Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Iglance around to make sure no one is in sight before sneaking back toward the bridge I crossed just yesterday. The river is swollen from the fresh snowfall, its roar filling the air as I grip the rope railings.
“Dahlia!”
I spin around, my heart leaping into my throat at the sudden sound of someone calling my name. Relief floods me when I see Sita.
“Sita! You scared me half to death!” I press a gloved hand to my chest, my heart pounding beneath my parka.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to,” she says, breathless as she hurries to meet me. “I heard you and Ben. I had no idea who he was when he checked in. If I’d known, I would’ve come straight to you! Then I saw you leaving the guesthouse and knew something must be wrong for you to head back out so soon.”
I sigh, guilt pressing down on me. “Sita, there’s so much I haven’t told you. But I don’t have time to explain everything now. I need to find that cave I was in before Ben does.”
She frowns, worry etched into her face. “Dahlia, it’s dangerous to cross into those woods. The—”
I cut her off. “I know. The Migoi.” I hesitate, knowing how absurd it will sound. “Sita, the Migoi—he’s the one who saved me.”
Her eyes widen, but I press on before she can speak. “And now, I need to save him. I found the plant in his cave, but Ben is here for it, too. We can’t let him get there first.”
Sita flips her hood up and pulls the zipper to her chin, determination bright in her eyes. With a sharp nod, she says, “Let’s go. You can fill me in on the way. My family owes him a debt, too. I’ll help you protect him as he has always protected us.”
“I don’t know where I’m going. He might be angry that I’ve brought danger to him, just as I’m bringing you into it. You don’t have to come with me.” The hope she’ll back down and stay safe wars with the desire not to fight this battle alone.
She shakes her head firmly. “I think I know where to go. I’ve heard enough stories from travellers and passed down within my family about landmarks to reach his territory.
And of course I have to go with you. What kind of friend would I be to let you face this alone?
Besides, surely the Gods will smile upon us for honoring a dharma as sacred as protecting the protector. ”
“Right now, I need all the help I can get. I’d be foolish to refuse you. Thank you, Sita.” My voice wavers as my eyes sting with unshed tears, moved by her loyalty. I was wrong. I don’t have nothing. I have everything. Friendship, integrity, intelligence—and I’m in love with a Migoi.
I echo her phrasing, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the gravity of the situation. “Let’s go protect the protector.”
Taking a deep breath, I step onto the bridge, the ropes creaking under my hands as the icy wind whips around us and the river rages below. Sita follows close behind, as we retrace my earlier steps as far as I can remember.
We quickly exhaust the extent of my knowledge so Sita takes the lead. As we hike as fast as the trail and weather allow, she begins to recount the stories passed down through generations in her family and overheard snippets from the many travelers who have stayed at the guest house.
“My grandmother always said the Migoi are guardians of more than just the forests and mountains. They keep the balance between the human world and nature, between man's greed and earth’s abundance. Let’s follow the landmarks from the stories, and if they’re right, we should end up at the caves.”
Her voice carries conviction, each word pushing back against the cold and fatigue threatening to set in. It’s enough to spark hope. Even with the wind biting at my face and the trail ahead uncertain, I can’t help but think we might just make it.
Hours later, doubt begins to creep in. The trail has become a monotonous cycle of cold and up.
Ever upward. Our conversations have dwindled, replaced by the sound of heavy breathing, and our stops to rest are more frequent.
We're both struggling to keep up the pace as we look for the first landmark, something about watchful eyes.
Darkness is falling fast, and when I stumble again, I call out, “Sita! We can’t keep going like this. We won’t be able to find these eyes in the dark, anyway.”
She nods, gesturing to a rock face ahead. When we stop, it helps to block some of the wind, making me realize just how brutal the weather here is. Sita was right, this side of the river is completely different.
I drop my pack and stretch my tight shoulders. Sita pulls off hers and, with practiced ease, sets up a compact four-season tent. My spirits lift at the thought of even a little time out of the weather. I’m beyond grateful for her presence.
We crawl into the tent, and while I’m still partly frozen, the lack of wind chill inside is such a relief.
Sita pulls out a small stove and starts heating water.
She hands me a sleeping bag, then unrolls her own.
I can’t believe how poorly prepared I was for this journey.
I really wouldn’t have made it without her.
By the time our beds are set up, the water is hot.
While she makes tea, I dig out the protein bars I had hurriedly thrown in the top of my pack.
My fingers and toes tingle as they warm up, and my face feels like it’s finally thawing.
Our simple dinner tastes like a feast, and the hot tea fills me with warmth, rekindling my energy and hope.
Despite the physical exhaustion, I struggle to fall asleep.
My mind keeps rehearsing what I'll say to Eryon if we find him.
When we find him, I correct myself. Still, a part of me can't shake the worry that he won't listen—or worse, that he'll blame me for Ben’s pursuit.
And, honestly, I wouldn't blame him. After all, if he hadn’t rescued me from that avalanche, none of this would have happened.
Although I regret the danger heading his way, I can’t regret the time we spent together.
It was cathartic, and I’ve come out of it stronger.
Fiercer. Unlike Ben, who I sure as shit regret my time with.
But all these experiences, whether full of pain or pleasure, have shaped me into who I am today.
The old Dahlia never would’ve rushed off into the Himalayan mountains to save a Yeti. But the new Dahlia does.
Because I’m Dahilia fucking Wilde.
I must drift off because the next thing I know, Sita is shaking me awake. We quickly break camp, barely stopping for tea.
As we trudge up the mountain, the trail growing steeper with every passing step, the world becomes a blur of white snow, gray rock, and the relentless howl of the wind. Just when I think I can’t go on, Sita stops.
"Didi, look!" she exclaims, pointing ahead. "The watching eyes. We need to pass through them."
I follow her gaze and see, partially uncovered by the shifting snow, two massive round boulders that form a narrow passage between them. A thrill runs through me at our luck.
As we walk through, I stop and turn back to look at the stones. The late sun strikes their surface, and that’s when I see it. There’s writing on the rock that looks like it was recently scratched into the surface.
“Sita, can you read that?” I point to the word.
Squinting at the mark, she mouths a few different possibilities before saying, “I don’t know this language, but it looks close to some words I do recognize. If I’m reading it correctly, I think it starts with Sru—?”
My lips curve into a smile as my heart leaps. “Sruhnar.”
She looks at me with wide eyes and then back to the carving, “Yes, that fits. But what is it?”
He carved my name into a rock. It’s a gesture so simple, yet so profound—it must be the Migoi’s way of marking our connection, like two lovers carving their initials into a tree.
My spirits surge, and I’m suddenly re-energized.
Without thinking, I break into a run, laughing, with Sita hot on my heels.
“My name,” I call back over my shoulder.
Our pace slows with the fading light, and although we are clearly making progress, neither of us have any idea how far we’ve come or how far we’ve yet to go. I hate to stop and make camp but the darkness leaves us no choice. And getting injured is not an option in the wilderness.
This morning, I’m the one waking Sita at first light. In wordless agreement, we pack up and break camp. We eat as we walk, even skipping tea in favor of hitting the trail. Today feels significant, and I can sense that whatever this journey holds, it’s about to end.
Within a few hours, she points out another landmark. Jagged, snow-covered rocks frame the entrance like icy sentinels.
“The whispering gorge is the passageway to the Migoi’s territory. After this, we only need to find the frozen falls which mark the entrance to the cave. Let’s wrap our scarves around our ears and pull up our hoods—if the stories are true, it will be loud.”
Her instructions sound strange, especially for something called the whispering gorge, but I follow her lead without hesitation. As I adjust my hood and scarf, a flash of red at the entrance catches my eye, a vivid shock of color against the muted landscape.
I jog over and kneel to brush away the snow and stones to pull it free. A laugh escapes me as recognition sparks in my chest at the scrap of lace.
“He’s leaving me a trail,” I murmur, more to myself than to Sita. The thought of him watching over me, guiding me, has tears pricking at my eyes.
She glances over, her brows lifting in curiosity. “The Migoi?”
I nod, holding up the scrap of fabric from my torn panties. “He knows I’m coming for him. And if he’s leaving clues…” my voice trails off, a flicker of excitement rising. “It’s like he wants me to find him.”
She tilts her head, considering, and then offers a faint smile. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.”
With renewed purpose, we enter the gorge, and the first freezing gust hits us like a slap in the face. It’s not the whisper I’d imagined but a high-pitched primal scream that reverberates in my skull.
“Loud is an understatement,” I manage to shout, my voice just audible over the noise.
Sita nods, her face half-hidden behind her scarf.
“Keep moving!” she calls, her words carried off almost as soon as she speaks.
Step by step, we fight through the chaos. The wind drowns out everything, while the cold bites at my exposed skin, and panic flutters at the edges of my mind in the consuming chaos.
I force myself to focus, closing my eyes for just a moment.
I think of Eryon, of the heat in his touch and the sound of my own breath echoing in my ears under the water of the hot spring.
I remember the cave where he stripped me of sight and sound, leaving only sensation and trust, helping to heal me from the ordeal of the avalanche.
The memories of the slide of his tongue against mine, the caress of his fingers, and the fullness of him inside me, proving to me that I am worth saving, spur me to push forward—it’s my turn to show him that he’s worth saving, too.
Slowly, the walls of the gorge widen, and the howling wind begins to fade. It’s over. The stillness is deafening, almost surreal.
Sita turns to me and cheers triumphantly, “We did it!”
“When you tell this story,” I say, exhaling a shaky laugh, “don’t call it the ‘whispering gorge.’ Call it the buckle up buttercup this shit is loud gorge or something far more accurate.”
Her smile widens, and she shakes her head. She replies with a wry tone, “Noted.”
We press on, snow crunching beneath our boots and the fragile blossom of hope held in my heart.