Ishake my head. Haven't we gone far enough? Down there will be the monsters I don’t want to revisit or new ones I have yet to imagine.
“Oh, come on Syren. Find your brave.” He pats my hand, his face pale as though he has yet to find his own brave.
“Find your brave.” I mock, swinging both my legs over the edge. “I’ll fucking show you brave.”
Isend ice scattering over the edge. The sound of it hitting the ground never quite makes it to my ears. Finding holds for both my feet, I edge myself lower. Miranda quirks an eyebrow as he watches me carefully, his muscles tense and ready to grab me at any wrong move.
Satisfied that I’ve got it under control and nervous as I disappear underneath the haze, Miranda lowers one foot. I try to focus on the sole of his shoe. The texture of it and the way it hits the stone and keeps him in place.
Below us, the forest continues about its night. Animals call out to one another. Loud caws, squawks, and low rumbles of growls remind me that we aren’t alone in this madness. The monsters will never let you forget that they exist.
Each muscle strains to keep gravity from pulling me off the wall. Fire burns from my fingertips through my forearms and into my shoulders and back. This side of the wall holds much less snow than our climb had. Instead, it’s replaced with slick layers of moss that squish under our toes.
One stone is nearly too slick to hold me, my other leg reaching out to find a new home. The ball of my foot touches down into what feels like mud, my boot sliding. Not finding anything to slow the slip of both my feet, I call out. My voice echoes through the trees, birds scattering at the fright.
Miranda sticks his arm out with a grunt, and I reach. But it isn’t enough. It’s like my body was asleep until now. Every sense wakes up to the feeling of free-falling. A slow motion that makes the details of the world more acute.
But nothing stops my weighted freefall. Nothing keeps me from the twisted tumble through the air.
5
Ripples of Riddles
Syren
Pine needles and knotted tree limbs slice into my skin. Bitter lashings sting like whips as the air rushes past me and the ground nears. My screams tear into the forest. I can feel my fear reaching for the new familiar safety of the bond.
But in the thought, it doesn’t find anything. My screams are just as I hear them. Merely an echo in my descent.
Pain shatters through my left arm as it bounces off a branch. Wood splinters under my fingertips that curl around each passing twig. Then it stops. Every ounce of breath left in my lungs escapes me as my stomach makes impact with a thick limb that halts my plunge to the forest floor.
I wrap my legs around the tree branch. Flat rough bark bites into my cheek as I rest my face against it. I’ve stopped moving, but the world around still sways. Or is it the tree that’s moving?
Wheezing, I struggle for a deep breath. Dirt and pine cling to the air and suffocate me with every ragged inhale.
Cuts along my arms sting, a bruise already forming on my forearm. I’ve lost a boot. Wind passes through my cloak where it is tattered to scraps along the edges.
Rasping out a cough, I scream up the wall that is lit only by the evening stars just paces past the tree.
“Miranda? Miranda! I’m okay.” Silence follows my words. Had he fallen, too? Had he missed the tree? Panic jolts me upright, the branch bowing with my movement. I have to find him.
Dismissing the pain of the cuts already in the process of healing, I edge down to the branch below me. Taking it limb by limb, I swing down the ancient, tall tree until one boot and one sock-covered foot hit the chilly dirt.
The muscle in my right calve screams as I walk. I stop to hold it for a minute. I stop to try to calm my frantic heart.
“Miranda!” I scream out again and begin to hobble toward the wall. Are my words lost within the clouds? “Miranda!”
I touch the uneven stone wall, looking up to where I expect my friend to be. Nothing and no one greets me. Limping, I pace against the wall, glancing up every few feet to try and find my Miranda. Occasionally, I look for him amongst the trees. Even less often, I scour the ground.
Shivers travel down my arms. I hug myself and hobble forward. A dark lump of something sits ahead against the wall. The closer I get, the more obvious it becomes. Even after my mind races, suggesting all the worst possible options, what waits for me is just rubber and cloth. My shoe.
With a grunt, I pull the shoe on. My back flattens against the horrid brick wall, the fabric of my cloak bunching as I slide down into the dirt with a growl.
Bear. Bear, I’ve lost Miranda. How do I get to the witch? What do I do?
I close my eyes, fighting back the urge to scream out in frustration. My hands, trembling and marked with dried blood and splinters, cup around my mouth to catch the heat I blow into them.
Within my mind, I grasp for the bond that connects me to my husband. I cling to it to follow it and feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. Nothing but my own churning thoughts respond. I can’t feel the reassuring murmur of his heartbeat or hear any response to my worried question.
