Read Online Riders of the Storm by Julie E. Czerneda - Free Book Online
Authors: Julie E. Czerneda
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than any one link. Without warning, feet would skid from underneath, taking the strength of all to hold and recover. It was terrifying.
Through it all, the unceasing rain. It built ice on their clothing and packs, adding weight. It melted and wicked through seams to add a chill misery to weary bodies.
Through it all, the blinding flashes. They alternated with a darkness akin to truenight in the canopy. Like the others, Aryl waited for each bolt of lightning, memorizing the few steps she dared take when the light was gone. Small steps, like a baby, as suggested by someone who did, after all, know something about ice. Tiring, painstaking movements.
How much worse for Gijs? Theyâd strapped Chaunâs limp form to the younger Chosenâs back. Rorn helped take some weight where he could, but most of the time Gijs had to manage alone. Aryl couldnât imagine that burden. Vecaâs wish for the strangerâs aircar haunted her; her own untested ability was a constant frustration.
But how could she push Chaun to somewhere safe, if she didnât know where that could be?
All she could do was send encouragement to the rest.
Or was that all?
No, not all.
Her great-great-uncle, Yorl sud Sarc, had used her strength to heal himself. Stolen it. Sheâd been helpless for that draining, trapped until freed. A sensation sheâd never forget.
Could she repeat it?
Aryl followed Gijs. She closed her hand on his arm and did her utmost to feel as sheâd felt, to give strength to the weary, courageous Chosen. She thought she felt something drain from her, though he didnât react. As they waited in the dark, the exiles linked hand to hand to cross the ice, she tried a second time, tried to extend the sensation to include everyone.
When the next flash came, and they moved forward as a group, Aryl staggered and had to catch herself. Had she helped at all? She hoped her sudden clumsiness was a sign.
The drop from this ledge to the last was barely twice an adultâs height, but jumping was impossible, too. One at a time, the Omâray slipped over the edge and felt for holds that werenât covered in ice. Aryl came last, waiting to be sure all below had found safe footing before joining the chain again.
The final stage was a nightmarish tumble of ice-slicked boulders. The only grace was that a slip here, and there were many, couldnât send you farther than the next obstacle. No one would escape bruises, Aryl knew, feeling her own.
Easier ahead. An almost giddy relief spread with the message. Veca had reached the bank of the narrow mountain stream. Soon, they were all free of the boulders. Level ground, but its scattered pebbles were still slippery as Aryl discovered, landing on her backside with her first incautious stride.
Small steps here, too, she thought ruefully.
Despite the need for care, those ahead of her moved more quickly, and Aryl agreed with their haste, just as eager to be free of the rock and ice. The storm, having failed to stop the Yena, admitted defeat, its thunder fading to a discontented mutter. The horizon grew brighter, then light began to stream through breaks in the clouds. The ice-rain glittered as it fell; the ice-encased stone glistened with deadly beauty, like some scaled predator basking in the sun.
Still day? The heavy cloud had fooled her. Aryl measured the sunâs position against her sense of Gronaâsâit wouldnât be day for long.
Where was the sun through truenight? Before it woke the Pana and Amna Omâray?
She shook her head, shaking ice and droplets from her hood. It didnât matter where it wentâthe Tikitik had toyed with her, mocked her understanding of the world and its light. What mattered, Aryl thought grimly, was reaching shelter before the sun abandoned them.
As for that shelterâ¦she reached for Haxel and found her, confirming by that identification what her inner sense knew, that the others were now stationary.
Through it all, the unceasing rain. It built ice on their clothing and packs, adding weight. It melted and wicked through seams to add a chill misery to weary bodies.
Through it all, the blinding flashes. They alternated with a darkness akin to truenight in the canopy. Like the others, Aryl waited for each bolt of lightning, memorizing the few steps she dared take when the light was gone. Small steps, like a baby, as suggested by someone who did, after all, know something about ice. Tiring, painstaking movements.
How much worse for Gijs? Theyâd strapped Chaunâs limp form to the younger Chosenâs back. Rorn helped take some weight where he could, but most of the time Gijs had to manage alone. Aryl couldnât imagine that burden. Vecaâs wish for the strangerâs aircar haunted her; her own untested ability was a constant frustration.
But how could she push Chaun to somewhere safe, if she didnât know where that could be?
All she could do was send encouragement to the rest.
Or was that all?
No, not all.
Her great-great-uncle, Yorl sud Sarc, had used her strength to heal himself. Stolen it. Sheâd been helpless for that draining, trapped until freed. A sensation sheâd never forget.
Could she repeat it?
Aryl followed Gijs. She closed her hand on his arm and did her utmost to feel as sheâd felt, to give strength to the weary, courageous Chosen. She thought she felt something drain from her, though he didnât react. As they waited in the dark, the exiles linked hand to hand to cross the ice, she tried a second time, tried to extend the sensation to include everyone.
When the next flash came, and they moved forward as a group, Aryl staggered and had to catch herself. Had she helped at all? She hoped her sudden clumsiness was a sign.
The drop from this ledge to the last was barely twice an adultâs height, but jumping was impossible, too. One at a time, the Omâray slipped over the edge and felt for holds that werenât covered in ice. Aryl came last, waiting to be sure all below had found safe footing before joining the chain again.
The final stage was a nightmarish tumble of ice-slicked boulders. The only grace was that a slip here, and there were many, couldnât send you farther than the next obstacle. No one would escape bruises, Aryl knew, feeling her own.
Easier ahead. An almost giddy relief spread with the message. Veca had reached the bank of the narrow mountain stream. Soon, they were all free of the boulders. Level ground, but its scattered pebbles were still slippery as Aryl discovered, landing on her backside with her first incautious stride.
Small steps here, too, she thought ruefully.
Despite the need for care, those ahead of her moved more quickly, and Aryl agreed with their haste, just as eager to be free of the rock and ice. The storm, having failed to stop the Yena, admitted defeat, its thunder fading to a discontented mutter. The horizon grew brighter, then light began to stream through breaks in the clouds. The ice-rain glittered as it fell; the ice-encased stone glistened with deadly beauty, like some scaled predator basking in the sun.
Still day? The heavy cloud had fooled her. Aryl measured the sunâs position against her sense of Gronaâsâit wouldnât be day for long.
Where was the sun through truenight? Before it woke the Pana and Amna Omâray?
She shook her head, shaking ice and droplets from her hood. It didnât matter where it wentâthe Tikitik had toyed with her, mocked her understanding of the world and its light. What mattered, Aryl thought grimly, was reaching shelter before the sun abandoned them.
As for that shelterâ¦she reached for Haxel and found her, confirming by that identification what her inner sense knew, that the others were now stationary.
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