Kerry Schafer - Wakeworld

But she held herself back. Oh, they would pay. They would all pay. But there was still a chance to get through the Gates. The One still lived, as far as she knew. Aidan wanted her to suffer, had locked her into Wakeworld for that reason. Dream deprivation would be a terrible death for a Dreamshifter. Long and slow, with the insanity creeping in and no means to beat it back.

But if she still lived, she could be made to open the Gates. Aidan not only had the pendant, she had also taken skin and hair and blood from the One, and a simple spell would serve to find her. Which meant that the plan had not failed. Not yet. Circling high above the plain before winging away to a quiet space to do the spell she had been taught long ago, Aidan’s eyes caught unexpected movement on the mountainside across from the Black Gates, and she flew across to investigate.

As she looked down on all that moved below, exultation filled her breast. Perhaps there would be no need to waste time on a fiddly little spell. Fate had presented her with a much easier way.

It wasn’t much of a passage. Through it Vivian could see nothing but daylight. There was no telling what lay on the other side, or even how much time had passed since she fell. Hours, days, even weeks or years. But the clean air drew her, along with the promise of finding water and food.

Poe decided the matter, as he had done so many times before. He slipped through the crack and out of sight. As always, Vivian followed. It was a hard scramble up a pile of loose stones that cut into her bare feet and scraped the palms of her hands. The crack itself was about the height of a tall man, and narrow. If she’d been heavier, she would not have made it. As it was, the sharp edges of stone carved into the skin of her shoulders and thighs as she eased through.

But then she was free and clear.

A cold wind blew against her and she staggered under the assault, naked and shivering.

She stood with Poe beside her on a narrow ledge, halfway down a sheer cliff with no obvious way either up or down. Her range of motion was restricted to about a ten-foot space. To her left, the ledge narrowed and ended. To the right, the cliff bulged outward. The shelf continued around it, but only about three inches’ worth. Enough for an experienced climber, maybe.

Not for a small and weary woman.

Poe huddled against the cliff wall, away from the wind. Looking back to check on him, Vivian saw that the cleft she had climbed out through had closed behind her. Even if she had wanted to, there was no going back to the purgatory of the Dreamshifters.

A desolate valley spread out below—rock, sand, and sagebrush. On the far side another mountain loomed, its summit shrouded in dark clouds. Familiar. She had seen it in dream after dream, nightmare after nightmare. At its base, what could only be the Gates, made of a stone so black it sucked up all the light. Even in full sun, the area at their foot was in permanent shadow. All across the valley floor, tall shapes stood in symmetrical patterns. Standing stones, she thought at first. Giant chessmen, except that as she watched they moved, and her heart convulsed in a beat of fear as she remembered Zee’s talk of giants.

They made the Key, she reminded herself. They crafted the Black Gates. There is no reason to think of them as enemies.

Dragons wheeled and soared above the mountain, for all the world like a flock of birds except that their wings made a constant thunder and raised a dust storm on the plain below. Vivian tried to reach out to them, but there weren’t even murmured voices in her head, now, not so much as a faint response. Grief at this broadsided her; she had fought so long and hard against the dragon power, hating and loathing it, and now that it was gone she missed it.

Which figured. It would have been nice to fly down off this inconvenient perch, because she had no idea how she was going to get where she needed to go. Or anywhere, for that matter. It would be ironic to die of cold and hunger on the side of a mountain after everything she had already survived.

Closer than the dragons, another bird flew, large and black. She watched him, envious of strong wings and the gift of flight. Poe made a small sound almost like a whimper, and she wondered whether he felt the lack of wings. The bird croaked solemnly, as if in answer, and then fluttered down at her feet.

Weston’s raven, she was sure of it. And if he wasn’t with Weston, then something was wrong. Not dead, she told herself. Just lost somewhere, or in trouble. As am I.

The wind died down a little, shifted its direction. In the relative silence she heard voices from around the buttress.

“Strategy? Direct line across the center? Or circle to the left and try to stay out of sight?”

“First thing we have to do is get down. I can’t see how we will do that unnoticed.”

“And if they notice us?”

“They may do nothing.”

“If they stop us?”

“We fight.” Zee’s voice was unyielding stone.

They were alive, and still fighting. Vivian’s heart leaped with joy. She shuffled across the ledge to press up against the bulging place and called, “Zee? Weston? I’m over here!”

“Vivian?”

“How do I get to you?”

“Just a minute. Weston’s got a rope.”

Of course Weston would have a rope. It was a long way down, though, and the ledge was so very narrow and the wind so very strong. Even with a rope tied around her waist and secured to something, she was nearly frozen at the idea of making that trek. She was nearly frozen anyway from standing exposed in the wind. Hopefully Weston also had her clothes. Not that it mattered. Right now, she couldn’t think past getting off this ledge.

A rattling sound drew her eyes to a small rock careening down the cliff face, and then Zee moved into her line of sight. His body pressed up against the stone as though it were a lover, arms spread in a wide embrace. He shuffled sideways toward her with his toes on that tiny strip of rock, one slow step after another. A rope was tied around his waist, along with the flannel shirt and jeans Weston had brought for her; shoes hung around his neck by the laces. Vivian held her breath, waiting for what seemed an eternity before he stepped down onto the wider ledge and turned to her.

She would have thrown herself into his arms in joy and relief, but his grim face stopped her. He was staring at her chest. Self-conscious, she wrapped her arms around her naked breasts, and as she did so her fingers automatically tented over the still-healing knife wound, protecting it.

“I nearly killed you.” His voice scraped like stone on stone.

“You didn’t.”

“I don’t understand how. Missed lung, heart, major arteries . . .”

“Zee. You have to let it go.”

“Can’t. Oh damn it, you’re freezing. Here.” He fumbled with the clothes tied around his waist and helped her into the flannel shirt. It served to cover her but provided precious little protection from the cold wind, which was as good an excuse as any. She wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his broad chest. He stiffened, but she knew now what the trouble was and didn’t let him push her away.

“If you don’t want me dead, you’d best warm me a little or I’ll be too numb to make it around that ledge.”

His arms came round her then, enclosing her in his warmth. A moment later his cheek pressed against the top of her head. “I have pants. And your shoes.”

“I know. I saw.”

“You should put them on.”

“In a minute.”

“Vivian—”

“You didn’t mean to kill me. It’s the whole dragon slayer thing. You said I was wrong about you and me, that we could get past it.”