The tunnel curves around to the left, and we reach a dead end.
“No!” Mara whimpers.
A rockfall blocks our path. Faint light seeps through small cracks near the top. The air here is fresh and cool, and as we stare in dismay at the blocked tunnel, a breeze whistles through the cracks, bringing the tangy, fresh scent of pine forest.
“What do we do?” Mara says, panic edging her voice.
“Can we move some of the rocks?” Belén asks.
“Maybe,” Hector says. “But we might bring the mountain down on top of us.”
I say, “I can do it.”
Hector raises an eyebrow. “I know you can. But we still have the problem of instability. While you’re blowing through it with your Godstone, what’s to keep us from getting crushed?”
Storm steps forward. “I can do it.” His skin is gray in the gloom, like that of a corpse.
“You want me to create a barrier,” I say.
He nods.
“It takes a lot of energy to blow through a rock wall,” I say. “It took me several tries. I passed out a lot.”
He shrugs. “This isn’t solid granite like in the Temple of Morning. It has weak points. There and there.” He points near the top, where light is leaking through. “I’ll concentrate my firebolts there.”
“Can you do it?” Hector says to me. “Can you hold the whole mountain up if necessary?”
The last barrier I created collapsed far too soon. But this time, I won’t be shooting firebolts at the same time.
“I think so,” I say finally. “I’m not sure, but . . . what are our chances of finding a way around the blockage?”
Hector rubs at the stubble along his jaw. “Not good. Not before we run out of food.”
“Maybe scorpions are edible,” Belén says, and we all shoot him a collective glare.
“I don’t want to go back,” Mara says. “I’d rather take my chances with a cave-in. And it’s not just because I despise caves with all the rage of a hurricane. I’m not convinced it’s any safer down there.”
“I agree with Mara,” Belén says. “We’ve already encountered a false floor, a swarm of deadly scorpions, and a rockfall. Who knows what else is waiting for us?”
These are the kinds of decisions I hate. It seems my choices too often are reduced to a single question: How would I rather die? Starvation? Scorpion venom? Falling to my death?
Getting crushed to death would at least be quick, so I say, “Let’s try it. Storm, are you ready now, or do you need to rest?”
“I’m ready. Let’s go easy and slow at first. Small firebolts, small barrier.”
I breathe deep through my nose, spread my feet shoulder-width apart, and ground myself to the earth. “Everyone else should probably get back,” I say as Storm pulls his amulet from beneath his cloak.
I close my eyes and draw in the zafira. Along with the power comes confidence. I feel competent, strong. I hold tight to the power, preparing to exert my will. My Godstone hums joyously.
The barrier is easier this time. I imagine Hector’s forearm shield, thinning and stretching, making a canopy over our heads. I sense matter bonding together in the space above me, and I know it looks like magic to everyone else—wavery like leaded glass or a desert mirage—but to me it feels like a natural extension of the world itself.
“Ready,” I say.
Storm looses a firebolt. It spears forward, bright orange in the gloom, and collides against the rockfall in a shower of sparks. Gravel rains down around us, bouncing harmlessly off my barrier.
The dust clears. The opening is a little larger, but not much.
“I missed,” Storm grumbles. “Meant for it to go a little more to the right.”
“Try again. A little more power this time.”
I brace myself as he raises his amulet. His next firebolt is as yellow as the sun and blinding fast. The crash echoes through the tunnel. Something groans in the rock above us, but the roof holds.
“Almost!” comes Red’s excited voice. “I can almost crawl through! Try again, Storm, try again.”
She’s right. The uppermost hole is wide enough that I think I see stars.
“I’m good for two or three more at that strength level,” he says, but he’s panting from effort.
It might only take one more, aimed just right. I brace myself, send a little more power into my barrier, and say, “Do it.”
The next firebolt blows the hole wide open. Rock and gravel spew everywhere. A chunk flies backward, knocking my cheekbone, and I stumble. My barrier disintegrates.
The mountain shakes. Pebbles and dust rain down. I snap the barrier back into place, cursing myself for stupidity.
“Elisa?” Hector’s worried voice.
“Go!” I yell. The weight of rock strains against my barrier. It’s the only thing keeping the tunnel from collapsing around us. “Go, go, go! All of you. That’s a command!”
They rush forward and climb up toward the hole. Red disappears first. Her muffled, high-pitched screams reach us from the other side, and Belén darts forward after her. But then comes her voice: “I made it! I’m outside!” she cries, followed by more whooping and screaming.
The weight of this mountain is going to crush me. My shoulders feel like boulders, and all I want to do is sink, sink, sink into the welcoming earth. “Hurry!” I say through gritted teeth. “Go!”
One by one, Mara pushes all our packs through the hole to Red, then she disappears herself, followed by Belén and Storm. Hector turns to me, “Promise me you’ll be right behind me.”
I nod and wave him on, unable to draw breath to speak.
He scales the rockfall and pushes through the hole, feet first. His shoulders get stuck, and I have a moment of panic, but then he shifts, putting his hands above his head, and is able to squeeze through.
I’m alone, with nothing but a sputtering torch on the ground for company.
My barrier has become so heavy, like a millstone about my neck. Strangling an erupting volcano was easier than this, but there is no living sacrifice to help me now. I push one foot in front of the other; it’s like wading through knee-deep sand.
I begin my climb up the rockfall. The mountain roars. Rocks pound the earth behind me where my barrier and I once stood, but I dare not look behind. I find a handhold and drag myself upward, then another. I’m weakening fast. I whisper, “Just a little farther.”
My hand finds empty air. Then another, stronger hand wraps my wrist and pulls. The rocks scrape tracks in my skin as someone drags me through the hole, but I dare not give it much notice lest I lose control of my barrier.
And then a breeze hits my face, and I tumble out into a nighttime that feels as bright as day.
Hector clasps me to him, but I push him away. “We need to get clear,” I say.
We grab our packs and sprint into the trees, crunching through snow. Behind us, the earth rumbles. We turn around in time to see a cloud of dust puff up into the air. Silence follows, and I’m almost disappointed. The cave-in looks like any other mountain slope.
An owl hoots. Pine boughs rustle in the breeze. Snow blankets the ground, but only up to our ankles. It’s crusted over with ice, so the last snow must have fallen a day or so ago.
Red lets out a whoop of triumph, and all of a sudden we’re hugging and patting one another on the back and laughing. Even Storm allows himself a small smile.
I launch myself into Hector’s arms, and he stumbles backward, laughing. He presses his cheek to the side of my head and strokes my braid. “Waterfall was right,” he says. “This area is far enough north that the blizzard missed it entirely.”
I give him one last squeeze and extricate myself with reluctance. “We’ll set up camp here,” I say to everyone. “No watch tonight. I doubt anyone knows where we are, and I’d rather we all got as much sleep as possible. Tomorrow, we travel hard and fast for Basajuan.”
31
MORNING light reveals a faint trail leading away from the collapsed mine entrance. We follow it until we find a wider track leading north. The sun rises bright and warm, and the snow continues to melt, revealing horseshoe scuffs and piles of old manure along our path. We hope it will eventually lead to the trading road and the northern pass.
The world is so much more beautiful than I remember, full of color and light and sound. We push ourselves hard, jogging when our trail allows, and each night we collapse into our bedrolls exhausted. But never once do I forget to look around and appreciate the magic of being aboveground.
On the third day out of the mines, we encounter a free village—this one populated with more Inviernos than Joyans—and trade some marjoram, fennel, and a few coppers for fresh food and mounts.
I give a worried thought to Horse as I climb into the saddle of my new mare—a dull dun creature who would disappear against a sand dune. I hope Horse is all right. I hope she found her way back to Umbra de Deus and a softhearted person with lots of treats.
The northern pass is icy but clear, and we join a steady stream of traders, trappers, and even a few herders, all desperate to get through before the first big storm hits. The news buzzes all around us—winter came early, and the southern route is already impassable. Not that anyone would want to travel the southern route, they say. For Joya d’Arena is in an uproar. There is a new challenger to the throne, a powerful conde who has declared Queen Elisa a traitor and blasphemer. He has taken over the capital city and prepares to launch a major assault on the northern holdings.
But there is no news of Basajuan, and we are hesitant to inquire too directly lest we draw attention. So we ride as fast as we can, resting only when we must.
The air changes as we cross the divide. One day we are shadowed by clouds and chilled to the bone; the next we greet warm sunshine and snowmelt. Within a day we have descended below the tree line. Another day takes us within view of Queen Cosmé’s capital.
We look down from a high granite cliff over the dry, ridged foothills to the more lush valley beyond. The adobe buildings of Basajuan are barely visible, hazy with sunshine and distance and . . . smoke?
Hector pulls his mount beside mine. “Basajuan burns,” he says.
“We’re still a day’s ride away.” I want to hit something.
He shades his eyes with one hand and says, “It’s just the farmland around the city that burns, not the city itself. Not yet. The Deciregi have no army backing them this time. They will go cautiously. Strategically.”
“And we must go faster.” I kick my mare into a gallop, and the others follow. We pound down the trail, not caring that other travelers dodge out of our way and glare as we pass.
I pray feverishly as we ride. Please, God, protect them all.
The countryside is in chaos. Fields of maize, dry and ready for harvesting, send sooty smoke into the sky. Farmers work hard to quench the fires, tossing buckets of water down lines of workers from creeks and irrigation canals to the base of the flames. We pass the charred remains of a chicken house and a blackened field where a single bleating lamb weaves through small corpses as lumpy and dark as coal.
We face a steady stream of oncoming traffic—hastily packed wagons, mothers carrying infants, and even a few shepherds driving small herds of sheep and goats—all fleeing the coming destruction. The masses of humanity and livestock force us to slow down, and I grit my teeth with frustration.
“Any sign of the Deciregi?” I ask Hector as we maneuver around a cartful of cages containing noisy, panicked chickens.
“Just their handiwork,” Hector says. “My guess is they will do an entire circuit of the city, close enough to cause panic, but far enough away to avoid the city archers.”
Which means they might be on the opposite side of the city by now. This is our chance to get inside unseen. “Basajuan’s wall is not defensively optimal,” I observe. “It’s low, with just a few watchtowers around the outskirts.”
“We should prepare to be stopped and questioned, though,” he says. “Especially with an Invierno traveling with us.”
I glance back at Storm. I grew accustomed to having him travel openly, for he caused little notice in the free villages. But once we crossed the divide, his passing was greeted with suspicious stares. So he flipped up his cowl and now he rides hunched over, trying to look inconspicuous. I’m suddenly grateful for the chill in the air. It gives him an excuse to wear that cloak.
But if we’re stopped at a guard tower, he is sure to be recognized as our ancient enemy.
I call up ahead. “Belén.”
He and Mara ride side by side. At my voice, they rein in their mounts and twist in the saddle.
When I catch up, I ask, “Do you know a way into the city from scouting for Cosmé?”
He grins. “Definitely.”
“Please tell me it doesn’t involve a cave or a sewer,” Mara says.
“No,” he says, and she breathes relief. “If we play it right, we can walk right through the front door of Cosmé’s palace.”
“That would be ideal,” I say.
“Several of your rebel Malficios joined Cosmé’s guard after you left,” Belén says. “I’ll ride ahead—a lone rider can get through this crowd a lot easier than all of us traveling together—and scout the towers, find someone who will recognize you on sight. Then we’ll send for Captain Jacián.”
Jacián! He helped steal me away from King Alejandro, then stayed by my side as I led the rebel Malficio. Another dear friend I have not seen in too long. I almost send up a prayer of gratitude, but I stop myself. The Deciregi are near and likely to sense whenever my Godstone is active.