Page 7

Her back against the ice, she slid down, down and over the lip. The momentum suspended her for a moment in time, where her hair splayed midair, her arms windmilled.

And then she was gone. Just like the others.

And Dawsyn was all that remained.

CHAPTERFOUR

One more step and Dawsyn’s heels will hit ice and she will slide down into that gaping black mouth.

The beginning of each season brings her here, to the edge of the Chasm, where she can see the Glacian kingdom on the other side – Glacia, they call it. If one braves the edge of the Chasm, as Dawsyn does now, they’ll see the spires and turrets of the castle, and the peaks of the smaller buildings that lie in its shadows. The land is no more forgiving there, but the slopes beyond Glacia give way to forests, valleys, and everything else. While those on the Ledge must stay within their confines, Glacia beholds the world below it. But it seems they do not leave their kingdom in the snow. The Glacians thrive in the cold. They bear no interest in seeking warmer terrains, it would appear.

The people on the Ledge tell and retell the stories of the attacks, the ones that brought them here in the first place. Down in the valley, where the villagers had once lived, their homes were burned to the ground, easily crushed by the weight of the mighty Glacian hordes. The people were slaughtered or captured, shoved up the mountain and further, then flown across the Chasm by the wings of the Glacian beasts. There, they were dumped into the snow and ice of this shelf where they remain. The Glacians only need two things to survive – the cold and humans.

If only humans needed so little. If they did not need so much nourishment so regularly, living would be simple. Dawsyn plays this game often. She imagines the changes one detail would make to her existence. If she did not need to be warm… if her skin were iron… if fire needed no wood… if they had only won the battle all those years ago… if they could get off thisfuckingmountain.

Childish musings – and unhelpful ones at that. There is no way around the Chasm and no way over it. No way to escape to the world below that won’t kill you first. Born on the Ledge, Dawsyn does not know the world on the ground, but her grandmother wove tales of green brush and wide-open spaces, earth that gave way to your palm, where the blizzards eventually yielded to months of warmth. Dawsyn was not born to know it or touch it. She was born to stay the frost, to mind the Chasm.

She watches the misting outlines of Glacia and prepares for the day she will eventually be taken there. Each time, she wonders if she shouldn’t just follow her mother onto the ice and let it carry her to a quicker demise. It would be better than freezing to death, kinder than starving, less painful than being devoured.

She won’t do it, though. Whether it is fear, stupidity, or stubbornness, she is not sure. Instead, she sends a prayer down into that abyss for her parents. Then she releases one into the sky for her sister and grandmother. She turns from the Glacian landscape, minds the Chasm and meets the forest line again.

The sound of crunching snow beneath a boot reaches her. A soft laugh.

It is not the sound of Hector – warm and tired. It is the sound of danger ahead, the sound that precedes a threat.

From beneath the cover of shadows, a man steps onto the path. “Sabar?” he says, licking his lips like a wolf. “What a peculiar place to find a lonely girl.” He looks meaningfully over her shoulder to the Chasm. “Or perhaps not so unusual. Not foryourfamily anyhow.”

“Something you need, Redmond?” she sighs.

“There’s lots I need. Not much you can give, girl.” He smirks.

Josiah Redmond, short and wiry, with shoulders wide enough to fill the space between trunks. They still do nothing to offset the mass of his great ears or the length of his bent nose. A red-tinged beard reaches his chest, which peacocks outward. What teeth remain in his hateful, old mouth are broken – a result of near-constant brawling. Even Briar could lay claim to a couple of those gaps.

“There’s just the one thing you could offer me,” he says.

Dawsyn’s head tilts to the side. “I do not really believe you intend to wait on my offer, but if you do, you’ll be waiting a long while.”

“Come now.” Redmond sniggers and steps toward her. “Don’t act chaste with me. I see your comings and goings with Hector.”

One of Dawsyn’s hands curls behind her back. With the other, she scrubs her face, irritation flaring. Always the same with these men, like animals in a cage. When they come in heat, they head-butt and rampage like bulls, not a drop of blood saved for their brains in favor of their balls.

Today is not a day to find her charitable.

“The last time you tried to steal away my virtue, you came off second best, Redmond. Are you sure you want to try again?”

From his hip, he pulls a filleting knife. He shrugs, eyes locking on to hers. “It’s Selection Day, Sabar. Our last day on this fucking rock should be spent chasing our favorite pursuits. Who knows what dusk will bring?”

So be it.

She braces, watching Redmond start to circle. He is a predictable fighter, always favoring the sides and back, like a coward.

“I took your mother once. Did she tell you that? Such a beauty she was. She was either kind enough or whore enough to offer her body to me.” He smiles.

Another juvenile tactic – angering her into a mistake.

He is almost around her now and she hasn’t taken a step. She can make out his position by the sounds of his boots, the smell of him. She lets him step closer, waiting, and when he lunges, she moves.

Her hand at her back reveals her hatchet ax. She bends forward as Redmond’s arm thrusts outward, intending to encase her neck. Her leg moves back beside his body and she swings around, the butt of her ax colliding hard with his temple. He goes down.