Phoenix Flame - Sara Holland Page 0,56

here.”

I follow his gaze to a pool of darkness spreading out from the armor like spilled ink. A yawning stretch of darkness. A darkness that doesn’t make sense. The faint scary compulsion I always feel at the edge of cliffs, to step forward and see if I’ll fly or fall.

I’ve always ignored that sensation. Obviously. But now it’s like something has taken over my body. I step forward, feeling hypnotized, fully expecting the strange, transparent, shimmering ground to give way beneath my feet. I am unable to stop.

I flinch when I put my foot down. I don’t fall, but it’s like stepping onto the back of some great living thing. It gives slightly under my feet and shifts and trembles, making me stagger. But I manage to get to Nahteran’s side.

“The gauntlet,” he yells.

A deep, roaring rumble is rising up from below our feet. Brekken and Graylin are fighting their way forward, but the floor is heaving too much now for them to get close. The whole circle of the floor is pitching like a ship in a storm, with Nahteran, me, and the armor on an island of relative stillness in the center of it.

Nahteran reaches for my hand, his fingers moving toward the gauntlet’s buckle over my wrist. He looks up at me, like he’s asking for permission. Behind me Brekken shouts something, but I don’t listen. He’s my brother. I trust him. I look Nahteran in the eyes and nod.

He smiles faintly and unbuckles the gauntlet with brisk fingers, lifting it off my arm.

Dizziness descends right away, dizziness and lightheadedness and a deep, deep cold. I grab Nahteran’s arm for support, trying to focus as he lays the gauntlet beside the rest of the armor, a shining pile of gold. But then Nahteran grabs my arm and pulls it out in front of me.

“Hold still,” he says.

Utterly confused, I try to tug away, but he’s too strong. There’s the flash of a knife and a stinging, shallow pain across my arm. I yelp as Nahteran drops my arm and drops of blood—my blood—spatter the floor.

Everything intensifies. The floor’s rolling turns into writhing. The rumble in the air turns to howling. A seam of golden fire rips open across the floor and then spiderwebs into a hundred glowing fractals, the edges peeling back like burned paper to reveal—

Upside-down mountains. The dead bodies of the Fiorden guards sink down into it, vanishing into the upside-down scene as if into quicksand.

Mountains swim into focus and the star-strewn sky beyond that, the moon swimming indistinct like a quarter at the bottom of a well.

The vault groans dangerously around us, like some giant living creature. The blackness of the floor shreds and burns away, then grows back again, like Fiordenkill itself is fighting to heal the wound in its surface. But it stays open around the suit of armor. I remember what Graylin called it. The wound in the world.

The sound of crackling flames intensifies; more of the black floor peels away to show more of the Colorado mountains. I catch the barest scent of mountain air—faint, but so familiar to me I would know it anywhere—and goose bumps erupt along my whole body.

Across from me, Nahteran has gathered the phoenix flame armor and the duffel bag. “Go,” he shouts, jerking his chin down toward the inverted mountains. “Go!”

“What are you doing?” I step toward him, swaying on my feet.

The sight of the mountains beneath my feet is making me dizzier. It hurts to breathe. I reach out my arms for the armor. Adrenaline and dizziness clamor for my attention, screaming at me to run, but I cling to the mission we came here with. We’re long past the time for secrecy, but the armor—that’s the key—that’s how we can stop the soul trade. I don’t want to leave Winterkill, leave Fiordenkill, without it in my hands.

“Nate, please!” I yell, the nickname slipping out. “Mom left me that gauntlet!”

At that, for the first time since I found him, the expression of calm focus on Nahteran’s face slips. Behind it is an anger that makes my heart freeze. He blinks, and when he opens his eyes, they’re colder than all the ice and snow in Fiordenkill. Nahteran backs away from me. He’s holding the armor, and the ground beneath his feet is still, while I am pulled down … down … down. I’m weightless, I’m trapped.

Brekken struggles through the softening stone and throws himself toward Nahteran, reaching for the armor. But Nahteran spins