Climb or Die

2

Don't think about the rope, he told himself as he climbed down fast, snatching for breath. Don't think about how suicidal this is. He hugged the rock close to keep his balance true and his bounding heart reminded him of the ticking minutes. He kept peering down to steal views on where to place his feet. His progress was going to be blocked by a narrow ledge of bedrock ten or twelve feet down.

Stu, he thought. Stu...you didn't deserve that.

Zale searched with his feet, found a stable foothold for his right, started to rest his weight—and the foothold crumbled. For a frightening second his right shoe trod nothing but air. He scrabbled it around and finally dug it in to its previous spot. He pressed into the rock face, cold dirt against his cheek. Eyes closed, he drew deep breaths and tried to slow his runaway heart.

He lifted his chin, opened his eyes. The guard would see him if it looked over the side. It would throw stones to knock him off.

Move.

One body length, then two, sweaty fingers slipping on wetted rock. The cliff's edge retreated.

Once his feet touched the ledge, Zale clutched a low cleft and stooped about ten inches before his centre of gravity began to shift out to the drop. He reached out a tentative foot—how thick was the ledge? Could he climb over it? A way left was ended by a rocky outcrop. To the right, after the ledge, ran a dirt ridge about ten feet long, which wouldn't bear his weight for a hot second. Even as he watched a soggy clod of soil dropped from its underside.

A mocking giggle made Zale shoot a startled look up. His pulse raced in his neck and the mineral odor of wet stone filled his throat.

The cliffside was clear but the guard was near. It was hunting for him along the perimeter but would inevitably look down. Zale examined the world beyond his feet again. That thing wouldn't see him if only he could get under either the ledge or the dirt lip.

He spotted a thick root below the lip, looping in and out of the Anthelwaith's side like a loose stitch. Five feet down and maybe seven to his right. God, he could make that! He just needed the rope from his backpack.

Unnatural giggles danced down again. Zane looked up to see pebbles tumble over the edge, as if pushed by a footstep. He ducked and the pebbles scattered atop his head and shoulders.

An angular shoulder of a frayed, faded black coat showed at the edge. Above it matted dirty yellow hair, as coarse as twine. One idle look to its right and the cultist guard would see Zale's startled brown face gaping up at it.

You need to hide, Zale told himself.

Yeah, I know, but please tell me where and how.

The thing shifted its weight to face over the edge, scattering more pebbles. It was going to look down.

Zale moved fast to the right. Eyeing the root, he extended his arms and jumped off the ledge.