Blood Rite | | b o o k 3

4. unlikely friendship

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IMMORTAL CHRONICLES : BOOK TWO : finley orfi

. . .

 Finley found Miriem's level of energy to be exceedingly difficult to follow, especially after assessing her overall predicament. The woman was forced from her home, held captive, beaten, raped, and in the end stripped of her identity. When Finley managed to voice her opinions, Miriem merely smiled and with a wave of her hand, said, "A person can't lose their identity just by shaving their head. Besides, it helps when you have someone to fall back on."

For a moment, Finely assumed she was talking about her. She had saved the woman after all, but at the sound of Miriem's wistful sigh, she begrudgingly accepted that she had no part in preserving the woman's identity. "Attus is probably worried sick about me. He was out at sea, as you know, and should be back in Rochdale by now. Gods, the room was a mess when they took me. I can't imagine any creature making such a ruckus. A bear let loose in the room wouldn't have made such a mess."

"That doesn't seem likely," Finley said. With a huff of air, she tugged hard on the anchor between her hands. It held firmly in the rocky ice, so she took it as a clear sign to prepare Miriem for her descent.

"How will we get back up?" she asked, raising her arms as Finley secured the rope to the clips on the brace. They both wore one—her group members left them behind on their way to the spirit world, or whatever lies beyond this tactile land.

Finley yanked hard on Miriem's rope, and the woman nearly face planted.

"You don't have to worry about that right now," she replied as she began wrapping up the rope into neat spirals that could be looped over the crook of Miriem's elbow. "You remember how to do this?"

"Of course I do. You don't need to show me twice," she said. Finley watched as she lowered herself off the edge of the cliff, and began descending down the rope. After assuring herself that Miriem arrived at the bottom of the cliff safely, Finley used the same line to carry her, and all the gear, down as well. At the base of the cliff, she ordered Miriem back before whipping the rope several times until the anchor came loose. As it plummeted down to them, Miriem shrieked, only to gasp with excitement when Finley snatched it out of the air and secured it at her hip with the second set.

"I'm surprised you haven't lived here all your life," Miriem commented. "Everything comes natural to you, doesn't it?"

"I wouldn't say that. We're moving two miles eastward." Distracted by her own reveries, Miriem blinked in surprise at the sound of Finley's order, but managed to carry herself across the icy slip and after the bootprints she left behind.

They continued onward as the sun rose past the inclines that broke jagged edges around the ravine. Despite the lack of explicit life, it was surprisingly noisy at the base of the cliffs where the wind whistled through and carved against hollow indents, and howled over their furry hoods. It wasn't long before Finley looked back at Miriem, and found the woman's hood coated in lumps of ice and snow.

"You know," Miriem started, trudging along next to Finley. Her breath was shot. "I'm starting to wonder why anyone showed interest in these mountains. There isn't much here."

"I can see how you'd think that," Finley said. "No one's ever mapped this area out before, and the only people willing to live out here are the Wastelanders. The main reason Ravenwood sent us was to see if there's anything other than mountains."