Roar (Stormheart #1)(89)
She looked around, but could find no footholds. So she decided to make her own. She pulled one of her knives from the holster on her back, and cut into the wall of the trench. She scraped until she got past the wet surface to the dry earth behind it. She made a notch just large and deep enough to put half her foot inside. She knew she would only have a limited amount of time to dig the next one before the first foothold became too saturated by the rain and crumbled beneath the pressure of her boot. So she grabbed a second blade with her left hand and took a steady breath.
Quickly she used her blades to scoop out the dirt that she had cut loose, then she lifted her leg and shoved the toe of her boot inside. She sunk the knife in her left hand into the wall high above her, and pulled herself up. She held her breath, hopeful, and when the wall did not collapse beneath her, she quickly carved out another notch in the dirt. She shoved her next foot in, and did it all over again. Two more notches put her high enough that she could see over the ledge.
The end of the course, that final low-lying earth wall that Jinx had made at the beginning, was ten, maybe fifteen paces ahead of her. The rain stopped just shy of that line, so unlike the rest of the land around them, that barrier stood dry and firm. Roar pulled the crossbow anchor from her hip and aimed it at that wall. She pulled the trigger just as the footholds that held her up gave way. She slid down the wall in a splash of water and mud, the rope attached to the arrow uncoiling fast from the pouch at her hip. When the flight of the rope halted, she gave it a tentative tug. It held.
She had no idea if she’d hit the wall; she fell before she could see if it made contact, but she hoped that whatever it hit was strong enough to hold her weight. She sheathed one of her knives, keeping the other to sink in the wall and give her added leverage if she needed it, then she used the rope and began to climb.
When she made it back to the ledge again, she heaved herself up by the rope one final time. Her belly scraped over the edge of the trench as she pulled herself free. She crawled first on her hands and knees, then scrambled to stand and began to sprint as hard as she could for that ending line. She expected another obstacle, another test, but nothing came. And when she cleared that final hurdle of the wall with a jump, she landed in a patch of dry, red sand, untouched by Jinx’s storm. She collapsed onto her knees, rolled onto her back, and laughed.
The sand stuck to her muddy clothes and skin, but she did not care. That was … amazing. She laughed again, louder, the sound echoing out across the land.
Jinx appeared over her a few moments later, the sun haloing around her head, and Roar realized the storm was already gone—dark clouds had disappeared to reveal blue once more.
The witch crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. “That was pretty impressive … novie.”
Treat others with kindness. For you do not know which souls will visit you again as storms rather than men.
—The Book of the Sacred Souls
19
The inside of the blacksmith’s shop was sweltering. Locke and Ransom had both stripped off all their gear except their Stormheart belts. They were both damp with sweat. The forge roared, the blacksmith’s thin apprentice pumping the bellows as sparks mounted their daring escapes from the flame. Inside the blaze was the half-finished tank for the back of the Rock. They didn’t tell the blacksmith that the tank would hold storm magic, and luckily the man did not ask.
The metal glowed bright as the blacksmith set it on the anvil, and all three of them set about shaping the thing with small hammers while the young apprentice kept at the bellows. They had worked on the tank with huge sledges this morning, battering a large piece of iron until it slowly began to take shape. They were finishing up one rounded side today, and tomorrow would do the other and fit them together, and then they’d need one or two more days to install it in the Rock and repair the surrounding frame.
They’d worked straight through lunch, so by the time the blacksmith called it a day and locked up his shop, Locke and Ransom were ready to get back to the inn. Locke needed to know that Roar and Jinx made it home safely.
“Thinking about her again?” Ransom asked, as they turned on to the road where their inn was located. Locke shot his friend an annoyed look. He was technically thinking about Roar, but not in the way Ransom’s smug grin implied.
“I was thinking that I’ll feel better when the Rock is fixed, and we can get back to normal.”
“I don’t think normal is what you are ready to get back to.”
Locke rolled his eyes. “Ease off, would you?”
“Why would I do that? I never realized how much fun it would be to see you twisted into knots over a girl.”
“Oh? I imagine it’s about as enjoyable as seeing you pine over Jinx forever.”
Ransom shrugged, reaching up to wipe sweat from his brow with his forearm. “I’m numb to that particular prod now. So have at it.”
“Numb. Really?”
“I have had two years to get used to it.”
“Some might say you have had two years to grow a spine and say something.”
“It’s better this way. She is too young to settle down, and the moment she was mine, I would want to lock her away in some Stormling city and never let her set foot in the wilds again.”
“Which would make her insane. I’d give it a month before she started an earthquake in the middle of your house.”