Mercurial by Naomi Hughes (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📕

which, he reminded himself, was the goal he was supposed to be working toward.

She picked up the rope and dragged the sled away from the cave. Tal lifted his head, scanning for potential threats, but all seemed peaceful. “Do you know where to go?” he asked, trying to sound normal.

She gestured at the steep mountainside that loomed above them. “I assumed we would follow the train tracks. They have to lead somewhere.”

“A good plan,” Tal allowed, because that much was true. “But those tracks are carved into the sides of mountains and go across bridges that would be inaccessible by foot. Or sled, for that matter. It would be better for us to use the pass just east of here. There is a township that should be about two days’ journey beyond it.”

Elodie stopped and turned all the way around, pinning him with her stare. “You know how to get to a nearby township,” she said, enunciating each word slowly, “and you are only now deigning to inform me?”

Her anger was familiar, and though it was toothless without her fire to enforce it, it could still mean the ruination of Tal’s plan if he didn’t allay it quickly. This was it: the first test. “We wouldn’t have been able to make it anywhere until the blizzard was over in any case,” he told her, trying to sound apologetic.

She pursed her lips. Her anger passed. “True enough. But if you have any more key information that can boost our chances of survival, please tell me immediately.” She paused. “How do you know about the pass and the township, exactly?”

“I grew up in the mountain ward. Here, in the Skyteeth,” he explained. “I don’t have all the geography memorized, but I know enough to have a general sense of direction.”

“The Skyteeth,” she mused, picking the rope back up, her gaze faraway. “That’s right. I couldn’t remember the range’s name before.”

Tal’s senses went on high alert. “Do you remember anything else?” he asked cautiously.

She frowned. “No. Or…maybe? I’m not certain. I have these flashes of familiarity, of recognition, but nothing specific. I keep waiting for things to snap back into place but it hasn’t happened yet. I thought yesterday that it was merely the trauma of the crash, some sort of shock state, but if it was it would have passed by now, right?”

Tal hid his relief. “I can’t be sure. I have little medical knowledge.”

She smiled over her shoulder at him. “That is one way we are the same, then, at least.” She trudged through the snow and moonlight in silence for a few more minutes, then said suddenly, “There are a few guesses I can make about who I am. Or at least, what I’m like. I know that I’ve rarely felt proud of myself before. I know I have few survival skills—few practical skills of any kind, really—which indicates I led a privileged life. Or perhaps simply a sheltered one. Maybe I was a nun,” she mused. “I could have led a life of silence and prayer, cocooned by the walls of an isolated monastery.”

“I can see you neither praying nor being silent,” Tal contended.

“Keep your opinions to yourself, unbeliever,” she said playfully.

That struck a bit too close to home, and Tal looked away. She caught his hesitation.

“Oh,” she said, realization dawning. “Oh. But you’re not an unbeliever, are you? You’re the religious type. Ah, it makes so much sense now. The dutiful nature, the care for the dead—”

“That is a normal quality of decent humans,” Tal interjected.

“Yes, yes, we have established that I am not a decent human,” she said impatiently. “But we are discussing you right now. So tell me: is it true? You believe in the Unforged God?”

“Yes,” Tal said stiffly.

“But it is a sore topic,” she mused, shrewd as ever.

“Yes. So can we talk about something else?”

“Certainly. There are many other topics of interest which we can discuss at length. Maybe you could teach me other survival skills beyond building a fire while we travel.”

“Or we could be silent and rest.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “Come now. I’m hauling you across a mountain range. The least you can do is teach me something useful, or else entertain me with your story while I labor.”

“My story is not entertaining.”

“Is it a tragedy then?” she teased. “I happen to find tragedies entertaining. Try me.”

“Elodie,” he grated out.

She dropped the teasing tone. “Tal. We have seen each other cry—though if you tell anyone I cried, I swear I will find a way to visit some terrible retribution upon you which I reserve the right to define later—and we have been through a great trauma together. Whether you prefer my company or not, we are stuck with each other until we either reach that township, or die in the attempt. It might be good to try to be friends in the meantime, to keep our spirits up. Right?”

Friends. She wanted to be friends. He took a deep breath. He could do this; he had done much worse. “You are right. I’m…sorry.”

“You don’t have to share all the sordid details of your past if you don’t want to. But I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of my own stories to regale you with. Also, it’s not exactly easy to talk while pulling this thing.” Her arms were trembling already with the strain, but she didn’t slow down, only kept floundering through the deep, newly-fallen snow.

He turned his gaze to the landscape because it was easier than looking at her. The snowbanks glittered with the cold blue light of the coming dawn, making the world look pristine and promising. He took a breath to speak, and allowed himself—only briefly—to believe that the person pulling the sled was indeed a girl named Elodie who had no shared past with him, who had saved his life because she cared rather than because it was in her own self-interest. Maybe he could even allow himself to believe this Elodie was a girl