Leonis rubbed at his jaw. “Doesn’t sound exactly safe.”
“It’s why cute little Emberlings get escorted through by big tough Dread Blazes,” grinned Evelyn.
“Guess you’re out of luck, Leonis,” said Lianshi. “We’ll come back for you someday. Just hang tight.”
“Ha ha,” he said.
They wolfed down the last of their rations. Nobody spoke. The sheer spectacle of the Rain Wall defied conversation. Scorio could have watched it all day. The endless furling, the streaming columns, the billowing crown so far above them.
“How do the whale ships get through?” he asked.
Evelyn was chewing on some jerky and shrugged one shoulder. “Good captainsh,” she said around the corner of her mouth. “Go fasht, go high. You’ll try it one day.” She swallowed mightily and smiled. “It’s really fun.”
One by one they lashed their packs shut and moved to stand in a line facing the Rain Wall. It was still a mile away, but Scorio felt like he could reach out and touch it.
“Here we go. Approach at a walk, two by two. Let’s see, Naomi, you’re the smallest, you can walk with me.”
Naomi scowled and ducked her head so that her dark hair fell before her face. Scorio thought she’d protest, but instead, she simply moved up beside the Dread Blaze.
“Then… Leonis and Lianshi, you bring up the rear. Behind me can come Zala and… what was your name again, honey?”
“Juniper.”
“And Juniper. Then Jova and Scorio. When I say run, run. But listen, don’t go in scared, all right? This can be really fun if you approach it with the right attitude.”
They all stared at her.
“I’m serious! Davelos—another of the Manticore Dread Blazes—likes to attach a huge leather tarp to his wrists and ankles so that it forms a sail behind him. He runs in and sometimes we don’t see him for days.”
“For days,” said Naomi, deadpan.
Evelyn shrugged. “Eh. A storm can’t hurt Davelos. But enough talking. Day cycle’s just starting. You guys ready?”
Scorio tried to derive confidence from Evelyn’s eagerness and failed.
“Then let’s go.”
They marched forward. The winds grew in fits and starts, but soon the sound was such that they could only talk by shouting. A faint mist hovered in the air, soaking their hair and clothing. Scorio could make out the rain now. It was sheeting down, a nearly solid cascade like an endless waterfall.
Soon they were all leaning into the winds which tore at them, plucked ceaselessly at their clothing, forced them to squint their eyes. A twilight gloom descended upon the world as the sun disappeared behind the cloud cover.
Scorio felt his gut tighten, but to his surprise, he realized he was growing excited. He exchanged a glance with Jova. Her eyes were shining.
There was no clearly defined edge to the rainstorm. The mist thickened, whirled about them, became rain. Scorio’s hair hung into his face, water ran off his jaw, soaking the last remaining dry spots.
A dense, fibrous snake wound suddenly about his waist, causing him to startle. It was Evelyn’s hair. Thick as his wrist, it encircled him and Jova neatly and speared on back toward Leonis and Lianshi.
Heart hammering, Scorio looked up but he couldn’t see the wall’s front any longer. Now it beetled out over them, swirling and chaotic, endlessly oppressive and powerful.
He heard a shout from ahead, craned to look, and saw Evelyn and Naomi race forward and disappear into the rain. Juniper and Zala bolted after, caught unawares, the ropes of hair momentarily stretching out, and then Scorio let out a cry of sheer exhilaration and ran after them.
The world went mad.
Jova’s arm was a steel bar wrapped around his own. Rain smacked into his face, plastered his hair, blinded him. The ground was cratered and rock hard. He ran straight into the maelstrom, wind ripping at him, thrusting his pack from side to side, stinging his skin like needles.
Scorio looked up into endless turbulence. It wasn’t all opaque, but a shifting tapestry that could randomly open to reveal vortices of swirling cloud. Exhilaration gave his feet wings, and he almost forgot to saturate his Heart.
Resisting the urge to try and wipe water out of his eyes, he reached out and was nearly stunned by the churning mana that filled the air. The storm was alive with Copper, endless streams of gleaming snakes that writhed in great braided ropes as it lashed the Coal, poured through it endlessly, hit the ground to form great revolving pillars before eroding to the point of finally blowing away.
He didn’t even need to sweep it into his Heart. There was so much he but needed to inhale and Copper sloshed into him, filled him to the brim, and made him feel as if he’d drunk endless gallons of water.
Then a blast of wind hit them like Grunsch in his huge form, barreling into them all from the left with a hurricane roar.
Gravity lost its grip. Scorio grew light on his feet and lifted right up off the ground. His legs kept kicking. His stomach dropped out and he yelled in panic and excitement as the ground fell away, Jova flailing by his side.
The hair around his waist tightened cruelly and yanked them down. They crashed onto the ground and nearly fell, but steadied each other and ran on.
Just a mile. Just a mile.
The wind grew stronger. It felt like running through a vicious crowd, everybody shoving at him, punching, trying to knock him over. Again the wind rose to a fever pitch, again he felt himself stagger, lighten, and this time he Ignited his Heart.
His claws burned bright. Horns erupted from his head. He grew taller, stronger. Scales swept out over him, changing the way the rain felt, insulating him as if he’d donned armor.
They’d begun to lift off the ground, but Scorio leaned forward, hauled Jova down, and then grinned at her as they ran.
He couldn’t quite make out her face, but she looked shocked.
In his scaled form the storm felt almost playful. He must weigh a lot more like this, though he felt lighter. Steam burned endlessly off his white-hot claws, and he made sure to not brush them against Jova’s side.
The Great Souls ahead veered to the right. Scorio’s Tomb Spark reflexes allowed him to shift fluidly within them, hauling Jova after, and looking ahead he saw why.
A twister had descended from the clouds to touch the ground like the finger of a god. Rain whipped around it, slashing at them all, and the roar was now so loud he couldn’t hear it, simply felt it, his chest tight, his whole body thrumming in response.
The Copper mana made him feel lithe and lethal. A mad urge seized him. To cut Evelyn’s hair away, release Jova, and leap into that tornado. To allow it to spin him up into the sky, to toss him about within the clouds, to rise, laughing maniacally—
His Heart guttered out and he tripped.
Jova caught him. Shouted something. He nodded, resumed running.
Damn. Where had that suicidal thought come from?
On they ran. The ground grew swampy from the rain, and then they were ankle-deep, then they were wading mid-shin through an endless lake of tormented water.
Would it keep rising? Why was all this water flowing south instead of north into the Ash Belt?
A current began to tug at his legs, and the watery plain grew shallower as the water flowed ever more swiftly. Up ahead—brightness?
Heaving for breath he powered on, drank more Copper, and fought the urge to Ignite. They were all slowing as if the immanent light was sapping their energy. But Evelyn dragged them on. The rain lessened. The water receded, ankle-deep again, then less, and then, oh glory, they broke out of the curtains of water and into the open air.
Reeling, heaving for breath, Scorio blinked away the rain and staggered to a stop. The air was still saturated with billowing mist, but compared to what they’d been running through it was nothing. They all pressed to the cliff’s edge, and there stood, marveling.