The Elves of Cintra (50 page)

It was nearing sunset when they reached Syrring Rise. The winds had picked up a bit, and they were encountering gusts that knocked them about, requiring that Simralin abandon her efforts at answering Kirisin’s unending questions in favor of keeping them stable. Angel found herself gripping the sides of the basket tightly. They caught sight of the snowcapped peak all at once, a huge block of rock and snow and ice rising up against the horizon as they came out from behind a group of smaller mountains, its mass rising far above where they flew, towering over lesser mountains, over broad stretches of land, over everything for as far as the eye could see. It was the biggest monolith Angel had ever seen, but it was also the most beautiful. Here, unlike everywhere else she had been on her travels, save in parts of the Cintra, the air was clean and clear, and the details of the mountain and its surroundings jumped out at her in sharp relief. She stared in disbelief at how pure everything surrounding this volcanic giant seemed, as if Mother Nature’s hand had swept away from this one majestic setting the whole of the world’s pollution and sickness.

When she asked about this, wanting to know how it was possible, Simralin said that it was mostly due to the work of Elves who lived on the slopes of Paradise, the name given to this side of the mountain. Her parents had wanted the Elves to form a settlement here, but the most they could accomplish in the face of opposition from Arissen Belloruus was to found a small community of caretakers. These few worked with what small Elven magic they were able to command to blend elements of earth, air, and water to keep at bay the rot and poisoning that had set in so deeply elsewhere. The Elves still had skills enough for this, although it was becoming increasingly clear that it was a losing battle. Their efforts in the Cintra were already failing.

She maneuvered the balloon toward the meadows that blanketed the lower slopes, vast patches of green dotted with wildflowers that Angel hadn’t thought existed anywhere. She tried to remember when she had last seen flowers in such profusion. Never, she decided. Even within the Cintra, they had been confined to small areas. Here they stretched away in sweeping blankets that formed a colorful border between the forests lower down and the bare rock and ice farther up. She searched the mountainside for signs of life, thinking she would see some of the Elven caretakers that Simralin had mentioned. But there was no sign of anyone.

When she asked where they were, Simralin shook her head. There were only a handful, and these were scattered all across the lower slopes of the mountain. They were unlikely to find any of them without making a concerted effort. The caretakers were used to the occasional presence of Trackers and, for the most part, left them to their work unless summoned. There was no reason to disturb them here.

The sun had gone far west by now, shadows lengthening across the mountain in great, dark stains. The color was fading from the world, and the air was turning cold. Angel glanced toward the snowcapped peak; the failing light glistened in sharp bursts off the ice field.

“We’ll need to take shelter before dark,” Simralin advised. “Or freeze to death.”

She brought the balloon down at the edge of one of the meadows, shutting down the burner and using the vent flaps in the bag. The basket tipped on its side as it landed, and the balloon dragged it for a short distance before enough air seeped out to collapse it. The three travelers scrambled from the basket and hauled in the fabric, folding it over as Simralin showed them, gathering up all the stays and ties. When they had everything collected and disconnected, she had them stow it in the basket.

“No one will disturb it,” she said. “We’ll use it on our return, once we’re finished here. Let’s take shelter and make something to eat.”

After gathering up their gear, she led them toward a stand of conifers at the far right end of the meadow, whistling softly in the deep mountain silence.

T
HEY SPENT THE NIGHT
in a line shack used by the caretakers during their treks across the slopes of the mountain, a tiny shelter set back in the trees that was all but invisible until you were right on top of it. If Simralin hadn’t known it was there, they would never have found it. The shelter contained pallets rolled up and stored on shelves and some small supplies. The visitors used the pallets to sleep on, but left the supplies alone. Food and drink were hard to come by, and they carried sufficient of their own not to have to impose.

Sunrise broke gray and misty, a change from the previous day and a type of weather that came all too infrequently. Looking out at the roiling clouds, it seemed to Kirisin that it might even rain. They ate their breakfast, and then Simralin had them stash most of their gear in a wooden bin. They would need warm clothing to protect them at the higher altitudes and food and water for three days. The climb up would take them one, the climb down another. That left the third to find and retrieve the Loden.

“Time enough,” Simralin declared.

“If that’s where it is,” Kirisin interjected quickly.

His sister shrugged. “Why don’t we find out? Use the Elfstones. We’re close enough now that we won’t give anything away by doing so.”

They walked outside, passed back through the woods, and stepped out into the meadow that carpeted the land upward to where the bare rock began and the last of the scattered trees ended. The air was thinner here, and Kirisin was already noticing that it was harder to breathe. But it also tasted fresh and clean and smelled of the conifers and the cold, so he didn’t mind. The air in the Cintra was good, too, but not as vibrant and alive as it was up here.

When they were far enough out in the open that he could see the peak clearly—a visual aid he didn’t necessarily need but would use since it was there—Kirisin brought out the pouch with the Elfstones, dumped the contents into his hand, and began the process of bringing the magic to life. He had a better feel for what was needed this time, having found what worked when he used them back in the Cintra. He held the Stones in a loose and easy grip, his arm stretched out toward Syrring Rise, and took his thoughts away from everything but an attempt to visualize the ice caves the magic had shown him previously. Standing in the shadow of the mountain and beneath the sweep of the skies above it, he let himself sink into the quiet and the solitude.

Closing his eyes and disappearing inside himself.

Picturing the caves in his mind.

Feeling their cold hard surfaces and smelling the metal veins that laced their rock.

Seeing the rainbow shimmer of the sunlight that seeped through cracks and crevices, refracted and diffused, laced with bright splashes of color that seemed of another world.

Hearing their whisper, calling to him.

This last almost took him out of himself, very nearly disrupting his efforts to use the Elfstones. There was something eerie about that whisper, a feeling that the voice calling was real, not imagined—that someone or something was actually summoning him.

Then the Elfstones began to brighten, their blue light flaring to life within his closed hand, slender rays breaking free through the cracks in his fingers, the warmth of the magic spreading into his body and infusing him with a sudden rush of adrenaline. He kept himself as steady as he could, his thoughts focused, not letting the sudden exhilaration he felt overwhelm him. But it was hard. He wanted to cry out with excitement, to give voice to what he was feeling. The magic was intoxicating; he wanted it to go on forever.

A second later, the gathering light lanced outward from his fist, hurtling toward the summit of Syrring Rise, traversing the meadow and the wildflowers, the bare rock beyond, the stunted conifers that Simralin had told him were thousands of years old, reaching for the higher elevations. At a point beyond the snow line, but only just above the edge of the glacier and its ice fields, it burrowed into the white landscape, encapsulating in a flood of azure light the caves they were seeking. He saw them again, more clearly defined this time, walls sculpted by time and the elements, ceiling vast and shadowed beyond the reach of the light, snowmelt churning in a river cored through the center, waterfalls frozen in place where they had tumbled from the higher elevations.

There was something else, too—something he couldn’t quite make out. It hunkered down in the very rear of the largest chamber, a thing crouched and waiting, all iced over and brilliant with silvery light. It was massive, and it was terrible; he could sense it more than feel it. It did not move, but only waited. Yet he had a feeling it was alive.

“What was that?” Angel asked softly when the light from the Elfstones died away, and they were standing in the gray haze of dawn once more.

Kirisin shook his head. “I’m not sure. It looked like some sort of statue. A statue carved of ice.” He looked at Simralin. “Have you ever seen it before?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t been in those caves. Didn’t even know they were there.”

They looked at one another a moment longer, then Sim said, “The explanation’s not here. Let’s get going.”

T
HEY BEGAN THE TREK
shortly after, taking time out first to eat and then to wait for Simralin to gather together climbing gear that was stowed in one of the line shack’s wooden bins. She brought out everything she thought they would need, laid it all out on the ground, and explained the reasons for her choices.

“The ropes are in case climbing proves necessary. The ice screws and clamps are to secure the ropes. The ice ax allows digging and hammering on the ice. The wicked-looking metal objects with the teeth are crampons. You attach them to your boots to gain traction on ice and frozen snow. The fastenings are spring-locked; the releases are down here by the heels.” She pointed to the last item. “Be careful of these. These are needle gloves. Something new. See the palms.” She pointed again. “Their surfaces are like the back of a hedgehog. Rub it the wrong way, downward like this,” she made a downward-rubbing motion with her hand, “and dozens of tiny needles embed themselves in whatever surface they’ve rubbed up against. Their grip will keep you from slipping or falling. Very strong. They only release if you rub upward again. The gloves tighten with straps at the wrists so that they won’t come off by accident.”

“Where did you get all this?” Angel asked.

“Borrowed it from here and there.” Simralin grinned. “I told you we knew when to take advantage of something good, no matter who invented it.” She pointed to a bundle of smooth sticks. “Flares. Break them in the middle, you have light for an hour.” She pointed to three lamps. “Solar torches, good for at least twenty-four hours of continual use. Also, the boots and gloves have reflectors that glow in the dark, just in case.”

She pointed to their packs. “Food and water for three days—maybe a little more, if it comes to it. Blow-up mattresses and blankets, all made of Elyon, an Elven fabric, extremely light and warm. That’s our sleeping gear. Ice visors to cut the glare. All-weather cloaks. Weapons. Knives for all of us. My bow and arrows, short sword, and adzl.” For the last, she indicated the peculiar javelin with barbs at both ends and a cord-wound grip at the center. “Angel’s staff. And, of course, if all else fails, Kirisin’s quick wit.”

She grinned at him. “Knife-edge-sharp, I’m told.”

Kirisin nodded. “Very funny. You think that the Elfstones could be used as a weapon?”

They pondered it a moment. “Hard to say,” Simralin answered finally.

“Be good if we didn’t need any weapons,” Angel said. “But Kirisin isn’t the one who should be doing the fighting in any case.”

Simralin nodded in agreement. “You stay out of any fighting if it comes to that, Little K.”

They took a moment to study everything one final time, a few additional questions were asked and answered, and they were ready. They repacked their gear, shouldered their loads, and set out.

They climbed through the morning hours, traversing the meadows and passing through the forests until they reached the upper edge of the tree line shortly after midday. They stopped then to eat, winded and hungry. Kirisin was sore all through his thigh and back muscles. He guessed from the look on Angel’s face that she was suffering, too. Only Simralin seemed completely at home, smiling as if this climb were nothing more than a morning stroll. She talked and laughed as they ate, describing adventures and experiences from other times and places involving the mountains and Syrring Rise, in particular.