Page 66 of The Ninth Element

“Left hand there, now shift your foot… careful, don’t tickle the mountain with your toes.” He chuckles.

Climbing this beast of a cliff feels like wrestling the hydralisk. Each handhold is a victory against the earth’s evil plan to pull me back down. I teeter on the edge of disaster more times than I care to admit as my fingers slip and my body screams for a comfy chair and a hot beverage. But somehow, with sheer willpower and Darian’s questionable encouragement (“You’re almost there; just imagine a giant scroll full of spells waiting for you at the top!”), I manage to keep going.

At one point, when both my hands and feet decide to take a break, Darian’s arm shoots out, pushing me toward the cliff and saving me from a bone-crunching fall. He is scaling the wall beside me with ease while offering a helping hand (or foot) whenever I need it.

The wind howls, and my arms feel like they are about to fall off. But I keep pushing, fueled by a stubborn refusal to let this mountain defeat me. Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, I haul myself over the edge and collapse onto the rocky plateau, gasping for air like a beached fish. Darian joins me a moment later, looking annoyingly fresh and unbothered.

“See?” he chirps, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “Way too easy.”

I glare at him while my lungs still burn. “Easy for you to say, you’re fromthe mountains. I… I’m never doing that again.”

But as I gaze out at the breathtaking vista spread before us, the pain and exhaustion seem to fade away. We’ve reached a summit, and the view is worth every scraped knee and aching muscle. My gaze sweeps across the horizon, searching for any familiar landmarks.

“Where is Jahanwatch?” I ask.

Darian points toward the northeast as his finger traces an invisible line across the sky. “Those three peaks form the Nohvan’s Head, a landmark east of Jahanwatch.”

I recognize the formation. It’s a familiar sight from the fortress.

Darian continues, his gaze fixed on some distant point, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Judging by the distance between us and the Nohvan’s Head, Jahanwatch should be roughly halfway but in the northwest direction.”

“Dusk is approaching. Are you saying we have to cover that distance in a day to make it back on time?” I gesture weakly toward the vast expanse before us.

“It’s a fool’s errand.” He shakes his head slowly, his eyes still distant, lips pressed into a thin line. “That distance won’t bend to our will.”

“But if the trial demands it—”

“I know the mountains, Arien,” he says firmly, though his tone is not harsh. “Izadeon is the Land of a Thousand Hills. This distance can’t be crossed in a day, on foot.”

My stomach sinks from his words. His calmness in the face of such an admission is downright unnerving. But then, he adds, “Horses! That’s what we need.”

I frown, my eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “Horses? Where are we going to find horses in this wilderness?”

“Our course is due west. Shemiran should be our eventual destination, but there are smaller villages along the way. If we can reach one by morning and get horses, we can make it to Jahanwatch before sundown.”

But the sinking feeling in my gut does not dissipate. “It’s a long shot. There is no guarantee we’ll find a village in time.”

I suddenly feel the chill in the air deep in my bones.

“It’s our only hope. No choice but to try,” he replies, his jaw setting with determination.

Walking toward Shemiran instead of Jahanwatch is a dangerous gamble. However, considering we have already lost more than half the day when Darian was unconscious, I admit it’s the wisest choice.

We have no time to waste. We can’t afford to sleep, eat, or even rest. I’ve studied the maps and memorized the names of the villages in the Albir Mountains, but I don’t know their exact locations relative to where we are. We are venturing into the unknown, relying on luck to find a village along our route.

I finally nod, and a silent agreement passes between us. As the world plunges into darkness, we wind our way along the edge of the mountain, the wind whipping at our faces.

My mind is a foggy haze from exhaustion. By now, I have not slept in more than a day. Darian moves ahead with the effortless grace of a mountain stag, the sigil of Izadeon, as his hand rests on his sword hilt. His eyes are alert, and his head is on a swivel, prepared for any dangers lurking in the shadows.

The moon casts a silver glow on the gray landscape, revealing a beautiful view that offers no comfort. With each step, the wind grows colder, and my breath comes in ragged gasps as I struggle against the encroaching frost.

From time to time, Darian stops and blows the Izadeonian whistle hanging around his neck. It makes a sharp, piercing sound that cuts through the wind. But the mountains remain silent to its call, only proving our absolute solitude.

As the clouds begin to obscure the view of the moon, it becomes even more treacherous on the narrow ridge. The wind moans like an injured animal; its melancholy wail fills my ears and mind as my body dances like a puppet to the tune of exhaustion. When my vision blurs at the edges, and I finally stumble, Darian’s hand reaches for mine and steadies me.

“You must sleep. The road is long, and you’re exhausted.”

I shake my head. “I cannot. We don’t have time.”

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