Midnight Frost

need to leave me behind,” he said in a soft voice.
    I shook my head. “Don’t even think about that. We stick together, remember? That’s the best chance we have to get off this rock. That’s our only chance. It always has been, and it always will be.”
    Logan gave me a crooked smile, the one that always turned my heart into a pile of mush. “I’ve missed this about you.”
    “What?”
    “Your determination,” he said. “I seem to have lost mine the second Agrona snapped that damn Apate collar around my neck.”
    He rubbed his throat, as though the gold band with its glittering jewels was still cinched tight there. Pain and memories darkened his eyes.
    “Well, I’ve got enough determination for both of us,” I said. “And I’m determined that we’re both getting off this mountain—alive. You wouldn’t want to make me a liar now, would you?”
    Logan looked at me. After a moment, his face softened into a smile once more. “No, I wouldn’t want to do that.”
    “All right then. Let’s get you up. We still have a long way to go.”
    I managed to get him back up on his feet, although he was staggering even worse than before. But there was nothing I could do about that—there was nothing I could do about any of this but keep going forward.
    So I put my arm under Logan’s shoulder, helping him as much as I could, and together, we stumbled forward into the storm.
     
    I managed to half-drag, half-carry Logan another mile down the trail before he passed out. One moment, he was hobbling along as best he could. The next, he was facedown in the snow.
    “Logan? Logan!”
    I turned him over and shook his shoulder, but he didn’t respond. I bent down and put my ear over his mouth. His warm breath rasped against my skin, and his chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm.
    I let out a quiet breath. He was still breathing, still alive.
    But for how long? It was even colder now than it had been before, and the wind was howling like a pack of Fenrir wolves. Plus, I still hadn’t seen anyplace where we could take shelter from the storm. I wanted to scream and cry and beat my fists against all the stupid rocks and trees around us. I would have, if I thought that my knuckles wouldn’t crack and bleed and that the tears wouldn’t have frozen on my face and added to my misery.
    “Now what are you going to do?” a voice interrupted my thoughts. “Because the Spartan is pretty much done for.”
    I looked down at Vic, who was still snug in his scabbard around my waist. I’d been so focused on getting down the mountain that I’d pretty much forgotten about the sword, but he was peering at Logan, his purple eye bright against the white wash of snow.
    I knew what Logan would say if he were still awake—that I should leave him behind. That there was no way he could get off the mountain now, and that I should save myself. But no matter what Logan said, I wasn’t leaving him out here in the cold. He’d freeze to death—or bleed out from the roc wound. No, I needed to keep moving, and I needed to figure out some way to take him with me.
    “Gwen?” Vic asked again. “You need to make a decision—fast.”
    “I’m going to save him—and us too.”
    I opened my backpack, digging through all of the items inside, hoping one of them would give me some sort of spark of an idea about how I could get us down the mountain.
    Matches, extra clothes, a couple of comic books, my cell phone, a flashlight, a pack of granola, a bottle of water. Important items, but nothing that would help me right now. I was just about to zip the bag back up when I noticed something thin and fragile at the very bottom of it—Ran’s net.
    Desperate, I pulled out the net and held it up. Thin strands of gray seaweed woven together and tied off with a series of tiny, brittle knots. It looked even smaller and more pitiful than I remembered. I started to wad it up and shove it back into my bag when I thought about what the ID card in my bag said about the net—and what it claimed the artifact could do.

    This net is thought to have belonged to Ran, the Norse goddess of storms, and was rumored to be among her favorite fishing gear. Despite its fragile appearance, the net is quite strong and can hold much more than it should be able to, given its relatively small size. The braided seaweed itself is thought to have the unusual property of making whatever is inside it seem much lighter than its actual weight . . .

    I looked at the net, then at