The Wrath Mountains

Airi and Nestor stopped to eat their bread and cheese on the banks of the Wrath River. Airi took The Geography of the Star’s End Plains out of the satchel.

The first page disintegrated in her hand. The second page was an outdated map of the village, with far fewer houses than there were today. ‘The villagers appear to suffer no adverse effects from constant exposure to high-intensity mana,’ someone had written at the bottom.

She peered at the third page. There was a diagram of a four-pointed star on it, and lots of complicated remarks about ‘the impenetrable density’ of the fallen stars. The word ‘mana’ appeared several times.

On the next page, she read: ‘And so, we theorize that the low-energy plains attract the high-energy manaliths (or fallen stars, as they are commonly referred to).’

There was a drawing of a mountain labeled, ‘High mana. Unattractive to manaliths,’ and a drawing of a plain labeled, ‘Low mana. Attractive to manaliths.’

Beneath, the cursive said, ‘Conclusion: It is advised that every town contain at least one mage/other significant source of mana, to discourage future manaliths from impacting there.’

Airi closed her eyes. The star’s blue glow was still seared into her mind.

“Nestor.”

The kid was munching away at a loaf of bread. “Hm?” he asked with bright eyes.

“Why do stars fall, anyways?”

“I dunno.” Nestor shrugged. “People say it’s a bad omen.”

Airi kept reading. ‘The Wrath Mountains,’ the next page was titled. There was a sketch of the mountains and a narrow path that cut between two tall peaks. ‘There is an abnormal absence of wind on the mountain. Further study needed.’ That couldn’t be good. She flipped to the next page, looking for advice on how to cross safely.

‘Do not attempt to cross the mountains unless accompanied by at least twelve cavalry units or the magical equivalent.’

“What are you looking at?” Nestor leaned over, and Airi closed the book so fast that she almost pinched her own fingers.

“Nothing.”

It was too quiet on the mountain.

Aside from the crunch of their footsteps in the snow, Airi heard nothing: no birds, no monsters, only Nestor’s ragged breaths. She pushed forward, looking for the spot where the map said the path would be.

But when they got there, all they found was a pile of boulders and rubble, and no path at all. By now, it was so dark that she could barely see Nestor.

“Airi?” His voice quavered.

They hadn’t failed. There had to be another way across the mountain.

Snow fell in sheets around them. “Airi, I’m scared,” Nestor whimpered.

“There's nothing to be scared of,” Airi said, teeth chattering. “Let’s stop for the night.”

They backtracked and found a small cave, half-buried by snow. Inside, Nestor demonstrated his magic by casting The Naughty Little Kettle to melt the snow. They filled up their waterskins with hot water. “If only you could make a real fire with that spell,” Airi sighed.

“I heard there’s a fire spell in the Library of Living Spells!” Nestor piped. “It’s in Magisbury.”

They drank hot water and ate half of another loaf of bread. Nestor wanted to practice his magic some more, but Airi told him to save his mana.

“We might need your mana later,” she said. The geography book didn’t say anything about monsters, but then it didn’t say much about the Wrath Mountains in general.

It turned out that Nestor only knew those two spells: the heating spell and his own water spell. He used the water spell to move the puddles of melted snow out of the cave, where they promptly froze, turning into balls of clear ice. Then Airi lay one of the cloaks onto the ground, and she and Nestor lay down on it.

It was bitterly cold, even with the snow cleared out of the cave. Nestor fell into a deep sleep immediately, but Airi lay awake, her heart pounding with all the worries that she couldn’t voice. Every distant noise made her think of monsters and blizzards. The only thing sustaining her was the thought of wiping that disdainful expression off Mildred’s annoying face.

“Airi! Airi!”

Nestor shook Airi awake, and she grumbled. Her eyelids were so heavy that the morning light felt like a targeted attack. She’d been having a horrible dream where she was back in her old world, except all her classmates had mana. “You don’t have mana?” Kazuko scoffed, except she had seafoam-colored hair and black star-shaped irises.

Airi got up, legs aching. “What is it?” she asked Nestor.

“Look what I found! There’s some kind of passage leading out from the back of the cave.”

Airi followed him to the back of the cave. In the light of day, she saw that the cave didn’t end, as she’d expected. There was a small gap in the icy wall, and an odd, flowery smell flowed from the gap.

Nestor pressed his eye to the gap. “I think it leads to a bigger cave.”

Airi’s heart beat excitedly. “Can you melt the ice?”

Nestor melted a hole big enough for both of them to squeeze through, and they emerged into a narrow passage that sloped steeply downwards. Airi hesitated. She didn’t like the idea of going underground, with all that snow piled above them. Freedom felt so far away.

But they didn’t have any other choice, with the mountain pass blocked by boulders. She took Nestor’s hand.

“At least it’s downhill,” she said, her voice echoing down the passage.

At some point, the passage leveled out. Instead of icicles, clusters of pale purple flowers hung from the ceiling. They reminded Airi of wisteria.

Nestor exclaimed, “Whoa... what is this place? It’s so...”

“...warm,” Airi finished. Despite the frost on the walls, the stone passage was far warmer than the small cave they’d spent the night in.

Nestor glanced at the geography book, which Airi tucked under her arm. “Does the book say anything about it?”

Airi shook her head. Perhaps the mages hadn’t discovered this place yet.

They soon encountered more passages branching off from this one. Nestor’s smile returned, and he chattered to Airi while they walked.

“Maybe we can draw a new map for the mages when we get to Magisbury!”

He looked so optimistic that Airi felt her spirits rise. Suddenly, she heard something down the passage: a low, creaking moan, rapidly growing louder.