Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,36

black. But for a moment there, as the kol emerged, they were so like mine I wanted to dig my eyes from their sockets and fling them into the sea.

“I tried to tell him,” Shyne weeps. “I tried.”

“Get him off her!” Kyn cries, raising the staff over Shyne’s head. “Do it! Or I will!”

Flakes of ice appear on the elder. First his neck, and then his face and chest—the ice spreading like a rash up and down his body. His legs stiffen. His knees pop.

The crowd backs away, clenching at one another. Sobs and shouts sound all around.

“Sylvi!” Kyn yells. “Your arm!”

I curse, yank my arm harder now, feel the flesh tear and the bone bruise as the elder grips more fiercely. But I have to get my arm away—the ice is spreading, flaky flowers climbing onto my skin, up my arm.

The elder—and he does look old again, wrinkled and gray, diseased even with the blue chill blossoming all over his flesh—is turning to ice.

Kyn pushes Crysel aside. When she’d gotten so close, I can’t say. Everything is happening too fast. I’m aware of Shyne reaching up, trying to stop the blow from crashing down. Aware of the crowd around us, backing away from the swing of the staff. Aware acutely of Crysel’s piercing scream.

And then the stick comes down on the elder’s arm.

The damn thing splinters.

The elder’s black eyes shimmer at me and then fade—fast, fast. One minute they’re dark as kol and the next, they’re as sylver as the ribbon of liquid slipping beneath the ice of the Desolation.

Kyn cracks the walking stick against the ground; the splintered end shatters and breaks off.

“Back up,” he says, forceful, commanding. “All of you!”

Only Shyne refuses, stepping between Kyn and the elder. “You mustn’t.”

Ice spreads past my elbow—I feel it trying to claw its way inside my skin. “Kyn!”

Kyn jabs the walking stick at its owner, striking Shyne in the mouth. Bloodied, he stumbles back and Kyn swings the stick in a gigantic arc, putting the full weight of his stone biceps and back into the effort. It connects.

The elder’s hand shatters, ice freckling my cheeks, slicing my lip. My arm is broken, I’m sure. With my other hand I reach for my knives, but they’re gone. I cradle my wrist and scrabble behind Kyn.

He jabs the staff at those nearest, but no one’s interested in us anymore. Every eye is on their Great Father, now a statue of solid ice. From crown to toe, the elder’s body is a frigid blue, all except his eyes; they’ve turned to sylver once again. His piercing gaze grabs hold of me and won’t let go.

Accusing?

No, that’s not it.

Angry?

Maybe.

It doesn’t matter—what matters is that now the cave is shaking.

I curse.

Kyn curses.

Shyne and even little Crysel.

We all curse as the mountain skitters. Rocks dislodge from the cave walls, falling, tumbling to the ground. The Shiv dive for cover as the mountain implodes. Shifting stones separate one end of the cave from the other. Families reach and scream for their loved ones as the world tilts and bucks.

And then it stops.

Everything stops.

The hole in the roof of the cave has widened and snow falls freely through the gaping mouth. Cool, fresh air pushes inside and wraps my legs, forces them upright.

GO. NOW.

“We have to get out of here,” I say, grabbing Kyn’s arm. “Winter’s not done yet.”

I don’t wait for him to argue. I pull him behind me, begging Winter to wrap him tight as well. To heal his ribs so we can move faster. It might be the first real thing I’ve ever asked of her. But no. There was the other thing. The thing with the dice. And then Crysel and the pickup.

Maybe I am needy. Maybe I do ask a lot of Winter.

We push past the Shiv.

“Get up!” I yell to the huddled groupings. “You have to get out of here.”

Kyn joins me, pleading with the Shiv to move, but they’ve lived through skitters before, taking shelter in these caves. They’re content to hunker down behind the very rocks that just killed their kin. I don’t understand it.

I leap and duck, the rabble between us and the cave opening a gauntlet that is no easy passage. Kyn’s hand tears free of mine and I turn back only to have him run into me. He groans, but lifts me to my feet and pushes me forward.

“Go, go!” he says.

We’re just feet from the mouth of the cave when the mountain skitters again. Rocks fall