Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

‘No,’ Hoyt answered, ‘and look, if it gets too bad, less than halfway around, we can climb up the slope and over the lip.’

‘To find what on the other side, exactly?’ Hannah asked, ‘a good Pragan restaurant? Hoyt, what if we get out there and decide we have to climb over and the other side is worse than this?’

Hoyt smiled again. ‘Hannah, what could be worse than this? I know you don’t want to go all the way back trying to find a wagon track in the dark.’

That much was true, but falling over exposed rocks to land in a freezing mountain river as the sun punched its time card was not the most appetising suggestion either. She turned to look at Alen, her eyes pleading for help.

The old man threw up his hands. ‘It would save time.’

‘Churn?’ For the first time since the argument had begun, Hannah looked at the big mute. He looked as though he might pass out right there and Hannah felt a moment’s guilt: they hadn’t even considered Churn’s fear of heights.

He was still uncomfortable sitting in the saddle all day; right now he was pretty certain he’d be safer walking back and single-handedly grappling with an entire wagonload of Seron, rather than walk around beneath the lip of this gorge. He tried to swallow, and failed; his throat was too dry.

He looked at Hannah and tried to grin. He had survived the forest of ghosts; he had survived being beaten and hanged from the highest branches of his family’s cottonwood tree. He hated high places, but he had survived… and this gorge had a slope and a thin path so there wasn’t a straight fall. There would be places to grab on to, should he slip, and he’d have to slide far through the mud, and then over the rocks, before getting to the edge and falling into the river. This would be a grim few moments – but it wouldn’t be as bad as the forest of ghosts. Nothing could be that bad.

Churn straightened his shoulders and grinned again, a proper smile this time. He took out a length of rope from his saddlebag, tied one end about his waist and handed the other to Hannah, motioning for her to do the same.

‘Yeah, Churn, great idea,’ Hannah said, ‘unless, of course, you fall – then I’m going down like the stern colours on the Andrea Doria.’

Churn grunted. He didn’t understand.

‘Just don’t fall, all right?’ she said, and checked the rope was tied tightly. ‘Okay, guys, Churn has spoken – let’s get going. It’s already getting dark.’ Alen and Hoyt led their horses out onto the narrow sloping ledge encircling the half-moon gorge while Hannah, distracted thinking of the number of ways disaster could find them in the next twenty minutes, didn’t notice Churn facing her, one hand on his hip and one behind his back. She suddenly realised the others were nearly out of sight while she and Churn had yet to leave and, a little irritated, asked, ‘What is it, Churn? We need to move.’

Churn motioned towards his hidden fist.

‘What? Oh, not now – you want to play now? To see who goes first? Are we really going to do this, Churn?’

He didn’t budge.

‘All right, all right,’ Hannah acquiesced. ‘On my count… one, two, three!’ Simultaneously, they both extended their hands, Hannah’s in a fist and Churn’s with two fingers extended. ‘Rock breaks scissors. I won!’ she crowed, exultant, ‘hey, I won, I really won! So what’s the total score at this point – 673 to one?’ She thought on it a moment longer, then asked, ‘But does that mean I have to go first or that I get to choose?’

Churn gestured slowly enough for her to understand. ‘You choose.’

‘Then you go first, my friend, and I will follow along and watch your footing.’

‘Very good,’ Churn signed.

She knew that one. ‘And remember, don’t fall.’

‘I won’t.’

‘And try to keep solid footing in case I fall.’

‘I will.’

‘All right, go ahead. Get going.’

‘I’m trying. You just keep-’ Churn checked his own knot a final time, then sighed and led his horse out onto the slope.

Leading her own horse by the bridle, she followed. ‘Thanks Churn,’ Hannah whispered.

Halfway through the gorge, Hannah was seriously regretting letting Hoyt talk her into coming this way and angry at Alen for not backing her. The footing was difficult, and the mud that lined the gorge wall was like hardening paste, making decent handholds rare. She and Churn stopped to watch as Hoyt and Alen led their horses past the lone pine blocking the path. Her heart was in her throat as one of the horses slipped, but it was momentarily and they were soon out of danger. As they headed for the top of the gorge, the two men looked like children racing to be crowned King of the Mountain. Finally Hoyt stood on firm ground and waved back at them. ‘It’s easier going up here,’ he shouted down. ‘Still narrow, but better than along the slope. Come around as far as the tree and then climb out.’

Churn, moving ahead of her, hummed an off-key melody in time to his careful footsteps. He kept a tight grip on his horse’s reins with one hand and used the other to hang on to whatever purchase he could find on the gorge wall. He concentrated on keeping his weight into the wall and pressed his feet firmly into the dirt, ready in an instant to support his weight, and Hannah’s, if necessary – he was quite strong enough to lift her entire body with one arm, should she slide down the slope, but he didn’t want to risk a weak foothold and end up following her into the river.

As he got closer to the tree in the path he began to feel better. He was still afraid of heights – the memory of the cottonwood tree and the carnage below was still too vivid – but helping Hannah had stopped him being paralysed by terror; concentrating on her had distracted him enough to make it through.

He didn’t even notice the ice that crusted the mud as his foot slid – Hannah had a moment to wonder if he might regain his footing – then he and his horse spilled over the edge, an inarticulate scream echoing back.

In her own mind, Hannah was screaming for Churn to find a foothold while she struggled to unfasten the knot holding the two of them together, but there wasn’t enough time. She watched as the burly Pragan tumbled down the slope and the line stretched taut, caught for a moment on a jagged outcrop, then came free and dragged her down behind him.

Hannah felt her hand close around a root, and for an instant she thought they were saved – but no sooner did she feel a wave of relief wash over her than she was torn bodily away from the gorge wall, a broken end of muddy root in one hand, to continue freefalling through the air towards the river. Just below her, Churn hit the water like a boulder, followed closely by his horse, which crashed through the surface with a resounding splash and was swallowed whole by the grey water.

Disoriented by the frigid cold, Churn flailed wildly in the current, then came to his senses: he needed to swim for the opposite shore and kindle a fire as quickly as possible if he were to survive this bone-numbing chill.

When his horse struck the water, it landed on the rope – which in turn yanked Hannah from her trajectory towards the centre of the river and sent her crashing into the muddy slope, where she slid gracelessly to a flat rock protruding into the eddy. Hannah slipped in and out of consciousness, fleetingly aware of the sound of the river hurrying by.

Then Churn, ghostly-white and shivering, was with her, holding fast to her rock while his legs trailed in the current. In the distance, a horse whinnied loudly, and Churn managed a wry grin as the animal climbed from the shallows on the opposite bank and turned to shake its head at them impatiently.

Churn tried to lift his head when Hannah groaned. Blood matted her hair and painted her face red; the heavy homespun tunic was soaked in mud and blood.