Cole climbs mountain

  After a long while he reached a wall where the stone steps dwindled to nothing more than handholds gouged into the rocky face. There was no way Cole could proceed with the Weaver’s Beacon in his hand, so he looped the handle over the hilt of the Jumping Sword at his waist. The comfortably spaced handholds were shaped for easy grabbing, but Cole still felt nervous. Even without the panic of vertigo, a serious drop awaited if he slipped. Cole didn’t care how tough echoes were—a fall from this height would be deadly. The danger demanded respect.

  Higher and higher he climbed, the Weaver’s Beacon wobbling at his waist. Every so often he would scan the sky, but he saw no gliders, or anything else for that matter. He was so close to the mountain that it was hard to gauge how far he was from the summit. He would reach the top of one precipice to find another awaiting above it.

  The ascent began to feel like crossing the black-sand desert or the plain of white stone—he climbed without ever expecting to stop. The summit was up there someplace, but actually arriving seemed unrealistic. Perhaps the mountain was growing taller at a faster rate than Cole could climb. It sure seemed that way as one steep ascent followed another. Cole would not have been surprised to look down and see stars.

  At long last he reached a broad ledge. The beacon at his waist pulled him toward a neatly carved staircase.

Chapter 26