Spin the Dawn(74)

I carefully made another knot in the back of the skirt. Finally, I looked up.

“Put on the shoes,” he said, clearly exasperated.

“If you can fly,” I muttered, “I don’t see why I have to climb this mountain. You could get the moonlight for me and we’d be two dresses down.”

“You know I can’t,” Edan said gently.

I tried to calm myself. “What are you going to be doing all day?”

“I’ll ride to the other side of the mountain and find a safe place to store your trunks.” He winked. “Then I’ll try to finish hemming that skirt for you. If you’ll let me.”

“Absolutely not!”

Edan laughed, and I glowered at him while I reached for the leather shoes and put them on. They were simple but sturdy and fit snugly over my feet. I’d waxed the outer leather to make it as watertight as possible, but the sun’s heat hadn’t been strong enough to properly set the wax, so I’d have to be careful not to get them too wet. At least I’d double-lined the insides—the weather in the mountains would be brisk. Already I felt the chill.

Edan took off his scarf and wrapped it around the one already on my neck. When I tried to protest, he said, “It’ll get colder the higher you go.” He tied it so it wouldn’t fall off. “The full moon will rise over the mountains, illuminating a pool somewhere on the peak. When you find it, dive in and capture the light in a walnut. You can swim, yes?”

“Of course I can swim. Can you?”

There was a long pause.

“That sounds like a no.”

“I grew up near a desert,” said Edan defensively. “Never had time to learn.” He puffed out his chest. “Besides, I can walk on water. And fly.”

I rolled my eyes. “You should learn. What if you’re flying over a lake one day and dawn comes? It isn’t hard. You start by putting your face underwater and blowing bubbles…like this.” I began to show him but stopped. What did I care if he couldn’t swim? Edan was my guide, nothing more. And I was the one who’d be in the pool, not him.

Turning away from him, I pressed my palm against Rainmaker Peak’s pale, coarse granite wall and took a hesitant first step up. As my shoe pressed against the mountain, I craned my neck and stared at what awaited me. A dangerously steep climb, with few fissures or crevices to latch on to, and a nose-shaped overhang at the top. One misstep, and I’d slide down to my death.

This was where Edan’s enchantment came into play.

The shoes stuck to the rock, as if made of glue. On my belt, I had two sharp climbing picks—compliments of Edan’s foresight and bartering skills—which I staked into the granite when necessary. Step by step, I hauled myself up the mountain, feeling like an ant crawling up the edge of a sword. My balance wobbled, for at first I did not trust the shoes to stay in place. But it got a little easier once I did. A little.

I swallowed and staked one of my picks higher into the wall. Repeat. One foot at a time. One foot at a time.

I wasn’t far up before Edan shouted, “Remember not to get the shoes wet! There’s snow when you get higher!”

“I know!” I yelled back. Then I continued my ascent. It wasn’t long before Edan was too far below me for us to continue shouting at each other. That was when the loneliness set in, and the worry. Edan was weaker than he let on. I hated leaving him, especially so soon after I’d thought he’d died fighting Vachir’s men.

But the window for collecting moonlight was narrow—I’d have to wait a month for another full moon. I had no choice but to go on.

Rain clouds drifted toward me, but they were still far away. My concern was the snow. Patches of it coated the peak, and snowmelt dribbled down the rock. The thin rivulets sparkled in the sunlight, deceptively beautiful. But I knew better. Getting any part of my shoes wet would counteract their enchantment. My heart stopped every time I made the mistake of looking down, and I imagined stepping into the water, slipping, and falling to my death.

Fear of falling kept me attentive, even as I climbed for hours—almost all day. My palms became raw from clutching the picks, my nails blackened, and my back sore. But I was starting to see how this was the trial of the mind, not the body.

The higher I rose, the colder and icier it became. Choosing my route to the peak became a series of calculated gambles. Should I go around that glistening patch of ice, or did I dare step over it? Was that a shadow on the rock, or a stripe of snow? Grappling with the fear that every next step could be my last made my head spin and my breath come short.

Stay calm, I reminded myself as a blast of wind tore at me. Stay tough.

I trained my tailor’s eyes on the mountain, focusing on the light and colors to avoid ice and snow.

This isn’t so different from sewing, I said to myself. Pretend you’re a needle stitching up the mountain, trying to find the way to make a perfect seam. One wrong stitch, and the fabric of the mountain will be torn.

Sometimes finding the way is tricky, but you always do. As long as you don’t give up.

My courage swelling, I moved doggedly. One hold after another. While I searched for the next, I leaned against the rock, digging my picks as deep as I could. I’d been gripping them so tightly, their wooden ridges had imprinted themselves on my palms.

Eventually, the sun began to set. I left one pick jammed in a fissure and reached into my pocket for my tinderbox. Carefully, I lit the lantern hanging from my belt.