He gives a pained smile, creasing his animal skin patch. “No, I am carrying you.”
My heart sinks. I want the angels to take me. “But you’re a little boy.”
He looks ahead and lengthens his strides. “I’m autumn fourteen—almost autumn fifteen—and attended dead-standing at autumn seven. My strength far surpasses the task of carrying a dying sapling like you.”
His face stays serious, but I chuckle, which makes me want to vomit. “Dying sapling . . .” I chuckle again. Elm sets me down and I dry heave my stomach acid into a tree well.
I close my eyes. I can’t remember where I’m going. I can’t remember why.
Shalom.
Why?
Shalom.
I open my eyes after what feels like a long, sickened slumber. Cold, damp, dirt cradles my aching body. Above me, the Wall arcs like a giant talon.
We’re here.
The sun holds the clouds apart to shine on my icy body. I see its warmth, but don’t feel it. In twenty-four hours, I’ll be in eternal light and warmth.
Shalom.
A hammer breaks my thoughts and I turn my head toward the noise. Willow holds a metal mount against the ground beside the open canyon. Elm pounds it in. Deep.
Tears burn my eyes and throat. “The wolves will hear you . . . the wolves!” I roll on my side.
Willow comes to me. “We’re above the wolves. Above the canyon by the ledge. See the Opening?”
I follow her pointed finger, following the stretch of Wall over the empty air. The wolves are far below us in their own graveyard of bones. We’re safe. I don’t have to climb.
“You’re almost home,” she says.
I shake my head, keeping my eyes closed. “It’s not home anymore.”
“We need to secure the mount so you can get to the door.” Against my will, she pulls me into a sitting position. I fight her, but my muscles are as useless as a stamped horsefly.
“Parvin.” Her voice is no lo