Into the Wind by Shira Anthony Page A

ankles. Brynn, however, seemed none the worse for wear. He sat down on a rock and waited until Taren made his careful way over to the edge of the cove.
    Brynn laughed, then hopped up and slipped between the cliff face and a knotty tree. Taren followed. It took a bit more effort for him to squeeze through the tight passage, but as he emerged on the other side of the trunk, he saw the path Brynn had described. The trail was hewn from the volcanic rock, though it was surprisingly smooth.
    Brynn scrambled up the trail with Taren following a few feet behind. The going was slow, as the trail ascended steeply. Vines had grown over the rock, sometimes blocking their way as they climbed. Halfway up, Taren looked into the distance and saw several other islands rise like stepping stones over the aquamarine-tinted water. The air here was cooler than in the cove, and Taren could hear the sound of rushing water from above them.
    Nearly an hour later, they arrived at the source of the sound: a waterfall created where a river exited the rock about thirty feet from the top of the cliff. Water cascaded over the trail and created a mist that caught the sun and glimmered like a rainbow when Taren looked across it. They’d need to take care crossing—the going was steep and the rock beneath slick with plants.
    “This wasn’t here the last time,” Brynn told Taren with a frown. “This time of year, the rains make the underground rivers swell.”
    Taren eyed the way, noting several larger holes in the rock where he might gain a foothold. “I’ll go first, then pull you up,” he said, deciding his more muscular body was a better match for the task of climbing.
    Brynn’s frown deepened. “I can climb this without your help. I’m stronger than you think.”
    “I really don’t think that’s—” Taren began to say, but Brynn had already begun to scramble up the trail. Taren shook his head and followed.
    For the first twenty feet or so, Brynn made steady progress upward. When he reached the beginning of the waterfall, he stepped underneath and glanced back at Taren. “Some tasks are easier if you’re nimble,” he shouted over the water. Brynn scrubbed his face in the water and worked it through his hair.
    Taren chuckled at the boy’s self-satisfied grin, then followed him under the waterfall and did the same. It felt good to rinse the sweat and salt from his skin, and his legs welcomed the brief respite from the climb. They drank their fill of the water, which tasted sweet and clean, then emerged on the other side of the cascade. Taren guessed they had a scant twenty feet to go, but he also reckoned the going was the steepest yet. A trickle of water traced its way down the cliff by way of the path, and plants clung to the porous stone, crisscrossing over the trail.
    Once again Taren offered to lead the way, but Brynn refused. Much as he feared Brynn might lose his footing on the slick surface, Taren marveled at the ease with which he climbed. From where he followed several feet behind, Taren could see the sinews of Brynn’s muscles tense and relax as he continued to work his way upward, pulling himself up by his fingers at times or scraping away dirt to clear a foothold.
    Taren smiled when he realized they’d nearly reached the top of the cliff. With their goal in sight, Brynn picked up the pace of his climb.
    “Boy,” Taren warned as Brynn lost his grip on the rock several times along the way, “take your time. We’re in no hur—”
    His words were cut short as Brynn slipped and began to slide toward him. Brynn scrabbled for purchase, grabbing frantically at some of the vines that followed the trail upward. For a moment his downward movement ceased, but then one of the vines holding him in place detached from the surface of the rock, its roots too weak to hold the weight of his body.
    “Brynn!” Taren shouted as he tried to stop Brynn’s descent with one hand. Taren’s own foothold began to crumble beneath their combined