Hkuan’duv was startled from his pondering as A’harhk’nis hopped over the rocks and landed before him—with a wild glitter in his eyes.
“Wake the others!” A’harhk’nis urged. “Something is happening in Sgäilsheilleache’s camp.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Wynn bent over and stumbled in the wind, too numb to even call out. She still hoped to find Leesil and Chap, or happen upon Sgäile and Osha. But as night dragged on, hope faded with the heat in her body. Odd fleeting notions kept popping into her head.
How long until dawn? Could she keep moving until then? Would the storm break and let in a little sun? What would Sgäile say if he were here?
He would give her another lecture about her foolishness. No doubt followed by the threat of more stringent methods in his guardianship.
Wynn wished he were here to do just that.
She lost track of the rise and fall, the twists and turns of her path. Then the blizzard’s white blur before her turned black in the crystal’s light—as though a large, looming shadow had suddenly appeared.
Wynn did not even flinch.
She raised her head and blinked frost-laced eyelashes. A rock face blocked her way—another dead end. Before she dropped her head, weakly resolute to turn about, she spotted a blacker space along the wall’s surface.
She forced her legs to move. As she neared the black space, it became a hollow in the ridge wall. Peering around its edge, she looked up a steep chute where the ridge wall had cracked through. Its rock-strewn bottom was clear of most snow, for heavy wind could not drive the snowfall inside the narrow space.
Perhaps she had been wrong about Chap going back. What if he and Leesil had found this passage as well? And if not, at least she might hide from the wind.
Wynn stepped in and took some mild relief as the wind cut off. Loose stones turned under her numb feet, and she slapped a hand against the chute wall to catch herself.
She wanted to slump down—just for a while, to get out of the wind— as she could not stop shivering. Maybe sleep a little before going on. A small voice whispered in the back of her mind.
“If you stop, you will freeze to death.”
Oh, yes, that was such a good sign—now she was talking to herself in her own head.
Wynn took another step upward, pawing along the chute’s left wall. She had to keep her blood circulating, but that thought just brought despair. She needed to rest—not sleep, just a rest—but she forced herself a little farther.
A rock shard shifted beneath her foot, and her ankle rolled.
She barely winced, for the pain was dulled by cold. But as she fell, her gloved hand struck the chute’s floor and broken rocks ground through her glove against her palm. She lifted her head, looking up the chute with tears freezing on her face. The top opening lay just above, and she started crawling. But when she looked out the chute’s top, only more ice and a snow-coated landscape awaited.
Nothing else—no one else.
Wynn rolled away, curling up on her haunches against the chute’s wall. Better to just close her eyes and hide from this world.
A tinge of nausea rose in her stomach. The two small bites of dried fish she’d had for dinner threatened to rise.
Wynn squirmed in resentment—even her own body could not leave her in peace!
Nausea sharpened as the sound of a leaf-wing buzzed in her head.
Wynn?
Chap struggled through trackless snow with no scent to follow.
At first he simply retraced the path he and Leesil had taken. If Wynn had tried to follow them, perhaps she was within reach. But he second-guessed himself as small gullies broke off in ever dividing directions—all leading up.
Wynn was unique among Chap’s chosen companions. Only she heard his words and felt the part of him that was Fay. But not in the way of Sgäile’s blind worship or Osha’s perplexed elven awe for all majay-hì. Wynn did not treat him like some otherworldly being.
And Chap cherished her for this.
He halted beneath an outcrop and closed his eyes. Even slightly shielded from the wind, he could not stop shaking. He and Leesil had taken a left fork into a boxed gully, where they had found Magiere, but Chap had seen no other tracks. The blizzard had erased them.
When Wynn was close, all Chap need do was
think
to her through his own spirit, as he would when he “communed” with his kin. Or at least that was how Wynn described it. But without knowing where she was, or how far, could he call to her? Could he do so from a distance without drawing the attention of the Fay?
His kin were of all elements, and not just Spirit, the one that collected strongest in living things. Fay were of Water and Earth, Air and Fire, as well, and as they wished, so there was no place in this world they could not come to at will.
If they felt him try to call to Wynn from a distance, they might find her before he could.
And they had tried to kill her in the elven forest.
Chap could not take such a risk. He veered from the outcrop, continuing up until he passed through a saddle between two rock spires. It looked too much like the path into the boxed gully, and doubt pressed him down.
Wynn had been near exhaustion when they made camp. How could she have come this far, if she had come this way at all?
He circled back, loping across the rocky saddle, and turned up another cut in the mountain. He barely finished three strides before he slowed to another halt.
Even if Wynn heard him call, as in communion with his kin, she could not answer him back the same way. But he had to try something other than wandering in the night blizzard.
Chap ground his numbed paws, digging down through the snow until his claws scraped frozen ground. He rooted in this for Earth and snow for Water. Hard wind in his face brought Air, and lingering body heat gave him Fire. With the Spirit in his own living flesh, he bound himself to these elements of existence and sank into what Wynn had once called his “communion.”
But not with his kin—he focused only upon his memories of her as he called out through his spirit.
Wynn?
No response came.
Wynn . . . call out to me.
Chap heard nothing but the wind tearing at the mountainside.
Please, if you hear me . . . feel me . . . even a twinge in your stomach . . .
He stood poised and listening until panic made him rush blindly upslope.
Wynn . . . answer me!
“Chap? . . . Here . . . I am here!”
He froze with ears pricked at the weak shout, faint in the storm’s noise.
Again! Do not stop until you see me!
“Here . . . in the chute.”
Chap spun about, cutting along a slant below an overhang.
Her voice could only reach him by traveling upon the harsh wind. So he turned into its currents racing between the crags. Pattering snow stung his eyes and filled his ears, but he pushed on—and then stopped short, staring into a dead-end gully of sheer walls.
“Chap . . . in the chute . . . look for a crack!”
He paced along one high wall where the snow was shallower. In the dark path, he did not notice it until a break appeared suddenly beside him. A rocky-floored chute blocked out the wind-driven snow. Chap scrambled up over loose stones. His heart beat faster when he caught a familiar whiff.
I am coming!
And he saw Wynn curled against the chute’s wall near the top.
Snowfall had dusted the back of her cloak with white. Chap struggled upward as she reached out for him.
You must try to move. Put your hands under my blanket and against my fur
.
Chap shoved his head into Wynn’s cloak. He pressed against her to lend her what little body heat he could. Wynn sagged atop his shoulders, her face buried in his neck, and her weight grew as if she sank in exhaustion.
He had to keep her awake and so began babbling mindlessly.
We found Magiere . . . she is safe . . . the others are with her at camp. You and I must live until morning and find them again . . . everything will be as it was. Wynn?
She did not move.
Put your hands into my fur—now!
Chap tugged her coat’s ties with his teeth and burrowed through its open front. All the while, he prattled into her head, trying to bring her fully awake.
Wynn’s fingers clutched weakly at his fur.
“You . . . stink,” she mumbled through chattering teeth. “Need . . . a bath.”
Chap took a deep breath.
You are no spring flower right now.
The quick moment of relief passed, and Chap lifted his head and looked warily about—at stone for Earth, snow for Water, and the wind of Air. He and she would always be surrounded by the elements.
Chap hoped that only Wynn had heard him.
Hkuan’duv had left Dänvârfij to stand watch at camp and now crouched with A’harhk’nis and Kurhkâge behind ice-encrusted rocks. Wind and snow churned in a full blizzard. Across the slanted slope, he watched the canvas-covered depression as Sgäilsheilleache and Osha returned and slipped from sight.
“What did you see earlier?” Hkuan’duv asked.
A’harhk’nis never took his eyes off the shelter. “The human, Magiere, came running out and headed up the mountain. Not long after, the others followed, but they hesitated and then broke into two groups. I do not believe they knew where she went. Later, the half-blood and the majay-hì brought her back, and I returned to report to you.”
“Where is the small one?” Kurhkâge asked.
A’harhk’nis shook his head. “She had not returned when I left.”
Loud barking carried from the shelter. The silver-gray majay-hì boiled out through the canvas, heading upward through the crags. Hkuan’duv frowned, rising slightly to watch.
“What has happened that they continually risk this terrain in a night storm?”
Neither of his companions ventured a comment.
Hkuan’duv waited, but no one else exited the shelter.
“Should we follow the majay-hì?” Kurhkâge asked.
Hkuan’duv was uncertain, and the dog was already out of sight.
“Stay back, and downwind,” he ordered. “We cannot allow the majay-hì to scent us.”
They slipped silently over rocks and snow as A’harhk’nis led the way.
Fortunately the majay-hì could not move at full speed in the drifts. A’harhk’nis occasionally signaled them to slow or change course. They stayed well behind the majay-hì, no closer than needed to keep its shadowy form within sight through the blizzard.
Snow fell so thick that A’harhk’nis stopped more than once in tracking through the mountainside’s twisting paths. As they passed through a saddle, Hkuan’duv heard someone cry out.
“Chap . . . here . . . I am here!”
A’harhk’nis signaled them into hiding as the majay-hì wheeled and headed back their way. All three of them sank into the snow at an outcrop’s base and spread out their white makeshift cloaks. They became no more than snow-blanketed boulders.
The majay-hì ran straight past them into a high-walled gully.
All three rose and crept onward as Hkuan’duv took the lead.
Had that fatigued cry come from the young human? Why had the majay-hì gone alone to search for her?
Hkuan’duv realized he was higher than he had thought, perhaps close to the top peaks. Could this little female have found Magiere’s destination? And if so, why had she gone out alone?
Too many questions with no answers, and then he saw the majay-hì veer in against the gully wall—through the gully wall.
Hkuan’duv dropped and inched forward on his belly. Pulling his white hood low, he peered into the break.
A chute ran upward through the stone, and near its top someone hunkered against the left side. He made out the shape of the small woman, and her cloak bulged as if something shifted beneath it, halfway into her lap. She mumbled too low for him to hear, and then the majay-hì’s head popped out of her cloak.
Hkuan’duv ducked back along the snow and rolled up to lean against the gully’s rough wall. A majay-hì risked itself for a human, but no such guardian of his people had ever shown affinity for an interloping weakblood.
Sgäilsheilleache kept strange and deviant company, and Hkuan’duv wondered if his caste brother was wholly self-possessed. Or had Sgäilsheilleache fallen under some undetected influence? Hkuan’duv glanced at Kurhkâge and A’harhk’nis, crouched and waiting.
If anyone had located Magiere’s final destination, Hkuan’duv needed to know. The most expedient option was to take this little woman and question her. Lost as she was, her companions would never know what had become of her. But the majay-hì was a more difficult concern.