Wychling

Chapter 10

Tal climbed until she was at the very edge of where she knew the branches could take her weight, shimmying along until she found what she was looking for. She saw a thick limb that had branches diverging in a 'Y' shape.

~Perfect!~

She scanned the ground below, searching.

~Come on this is a dock there must b-~

"aha!" she gasped happily to herself.

She scrambled down from the branches and carefully looked around the waterfront before dropping from a low branch. She moved at a crouch, the paranoia still fresh, despite the utter silence of the night, as she ran to the nearest fishing boat.

Barely big enough to have a frame for nets, and a rotting ruin of a boat besides, it seemed to slowly wallow, even in these still waters. She found the most promising rope, which was to say the least ragged and frayed, before retreating back to the oak tree. She paused, wrapping it into a coiled loop and throwing it over one shoulder, in order to free her hands for the climb. She scrambled up quick as a squirrel, deep into the branches and found her place once again.

She removed her spare cloak from her quarterstaff, stuffing it down her top and tied one end of the rope to the tree branch, then the other to the middle of her quarterstaff. She used the knots she had begged a bored sailor to teach her one day last summer, in exchange for knowledge of the safe drinking places in the city. Even here a man could have a single beer and wake up out at sea being lashed to work by some of the less moral members of the seagoing community.

She finished tying the rope to the middle of the staff and hefted the weight to get a feel. Then she looped the rope around her other arm in the way he had taught her, ready for "heaving the line". She grinned, enjoying herself. She found her balance on the branch as she walked out further to get a clear shot.

~Easy now. It'll take as many tries as it takes~ she thought to herself. She took a long inhale, waiting for her heart to slow.

She threw her staff carefully in an overhand motion, but without her weight behind it, the thick wood fell well short, clattering off the wall six feet below the window she was aiming for. She cursed under her breath, reeling in the line and resetting herself as the clattering echo rang around the empty square. A few streets away a dog barked but there was no other reaction.

She concentrated, finding her balance again, and threw as hard as she could with her arms alone, choosing power over accuracy. She wobbled, and nearly fell, looking at the ground and seeing just how far it was. She heard the thud and saw from her peripheral vision that the staff had missed; short again, but she couldn't raise her eyes from the ground below. So far and yet so close to breaking her bones. This was not a part of town you wanted to be vulnerable in, least of all at night. She imagined how easily she would break against the unforgiving stone road as she watched the staff tangle in the branches below. Vertigo threatened, but she shook it off cursing herself under her breath.

"Come on! Woman up!" she told herself fiercely.

Tal paused, heart thundering. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, daring her mind to imagine a misbalance. There was no going back, and nowhere else to go. After another moment of forced calm, she opened her eyes slowly, looking directly at her target. She backed up carefully and gathered the line hand over hand. It wasn't that far. She could make it. This street rat wasn't too weak, too scared, too helpless.

~Focus!~

Every fibre of her being was set upon the throw, visualising it going throw the window, thinking about every step, every movement while breathing steadily.

She took one more steady breath in and sprang forward fearlessly. Her arm drew back, and she cast in one fluid motion. The staff flew through the window dead centre, but her momentum took her farther forward than she meant and the branch beneath her gave way. She swiped a desperate hand at the line above her stretching from the Y branch through the window. She caught something, and her hand locked it in a vice-like grip. Her legs dangled on thin air for a moment and then a crack rang out, and she was falling, fast.

Some innate understanding that her life was in that rope made her reach up with her other hand and grip as her legs curled up, waiting for the ground to hit her like a charging horse. Then the rope went taut. Instead of the ground hitting her the side of the lighthouse did.

The world went grey but her frantic grip was all that kept her in the air, and nothing could break it. When she opened her eyes, she was hanging in the air by her arms, nearly shaking with relief. She let her legs drop below her, clamping the rope between her feet, and giggled weakly. She looked back to see that one end was trailing on the floor next to the branch she had attached it to. Apparently, it couldn't take her weight.

Tal looked up to the window above, impossibly far away. She couldn't breathe; but to let go was to die. She held on fiercely, unrelenting. Until she realised that she was only getting weaker just hanging on the rope. She tried to let go of the rope to move her hands up, but they wouldn't stop squeezing.

She pressed her feet together even harder and pushed with her legs, taking her weight off of her arms as she rose slightly. She cursed, nearly screaming in frustration with her shaking, raw, stupid hands as they still refused to move. Her legs took up the demand without noticeable effort and it was that that allowed her to quash the rising panic and calm herself. Slowly, her hands began to obey her again. They hurt like she had plunged them into a fire but there wasn't time to allow herself to feel that right now. So instead she reached up and regripped the rope. She pushed up with her legs and swung her hands over her head, finding a rhythm, inching her way upwards. Climbing to safety.

It seemed to take forever, but suddenly her hand couldn't move up the rope; she looked up and nearly cried with relief as she saw the thin-slitted window, just small enough for a fourteen-year-old girl with mental problems to squeeze through. Her staff was caught sideways between, with a stupidly frayed rope tied to its middle.

~It's better to be lucky than good~ the thought slid from a memory deep down.

She couldn't remember the context, but she would take luck over skill today. Pulling herself through, she fell limply, exhausted.

~Stow that, I'll take luck any day~ She thought as she hit something soft.

It was lumpy and scratchy, but it beat the cold stone floor and suddenly her exhaustion was overwhelming. She pulled her rope through the window with the last of her energy. The broken branch an inch thick still attached to the other end. She slumped down on top of...whatever it was.

It had been a busy day, fighting Watchmen, being imprisoned, being betrayed by her own blood, being imprisoned, escaping, nearly dying...yes, that would do for her. The rest could wait until...The thought trailed away into the complete darkness of exhausted sleep.