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.