She tilts her head, considering, and then offers a faint smile. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.”
With renewed purpose, we enter the gorge, and the first freezing gust hits us like a slap in the face. It’s not the whisper I’d imagined but a high-pitched primal scream that reverberates in my skull.
“Loud is an understatement,” I manage to shout, my voice just audible over the noise.
Sita nods, her face half-hidden behind her scarf.
“Keep moving!” she calls, her words carried off almost as soon as she speaks.
Step by step, we fight through the chaos. The wind drowns out everything, while the cold bites at my exposed skin, and panic flutters at the edges of my mind in the consuming chaos.
I force myself to focus, closing my eyes for just a moment. I think of Eryon, of the heat in his touch and the sound of my own breath echoing in my ears under the water of the hot spring. I remember the cave where he stripped me of sight and sound, leaving only sensation and trust, helping to heal me from the ordeal of the avalanche.
The memories of the slide of his tongue against mine, the caress of his fingers, and the fullness of him inside me, proving to me that I am worth saving, spur me to push forward—it’s my turn to show him that he’s worth saving, too.
Slowly, the walls of the gorge widen, and the howling wind begins to fade. It’s over. The stillness is deafening, almost surreal.
Sita turns to me and cheers triumphantly, “We did it!”
“When you tell this story,” I say, exhaling a shaky laugh, “don’t call it the ‘whispering gorge.’ Call it the buckle upbuttercup this shit is loud gorge or something far more accurate.”
Her smile widens, and she shakes her head. She replies with a wry tone, “Noted.”
We press on, snow crunching beneath our boots and the fragile blossom of hope held in my heart.
Chapter
Sixteen
We follow a trail that’s barely perceptible but wide enough, for now, to walk side by side. Despite the thrill of knowing we’re closing in, the relentless elements are starting to wear us both down. The biting wind snakes its way under collars and sleeves to find any sliver of exposed skin, and my legs ache with every step.
Our pace has slowed, each movementfeeling heavier than the last. The short days of winter are against us, the dimming light urging us to hurry despite our exhaustion.
I don’t know how many more days we can survive on little sleep, protein bars, tea, and sheer hope. Today has to be the day. Itwillbe the day. There isn’t any other choice.
We inch around a steep curve, the trail thinning until it’s barely more than a jagged ledge clinging to the mountainside. A misstep here could send us plummeting into the abyss below.
My focus narrows to the extraordinary effort of sliding one foot forward, planting it with care, then dragging the other to meet it. Above us, snow begins to flurry down, dusting our shoulders and obscuring the already treacherous path.
Just when I think the rest of my existence will be nothing but cold, gray trudging, Sita lets out a sudden whoop of excitement. I force my tired legs to shuffle faster and round the final bend, breath catching at the sight before me.
She stands, grinning at an enormous pillar of ice in a small clearing.
“The frozen waterfall,” I exhale, my voice hardly more than a whisper.
We drop our packs and approach together, necks craning to follow the frozen wonder as it arcs skyward. The blue ice glimmers in the fading light, every jagged edge and smooth plane refracting a spectrum of color. I can’t resist placing my gloved hand on it, marveling at the chill seeping through even the thick material.
As my gaze drifts down the icy column, something small wedged into a tiny fissure catches my eye. I brush it free from the light dusting of falling snow and pull it free.
Sita peers over my shoulder. “Is that a?—”
“Soapberry,” I finish with a smile.
For a moment, the cold and hardship melt away replaced by warmth flooding through my veins. We made it. But our victory is short lived, as the sound of slow clapping shatters the burst ofhappiness. I whirl to find Ben, flanked by his team and a man holding a familiar snarling wolf, straining against its leash.
“They must have paid him well,” Sita says, her voice taut with anger at seeing a local guide with Ben’s group.
I nod grimly, my hand tightening around the soapberry. “Well enough for him to risk the Migoi’s wrath—especially since, to him, he’s no myth. We had a run in with this guy before.”
