Catalyst(16)
It seemed as if I had been climbing for weeks when I reached a steep, icy wall. It looked insurmountable—far worse than any of the walls I had encountered before. Just looking up at it gave me a crick in my neck. There might have been a way around, but it would have added days to my journey. Judging from my now-light backpack, I didn’t have days. I chewed on some dried horsemeat, thinking about what to do. No. There was only one way to go—up. It was there I'd get the answers I needed.
I said a heartfelt prayer to the gods, and clapped my hands and rubbed them together. Then I started the strenuous climb, hoping my luck hadn’t run out.
My muscles screamed at me not to climb. I ignored them as I slowly made my way up. My fire-warm hands made it easier to grasp handholds on the wall, but the jagged ice tore into my hands and ripped my clothes. I bled across the clear surface, but I couldn't let go.
The weight of my horsehide, sheepskin, bedroll, and other supplies strained my back. I grunted in pain, but continued inching upwards. Finally, I came to the end of my strength. I lost my footholds and one handhold, and hung with only one numb arm supporting all of my weight. Muscles ripped with searing-hot pain, and my scream tore through the thin, icy air. My agony echoed off the mountain.
As I dangled over the thousand-foot drop, I thought about my death and mediocre life. I felt shame, thinking of my mother and her hopes that I could use my power to help people. If I fell to my death, I would let her down. What good would I be and what good would I do, if I died? I wasn't going to give up, for her sake and for the sake of others like Krystal, if not for my own.
And I wanted answers. I wanted to know why I could do what I did. It wasn't normal. I wasn't normal. I couldn't—wouldn’t—die without knowing.
My rage and determination swelled and exploded violently. In my mind flashed a brilliant light, brighter and hotter than I had ever pictured before. “I won't give up! Do you hear me? I won't give up!” Shattered shards of ice shimmered down on my head.
The heat boiled inside me, aching to be released. I reached out with all of my might, ignoring the searing pain of my arm giving way. I grabbed hold of the side of the wall with my free hand. My arm nearly came out of its socket as my back screamed for release. The fire blazed through my hand, destroyed the glove, and burned through the side of the obstruction. With renewed strength, I struggled towards the top, leaving holes in the glacial fortification. I hurried, not wanting to be on the wall of ice if the fire caused it to come tumbling down.
It did.
Cracks spread through the ice like spider webs. The once impenetrable wall started to give way. First, small bits came apart in my hands and slid down the icy face. Then more of it broke away beneath me. My heated hands tore chunks from the wall, and my feet had nothing to hold them up. I felt like a spider on the wall, scurrying to make it to the top as more of the ice slipped away. I pushed through the biting pain in my shoulders, arms, and back, focusing on each grip and handhold my fingers dug into. If I stopped, I would slide down with the ice and be buried with it.
I reached the top and pulled myself over. The cold ice slid under my belly, cutting into my clothing and my stomach. I crawled away from the edge, pulling myself to safety. The huge slab of ice I had been climbing bowed, groaned, and went crashing down in slow motion, landing at the bottom with a great echoing boom. I lay on the ground, panting. My gashed stomach left a small trail of blood behind me.
I crawled to a safe distance and collapsed on the ground. My angry muscles moaned. Every bit of energy was gone. The weight of all my supplies held me down. I let my muscles relax, thankful for the breather, and even for the snow and ice freezing against my cheek. I was alive.
But if I stayed on the ground, I would become part of the landscape, with the snow piling up on me. I flexed my stiff fingers, then dug my palms into the snow and pushed myself up, yelping from how sore my body was and how heavy my light backpack felt. I stood up on wobbly legs, looking at the cuts the ice had made on my stomach. The wounds weren’t deep, and I was no longer bleeding. I limped cautiously towards the edge and looked over.
The weather wasn't as bad up here. I could see through the mountain’s shield of snow and wind to the landscape below. Sharald’s Forest was a large green spot, and the Daleth Mountains were nothing but brown smears on the horizon. I looked up. I still had some ways to go before I reached the top.
My brief reprieve passed. The wind picked up and started howling once more, intertwining with the snow. I had to find some shelter. I couldn’t stay on the ledge waiting for the weather to try and finish me off. My head pounded like drums and my vision swirled. I looked around for some place to camp for the night. There was a cave not too far away. I dragged my worn, bruised body towards it.