Amanda Lynn's Arc

Chapter 10 of 14

The cleats bit scree well enough. But scree was flat. The overhanging slabs were not. Amanda Lynn had never run iron across that section, where the trail tilted out over open air. One slip there meant a long fall. She needed to test the slabs before race day, and she had one morning left. She climbed to the slab section at first light. The rock leaned outward. Below the edge dropped away to nothing she wanted to see. She set one boot on the first slab and pressed down. The iron scraped, then caught. She took a slow step. It held. She took another, faster, and her back foot skidded an inch before biting again. That inch would kill her at full speed. The cleats gripped rough stone. They slid on the smooth, wet patches. Morning damp coated the slabs like oil. She needed the iron to bite even there. A woman waited near the aviary bench when she came down. She wore a hooded cloak and scaled leggings, and she held a small glass vial. Green liquid curled inside it. Amanda Lynn had bought a scent from her once, two towns over. Anita Bathe made perfumes and told no one what went into them. "Your boots slip," Anita said. Not a question. "On the wet rock. Yes." Anita held out the vial. The green glowed faintly, ugly and bright. "Rub it on the iron. It grips damp stone. Dries hard." Amanda Lynn did not take it. "What is it?" "Something I mixed." Anita said nothing else. She set the vial on the bench and stepped back. Amanda Lynn turned it in her fingers. The liquid moved thick and slow. She thought of the slabs, of the inch her foot had skidded. She uncorked it. The smell stung her nose. She smeared a drop across one cleat with a stick. It dried tacky, then hard, leaving a rough green film on the iron. She climbed back to the slabs. She set the treated boot on the wet patch that had slid before. She pressed. The iron caught and held. She stepped across the smooth stone fast. Nothing slid. She ran the full slab section, in and out over the drop, and her feet never once let go. When she came down, Anita was gone. The bench stood empty except for the vial and a faint green stain. Amanda Lynn coated all four cleats and let them dry. She flexed each boot. The film held tight to the iron. She had tested the one section that could have thrown her off the ridge, and she had beaten it. Every mile of the route was hers now. But she did not know what was in the vial. She did not know how long the film would last across six hard miles, or what it might do to her feet if it wore through. She had trusted a stranger's mix, and race day would test it.