Eleanor by S.F. Burgess

rest, but she met green eyes filled with agony and stern resolve. She promptly shut her mouth. He was pushing himself far harder than he was pushing her, the danger must be very real. He let go of her waist and slid to the ground. The jolt as he landed made him groan, and he crumpled in on himself as he collapsed into the deepening snow, eyes squeezed closed, lips pulled back over clenched teeth. Moving as quickly as her cold, tired body would allow, Eleanor swung her leg over Rand’s back and, holding on to his mane, lowered herself to the ground. She knelt in the snow at Conlan’s side, with no idea how to help him. Eventually he fought down the pain and glared at her.  
    “Get me up, we need to move.”  
    Eleanor put her shoulder under his arm and struggled to get him to his feet, as she did she looked back the way they had come. There seemed to be dancing lights in the distance, moving towards them.
    “Conlan, what’s that?” she asked, pointing back down the trail. Conlan turned to look and his whole body tensed.
    “It’s them, the Protectors, riding at night. We have to go!”  
    Eleanor could hear the fear in his voice and it sent a shot of terror through her soul. Turning up the track, away from the lights, Conlan trudged onwards. Eleanor followed, with Rand faithfully bringing up the rear.  

    The track became steeper, twisting and turning through the crags and revealing some dizzying drops. Eleanor noticed, distractedly, that her wrist had begun to hurt. She rubbed it absently as she looked behind her; the lights seemed closer.  
    Conlan fell.  
    Eleanor pulled him up, practically dragging him forwards. I should be dead on my feet . Yet, she felt energised, powerful. A strong heat began to radiate through her body, spreading through her frozen limbs and bringing a strange vitality. The exhaustion faded slightly– it was still there, but it did not seem as urgent as it had been.
    “I need a moment to catch my breath,” Conlan gasped. Eleanor nodded and supported his shaking body as best she could as he panted. The heat in her wrist turned to an intense burning, heating up her muscles and melting the snow that settled on her bare skin. She rubbed at the mark, wincing. Conlan noticed.
    “Does it hurt?”  
    “Yes, it has done for a while and it’s getting worse,” she said, her voice shaking, although whether that was fear, the bitter cold or the heat she could feel surging through her, she was not sure.
    “Good. Eleanor, there’s a narrow gap a little further up this trail that leads to a small canyon; we need to get there,” his words were barely audible over the pounding in her ears of her frightened heart and his rough voice dissolved into coughs, spasms wracking his body, blood flecking the snow at his feet. Eleanor struggled to keep him upright. As the coughing subsided she pulled more of his weight over her shoulders and dragged him forward. Conlan weakly pointed the way.

    Once in the canyon, Eleanor looked around. It was shaped like a stone goldfish bowl. The snow was not as deep here, and in places, where the walls curved inwards, the overhang had stopped any falling at all. Eleanor looked up and saw the stars and moon in the frigid sky through the gap above, filling the canyon with an ethereal, silvery light. She could have made it out of the hole, but Conlan never would and Rand, who stood shivering in the dark shadow under one of the overhangs, would have no hope either. Looking back, she realised that the entrance they had used was also the only exit.
    “Conlan, where do we need to go from here?”
    “This is where we need to be,” came the rasping reply.
    “It’s a dead-end, we’ve no escape; we’re going to have to fight,” she pointed out.
    Conlan staggered again and Eleanor lowered him down against the canyon wall under an overhang. He lay with his arms wrapped round his chest, panting. Despite the cold, sweat stood out on his forehead, and his face was drawn, pained.