Darkness Calls the Tiger by Janyre Tromp

Author:Janyre Tromp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kregel Publications
Published: 2024-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

I jerked awake, angry muscles stiffening even as pain radiated from shoulder to shin. The sun sat low over the western mountains, caught behind a fog of cold.

I blinked. The world hazed over and then cleared. My hand ached, and I spread my fingers wide. The knife dropped from my clutch, the crust of red cracking around my knuckles. Snow melted down my spine, and a shiver snaked through my limbs. I wanted to close my eyes and never wake, disconnect from this place forever.

But then Utagawa and his ilk would win. I blinked again, my breath ragged and loud in my ears.

The body of the soldier lay inches from my outflung arm. He stared at the sky, frost gathering on his cheeks. Sunlight sparkling and alive in the tiny crystals.

Inhale in. Out. Mist exhaled from me.

I rolled to my side. Nausea spun the world, and I forced my eyes to stay open, to stay awake. Listing badly, I dragged myself to the man’s body and struggled to roll him. The body flipped with a muffled thud.

The pack strapped to his back was nearly empty. No food or water, but there was a blanket and extra trousers. As trembling rattled through my body. I flung the blanket over my head and yanked the pants over my leggings. They were big enough for three of me. I sighed, tying the material into a knot over my bony hips. The other men were down the slope, and one of them had been smaller. I squinted through the gray.

They might as well have been on the other side of the mountain.

I jammed my hunting knife into its scabbard opposite my dah and pulled my longyi over the rest. The edges of my vision darkened, pulsing. I would have to risk a fire. Perhaps the needles of the pine tree would dispel the smoke enough that I wouldn’t alert the world to my presence.

I crawled away from the man’s body to dig into the underbrush for dry leaves and sticks. My fingers refused to cooperate. Hands useless as stumps, I scooped at the debris until I’d gathered a small pile.

Fumbling through my pack, I uncovered the tin with my fire-starting kit. The box slipped between my numb fingers and dropped into the snow. I stared at it a moment before blowing on my fingers, forcing warmth into them until I was able to fight the lid open.

The flint and tinder lay pointless in the box. If I could barely get the kit open, how would I ever use a flint? A sob caught in my throat, and I forced it down.

A tiger never panics.

I would not die in my mountains, not like this.

After fidgeting with the tools, I wedged the flint stone and tinder under my foot, overhanging a stone. I grasped the steel in my fist like an infant holding its mother’s fingers.

Please work. Please.

Driving down with what little strength I had, I smashed the steel into the flint repeatedly. Small sparks burst into the tinder.

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