Meisha leaned over the edge to touch one of the rocks with her fingertip. Filed, she thought, to a razor edge. She drew her hand back and smeared the dot of blood away.
The architect of the Climb had gone to a great deal of effort to make the descent from the spider to the star as long and as treacherous as possible. If it were the work of the Howlings, to guard their stronghold, how had the dwarves ever traversed such a passage? Surely, there must be an easier way to move between both sets of caverns.
But if such a path existed, Meisha thought, even Varan did not know of it.
Removing a length of rope from her pack, Meisha tied one end around the nearest protruding stone spike. She looped the other end through her belt and slowly fed out the rope as she walked down the slanted wall.
At the bottom of the short climb, she found the remains of the trap.
A pressure plate smeared with blood sat crookedly at the base of the wall. Meisha touched the plate and found it sticky. The trap had triggered recently. She examined the immediate area. Following a line of fissures in the rock, she saw that the release of weight had caved in a false ceiling directly above the plate, spilling a hail of large rocks down on the passage.
Meisha crawled amid the rubble, shoveling stones aside with her bare hands. Dust rose in dry clouds. Her eyes burned and watered. Meisha scraped an arm across them and worked mostly by touch.
Finally, her hands encountered something soft. She uncovered a spill of red hair, and gradually Shaera’s upper torso came into view. Blood had dried in a mask over half her face. Meisha put her fingers against the girl’s neck and found a beat. Miraculously, she had survived the trap.
The heat from Meisha’s hands seeped into Shaera’s cold flesh. The girl stirred, moaning when she tried to lift her head.
“Be still,” Meisha hissed. She ran her hands along Shaera’s spine. “Your back is broken, at least. I don’t know how many other bones.”
She hadn’t expected injuries this extensive. Varan would be able to tend her, but Meisha didn’t think she could risk moving Shaera far. Even with magical aid, the jostling would likely kill her.
“What do I do?” she whispered, gazing back and forth down the empty tunnel. She didn’t know if she were speaking to herself, Varan, or the ghostly presence that had aided her. In any case, she received no answer.
Meisha sat down beside Shaera, who had lapsed into unconsciousness again. Meisha listened to her breathing in the silence and detected a faint gurgle she didn’t like.
“Where are you, Master?” she said. She realized then how much she’d hoped for Varan to follow her. No matter what magical experiment he was juggling, he wouldn’t let Shaera die here. For all his selfishness, he was not a monster.
Meisha wrapped her arms around her knees, intending to keep watch. The wizard would come, she was certain of it.
As soon as she allowed herself to relax, exhaustion stole over her. She dozed in fits, tucked between a wall studded with jagged spikes and the pile of rubble.
The only pocket of life for miles, Meisha thought faintly, and a fragile one it was.
She roused to darkness and stinging pain in her fingers. At first, Meisha thought it was the cold, but then she felt fur under her hands. Revulsion shook her instantly awake. She chanted the words to bring back her light.
Two rats crawled on Shaera’s chest. Meisha swatted them viciously into the wall, impaling one on a spike. Her hands shook as she adjusted Shaera’s bloody shirt, covering the ugly bites.
“Forgive me,” she said haltingly. She’d forgotten Shaera’s long-ago lesson, that light was the only thing that kept away the rats.
She brushed the hair back from Shaera’s face, wondering how long they’d been asleep. The apprentice’s eyes fluttered open and looked blearily up at her. She opened her lips a crack, but only air escaped, a thick wheeze that Meisha feared was Shaera trying to breathe through blood.
“Varan is coming for us,” Meisha said urgently, even as the light in the woman’s eyes started to waver. “Do you hear me, Shaera? You have to hold on a little longer.” Her voice quivered; tears burned her throat. “I can hear them in the tunnel. Listen, they’re coming down the slope.”
Shaera licked her lips and whispered something barely audible. Meisha didn’t understand the language, but the rise and fall of the words was familiar—the rhythm of prayer. When the words trailed off, the light in Shaera’s eyes went dark.
Meisha sat perfectly still for a long time. Shaera’s cheek rested heavy and cold on her hand. Absently, she wiped the blood from the girl’s face with her sleeve. She should have done it earlier but hadn’t thought to. When her face was clean, Meisha laid the girl’s head back and closed her vacant eyes.
“He didn’t come.”
Meisha heard her voice, but the words seemed to come from far away. Dazed, she rose to her feet. Her movement awoke fresh scurrying in the shadows. The rats waited just outside the pale circle of her light, ready to dart in for a meal.
Meisha stared into the darkness. Fire awakened within her. Heedless of the danger, Meisha reached deep inside herself and found the untouched well of power Varan had warned her about.
She gazed down at Shaera’s corpse, half-buried in the rubble. Fire sprang up in quivering columns, forming a protective ring around the girl’s body.
Illuminated by the fire ring, Shaera’s face appeared peaceful. Meisha committed it to memory, then made a swift gesture with her hand.
The columns fell inward like spokes on a flaming wheel. Shaera’s body ignited, the fire burning so hot and fast that it consumed her flesh in less time than it had taken to cast the spell.
When the fire died, Meisha tried to slow her breathing. She quickly gave up. She would not find calm again. Only one thing would satisfy her now.
Kneeling among the stones, Meisha scooped up a handful of ash and put it in one of her empty pouches. Whatever else remained of Shaera would have to stay in the tunnel. Meisha prayed her spirit would find the halls of whatever god or goddess she’d been praying to.
Taking up her rope, Meisha started the long climb back to Varan’s sanctuary. She could feel the heat building within her. Darkly, she welcomed it.
He was waiting for her. Jonal must have warned him. Meisha made sure he felt the heat before he saw her.
She came around the corner at a leisurely walk. She projected no flame, but she could see Varan’s eyes watering as he beheld her. Swiftly, he cast up a barrier against her spell.
“Gods, you are magnificent to behold,” he whispered. “You are fire.”
She didn’t answer, only increased the heat. She would burn through the spell shield if she had to.
“Meisha,” Varan said calmly, “can you hear me? Are you all right, firebird?”
She stood like a statue. “Where is Shaera?”
“You went to look for her, Meisha. Don’t you remember?”
Meisha shook her head from side to side. The air rippled in the wake of the movement. “That is the question you should be asking. ‘Where is Shaera?’ ” Meisha saw the red glow now, the magic radiating in an aura around her. “Say it!”
“Where is Shaera?” Varan said.
“Burnt on a pyre,” replied Meisha. “She rests in the Climb alone.” Her voice turned deadly. “I think one of us should join her.”
“Do you want it to be you, Meisha?” Varan asked sadly. “Because it will be, if you persist in this. Powerful as you are, you are overwhelmed by grief and exhaustion.”
“This is all because of your discovery!” Meisha spat. “Whatever great treasure lies buried beneath our feet that’s more important than the lives of your charges!”
“I don’t expect you to comprehend it, Meisha,” Varan said, “but I thought you at least understood my own nature. I told you I was selfish. My Art is the only thing that brings me joy. You, the other elementalists, are a means to that end. I have no interest in being a father to any of you. The choices you make in the world are yours. The consequences of this, you alone will bear.”