City of Mages

Chapter 29: Alara

Time slowed to a crawl, her hands growing more fatigued with each overlong second. By the time she reached the end of the rope, the pain was all she could think of. She chanced a look down and cursed under her breath. She still couldn't see the ground between the thick branches beneath her. The palms of her hands were sweating, and she hoped to El'dyo that the rope would reach the bottom this time around. If it didn't, it's not as though she'd be able to climb back up either. The bruyas would eventually find her stuck and helpless in this tree. Either that or she'd fall and put an end to their concerns involuntarily.

Several shallow breaths escaped Alara's lips as she pushed her dark thoughts away and tugged on the rope, signaling to Quenti. She pressed up against the trunk of the tree and braced herself, holding onto her end of the rope. A minute later, she heard the snapping of branches above. The rope twisted and the fell past her, hitting the branches below as it fell.

A second later, the heavy rope snapped in her hand and Alara's body slipped sideways on the branch. She scrambled, trying to catch herself, fighting between grabbing onto a branch and keeping a hold on the rope. Just as her leg slipped, her other foot found the firm hold of another branch and Alara stopped her precarious slide into thin air.

She pulled herself back onto the branch, using every ounce of strength she had, finally regaining her balance. It took a minute, and she was left panting and sore as she slumped onto the cool wood, the rope still clenched tight in her other hand. After catching her breath and tying the rope, she slipped off her place on the tree branch and continued her descent.

The next leg of the climb went faster, and before Alara realized it, she had reached the end of the rope. To her dismay, when she looked down, all she saw were the black shadows of the forest. No ground in sight. To make matters worse, it looked like the branches were thinning out, turning the final part of the descent into a big question mark. She squinted into the night, willing herself to see the ground. It took a minute for Alara to realize she was fingering the flint that sat along her wrist.

She smirked and whispered to herself. "Come on, Alara. You're a magite, aren't you?"

With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and stretched her awareness out, looking for nearby bruyas. Just as she grasped her powers, she noticed the warm glow of magia strapped to her belt. Her fingers brushed against the dull bronze dagger, mind suddenly spinning.

"Get it together. Not the time," Alara said, taking shallow breaths. She reached out again, ignoring the nearby spark. She could feel bruyas a few hundred yards away through the trees—likely lookouts, and a sharp tinge of fear ran through her. Her eyes flickered around her, taking in the thick branches of the cloud forest that wrapped around where she was hidden.

With a flick of the flint, she sent a small ball of flame gently floating down, lighting the branches below her. A few seconds later, Alara gave a small gasp of relief to see that the forest floor was only about forty feet below her. Though relief was quickly quashed by anxiety as she remembered she was fresh out of rope and had no promise of branches the rest of the way down.

She recalled the flame. Her eyes focused back on the rope that hung overhead, marking her escape and implicating Quenti and the others. That wouldn't do. She squared her shoulders and sent the small flame to the based of the rope. It flared to life and burned. She used all her energy to keep the flame small and controlled as it ate its way upward. By the time she felt the fire flicker out with the last of the rope, she was gasping for air. Keeping her abilities in check certainly took its toll. She needed to practice more.

After taking in several deep breaths, and nursing her scratched and shaking limbs, Alara started the final leg of her climb. She kept a small ball of flame nearby to light her search for branches in the darkness, more confident in her abilities than ever before. Every few minutes, she sent out her awareness, taking care that none of the bruya lookouts had been alerted to the small light dancing in the forest.

It was a great short-term plan, but it inevitably took its toll with every branch. As she split her awareness between the floating flame and the bruya nearest her, her sandal slipped on the damp, smooth wood. Before she could catch herself, her grip slipped, and she was sent free falling.

She landed with a thud, instinctively transitioning into a somersault on the soft forest floor. She had fallen around fifteen feet, and while the impact had done a number on her shins, she was no worse for wear—save for every muscle in her body aching. The flame she had been holding onto disappeared as she had hit the ground. She relit it, trying to get her bearings, and shuddered as she realized just how close she had come to hitting a large and twisted root.

With care, she stood up, brushing the twigs and dirt from her. She rearranged her poncho and ran a hand through her tangled hair, brushing it out of her face. She wished she had saved a bit of the rope to hold back her hair. Instead, she dug through her pack and ripped off a piece of the sleeve from her magite robes, using that to tie it up. She almost laughed at how thin the material was. The past few weeks had gotten Alara used to the thick wool of the bruya clothing.

Alara looked up into the shadows above her and sent up a silent thank you to Quenti and Lili before taking a deep breath, trying to reason out which way was north.

She steadied herself against a trunk and closed her eyes, pushing away the exhaustion from the past twenty-four hours. This had been the most she'd ever used her magia, and the effort had stretched her thin. One more push. She reached at the small heat in her chest and picked at the thread, pushing her awareness out and letting it spread slowly around her. She touched the minds of a few nearby bruyas and turned in the opposite direction.

She moved slowly in the dark, too afraid to use fire, and if she was being honest, too drained to conjure it. With each step, she swept her foot in front of her, avoiding the large tree roots that scattered around the forest floor. She only slipped a few times as she walked. After an hour of achingly slow progress, she sent out her awareness one more time, feeling a wave of relief at the absence of anyone nearby.

She turned north—which, annoyingly, was left—hoping Quenti's advice was accurate.

When she broke through the trees and saw the dark valley shadowed below her, her knees gave out. But she didn't stop for more than a few seconds. She followed along the valley, finding the path she remembered from their first trip into Arbol. When the path veered and disappeared back into the forest, she followed. Even in the thick wool pants and poncho, her body felt cold and numb. Her feet ached, and she was tripping more and more now. But she kept walking. Straight down the mountain until she hit the river.

Hours must have passed, because suddenly Alara could hear water. She jolted at the sound, losing her footing and stumbling over a root hidden in a small flowering bush. She looked around, realizing she could make out the shapes of the surrounding forest. Morning had come, and she hadn't even noticed. With a bone weary sigh, Alara tried to push herself up from the ground, but for the literal life of her, she couldn't quite pull together the energy.

Without another thought, she dragged herself to a low-lying pine and ducked under the boughs of the tree. Leaning against the trunk, she let herself breathe, body relaxing for just a moment. Closing her eyes, she reached toward her core, fumbling in her attempts. It took a minute to get a grasp on her magia. It was weak, but she held in firm with determination and sent out her awareness.

One more time, and then rest.

There were no bruyas for at least a mile and Alara sagged in relief. Her magia flickered out like a dying ember and she let the coldness of the night seep into her body. But she didn't let herself sink into sleep just yet.

She had felt the spark of life again. Fingers numb with cold and exhaustion, she pulled out the bronze dagger tucked at her side, squinting at it in the dark. It didn't look special. It didn't glow in the darkness, and it felt cold beneath her fingers, as any dagger would. She wanted to shake it or send her magia running through it, but didn't have the energy to even reach out again. Clenching her jaw in frustration, she tucked it back into her belt.

She didn't even recall closing her eyes before she was asleep.

***

The first thing that Alara became aware of was the horrid ache that permeated her entire body. The next was the bright light that filtered through the branches above her. And then Alara realized what had awakened her as another branch snapped nearby. Alara's stomach dropped at the sound of voices.