Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

Duvan had failed Slanya once already, like he’d failed Talfani years ago. But this time he was going to get her some help in time to save her. He liked Slanya, and he wasn’t going to let her die.

Duvan looked out over the distance and watched for opportunities. In the purple and blue light, Duvan saw patches of what looked to be relatively solid land masses below. They might be able to lower themselves down with a rope.

No-a quick calculation showed they were most likely too high up for that. At the limit of their rope, they’d still have a long fall. Too long to survive, even with the glideskin.

Then an idea came to him. It was incredibly risky and would take exacting timing, but with luck and skill it could be accomplished. Every few minutes, a smallish mote would shoot across the storm, its trajectory bent by the pull of the vortex.

The fastest motes avoided getting caught by the vortex. Instead they sped out of the center and into calmer sections of the Plaguewrought Land.

Duvan didn’t know if he could do it, but catching any one of those fast motes would probably be safer than staying where they were. The mote they stood on was destined to be crushed and torn apart while being hurled into the Underdark. Not his first choice.

Lying down next to Slanya, Duvan used leather straps to secure the cleric to his back. She was heavy enough that the straps would leave marks in her skin. But it was the only way he could move her.

When she was as secure as he could make her, Duvan struggled to his knees and then pushed up to his feet. Breathing hard and feeling the burn in his legs and back, Duvan went about the business of scanning the sky for incoming motes. He tried to find one big enough to hold them, but that also would fly close enough to theirs so that they’d have a chance of crossing to it.

A short wait later he found a prospect arcing across the plane of the vortex like a comet. It was larger than many of the others, but far, far smaller than the one they were on now. It might be moving too fast, but Duvan knew they had few options.

First however, they’d have to move. He watched the smaller mote’s trajectory and tried to estimate the rotation of their current mote. They needed to be on the opposite side of their mote.

Duvan checked to make sure the leather straps holding Slanya were secure and tight, then he began the trudge out across the rock. Most of the vegetation had been stripped off by the storm, so it was a little easier to move, but the flashes of light made it hard to see holes and jutting stones. Duvan caught his foot on a rock as he ran-he stumbled. He struggled to keep his balance and sank to his knees.

Slanya groaned in his ear. A good sign. She was still alive, at least.

But he did not fall. Duvan smelled the iron tang of blood mingled with the faint odor of lilac soap from Slanya’s skin. He recovered his footing and pushed. Hopefully there was still time.

The smaller mote was almost to them by the time he reached the other side. He was still pulling out the rope and grappling hook when it whizzed by and disappeared into the distance.

Chagrined, he watched the mote vanish. One chance gone.

The night wore on, and it looked as though they would have no choice but to ride their mote through the vortex, when he saw another possible opportunity. This time a very small mote hurtled toward them. Tiny, Duvan thought, but perhaps large enough. This one was traveling very fast.

It’s not like we have a surplus of options, he thought wryly.

Duvan predicted that this tiny mote would pass by extremely close. No need for him to carry Slanya very far this time. He took a couple of narrow leather strips from his backpack and lashed the wrists of his fingerless leather gloves so that they wouldn’t slip off his hands. The gloves might just save his palms.

Then he readied his rope and grappling hook. The other mote would pass below them, so he lowered the rope down and swung it so that, as the speedier mote passed by underneath, the hook would catch.

The rope sped through his glove-clad palms. “Time to go,” he whispered to Slanya. “Our coach has finally arrived.” Duvan tightened his grip on the rope as he watched it draw taut. Even so, his arm nearly ripped from its socket as the rope pulled him and his burden-Slanya and pack and all-over the edge of the mote.

Wind blasted his face as they fell, his hands sliding on the accelerating rope. Duvan gritted his teeth and held on with all his strength. Even through the reinforced leather of his gloves, he felt the heat of the rope. Finally, just when he thought his strength would give out, they came to a stop, swinging like a pendulum beneath their new mote. They sped through the loud and chaotic night.

Duvan folded his legs and feet around the dangling rope, entwining himself with it so that he could use his legs to hold them while he rested his arms and hands. The leather straps that held Slanya’s unconscious body to him chomped deep gouges in his shoulders, but he could hardly feel that over the burn in his hands.

Taking quick stock of their situation, Duvan realized that they couldn’t remain where they were for very long. They were flying through the sky, tethered by a black filament of rope three hundred feet below the mote. Even if Duvan could hold them there for the duration, the chance was great that they’d slam into something-the ground or another mote or who-knew-what.

So after a few minutes’ rest, Duvan stretched his thumb muscles. He laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. He could climb anything on his own, but this load was unlike any he had borne before. He massaged his palms, alternating between the left and the right until much of the burn and ache had receded for the moment.

When he was ready, Duvan started climbing. Hand over hand, he ascended the rope, using his entwined legs as support. Slanya’s body was canted awkwardly, slightly off-center and heavier on his left side. His muscles burned from the effort, especially his left shoulder.

“We’re going to make it,” he said, not sure if he was trying to reassure Slanya or himself. Wind dried sweat on his face as he climbed. Far below, the ground was a dark expanse illuminated in patches by dim blue fog. It seemed mostly solid to Duvan.

Above them, past the small, dark silhouette of the mote at the top of the rope, the black and purple sky was cleaved in twain. Through the gash flowed a swirling hurricane of blue galaxies and fiery red motes of fire. Pure chaos and the Nine Hells could not have been more frightening.

It took over an hour and several rest stops along the way, but finally Duvan was able to pull himself and Slanya up over the ledge and onto the stone surface of the mote. There was just enough level ground for them both to fit lying down.

Duvan made sure that Slanya was fully on solid earth, then he tied the rope around them and collapsed. And as exhaustion took hold of him, he realized that they were headed back north toward the border, roughly in the direction of Ormpetarr.

“I did it,” he said. “I got us off that mote.”

Slanya said nothing in response, and perhaps she was already dead, strapped to his back. But for now, he was too exhausted to do anything but lay there with the grit of gravel against his cheek, and stare out at the approaching horizon.

They were far from safe, he knew. But at least they still had a chance. At least, for the moment, they weren’t in imminent danger of being sucked though a hurricane of blue fire and vomited into the Underdark.

Duvan knew there was a huge array of things that could still go wrong, and that he should get up and start dealing with them. But he was too exhausted to move. Too tired to even think about moving. Those problems would have to wait their turn.