark except for a few lamps in the harbor. Even the gulls hadn’t yet begun their morning cries. Layla hitched her pack higher on her shoulder, adjusted the straps tighter, and stepped onto the trail.
Julian had left her basement roughly six hours ago, by her calculation. He’d wanted her not to venture out.
She reckoned she had today, and today alone, to slip out from under his watch and climb the mountain. He wouldn’t expect her to so brazenly disobey him so quickly.
“I’m sorry, Julian,” she said to the wind, wincing at the thought of what Dominic would do to him when he found out.
That wasn’t her problem. Julian could scheme and lie all he liked, but Layla couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk him revealing her secret to Dominic. Couldn’t live with the constant fear of it hanging over her head.
Her one chance, her only chance, was to get to the top of the mountain and prove to herself and everybody else that her visions were more than just dreams. If she could go to Dominic, convince him that she could be useful to the pack, that she could save lives…
Maybe he’d let her live. Let her stay.
Sucking in a breath, she began her steady climb.
She was lucky, she supposed, for the first few breaths of winter.
This route up to Aurora Peak was immensely popular with tourists eager to try their hand at the challenge.
Scale Nanuq Mountain and get back down again in twelve hours.
During the peak of the summer season, it was common to have dozens of hikers attempt the climb every day.
She always had a table at the bookshop dedicated to the climb, from guides to memoirs to photo albums.
At this time of year, however, with the rain falling thick and the snow settling on the peak, the trail was blessedly quiet.
Which meant, she hoped, that the trail would be unguarded by the Volkhov and Nordan. The last thing she needed was any wolves sending word to Dominic that they’d picked up the Luna of the Volkhov, scrabbling up the mountain.
Not that it was uncommon for members of the pack to run the trail. In fact, it was very common.
As wolves.
The human challenge was up and down again in twelve hours. For wolves, it was an hour. Most of the shifters could clear the whole mountain range in two.
Layla, however, was unable to shift. And that meant the long and arduous hike would be on foot. She knew she had no hope of getting there and back again in twelve hours; in fact, she’d be lucky to do it in twenty, hence the early start.
But she needed to know.
Each crunch of gravel underfoot sounded too loud in the silence. The forest swallowed everything: no wind, no birdsong, only the sound of her breathing. The pines grew denser as she went, their trunks thick and close, the air damp with moss and resin.
It had rained in the night. Her boots slipped on wet leaves, and twice she caught herself against a tree before she could fall. She muttered a quiet curse and kept going. The incline was gradual at first, almost gentle, and then, mile by mile, the earth began to tilt sharply upward.
She stopped at a bend in the trail, already winded, and looked back toward the town.
Skymist was a smudge of rooftops and gray light far below, the sea stretching beyond it like slate.
From here, everything looked small: the docks, the town square, even the sprawling grounds of the Anchor.
She tried to imagine Dominic somewhere within those walls, pacing perhaps, irritated by her absence.
He wouldn’t understand. He never did.
The thought hurt more than she wanted to admit.
She pressed on. The air grew colder the higher she climbed, and the scent of pine gave way to something cleaner, snow and stone.
The sharp bite of cold stung her lungs with each inhale, her legs groaning with each step.
As she went, she blanketed herself in warming spells, healing spells, but the effort was constant.
She knew the risk of coming alone. The woods that surrounded Skymist were not safe for anyone, least of all a female who could not shift. But it was broad daylight, and this route was one of the more open, nowhere near the borders of either Volkhov or Nordan territory.
And through it all, through the uncertainty and the fear and the apprehension, her determination burrowed deep.
Her breath misted as she whispered, “Please. Let me be right.”
The trail narrowed, the trees thinning as the slope steepened. Her muscles ached, but she kept going, pulling herself up by exposed roots and jagged rocks. In the distance, she could see the peak at last, a dark, jagged crown against the vast open sky.
The path wound ever upwards, lined here and there with old stones carved with faint, weathered sigils. She brushed snow from one as she passed and groaned to see the remaining distance etched into the stone. She was massively behind schedule.
By midmorning, the sun had broken through the clouds, thin and weak but welcome. The forest fell away behind her; only scrub and low, twisted trees remained. The wind was stronger here, carrying a distant hiss that might have been the sea, or the breath of the mountain itself.
Layla pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders. Her fingers were numb despite her gloves, despite her spells, and the strap of her pack rubbed her collarbone raw. She didn’t stop. The physical pain was grounding, proof she was still real, still going.
She couldn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in.
Theodore’s sharp disapproval, Julian’s steady, assessing eyes.
She thought of Dominic most of all, his anger, his restraint.
The madness that swirled in her mind whenever he was close.
The bond between them hummed in pleasure at her attention, and she shoved the thought of him away, forcing the bond to silence again.
He would never have let her come here. Not because he cared for her safety, or at least, not only for that.
It was control. The same control he exerted over everyone, regardless of their status.
Himself most of all. He would have forbidden it, and she would have been forced to obey, and nothing would have changed.
But she refused to be controlled. This was hers. And if she could finally find a way to carve herself out a place in the pack, to earn it tried and true, then she would grasp it with both hands.
Her boots sank into thin snow as she reached a ridge. From here, the slope rose steeply toward the summit. The air was almost painfully clear. She could see her breath, feel her pulse in her throat.
Layla stopped for a moment and tilted her head back. The sky above was the palest blue, washed thin by altitude. Hours had passed; they’d probably noticed her absence by now.
Or not.
She told herself she hoped not.
She climbed the last stretch slowly. The rocks were slick with melting snow; twice she had to drop to her hands and knees to crawl. Her pack scraped against stone, her gloves tore, but she didn’t stop.
At one point, she slipped, her boot catching on ice. She stumbled and fell hard against the slope, her knee striking stone. Pain flared white-hot, but she pushed herself up, breath coming fast and ragged.
“Get up,” she muttered. “You’ve come too far.”
She reached the plateau just as the sun dipped toward the west. The summit wasn’t broad, just a stretch of flattened stone marked by a ring of weathered pillars, their surfaces carved with initials and other marks from successful climbers who’d summited in under six hours.
She groaned. All in all, it had taken her well over twelve hours to just climb the damn mountain.
Trying not to dwell on the fact that she was likely going to have to call her brother to come and pick her up, she sat down and leaned against one of the pillars, taking out her flask to drink.
Her phone tumbled out, and she stuffed it back inside her bag without looking at it.
She’d be brave enough after she’d accomplished what she came here to do.
It was raining in the town below. A thick bank of clouds had slouched its way over the sky, well below her, hiding it from view.
She grimaced. At least the sky was clear this high up, despite the punishing cold.
Not for the first time on that trek, she sent a muttered curse heavenward about her inability to shift.
She’d be just peachy with a nice, thick wolf’s coat right about now.
As it was, she would have to make do with her layers of thermals.
Settling back against the freezing stone, she sighed and watched the darkening sky, waiting for the aurora to flame up the dark.
The place thrummed with quiet energy.
As she waited, she turned the old stories and legends over in her head.
The humans had their own myths about this place, saying that if you sat beneath the northern lights, you’d be granted good luck.
A shifter legend went further, saying that you’d be granted a wish from Lunarion himself.
All unfounded nonsense, of course, but it was nice to think about.
She’d been up this way once before, a hiking expedition with her school as a teenager.
There had been no aurora borealis, but she’d made a wish all the same.
It was the same one that had echoed through her head for years now.
Please, whatever deity exists above me, let me shift.