Staerstone, page 15
“You aren’t losing a lot of blood,” Andalu reassured Hygera. “You’ll be alright.”
“Take.” Pan offered her a shiny black strip of jelly.
Hygera opened her mouth.
“What is it?” Andalu asked.
“Will put to sleep. Take away pain.”
“Sleep?” Andalu winced. They couldn’t travel any further this evening. Their chance of taking the Scepter was slipping away.
“I don’t need it,” Hygera said bravely. “I can keep going.”
“Take it,” Dendreá said. “We’ll clean your wound and stitch it.”
Hygera nodded, eyes closed with relief and opened her mouth to accept the black medicant. She grew sleepy quickly, so Andalu lay her head down gently on his leather jacket. He looked out at the sea, now turning dark in the weakening sunlight, as Dendreá approached with a glowing red stick, to cauterize Hygera’s wound.
Chossweed
Zericha continued to hack into the vines with her knife until a cramp in her arm forced her to stop.
“My turn,” Catiallé said. “Don’t waste all your strength.”
Zericha bent double, trying to catch her breath. Damn these unforeseen problems.
Something flittered through the corner of her eye. She blinked. It looked like a child’s shadow, a lightless form darting through the vines. Zericha turned her head quickly, but the child was gone. She squinted. Could a child really be back there? The vines were so thick… No. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Come on, Z. Hold it together. You’re already cracking up and it’s only day one.
The Sodden would try to snare her with their dreams.
Biofuel stench clogged her nostrils. She blew her nose and found her snot bright green.
The mountain’s shadow extended far over the plains now, almost all the way to the sea. Night was nearing. They hadn’t made it far today. If they couldn’t pass this way, they’d have to backtrack halfway down the Windery and traverse across an exposed cliff face.
“It’s going to be dark soon.” She didn’t mention the shadow child. Was that what Catiallé had meant when she said that Zericha kept secrets? She could hardly share that she was seeing things. Perhaps it was a memory. The child seemed familiar. It might be an echo of her former self, from when she was small, lost on the mountain. How could she have climbed so high? She didn’t remember a time before climbing. She’d always been compelled to find her way higher, even when they’d kept her home for weeks after her disappearance.
When they’d locked her in, she’d escaped, of course: out through the chimney, over the walls, then negotiated using message dogs and birds, only agreeing to return if her doors and windows were always kept open and nobody stopped her from leaving. She’d always felt the call to Staerstone’s cliffs.
“Zericha!” Catiallé shook her hard, hands gripping her shoulders.
“What?” She blinked and looked around.
“You’ve been out of it for ages. I think there’s a sedative gas coming from these vines.”
Time had passed. The sky had turned purple, the brightest star of Staercrags shone directly above Staerstone Mountain. “Why didn’t you wake me? We’ve wasted so much time.”
“You were unconscious on your feet.” Catiallé coughed, covering her mouth.
Zericha cursed. What a disaster. What in stunstone’s name was wrong with her? Today they were supposed to make it up past the waterfall.
It’s as though you want me to take the Scepter, Yornan mocked in her mind. So useless, why do you even try? You must love to lose.
Zericha ground her jaw, furious at herself, but movement caught the corner of her eye. Something was happening around them…
“No!” She grabbed for Catiallé’s hand.
As the last fragments of light disappeared from Staerstone’s outline, vines around them began to writhe. A barbed tendril lashed her ankle, drawing blood. Zericha gasped and hacked the vine off, but another three replaced it. The vines writhed around them, too many to fend off.
“What do we do?” Catiallé cried.
Zericha swung her knife. “Fight for our lives!”
The Rose Quartz moon began to rise over the sea, as the night seeped in with darkness and dank chill. Andalu wrapped his coat over Hygera, who lay as still as the dead on thick gray krooskins, near the fire. The Cavergothern had promised their medicant would help her heal quickly. Had they poisoned her, vying to take the Scepter for themselves?
Andalu reined in his fear and anger, holding back from threatening that if she died, they would, too. He withdrew his glare from them and focused on her, rubbing her arm, stroking her hair.
“Come on, Hygera. We need you to pull through.”
They’d cauterized the wound with hot coals and she’d thrashed and screamed. Then she’d passed out again. Her sleep had deepened, her chest barely rising. Her temperature rose and her limbs shook and shivered. Andalu watched her closely, though there was nothing he could do but whisper encouraging words.
Vinefight
The vines writhed like snakes around Zericha and Catiallé, whipping and swirling, wrapping around their ankles, lashing for their wrists. Heart racing, Zericha slashed with her knife. They had to fight their way free. But how? Catiallé swung a knife beside her. Another barb stung as it whipped her arm and she cried out in pain.
Catiallé coughed and gasped as she slashed around herself. “We can’t fight our way free of this.”
Zericha’s blade lodged in a woody stem. The bush had bound their legs. When they could no longer fight, would it dig deeper into their flesh and drain them of blood?
She delved into her bag for something useful. Her leg burned like fire. Fire? The cut vines had smelled of fuel. Their stalks ran with fuel!
She pulled the flashpack out of her bag and lit it with a shake. A flame leapt to life and she touched it to the nearest vine. It ignited. The fire raced up its stem, spread through the foliage, exploding the whole bush in a flash of light and heat.
Zericha and Catiallé screamed and threw themselves down. The writhing plant tore its roots out of the cracks where it had grown. It rolled over the edge in a fiery ball, shrieking in agony. A plume of orange ash followed it. The stink of burning biofuel stung Zericha’s nostrils. Her ankle felt singed. Worse. It was aflame! As she yanked the flaming tendril of vine off her legs, a coughing fit shook Catiallé.
“Come on,” she cried, grabbing Zericha by the hand and pulling her along the trail, their feet burning as they crossed the scorched surface. The path ahead was clear, at last, but it was dark.
“We should have…burned that monster…the moment we saw it,” Catiallé said, gasping for breath.
“Yeah,” Zericha stopped to look at her ankle in the light of the flashpack. A raw, gaping wound. She limped into the darkness, trailing the wall alongside the path with her hand, keeping away from the deadly drop, searching for a safe place to collapse.
Andalu stroked Hygera’s forehead. It was hot—too hot—with fever.
“The medicant is working,” Pan said reassuringly.
Andalu glared at him and shook his head, afraid she was bleeding inside her body, as his little brother Rubin had when he was trampled by cattle. Like him, she might fade through the night and die. He shuddered, refusing to accept he could lose another climber so soon.
Andalu caught a flash in the corner of his eye. A rumble shook the mountain, the ledge beneath him trembling, as a fireball exploded upwards, to the south.
“What in Riversilt’s name was that?” Dya asked.
Andalu rubbed his chin. “Could the volcano be erupting?”
Dendreá frowned. “It looked like a gas explosion.”
“Should we put out our fire?” Channagrin asked.
“No,” Andalu said. “She needs the warmth.”
He lay down beside Hygera. She moaned quietly, and her face and hands twitched, like she was fighting mountain lions in her sleep.
This quest is impossible, his doubts hissed. Give up. Go home.
Maybe they should spend the next day finding a safe descent. He stroked Hygera’s forehead. No. He couldn’t give up now. They’d risked, and lost, too much already. There was no turning back until he reached the summit or he died.
Zericha stumbled a few more steps, to a wider part of the path.
“This’ll do.” She pulled a krooskin from her bag and collapsed on it. Catiallé pulled out another and threw it over Zericha, then snuggled in beside her.
She groaned. “It’s never felt so good to lie down.”
Zericha sipped from her waterskin and looked out at the stars, glimmering like anchor points on a wall. She could make out the constellations of Arkine’s Ice Axe, her arm stretched out, hand gripping the curved climbing tool. To the north was Denesis’s Torq with six bright stars in a range of hues, and beyond that the mythical Dynamic Roperion, winding like a snake along the southern horizon.
She was a failure compared to Arkine and Denesis. They’d travelled miles, discovered and climbed unknown terrain to save their people. We can barely ascend the base of Staerstone.
“We lost a lot of time today,” Catiallé said, voice husky. She cleared her throat.
“It was a disaster.” Zericha mumbled, half asleep. “Tomorrow we’ll try to make up for it. We’ll go twice as far. Twice as fast.”
They’d climb with strength and speed. As much as they could muster.
Half a day had been lost, but they were still in the race.
Moments later, her sister was sleeping, wheezing a little. Zericha hoped she’d be all right. Whenever her cough seemed to be gone, it reared up again, worse. The pure mountain air should heal her, though.
The Scepter could still be ours…
Zericha drifted off, exhausted. All night, it glowed in her dreams.
Day Two
Andalu opened his eyes as Hygera moved against him. The sky had lightened in the east. The fire was cold. Hygera leaned up on her elbow, on her good arm, and looked down at him, black hair falling to one side of her face, hazel eyes bright.
“Thank you for keeping me warm,” she whispered, pressing the length of her body against him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer.
“You’re alive,” he said, relieved.
She surprised him with a kiss, then sat up, frowning at her arm where the bandage covered her wound. “Not sure if the pain or the nightmares were worse.”
“Were you fighting mountain lions in your sleep?” Andalu asked.
Her gaze was far away. “I dreamt I was buried under stones.”
She stretched and smiled at him, shaking off her worries.
Andalu sat up. “Let’s get moving.”
“Breakfast?” Pan complained.
“Eat while you walk,” Andalu said.
“And fend off wild animals with other hand,” Dya said. “You got two arms.” He raised an eyebrow at Hygera. “Most of you.”
She threw a peanut at him, which he caught in his mouth.
Andalu packed up silently, the mission weighing heavily on his mind. He unrolled the map and surveyed the territory around them. His team surrounded him.
“We go up here,” he said, tracing a line with his finger.
“Where the lions came from,” Dendreá mused. “What if there’s more?”
“Keep your knives handy. This passage is the only way. Narrow, but a mild gradient, and short. No ropes, so no mistakes. It’ll come out into a forest, and then we’ll make our way to the Glorious River, and cross.” He hadn’t been much further, but the map showed a path through strange vertical ruins, the Spiral Stair.
He shouldered his pack and led the way into the steeply-angled channel, carved out by run-off during downpours. Hygera stayed close behind him, moving well despite her injury, though she didn’t need to use her injured arm much yet. Pan and Dya followed, with Dendreá and Channagrin bringing up the rear.
“Eat with one hand, climb with one hand…” Pan said.
“Fight with third hand?” Dya asked.
They were winding him up, so Andalu ignored them.
He climbed up into a forested area, thick with small trees. All the larger trees had been blown down. Their trunks and stripped branches lay across the scrub floor, their rotting wood extending out off the edge of the mountain. He waited for the team to regroup.
“Collect some mushrooms and we’ll cook a stew over our next fire. We should reach the river by midsun, and we’ll rest after crossing.”
Pan groaned. “Feet hurt.”
Dya said something in Cavergothern and offered him a jar of ointment.
Pan sat on an overturned log and pulled off his eelskin boots.
Andalu shook his head and waited. At this rate it would take more than a moonspan to reach the peak.
He unrolled the map and looked at it again, measuring distances. They’d come about a tenth of the way up the mountain yesterday. He’d hoped for double that. An ambitious goal, but they might have achieved it if the cats hadn’t attacked. Hygera looked fine now, talking with Dendreá, dark hair tied back in a little ponytail. Her kiss hadn’t meant anything. He didn’t feel any strong connection to her. She was pretty and fun, glowing with good health, and a good climber. He liked her, but his thoughts kept turning to Zericha. It worked as a daydream, but you don’t seriously think you can be with her, do you?
This mountain was a constant reminder of her. It was where he longed to be, with her.
Pan pulled his strange Cavergothern boots back on.
“Dya, can you carry some of Pan’s gear?” Andalu asked.
Dya nodded and took Pan’s rope.
They set off again, for a full morning of walking along wallabai trails, and climbing over fallen trees and mossy boulders. They crossed a stream and refilled their waterbags, enjoying the fresh, mineral-rich water.
“So pure,” Hygera said, drops sparkling on her chin. She wiped her mouth on her arm, eyes shining with satisfaction.
“The higher you go, the better the food and water,” Andalu said.
“Why nobody live here?” Dya mused.
“It’s forbidden.” Andalu tied his waterskin onto his belt. “The Wyldren say the mountain requires pristine spaces for diverse ecology to thrive. The presence of humans disturbs the entangled lifecycles of plants and animals.”
“They follow own rules?” Dya bit the skin at the side of his fingernail.
“All are permitted to visit, to walk through these places, to stay a little while, but must not linger beyond our welcome, and leave no trace of our passing.”
“You know a lot about the lore of the Wyldren,” Channagrin said, drily.
“You can’t doubt my loyalty to the Plains, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I learned Wyldren customs from Kodjar.”
“You also spend a lot of time out here,” Dendreá said. “Maybe more than anyone should, if you’re not supposed to live here.”
“I’ve climbed here very little,” Andalu said. “I’ve explored further west, and to the north and south, as well. I couldn’t stay at home, so I figured I might as well learn about the surrounding lands.”
“You didn’t seem too worried about your own people,” Channagrin said, “starving for the past two years.”
How dare Channagrin accuse him of not caring! Anger burned on Andalu’s cheeks.
“I thought my parents were looking after our people. If they were failing their duty, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I never knew where you were,” Channagrin said.
The same old words. No one ever knew where he was! He’d visited home regularly, but when he was there, no one had wanted to know him.
“Rubbish,” Andalu snapped. “You couldn’t address me because you were ashamed.”
“Me?” Channagrin stood. “You’ve got a hide.” He stepped closer, chin thrust out.
Andalu stepped forward to meet his challenge.
“Enough!” Dendreá stepped between them and pushed Channagrin around behind the rest of the group for a tense conversation.
Andalu scoffed. Too bad if they didn’t like what he said. It was time they acknowledged what they’d done. He set off in silence, through the thickening forêt. How dare Channagrin? He had no scruples, but that was nothing new. They all walked on, and the woods grew damper around them, soil darker and richer underfoot.
They climbed over some mid-sized boulders. The canopy thickened and blocked out all light. A pod of kroos—tall, furry animals with long ears, tails and pouches for their young—nibbled at bushes with yellow berries. Channagrin reached for his bow and arrow.
“No,” Andalu said. “We have to keep moving.”
The kroos hopped away.
“It’s a lot wetter than the last time we were here.” Dendreá kicked the mud off her boots and shot him a worried look.
They picked their way along the track until the rushing sound of water crushed the quiet, obliterating bird calls and conversation. The path turned, revealing leaves dripping with shining droplets of condensation and river spray. Ferns, orchids and mosses thrived on the trees; branches and yellow flowers cascaded from high rock shelves above.
Andalu gawked at the white waterfall, tall and massive. He froze. He’d never seen the river raging like this, had no idea how they could cross these rapids. He’d led them to a dead end! Now what?
“How are we going to cross?” Hygera had to yell to be heard. Channagrin and Dendreá frowned at him, frustrated and confused.
“I hadn’t…” He didn’t know what to say. “When we came this way, years ago, it was a calm stream. The waterfall was running, but the river was only knee deep. Easily fordable.” Frustration gnawed at him, frustration that he’d not considered the recent rain, or the summer melt. “That was at the height of Doruth’s Denial.”
