Page 51 of Asher

“Micah, Uncle,” Zac calls, gesturing, and they hurry forward to join us.

“What is it?” Uncle Hal asks eagerly.

Zac explains, then says, “If he continued in a straight line like this, he’s somewhere higher on the peak. There’s nothing up there, so I’m guessing he turned off before then. Can you think of where he might have gone? Could he have doubled back?”

Uncle shakes his head in bewilderment. “I’m not even sure why he came this way. He doesn’t like the woods—says they’re scary.”

“Every time we come this way, he holds my hand,” Micah agrees. “I don’t think he would have stayed in the trees longer than he had to.”

“Damn,” Zac says. “Does that mean he’s trying to get to something on the peak? What’s he doing?” He sighs heavily. “Let’s try calling him. It’s safer here in the trees—once we get out into the open, it’ll be too risky.”

Hortplatz’s unique location means the village is rarely at risk from avalanches, and Zac keeps a careful eye on things to reduce the risk even further. But we often hear the telltale rumble of avalanches vibrate through the alps in the winter—and especially in the spring. Every year, Zac teaches an avalanche safety and survival course, and it’s mandatory for everyone over eight in the village.

I haven’t heard anything like that tonight, and the conditions aren’t right anyway, so I resolutely push away thoughts of Isaac being caught unawares by a deadly mountain of snow, and join the others in calling his name.

We call, wait ten seconds, listening desperately for a response, then repeat the calls. There’s no answer.

“Let’s keep on,” Zac says at last. “If he’s above the tree line, we’ll have a better chance of spotting him against the snow, even in the dark. And he’ll be able to see our torches.” He doesn’t mention the driving wind up there, or how few places there are for even a small boy to take shelter.

Our trek becomes steeper very quickly, but the trail is still unerringly straight. Garrett pauses a few times to circle, and once he changes back to biped.

“Isaac’s scent is stronger here, kind of puddled. I think he stopped to rest, maybe sat down for a few minutes.”

“In the snow?” Micah whispers, glancing back toward where his dad is with the rest of the group. “He must be so cold.”

“He’s still moving, though,” Garrett assures us. “And his scent is a little stronger, even with the snow falling. I think we’re gaining on him.”

He shifts back before anyone can reply and bounds off in the direction Isaac is going. We follow.

When the trees start to thin, Zac calls another halt. We can see clearly to the windswept, snow-laden rock ahead, and there’s no little boy in sight.

Garrett shifts into biped form. “It’s going to get trickier now. The wind and heavier snow are fucking with the trail.”

“Can you get any direction?” Zac asks, waving the others forward.

“Unless he changes direction suddenly, he’s still going mostly straight.” Garrett hesitates. “Maybe veering a bit to the left now. Let me just…” He changes to canid form and takes off so fast, I yelp.

“He shouldn’t go alone,” I say, taking three quick steps after him before Zac grabs my arm.

“He’s already on his way back.”

Sure enough, Garrett is loping back to us. He skids to a stop in the snow, shakes himself, then changes to biped and points. “He’s veering that way.”

I squint, trying to orient myself better. “Aren’t there caves over there?”

“Caves?” Garrett asks sharply. “Did he know they were there?”

“All the kids get told there are caves in these mountains and they need to stay out of them unless there’s an adult with them,” Zac says. “I don’t know if he’d know specifically about these caves… but it looks like he’s headed straight for them.”

Micah growls. “He knows. This is my fault. We were up here last summer gathering wood for a bonfire. He was talking a lot, asking questions, and I ended up showing him one of the caves. I don’t know how he remembered which way to go, though. Especially with all this snow. I’m so sorry.”

“But why would he want to go to an empty cave?” Uncle Hal asks. “In this weather, after dark? Why didn’t he turn back?”

I shrug. “We can ask him later. This might be good news, right?” I look at Zac. “If he’s in a cave, he has shelter.”

Zac’s face is grim, but he nods. “Which cave?” he asks Micah. “Could you teleport there and check?”

“Yes,” Micah says, then glances around at the snow. “Maybe. I haven’t been up here in winter.” There’s a momentary crackle of teleport energy, but it’s off, and Micah goes nowhere. Disappointment is written all over his face, alongside the pain of a failed teleport.

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