Catalyst (Book 1) by Marc Johnson Read Free Book Online Page B

made it hard to control the fire. When I saw the horse staring at my movements, though, I couldn't help but laugh. It relaxed me a little.
    I rubbed the horse’s neck and scratched behind her ears. She made a soft sighing noise. I smiled, glad I had her along. She hadn’t been as scared as the other horses during that wildfire I caused, and she never seemed bothered by the fire I created. She also was a very good listener. I frowned, remembering why I bought the old girl, but I pushed the thought out of my mind. I just wished I had an apple to give her.
    I walked her to the path. I craned my neck, gazing up at the White Mountain—my enemy—and whispered, “Gods help me.”
    The trek wasn’t too bad at first. The snow was at a comfortable level, and the wind soothed my overheated body. What surprised me was that there were more paths etched in the mountain. You had to look hard, but they were there. I couldn’t imagine what had made them, or how far they would take me, but I didn’t have long to focus on my curiosity. I had far bigger things to worry about. The mountain fought back.
    The wind picked up until it wailed like a crying child. I grasped my cloak's hood tighter to shield my face. The wind tore the cloak from my hands until it struck my face with such cold and ferocity it felt like a thousand bee stings. Breathing through my mouth helped with the cold a bit. I focused on my frozen breaths leaving my body. I held onto my horse's reins while she neighed and bucked against the wind and cold.
    We tried to find the easiest path, but each time the ground became too slippery with ice, or the deep snow crawled up my leg. My feet slipped every few steps, and twice I went down hard on my knees, grunting in pain.
    Towards the end of the first day, I reached the end of the path I followed. On one side, the cliff reared up beside me; on the other was a steep drop to the valley below. It seemed odd to see the green of spring down there, while the bitter wind threw ice crystals at my face.
    I found a sheltered spot and dug a campsite out of the snowdrifts. It was a cold and lonely night, and I knew I was in for many more, if I survived.
    The next few days were the same. Sometimes I found a path; other times my horse and I scrambled over the rocky ground with no guide but the need to keep going up. I didn't understand why I had heard tales of people trying to climb the White Mountain. Who would do this unless they were compelled to, like I was? I had to latch on to my inner fire to stay warm, and I hugged my freezing horse from time to time for even more warmth. Finally, I got to a place where there would be no more paths. I would have to scramble over fields of shale and tumbled boulders. There was no way my horse could make it. I had been putting off this moment, but I knew what I had to do.
    I grabbed the horse’s reins and nuzzled my head against hers. She whickered and returned the gesture. While I was used to killing animals on the farm where I worked, this was different. I had never killed an animal I owned before, one that had given me brave service and companionship.
    I took out my father's dagger, exposing my body to the harsh elements when my cloak unfurled. The old girl looked at me with calm, black eyes. I slashed her jugular vein with as much accuracy, speed, and strength as I could. Her blood painted the snow. She gave a weary neigh, saying her goodbye to the gods as she collapsed to the ground.
    I spent the rest of the day working on her in the freezing weather. I skinned her and cleaned up her hide as best as I could, using the snow and melting it with my power. I cut and packaged as much meat as I could carry. The hide would help keep me warm.
    More days passed, and the wind never stopped flinging snow in my eyes. I went to sleep cold and woke up freezing. I had to constantly use my power to keep myself warm. I wondered how people who didn't have my power climbed the mountain. They must be crazy. Or