His entire body on high alert, Malik grabbed a thin length of vine and supported himself as he made his way across the vine bridge to the other climbers. Riese had to be close behind him, but the base of this spire branched off to three smaller spires—three different possible descents—and he knew the chances she’d cross here on this side were small. This fell to him.

Malik pushed back against all awareness of the precipitous fall on either side of him, the harsh elements waging war all around. His world became nothing but each precise movement. Each section of vine, ensuring each hold was firm before he moved farther.

It wasn’t until he was feet away that Malik recognized who it was hanging from the edge of the vine bridge by his fingertips—Ulgar Fenrisein. The Feathered Serpent boy had been hot on Aram’s heels back at the peak.

“Just bloody pull me up!” Ulgar’s voice had gone hoarse.

How long was he here before Petyr reached him?

Malik’s gut wrenched as he inched closer, now on all fours. Petyr shifted suddenly, letting go of Ulgar with one hand. His other barely managing to keep his own body in place.

Ulgar croaked. “Don’t let go, don’t let go!”

Malik crawled closer, the wind whipping his body so strongly that each movement was a labor. He matched Petyr’s stance, wedging his feet firmly into the crease between two massive vines, enhancing the hold with an opposing force of hish.

He reached out into the sky, nothing but vines and magic keeping him from plummeting to the valley below.

“Gods! Hurry!” Ulgar lashed out with his free hand, nearly grasping the vine, but missing. Petyr roared with the added strain of the sudden movement.

Malik tried to grab Ulgar, but he was just out of reach. Petyr groaned as he fought to hold on to the other hand, without slipping himself. Malik reached again, but still, couldn’t reach Ulgar’s other hand.

“Try swinging one more time,” Malik shouted into the howling wind. “Wait until we’re ready this time! Petyr, on my mark, you pull back as hard as you can. Ulgar, reach up. Focus any hish you’ve got left on that one move.

“I-I’ll try!”

“Okay, one, two, THREE!”

Petyr heaved his body back with a scream. Malik could feel the surge of magic beside him. Ulgar groaned as he reached, though it was clear he had drained his hish long before. But Petyr had just enough strength to bring Ulgar in reach.

Malik stretched out as far as he dared, latched on to Ulgar’s free hand, and pulled.

Ulgar grabbed the top of the vine bridge with both hands, and screamed as he tried to drag himself up, while Petyr and Malik pulled him by the shoulders to safety.

Chest heaving, Ulgar rolled on his back and emitted something between a laugh and a sob.

The wind sent the entire branch swinging, and Malik could barely see the spire he’d come from. But away from the edge, the movement was not treacherous.

“Good work,” Malik said, patting Petyr on the back. “What happened?”

“I was just about to cross,” said Petyr, “when the wind picked up. I heard a cry out here. Found Ulgar hanging by his fingers.”

“My leg,” said Ulgar. “Drained my hish trying to heal it enough to make the crossing. Slipped. Used what little was left just to keep holding on.”

Malik looked down. Ulgar’s pants were tattered and bloody. He pulled the pant leg up, and Malik grimaced. Bone protruded from Ulgar’s shin. Blood smeared all over, thick rivulets still forming at the wound.

“God’s breath! You tried to walk on that?”

Ulgar chuckled. “Well, it was easier with my spear, but that’s gone now.” He glanced out into the skies below. “Was trying to keep up with that prick, Aram Tulsein.”

“He didn’t do that to…” Malik ventured.

“Nah, jumped too far on the Leap. Used too much hish, and landed in a small chasm in the rock.”

Malik shuddered how close he’d come to a similar injury.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ulgar said. “Aram saw it happen. I was right behind him, and he was all too happy to leave me behind. But nah, this was my own damn fault.”

A gust of wind rushed up from the expanse, sending the web of vines shaking violently. Malik latched on tight to his hand holds, his stomach twisting as the forces of the world pulled at his body. Thick clouds had completely enveloped the chasm between spires.

“We gotta get off this thing!” Malik shouted.

“Do you think we can make…” Petyr’s idea drifted off with the next jarring gust.

Rain pelted at Malik’s face and hands, cold as winter seas. He could barely feel his own body, and his fingers felt raw and swollen.

“No way we can cross until this storm passes,” Malik said, his voice growing hoarse from so much shouting. “Not with his leg like that. We’re only ten yards out. Maybe twenty. Closer to go back.”

“Go back?” Petyr asked, incredulous.

“You wanna wait this squall out here or in the shelter of a spire?”

Ulgar nodded tremulously. “I’m with you, shaman. Already pushed myself too bloody hard.”

Petyr looked back at the looming shadow in the mists ahead, contemplating for a moment. Then, he grabbed on to Ulgar’s arm, and he and Malik helped the Serpent boy to his feet.

Each step was an ordeal all its own. Rain fell in sheets, biting at Malik’s face, drenching his eyes, so he was forced to squint. The enormous vines that formed the bridge swayed in the incessant wind.

Malik gripped Ulgar around the back, his shoulder wedged under the large boy’s armpit to help take the weight off his bad leg. Malik steadied their passage as best he could, with threads of hish binding them to the shifting ground. If it were only himself, maybe he might have managed to steady the vines some. But Ulgar was completely drained, and more than once, Malik felt Petyr’s strength fading in the fiercer gales.

The descent was the most treacherous part, even without a damn storm.

Malik focused his magic on all three of them, pressing them into the slick ground. It felt like walking on waves, but like waves, there was a rhythm to it. With focus, he recognized the swells of air. They took a few steps, paused, took a few more. Each time, a gust sent the vines swinging, and Malik drew on the power behind the world. The energy of the gods themselves that coursed through all their creation.

He could feel his strength waning as he channeled the magic. Slowly, it seeped from his spirit, and he feared he might drain himself too quickly. The spire was but a mass of shadows in the mists ahead. There was a jolt as they stepped down, and they stood on the rocky ledge at last.

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Ulgar staggered forward and collapsed. Malik and Petyr stooped down and helped him scramble to the back of the ledge. They propped him up in a seated position. It was uncanny how someone so large and muscular could seem so frail. Ulgar shivered as he drew his blue cloak around himself.

“You done enough,” Ulgar said, voice raspy, eyes barely open. “Didn’t have to stop. But I’d be dead if you didn’t.”

Malik nodded.

Petyr glanced back out at the vines, and then, back at Malik. The wind had died down, now that they were no longer out in the middle of a wind tunnel.

“Malik saved us both today,” Petyr said. “I’d be dead back in the Abyss. Guess I had to return the favor.”

“You should go, both of you,” Ulgar said. “Think the storm’s passing already. I’ll ride it out up here till I can heal myself proper.”

Petyr and Malik both gazed back the way they’d come. The vines still shifted, but it appeared to be more mild from here. The long trunks creaked, but held firm and steady. It was extraordinary. Out in the chasm, Malik had feared the vines might wrench out of the base of the spire. But here, they felt as fixed as the mountains themselves.

Malik focused on the resonance of the air. The wind whistled out in the chasm between spires. The mass of vines swayed, but the walls of rock around the ledge created the illusion of a much milder storm. Probably the only reason any of them had ventured out to begin with.

It had been calm here before he left, Malik recalled, but the true resonance felt just as violent now as when they were out in the middle.

This ledge was a deceptive shelter from the true ferocity of the storm. Made even easier to believe by the thick mists, and Malik’s own longing for the safety of the valley below.

In his spirit, Malik knew the conditions were likely even worse further out in the chasm. They’d only made it a quarter of the way across at best.

“I don’t think we should leave,” Malik said.

Petyr’s eyes went wide. “What? We can’t stay here!”

“This ledge is sheltered. I don’t think the storm is passing yet.”

Petyr huffed. “It’s growing dark soon. You want to be stranded up here all night? What about jackals and the cold? That could kill us just as easy.”

Malik glanced up. It was difficult to tell the time in the storm. He tried to think back. He would have guessed it was early afternoon when he exited the Abyss. How much time had passed? An hour? Two?

Nature is full of illusions, his father had taught him. Fear would have us believe every perception. Wisdom lies in discerning what is real.

His father usually spoke this when Malik was angry or frustrated. As usual, his father spoke more truth than Malik wished to admit.

It was too bad time did not give off a spiritual resonance. Malik retraced his descent thus far. It had taken him four hours to make his initial climb. Most descents went faster, barring hindrances, like jackal attacks and inclement weather. They were about halfway down. It couldn’t be close to dusk yet.

“I don’t think it’s that late,” Malik said. “Let’s wait it out a while. You need to recover your strength, anyway.”

Petyr cursed softly to himself. He paced the ledge. Walked out to the edge of the natural bridge, where the vines drove themselves deep into the base of the spire like the trunks of ancient citadel trees. The Saber boy peered into the mists.

“Gods damn it,” Petyr muttered and strode back.

***

The three boys huddled together, rain drenching their cloaks. Despite the shelter from the wind, the frigid air still cut straight through skin to bone.

Malik shook with violent shivers, managing to scarf down a strip of salted venison. It was so cold the very act of biting into the leathery meat was agonizing. Malik could feel his joints stiffening, muscles tightening, mind turning inward, withdrawing from the hopeless reality engulfing him. He’d hoped to replenish his strength, but he was forced to focus hish on his own body temperature.

Mists thickened, as though a great shroud were being drawn tighter and tighter around them. Was it growing darker beyond their nook in the rock? Malik couldn’t tell. But he knew it would only get colder. The Ascent always took place at the autumn solstice. Usually the Isle of Faltara remained temperate for a few more weeks, even in the mountains, but still, a storm this time of year could bring worse conditions than wind and rain.

Ulgar had resigned himself to his fate. Of the three of them, he remained the calmest. He filled his flagon with rain water sluicing from the rocks above. He sipped and chewed on venison and nuts, focused what little hish he could muster into keeping his body from freezing. Ulgar had accepted his fate.

Petyr began to pace the ledge again, running his hands up and down his arms ferociously. The Sabers were hardened by the harsh life at the north of the island. They always performed well in the Ascension. And Petyr was an elder’s son. He paused and examined the vines and the storm, and resumed his pacing.

More time passed.

The mists held fast. The vine bridge remained steady. The wind was a distant rush beyond their nook at the base of the spire.

Petyr returned from his pacing and blew warm breath on his hands.

Malik reached for the boy’s resonance. He felt Petyr’s unease, as his father had taught him over the past two years. A shaman must understand his people more than any other.

When Petyr spoke, it was no surprise to Malik. “I c-can’t sit around here any l-longer.”

Malik nodded.

The Saber boy had been wrestling with the decision ever since Malik had convinced him to stay. Doubting Malik’s wisdom even more than Malik himself did. Had he sentenced them to die here on this ledge?

“Are y-you c-coming?” Petyr asked, stepping closer to the vines.

Malik hesitated. He looked over at Ulgar, but the boy was not paying them much mind. He was focused on his own survival, not wasting energy on anything else.

“I’ll come check the conditions,” Malik said.

He strode over to Ulgar. Malik stooped down and met his gaze, and Ulgar jolted, as though he’d forgotten he wasn’t already alone. Malik’s insides churned with guilt, but he knew he had to consider his own descent.

“I’m going out to check things on the bridge,” Malik said, clasping Ulgar’s shoulder. “If it’s bad, I’ll come back. If I don’t return, then the storm is letting up out there.”

Ulgar nodded absently. “I t-told you. D-don’t worry about me. I’m here all n-night either way.” The boy closed his eyes and drew traces of hish around his limbs like an ethereal blanket.

Malik turned and joined Petyr. “Let’s go.”

With the aid of magic, Malik’s limbs loosened. He was exhausted, but his feet felt strong, and his balance remained firm. His well of magic was low, but his father had taught him to control it better than most youths on the island. To let it slowly seep through him.

Petyr strode forward with fierce determination, and Malik struggled to keep up. Malik gripped the side of one vine for support and let it guide him forward. Ten yards out, Malik had to climb up, as the vines tangled.

The wind grew stronger after that, but it was manageable. Even through the mists, Malik could see at least ten feet in front of him. He forced himself to focus only on the vines, quickly plotting each placement of his hands and feet.

They reached the spot where Ulgar had slipped. The wind picked up, howling somewhere in the chasm above. The vines swayed steadily over the expanse, but Malik never doubted his stability. Perhaps he’d read the storm’s resonance wrong after all.

“You see?” Petyr said, glancing back as they neared another tangle of vines where they would have to climb once more. “Storm’s letting up! I think the mists were worse back there.”

Once he’d ensured a firm hold, Malik allowed a glance outward. In the distance, he glimpsed the twisting shadows of the other natural bridges to the other two spires, somewhere out in the mist and sky.

Petyr was right. It was clearing.

Malik reached the base of the tangle of vines, each as thick around as the trunks of hundred year old trees. Three, maybe four of the vines all converged in this spot. Somewhere beneath the mass of growth, Malik suspected there were tiny fragments of floating boulders, as there were between the lower spires. It was the only explanation for how this natural bridge might have formed.

Petyr clambered up and over the tangled mass of vines quickly. The boy grinned from the top. He motioned for Malik to follow, and turned to carry on, disappearing from sight.

Malik lodged his fingers deep into a crease between vines and heaved himself over one vine, then the next. All at once, the howling wind filled his ears, and he was thrown into the bridge.

“Malik!” Petyr’s voice was barely audible over the tumult.

“Your magic!” Malik shouted. “Don’t use it up all at—”

The vines swayed, wind rushing over them like the furious shrieks of Akari, grim-god of death and chaos.

Malik felt as though legions of wights were snatching out with invisible hands, trying to send him up and over this wall of vines into nothingness. Malik dug in his fingers and drew hish into his body, pressing himself into the vines.

Somewhere in the turbulence, Malik thought he heard Petyr’s voice. But it was drowned out by the onslaught of wind.

Malik closed his eyes to the storm and focused. Despite the violent gusts, the vines remained relatively steady. Creaking and groaning and swaying, but strong like the mightiest of trees. Slowly, the swaying eased, until the wind was once more a distant drone above.

Tentatively, Malik released his magic, and loosened his grip.

He clawed his way further up the wall, peeking up and over the top. Petyr was sprawled out a few yards ahead of him, clinging to the vines for dear life. He lifted his head and smiled, dark hair drifting in the wind.

Mists engulfed the bridge once more. At the top of the tangle, the wind was stronger, and Malik could not bring himself to climb over the top, to leave the shelter of the tangle of vines. His whole body trembled.

Petyr staggered to his feet, grinning madly. He gestured toward the shadows ahead. “Nearly there. I thought I saw—”

A gale ripped through the chasm like a feathered serpent, rushing and writhing, colliding with Petyr’s body and sending him sprawling out.

Malik reached out with hish, but it was too late.

The boy didn’t even cry out.

He vanished like vapor.