The Hammer Unfalls

When they left the tower the next morning, the wind had settled. The brightness of the daylight temporarily blinded Glim. He blinked, waiting a couple minutes for his eyes to adjust. At first, he saw only white. The door opened to a narrow, snowy bridge, which arched over a chasm, and led to a wide, flat cliff on the other side. Behind it, Glim saw a line of white-covered trees against a light gray sky.

He looked to either side of the bridge and gasped.

Looking north, he saw a broken line of mountains even rougher and more majestic than those near Wohn-Grab. The same mountains, of course. But from here they seemed wilder. Treacherous. Breathtaking.

And a few of them smoldered. Glim rubbed his eyes.

“Volcanoes,” Ryn said. “It’s what warms the hot springs that run beneath Wohn-Grab.”

“Volcanoes?”

“This used to be one of the hottest regions in Æronthrall.”

“What happened?”

“It’s not clear,” Ryn said, in a tone that struck Glim as not entirely forthcoming. He thought about pressing the question, but from what he could tell of Ryn, that wouldn’t get him anywhere. He sighed. “So what now?”

“Willow uncorked your essentiæ the hard way. Aren’t you curious what effect it had?”

Curious? A mild way to phrase it. Terrified, more like. Glim had not tested it, fearing the pain it might bring.

“I thought it best to be cautious.”

“That’s one way to live, I suppose. Not the most effective way. If you don’t know yourself, you’re just a bead bouncing off pegs as you fall through the days. Come with me. Let’s try something.”

Ryn walked onto the bridge. He followed, nervous to trust it. But they made it across to the other side.

“You don’t seem to have explored much in the way of plying,” she said as they walked up the snowy hill into the line of trees. “You’ve frozen buckets and flung ice. There’s so much more you can try.”

The treeline ended almost as soon as they’d entered it. On the other side, the hill fell away into a moderately deep valley. Various rifts and jagged rocks punctuated the hillside. Ryn pointed to the valley floor.

“What’s your quickest path to the bottom?”

Glim studied the terrain. Growing up in the mountains had its benefits. He saw a few places with untrustworthy snow that would not hold his weight, and possibly send him plummeting down a chasm. A rockfall that looked like trouble.

“Diagonal to the left. Around that boulder and down the slide. Cut right to avoid that depression in the ground. Climb over the rocks there and it’s a straight shot down.”

“So, you intend to walk, then.” She looked at him as if he was a kid. A dumb kid, to be specific. It rankled him.

“Unless,” Glim asked sarcastically, “you have a better idea?”

“I was hoping you might.” Ryn glanced at the valley below, took a few steps back, then ran to the edge. She leaped off the hillside, aiming right for the depression in the ground Glim had intended to avoid. She hit it right in the center, arms and legs splayed wide.

Glim gasped and started to run down the hill. But Ryn emerged from the snow drift and waved.

“Are you crazy?” he shouted at her.

“New snow from the storm yesterday,” she said. “It cushions your fall. As long as you go belly first. I don’t recommend landing on your feet. Try it!”

“No. Rutting. Way.”

“That’s your problem right there. You’re afraid to try things. You’re also afraid to not try things. So you just muddle along.” Ryn’s words stung. Glim felt his ire rising. But that only made her press harder. “You’re going to end up in the middle bucket when it’s all said and done. Just randomly bouncing off of pegs.”

“It’s too big of a decision! I don’t want to make it!”

“What’s too big a decision?” Ryn said, tilting her head to peer at him from beneath her wide brimmed hat. Her eyes goaded him.

“How to ply! Central or fringe. Harmonic or disharmonic. Balanced or skewed. It’s too much!”

“Picking something is better than picking nothing.” Her eyes held his. Dismissive. Disdainful. Provoking him to rise to her bait. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know!”

Ryn’s face darkened. “Yes you do! Have you forgotten yesterday already? You want independence! Freedom from fear. To get that, you have to take risks. Comfort is not going to hand you independence on a platter. Only action. And willpower.”

Glim felt a mixture of shame, ire, and fear seethe inside him. It rose, like a tangible thing clawing it’s way up his insides. And something else, too. Embarrassment. The need to prove his bravery to this thorn of a woman.

He glared at her, and without another word leapt from the edge.

Glim panicked for a flash of a moment, but it didn’t have time to blossom fully. He saw white, and hit the well of dry powder. He felt it compact as his weight crushed it.

Sputtering, Glim popped up and hauled his way down to meet Ryn.

She clapped with glee and hugged him. “Well done, Glim! That’s the spirit!”

He flushed at her words, but this time with a bit of pride, and no small measure of relief.

“Now do it again.”

“But, why?”

“It’s just like your climb from yesterday. You couldn’t form a stepping block for yourself. Fear had you in its grip so you couldn’t ply. And just now, I rattled you into jumping. That’s the wrong mentality entirely. So this time, I want you to jump with purpose.”

Perhaps the rush of jumping gave him a boost of confidence. Or perhaps he sensed that Ryn really wanted to help. For whatever reason, Glim headed right back up the hill.

This time, perched at the edge, his nerves twinged as he looked down. Doubt crept into his mind.

“Remember how that snow felt just now?” Ryn called up.

“Yes.”

“That’s what you need to make. As soon as you fall. Make yourself a cushion. You’ll have less that a second to do it. So practice now. Make yourself a pile.”

Glim stared at her in shock. The obviousness of it hit him like a branch swapping his face in the woods. He could make just such a pile.

Short crystals. Loosely formed.

Glimmers of warmth coursed across his skin. He pushed them outward, diffuse.

A cloud puffed in the air and rained onto the ground below with a soft, muffled thud. He watched the powder slither around, then jumped directly into it.

“Belly first!” Ryn yelled.

Glim hit the snow awkwardly. It reminded him of the falling drills his father had pounded into his head over the years. On instinct, Glim tucked his head down and rolled along his shoulders as the ground met him. He swung his feet beneath him and hopped up in one fluid motion.

Ryn whistled her appreciation. “Nice one! Now do it again.”

Glim groaned and headed back up the hill. He reached the top and held out his hand.

“Hold on a second,” Ryn said, moving over to the middle. The snow went up to her thighs, so she looked silly walking. She pointed at the jagged boulder peeking out from the snow like a mini mountain. “What if you were about to land here? What would you do? Powder probably wouldn’t cut it. You’d break your back.”

Glim studied the terrain below. If he landed on this side of the boulder, he’d crush himself regardless. But if he cleared it… he could make a ramp. A slide, that would carry him safely past it.

Long crystals. Tightly formed.

He’d have to really jump far. Far enough to clear it.

Ryn took one look at his face and shouted: “stop!”

Glim paused in surprise.

“Try something closer first. Over the powder right in front of you. If you mess up, you’ll still be safe. And belly first probably isn’t the way to go here. You’ll want to hit it at an angle and slide down. Take your time. Leap from a position of confidence.”

He saw it in his mind. A curve. Like the sickle’s edge.

Glim shivered at the memory of the dream. He pictured the shape in his mind and swept his hand in an arc.

A glassy ramp formed beneath him. But its surface seemed pitted, and inconsistently thick.

Ryn looked at it skeptically. “Do you trust it?”

“No,” Glim said.

“That sounds like wisdom to me. That’s enough for now. You have something to ponder.”

She tromped awkwardly out of the depression and rejoined him at the top. She looked at him with some unreadable expression. Pride? Respect? Relief? He couldn’t tell. The moment dragged on, tension between them drawing him in. He wanted to hug her, or shake her hand. Something to show his appreciation. Instead, he simply said: “Thanks.”

“Don’t be so quick to thank me. We’re done with plying. But you still need to learn how to scale that inner tower.”

Glim groaned. Ryn laughed. “We left the window open. Someone has to close it. I pick you.”