Page 236 of Because the Gods Left

Iryana turned, momentarily disoriented by the strong winds, and faced down the slope. Her arms were held wide to steady herself as she found stable footing. Below the moraine field, a few beasts still raced toward them. She formed her bow, suffering the pain, and began to fire. The lower group started climbing past them.

Her first arrow went wide; the wind was gusting fiercely, and she had to correct more than she expected. The next arrow struck true, knocking a snarling dakya back down the rocks. She burned inside.

Partway up her next climb, Iryana had to stop, reaching a boulder beside Pyetar as the wind gusted so hard she worried it would knock her off the mountain. She could hear some people shouting, rocks cracking as they tumbled.

“This isn’t normal wind,” Iryana shouted so Pyetar could hear her.

Huddled next to him, she could make out the brightness of his eyes between the fur. “No,” he agreed.

There was a tingle in the air, a weird blend of sensations that reminded her of two strong scents fighting to overtake the other.

Magic.

Snow began to fall. First a windswept flurry that added an extra bite to the wind, but then the snow thickened, obscuring the ground below. Vaneshta called for them to abandon the rotation; there wasn’t enough visibility for it. Still, from time to time she heard someone fighting, and she hoped they managed to fight off the dakii.

The wind and snow steadily strengthened as Iryana climbed. The temperature dropped. The wind would occasionally still, allowing her to see where they were going and correct their course, just to pick up again even stronger. They climbed through the blinding white abyss, howling wind taunting them like dakii chasing them up the slope. She couldn’t see, and it felt like she couldn’t breathe, but she had to keep climbing.

Pyetar followed almost next to her, his body blocking the worst of the wind and snow. Like he was afraid to lose sight of her for even a moment.

Despite Limhiz’s staff, the slightest echo of tremors vibrated the ground, like it shook so strongly below them that the staff had no chance of completely muffling it.

She heard a crack from above, someone shouting as they slipped, then Pyetar was pulling her to the side as rocks came tumbling down. She was tense against him, against the storm that raged around them. The winds died down suddenly and unnaturally fast.

“Look,” Iryana gasped when she turned around.

Visibility was farther than it had been all day, and she could see miles down the mountain and into the highlands below.

A towering wall of dark clouds swirled in the valley. The clouds were tinted with streaks of navy and dark gold, betraying the magic that fed the storm. That amount of power… it was terrifying and awe-inspiring at the same time.

“Do you think they understand how many people they’re killing?” Iryana asked, throat dry.

“A few of them might, but I don’t think they can prioritize our lives,” Pyetar’s answer was regretful.

“We’re so small to them.”

Pyetar was quiet for a moment, watching the terrible storm. “This has always been the case with those who hold power. Even when it wasn’t gods we were worried about. This is why the guardians exist, right? Why the clans first answer to their people?”

It might have been the truth, but it didn’t make her feel any better. Had anything she’d done truly mattered? Would it make any difference in the end?

Iryana swallowed. “This is beyond what we ever imagined, though. Even if they win this war against Noshtiz, stop this greater threat to us, we aren’t going to win.” Iryana took a shuddering breath. “We’re the losers either way. Can Istri even survive this fight? Is there going to be anything left?”

Pyetar squeezed her arm. “We can do nothing about it now but climb.”

She smiled weakly, that’s all she’d been doing. Looking at the next obstacle, the next challenge, and hoping at some point it would get easier. She resumed her climb, hoping they’d have a long break, but the wall of wind and snow barreled toward them.

When they finally reached the top of the moraine field, Iryana felt like she’d tumbled down it from how sore and bruised she was. But they’d made it up. Pyetar held her hand as they approached the closest cave entrance where the earth-forged waited to seal the entrance.

They’d made it. Somehow, despite all the odds, they’d made it.

The worst was finally over.

“Iryana!” A deep voice, twisted with pain, called.

She jerked around, heart hammering.

Uncle Dinhal ran out of the caves. He was pale, weight rocking between his feet as he stared at her urgently.

“It’s the First,” was all he had to say.