Page 61 of The Sun He Buried

“Crawl,” I tell them.

The woman looks past me toward Ozur.

“Take the living out.”

She goes.

The men follow one at a time. I wait until all three hands close around the rescue line.

Then the mountain moves again.

The timber above me splits. Rock drives me onto one elbow. My bad hand disappears beneath it.

Solveih arches around my brother.

I wrench my hand free and claw through the last of the fall. Nails tear away. Fingers break against the stone and stay bent wrong, and I dig with them anyway.

Ozur’s shoulder comes free first.

Then his chest.

His head rolls toward me when I pull the last stone away.

Too late.

I drag him into my arms.

Solveih comes.

Her release runs through every nerve the bond has opened. My ruined hand locks beneath Ozur’s knees; something in it gives again. I keep hold of him.

Three survivors drag air into bruised lungs somewhere ahead of me. Ozur’s chest stays still against mine.

Baldr’s name follows her through it.

I lower Ozur long enough to fasten the rescue harness beneath his arms.

“Pull,” I call.

The line tightens.

I crawl behind the body and keep his head off the stone. Every few feet the roof sheds another piece. My hands are ruined and I keep them where they belong.

Light reaches the seams of my mask.

Hands take Ozur’s harness. I shove him through, follow, and get both feet under me.

The three miners I sent ahead are on the gallery floor. Healers crowd them. Someone is laughing. Someone else is sick against the wall.

Eight breathing.

Ketill looks at me. His face gives me nothing. Mine gives him stone dust and nothing under it.

I bend and lift Ozur from the rescue line.

His weight settles into my arms again.

“Prepare his pyre at dawn,” I say. “I will stand for him.”