‘Prince Malagon will have his Seron pick up the wagons and carry them over these passes, and he won’t think twice about it if every last one of them freezes to death – he wants the bark, and it looks like he wants all of it, as much as they can harvest. Lives lost in the process will mean nothing to him.’
Hannah nodded, her lips pressed together against the cold. ‘Cheery thought, Alen. Thanks. Are you ready?’
‘Lead on.’
They moved across the open meadow and into a crowded stand of pine trees, the wind that had been brushing at their hair and tickling the backs of their necks becoming tangled in the branches. Hannah’s heart sank when they emerged and started climbing the slope, for the pines had given away to leafless deciduous tress that offered little shelter from the wind. Without speaking, they hastened on, hoping for better shelter over the rise.
When they reached the rounded hilltop they realised why Prince Malagon’s wagons had taken a different path: below, a river rushed its winding course towards the Ravenian Sea. The pass they had seen from the meadow looked to be a viable alternative to freezing to death, but reaching the base of those hills from their current position would be challenging. The little river cut a canyon two hundred paces beneath their feet, running in a southwesterly direction. At the base of the hill, it curved back on itself, carving a deep gorge into the hillside, and disappeared into the trees. They could clearly see the pass, and given an early start the following morning, they could be well on their way down the opposite side by the midday aven.
Now they had to decide whether to cross the river, at the risk of soaking everything they wore or carried, or backtrack to pick up the Malakasian trail. Crossing the river ran a real danger of hypothermia, and building a large enough fire to dry themselves was another risky proposal – with Seron moving so freely through the country, they would likely be dead by morning. But Hannah didn’t like the idea of going back either; losing another day of travel meant one day closer to real winter setting in.
There was a third option: they could move northwest beneath the hollow edge of the gorge’s lip, hanging on to anything they could to ensure no one slipped down the incline and into the eddy swirling below. It would be difficult for their horses, and Hannah feared that if they lost even one, the remaining animals wouldn’t be strong enough to get them through the mountains and over the border.
With daylight fading, the scene before her took on a grey aspect, presaging a long fall and an icy swim through the turbulent water.
‘We can’t do this,’ she said finally.
‘Actually, I think we can,’ Hoyt said, who had been silently staring across the gorge. ‘Look up there at that slope: it’s gradual all the way around. We shouldn’t organise any dances up there, but if we hold fast to that lip, it’s a good two or three paces wide, and it’s actually fairly level’
‘What about over there?’ Alen pointed to a place along the curved hollow of the gorge where a lone pine with broad branches effectively blocked their way.
‘We’ll have to go above it,’ Hoyt smiled, the reckless smile of a young man who still believed himself invincible.
‘You’re going to get us all killed,’ Hannah said.
‘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.’