“Hey. Hey, we need to find a place to get out of the wind. Can you get up?” He asks Wren. Lifting his face slightly, Wren peers up at Chiron. His eyes are squinted, barely open.
“Yeah, I need a minute. This is…” Wren trails off.
This istorture.
In the south of Elemyr, we never experience conditions like this. Cold rain, the occasional snowfall? Surely. But the mountain storm is an eternal winter, unlike anything I can recall. While the path we walk is worn into the massive peaks, it is dangerously slick, eroded by both time and weather.
Chiron’s features are tensed in frustration. Though the bottom half is obscured by his scarf, I can see the pinch of his brows as he weighs our options. I reach out my hand for him, and he raises himself back up. Widening his gait, he clasps my hand and uses his other arm on my elbow to brace me. When I rise, the wind immediately threatens to push me back down. His large stature is a boon to him up here, and to me as well.
He holds me steady as I match his stance and brace myself for the next gust. When I am confident that I can remain upright, Chiron squeezes my hand before moving to help Wren up as well. I cannot feel it through the thick material of our gloves, but I imagine how amazing his warm hand would feel in my own frigid one.
When Wren is ready, we continue our fight against the pass. The air feels thin as we wind our way upward, and I work to keep my breathing steady.
I allow my mind to go blank, focusing only on each step. Each breath.
As we wind our way up the pass, the wind pushes at our backs, occasionally sending me stumbling forward with the force.
Thankfully for Chiron, he does not budge as my weight falls onto his back. Unfortunately, I am not as steady under the same pressure. Wren is pushed forward by a strong gust, and I go sprawling out in front of me, my face hitting the solid ground with a thud that echoes around us.
I am senseless, the sounds and bright reflections around me gone. There is only darkness.
…
I amon my back when the blinding white peeks through the space between the men hovering above me. My head is pounding, a steady drum beat reverberating through me. Wren and Chiron are kneeling on either side of me, their faces close and their features drained of color.
I try to lift my head, but I am sluggish, my vision going fuzzy and dark again with the movement.
“Don’t move, Netta. Your head…you took an injury. Stay still,” Chiron says. His voice is low and soothing, but worry is etched into every foggy line of his face.
I reach my gloved hand up slowly to feel the right side of my face. Under the scarf I wrapped around my head, there is a pulsing lump at my temple. The pain of just this light prodding is enough to send nausea roiling through my belly. I heave, fighting my own instincts to keep my rations down.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Vonetta.” Wren’s words are a plea of shame and embarrassment.
Sucking in a slow and even breath, I wait for the sickness to subside.
“It’s okay. I’m okay,” I say to them both. I close my eyes; even with the two of them blocking the wind, the cold is still enough to freeze the moisture there.
“You’re not okay. That’s a dangerous fall you took. We need to find some shelter…but we can’t move you yet.” Chiron’s voice bleeds frustration and concern.
Aside from the queasy feeling and the pain of contact, I feel coherent, if not entirely steady. I listen to the howls of the storm and count my heartbeats. One, two. One, two…
My stomach settles, the waves of queasiness settling into faint ripples.
The frigid air in my lungs is harsh still, but I believe it keeps me from falling back into unconsciousness.
Once, when I was a child, I fell from an apple tree while playing in the grove. The Lady kept me in her rooms until the swelling subsided, placing wrapped ice from our underground stores over the contusion and compresses of knit bone and ground apple to speed the healing.
My mind is clear enough to know we do not have the luxury to linger here. I instruct Wren to bring me a small chunk of ice and wrap it in the folds of my scarf. The near direct touch of it is scalding at first, but the numbness that follows is blissful.
“You can’t sleep, Netta. Open your eyes. Just for a moment.” Chiron’s gloved fingers lift my chin slightly. I open them a small way, enough to see his worried face is closer now.
I manage a small smile, I hope it appears reassuring and not the grimace it feels like, stretching the cold skin of my face.
“We have to keep going, I will be well. Help me sit up, please?”
Chiron wedges a hand behind my back and helps me rise to a sitting position. The unease in my belly returns, but not as powerfully as it had the first time.
Now that I’m upright, the pulsing in my head begins to lessen slightly. I take this as a sign that I will be able to manage the rest of our journey to the beacon.
