Of course it’s Paradyian. Hyla hails from the only nation in the Wethyrd Seas that has the ability to fashion such vicious machinery. The Majority tries, but despite the technology they’ve collected in their parasitic quest to conquer the world, they just can’t compete.
“She can’t fire that up here,” I say. “She knows that, right? This isn’t Paradyia. On Layce, that thing’s an avalanche maker.”
“She won’t do anything without Mars’s say-so. Rest easy, yeah?”
We inch out onto the road and I release the latch on my window, dropping it down. The rig driver pinned in next to us has his window down as well. He’s puffing on a cigar, marking the frigid sky with smoke rings.
“Sylver Quine, is it?” His gaze lingers on the Dragon’s tank tread. “You just pull in?”
“This morning.”
I don’t know this rigger, but he’s driving a truck owned by one of the larger firms in these mountains.
“You’ve crap timing then,” he says.
“What’s happened?”
“Rebels blew the road to bits yesterday, took half that mountain with it.” He juts his chin toward the horizon. “Shut down the highway north of Hex Landing.”
My heart shrivels. “Shut down the highway?”
“Avalanche,” he says. “Don’t worry, doll. South fork’s open. It’s just going to take a mighty long time to get to it.”
“So there’s no getting out onto the Shiv Road then?” Kyn asks.
“No one’s stupid enough to truck the Shiv Road this time of year, kid.” He flicks his cigar, sending ash to the road. “But there’s no getting anywhere by that road. Not until after the Flux. Get on in here,” he says, signaling us ahead of him into the line. “I want a closer look at that trailer.”
I wave a thank you and pull the Dragon onto the road, flexing the cold from my fingers and scanning the lot for Mars and Hyla. But they’re gone. Jymy and the wolf too.
“If we can’t take the highway . . .” Kyn says.
“We’ll have to take the pass.” I yank off my stocking cap and rub my forehead. “I thought you guys were with the rebels.”
“I’m just a driver, snowflake. Mars is the one with principles.”
“He just killed a Ranger. That’s not going to go away. At some point we’ll all answer for that.”
“Mars will take care of it. He always does.”
“You know there are about a thousand different outfits you could truck for out here,” I say, pulling my cap back into place. “Some of them are even legal.”
“Yeah,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “but Mars is the only one who lets me sample Paradyian wares.”
Mars’s connection to Paradyia isn’t news to me. The criminal element in the Kol Mountains is smaller than you’d think, and someone’s been importing Paradyian goods for years. The Dragon’s tank tread arrived that way. And Hyla’s turret gun, I’m sure. Drypp had an old music box that was made on the golden isle. All of it’s illegal. We’re not allowed to trade with Paradyia, but I don’t imagine Mars cares much about Majority laws.
He trades in kol as well. Most of the smugglers do, but Mars is particularly good at it from what I hear. And now that I’ve seen him face to face, I understand why. The amount of kol in his blood would make him entirely immune to the effects suffered by the rest of us—the hallucinations, the madness.
“Be honest,” I say. “Why Mars?”
Kyn shrugs, his smile falling away. “I’ve known him all my life. He’s not easy, Sylvi, but he’s been good to us. To my ma. She’s not well, but Mars found a medicine that helps. Can’t get it on Layce, but Mars makes sure she never runs out. Couple years back he told me if I learned to drive, I’d never want for work. And he’s made good on that.”
Everyone has twisted loyalties, I guess. Why should Kyn-the-Shiv be any different? “You’re from Dris Mora then.”
“You know Dris Mora?”
“I know it’s a Shiv town.” I’ve asked around but no one can tell me why Mars makes his home with the Shiv. “I know it’s on the north shores of the Serpentine. Far from here. Far enough that you can’t possibly know how dangerous the pass is going to be. The Desolation Shiv hate people like you.”
“Nobody hates me,” he says, offended. “I’m not that kind of a criminal. Drive faster, snowflake. Something’s going on.”
A splash of color in the road. Movement against the white backdrop. He’s right. There’s a commotion up ahead.
“It’s not the criminal they’ll object to,” I say, accelerating. “The Desolation Shiv aren’t keen on deserters.”
A muscle ticks in his cheek, but he keeps his eyes on the road. “My people moved away from the Desolation a long time ago. I was born in Dris Mora, but that doesn’t make me any less Shiv than those living in High Pass or out along the Desolation stretch. We’re the same.”
“You’re nothing like they are. Trust me.”
“ ’Cause they’re ugly and mean and can’t find their way around a toothbrush?”
“Because they’ll kill you for choosing freedom over duty.” I say it baldly and let it sit there between us. Trucking the Shiv Road is dangerous, especially for him, and he seems to think a pretty smile will get him waved through. “When was the last time you were out on the Shiv Road?”
“Never,” he says. “I’ve heard stories—the Pool of Begynd and all that—but my people were never believers. Not in my lifetime anyway. Is it true there are Shiv frozen beneath the ice?”
“There’s no knowing what’s true, but they believe it. Venturing out onto the Desolation earns you a death sentence. They believe it froze solid with supplicants still swimming in its waters. And what they believe is the only thing that matters on the Shiv Road.”
“So the gun,” he says, his hands resting on Drypp’s shotgun.
“The gun.”
Kyn leans closer to the windshield. “The old rigger’s right. Look.”
Up ahead, the turnout onto the north fork is nothing but a wall of rubble. Lumpy, churned-up snow and rock—the pile so high I can’t see the top.
“The Dragon’s an impressive rig, but—
“There’s no way we’re getting through that.”
“Mars could melt the snow, maybe?”
“It wouldn’t matter. They’ve destroyed the road. The Dragon could navigate it, but not with a trailer hitched.” I scan the wreckage. “Where are Mars and Hyla? They should be here by now.”
“They’ll find us,” Kyn says. “Keep moving.”
I have little choice. There’s nowhere to pull off and the line of trucks behind us has started blowing their horns.
“What about High Pass, Sylvi? Is it even possible this time of year?”
That’s the question, isn’t it? Because if the only way to get to Lenore is via the Shiv Road, I can’t see another way. Not one that won’t cost us days. This time of year, we don’t have days to work with. We have hours, minutes.