Her hand gripped the carved surface of her black staff, but she could feel no life in it. The warmth that marked its magic was gone and the runes that signaled its readiness, dark and unresponsive.
What should she do? She could continue to crawl forward through the snow, searching for the ice caves and shelter. But she had no idea where they were, and in the darkness there was nothing to show her the way. Her wounds from the battle had drained her of energy and strength, of willpower and purpose. It all felt so hopeless. She knew it was wrong to feel this way, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
The dream, she thought suddenly, had been a premonition of what was coming. She was going to meet Johnny. She was going to where he waited for her, away from this world, away from the madness.
iTienesfrio, Angel? she heard him asking from the darkness. Are you cold? iTienes miedo de morirte? Are you afraid of dying?
“Estoy muy cansado, ” she whispered. So tired.
She would go to him. She would let go of what held her tethered to this world, to her hopes and plans and sense of obligation to the Word and its order. She had done what she could, and she could do no more.
She closed her eyes and began to drift, the sensation both freeing and welcoming. She floated on the promise of a long, deep sleep that would end with her waking in a better place. With Johnny, once more. Her child’s world had been so good with him. That was why he was in her dreams. It was the best of what she remembered of a shattered childhood, of her dead parents, of her world destroyed. Johnny.
Then suddenly he was coming for her, surrounded in a blue light that blazed out of the darkness like a star. She opened her eyes in surprise, the brightness reaching for her, bathing her in warmth. It approached from across the broad expanse of the snowy slope, a steady beam that stretched from far away to draw her in. She lifted her hand in recognition, reaching out to grasp it.
“Angel! ” he called to her.
She watched him materialize out of the blowing snow and dark night, shrouded in a heavy–weather cloak, the blue light shining out of his extended hand. She tried to call back to him, but her mouth was dry and the words came out a thin, hoarse whisper.
“Angel!” he repeated.
“Johnny,” she managed to respond.
He knelt in front of her. The blue light went out. “Angel, it’s Kirisin,” he said, bending close, his young face pinched against the cold.
She stared at him, trying to find Johnny’s face in his young features, failing to do so, and then realizing who it was. Not Johnny. Kirisin. She blinked against her tears. She was back in the real world in an instant, lying cold and exposed on the frozen slopes of Syrring Rise, still alive, but not by much. “Kirisin,” she answered.
He brushed snow from her crumpled body, his eyes scanning her bloodstained clothing. “Can you get up?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
“I’m going to help you,” he told her at once. “You’re freezing to death. We have to get you inside, out of the cold.”
He worked himself into position that allowed for decent leverage and put an arm under her body to pull her upright. The pain returned to her in a sharp flood as he did so, the wounds opening anew. But he got her into a sitting position, put both arms around her, and heaved her to her feet. She stood leaning into him, unable to move.
“If you can’t walk, I will carry you,” he told her, his mouth against her ear so that she could hear him through the howl of the wind. “Do you understand me?”
She almost laughed aloud; she knew he was too small for such a task. Nevertheless, she let him try. She brought the black staff around and used it for leverage, putting her weight on it. She found she could take a step by doing so. Then take another step, move the staff, take another step, and so on, while he moved along with her, taking her weight on his shoulders, guiding her with his arms.
“It isn’t far,” he said, breathing hard.
She nodded. Couldn’t speak.
“Is the demon dead?” he asked a moment later. The powdery snow had already formed a layer of white on his hunched body, a cloak of sorts, blown in from the Void. He looked to be a ghost. As she must, too.
She nodded. Dead and gone. “The other one?” she managed to gasp out.
“Dead, too. I’ll explain everything, once we’re inside.”
They labored ahead a few more steps, and then a few more. The snow swirled viciously about them, attacking with tiny, stinging bites. Angel had never been so cold, but at least she was feeling something again. Not everywhere–much of her body was numb and unresponsive–but enough that she could tell herself she was still alive. She thought fleetingly of the dream and of Johnny, leading her from life to death, from this world to the next. It had seemed so real, so close. She had wanted to go with him, to be with him. But now she understood that it was the hurt and the cold that had seduced her. The dream was a trick, a way to steal away her willpower and make her a slave.
She wasn’t ready yet for death. Death would have to wait.
But maybe not for long, she added. She had pushed it away, but it lingered at the edges of her vision and in the corners of her ruined body. It would come to claim her quickly enough if she faltered even a little. Kirisin had saved her for the moment, but only that. If she were to survive this, it would take an immense effort on her part.
An effort that only a Knight of the Word could summon.
She stumbled and nearly went down. Kirisin tightened his grip to hold her upright, pausing in his efforts to guide her until she had regained her balance. She straightened, and her gaze locked on the darkness ahead where the side of the mountain was a black wall rising to meet the stars.
“I almost didn’t find you,” the boy said suddenly, his voice nearly lost in a sudden howling gust of wind. He was struggling for breath, his own strength depleted from his efforts to help her. “I didn’t think of it at first. Too new, I guess. But the Elfstones can find anything. Even you.”
The blue light, she thought. It was the magic of the Elfstones seeking her out in the shroud of darkness. Kirisin had come looking for her using the Elfstones. Clever boy. She wouldn’t have found him on her own, wouldn’t have made it out of the snow and cold. He must have realized this.
“I had given up,” she admitted, her voice a whisper.
He didn’t reply, but his grip tightened about her waist. Don’t give up now, he was saying wordlessly. I’m here for you.
Locked together, they staggered ahead into the night.
THREE
K IRISIN TIED OFF THE LAST OF THE STITCHES closing Angel’s many wounds, put aside the needle and thread, and rocked back on his heels, looking down at her still form. She was sleeping, the medicine he had given her to take away the pain and render her unconscious working as it should. Numbed to the point of senselessness, she would have felt almost nothing of the work he had done, which was a good thing, given the extent of her injuries. But when she awoke the pain would be back, and he would have to give her another dose.
He was aware suddenly that he was staring at her nearly naked body, the tatters of her clothing removed to give him better access. He hadn’t even thought of it at the time, thinking only about how much blood there was on her body and clothing, how much more she must have lost back on the slopes, and how close to death she probably was.
He pulled the blanket over her and tucked it in carefully. She would forgive him if she lived.
“Finished?” Simralin asked from one side. She was sitting up now, leaning her back against a rock outcropping.
He glanced over and gave a quick nod. “I’ve done what I can, Sim. I just hope it’s enough.”