Tower of Winter (The Traveler's Gate Chronicles: Collection #1) by Will Wight Page B

one open room, with no trees or hideous statues to break up the monotony. The blue-gray outer wall of Helgard encircled the floor, and without any obstructions, Donia thought she could make out the curvature of the tower, though it was hard to say for sure since she couldn’t see the far wall.
    The floor appeared somewhat even, but she knew that was an illusion. There was no snow here, and the ground was made entirely of uninterrupted ice. It looked as though the ocean’s surface had frozen during a choppy ocean storm: waves and spikes and curls of ice rose from the surface in a twisting frozen maze.
    That was one of the things she hated about this floor. Damasca had a small outpost here, but she couldn’t see it from the floor entrance because of all the waves breaking up her line of sight. She could barely judge distance at all.
    The icy floor glowed from inside with a pale greenish light. Perhaps she should have enjoyed that—there were many floors in Helgard that were much darker, after all—but occasionally the light would flicker out, as though something in the depths of the ice had passed briefly in front of the light’s source.
    That was a continual reminder of a fact that she didn’t want to think about: something lay beneath the ice here, and no one knew what. The older Helgard Travelers had stories, of course, but they had no more idea than she did. Everyone that might know was either dead or insane.
    Which brought her to the worst thing about the sixteenth floor: the silence.
    From the frozen waves below to the enormous, distant icicles on the roof above—each of which was the size of a lighthouse—there was plenty of space to create air currents. Many of the Helgard floors generated their own weather. But not the sixteenth.
    Nothing disturbed the air on the sixteenth floor. Not a breeze, not the call of a bird, nothing. It was the closest to absolute silence that Donia had ever endured.
    And she couldn’t stand it.
    Nikolos cleared his throat, and it sounded like the rumble of thunder. “Quiet here, isn’t—“
    Just in time, Donia clapped a gloved hand over his mouth.
    Nikolos’ words echoed softly off the nearby ice. Donia remained tense and alert until the sound died away, then she relaxed. Slightly.
    She put her mouth close to his ear and whispered as softly as she could. “What did I say before we climbed up here?” She loosened her hand, giving him a bit of room to speak.
    “Quiet,” Nikolos breathed, barely moving his lips.
    “That’s right. Better men and women than you, all Helgard Travelers, have made too much noise on this floor and regretted it. Do you understand?”
    Nikolos nodded eagerly.
    “Now, I’m going to take my hand away, and I want you to remain as quiet as possible.”
    When the boy nodded again, Donia took her hand away and turned back toward the field of ice.
    A worn, dirty Traveler with a scraggly beard stood not a pace behind her.
    Nikolos shrieked, though to his credit he stifled it quickly. Donia’s heart was pounding, but she reacted with more composure, as befit a Traveler of Helgard: she held her right hand out in a sign of aggression, words of summoning on her lips.
    The Traveler, whose blue-and-white Damascan uniform was torn to ribbons, held up both of his hands, palms out. The gesture showed he was unarmed and, for a Traveler, showed that he wasn’t making any hostile signs.
    “No, wait!” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “Help! I need your help!”
    Donia looked around, wary of a trap or ambush, though she couldn’t understand why this bait would be necessary if he meant to attack them. The floor was lonely and silent; he and his friends could have just jumped on Donia and Nikolos, if that was their intention.
    “Where is the rest of your unit, Traveler?” Donia asked.
    The stranger shook his head frantically, like a dog trying to shake off water. "Gone," he whispered. "Attacked. Viciously attacked. Please, help me. I can't leave this