The Spirit War(77)

It should have been a horrible ride. The mountain was almost vertical below the shelf where they had landed, and the slope was strewn with sharp outcroppings and sudden crags. But Mellinor was adept at keeping her afloat, and the inland sea’s water buoyed her over the roughest bits. Ahead of her, Sparrow seemed to be having a much harder time of things, but she had no time to see why. Less than thirty seconds after picking them up, Mellinor washed them out onto the bridge spanning the ravine between the Shaper Mountain and Knife’s Pass.

Miranda fell coughing and gasping on the cold stone, but before she’d pulled herself together enough to handle more than a simple breath, Mellinor’s voice roared in her ears.

“Keep moving,” he thundered as he drew his water back into her. “The mountain is furious.”

As soon as he said it, Miranda heard it too. A deep roar vibrated through the air, and the whole world began to shake with fury.

“Sparrow!” she shouted, jumping to her feet.

Sparrow was lying on his stomach a dozen feet from her. He rolled over with a groan when she reached him, coughing and clutching his ribs. “Powers,” he muttered. “How do you do that all the time?”

“We have to go,” Miranda said, yanking him up. “The mountain’s destroying the bridge.”

Even as she said it, the stone beneath them started to rock violently back and forth. She pulled Sparrow to his feet and they began to run. The rumbling grew worse with every step, and a new sound began inside the mountain’s furious scream, the sound of stone cracking.

“It’s trying to cut us off,” Sparrow wheezed.

“I know, I know,” Miranda cried, dragging him faster up the arch of the bridge. Cracks spidered under their feet as they ran, spreading like lightning across the smooth stone. Miranda cursed and pushed them faster.

“Come on!” she shouted, dragging Sparrow until she was nearly ripping his arm out of its socket. “Run!”

They ran. They ran as fast as they could, but they could not escape the mountain’s anger. Huge chunks of rock were breaking free all around them, plummeting into the ravine below with small, terrified screams. The cracks under their feet grew larger as the shaking grew more violent until, with a final, echoing crack, the bridge itself broke free.

They weren’t going to make it. The realization hit Miranda like a blow to the face. Already the world was tilting crazily as the bridge, shaken free of its ancient supports, lurched sickeningly sideways. Even so, Miranda kept running. She didn’t know what else to do.

Suddenly, something white landed on the falling bridge in front of them. At first, Miranda thought it was a pile of snow, but it was too gray for snow, almost silver, and moving in swirls. Then the pile stretched out and began to run. Miranda’s eyes went wide, and she felt the scream leave her throat before she realized she’d made a sound.

“Gin!”

Gin tore down the falling bridge faster than the wind itself, barreling straight at them. Miranda held out her hand and jerked for Sparrow to do the same. Gin reached them a second later, and as he passed, she dug her fingers into his thick, coarse fur. The moment her fist clenched on his coat, she was ripped off her feet by the ghosthound’s momentum. He turned on a pin, claws digging into the crumbling stone, and then he kicked off again, running even faster back toward the pass.

Miranda clung to his side, her legs tangled with Sparrow’s as they fought to hold on. This close, she could feel Gin’s lungs thundering, his legs pumping faster than ever before. But in the seconds since Gin had appeared, they’d already fallen a frightening distance. The wall of the ravine rose above them, sheer and white and impossibly tall, the edge completely out of reach. She felt Gin’s muscles tense as his back legs folded beneath him, and then he sprung, kicking the broken bridge off behind them as he launched into the air.

For a breathless moment, they were flying, soaring up out of the ravine. The jagged edge of the bridge’s broken end hung just above them, ten feet, five feet, nearly in reach. And then, just as quickly, it began to move away. Gin’s legs kicked frantically, and Miranda realized they were falling. It was too far. Gin had missed.

From this point, everything happened both painfully slow and blindingly fast.

Miranda’s hand shot out, Durn’s cloudy emerald already flashing with light. The rock spirit tore himself from the ring, grabbing the bridge’s broken edge with one enormous boulder of a fist. At the same time, his other hand swung down to grab Gin’s middle. The stone wrapped around them in a vise and then released, flipping them up. Miranda’s fingers were torn from Gin’s coat as they tumbled through the air and landed sprawling on the smooth stone paving of Knife’s Pass. She grabbed the ground and lay still, pressing herself into the stone to make sure it was real and, more important, not falling. When she was sure she really was grounded, Miranda lifted her head to check on the others. Gin, of course, had already rolled to his feet. Sparrow, on the other hand, was still flat on his stomach, staring at the ground like he’d never seen it before.