Grava obliged, but Stavut could only make out one word. Shakul.
He followed Grava back to where a rockslide had struck the trail. A section of the ledge had fallen away. Grava moved to the edge and pointed down. Stavut inched his way forward, then dropped to his hands and knees. Stomach churning, he peered over. Some thirty feet down Shakul was clinging to an overhang, unable to lever himself up. Stavut swore — then remembered there was rope in the wagon.
Easing back from the ledge he ran to where three Jiamads were heroically pulling the wagon up the slope.
Climbing to the driver’s seat he applied the brake, then clambered over to the back, searching through the packages, pushing aside small barrels and bales of cloth. At last he came up with the rope. Looping it over his arm he ran back to where Grava and some others were gathered. Calling one of the most powerful of the Jiamads to him, he passed one end of the rope over the beast’s shoulder and pressed it into his hand. ‘I am going to throw the rope to Shakul,’ he said. ‘When he grabs it you pull him up.
Understand?’
‘Pull up,’ answered the beast.
Uncoiling the rope as he went, Stavut walked to the edge. ‘I am throwing a rope down,’ he shouted to Shakul.
Grava came alongside, shaking his head.
‘What?’ asked Stavut. Grava lifted his hands in a clawing motion and spoke very slowly. He had to repeat his words several times before Stavut could make them out. Shakul could not let go. Stavut moved to the cliff edge once more, and understood what Grava was trying to say. Shakul’s arms were fully extended, his weight enormous. If he tried to let go and reach for the rope he would fall.
‘Can you climb down to him?’ Stavut asked Grava. The beast stepped back, shaking his head.
Stavut swore again, then took hold of the end of the rope and made a large loop. Then he threw the rope over the edge. Glancing back at the beast holding the other end of the rope he said: ‘When I shout, you pull up.’
‘Pull up,’ said the beast again.
‘Brilliant!’ muttered Stavut.
Taking a deep breath he took hold of the dangling rope and lowered himself over the edge. ‘Do not look down,’ he told himself. ‘That’s what Askari says.’ Carefully he climbed down the rock face.
Footholds were plentiful and he had little difficulty reaching Shakul. As he came alongside the Jiamad he saw fear in Shakul’s eyes.
‘Long way!’ the beast gasped.
‘I am going to loop the rope round your waist. You hang on!’
This was the moment when Stavut realized he was going to have to look down. His stomach tightened.
Slowly he moved his head, his eyes fastened to the black fur on Shakul’s massive legs and dangling feet.
Carefully Stavut lowered himself further, lifting the loop over the legs and up towards the hips. A cold wind blew across the cliff face. Small stones tumbled down. Shakul’s left hand slipped, then scrabbled to hold on. Stavut pulled the rope up over the beast’s hips, then shouted: ‘Pull up!’
Nothing happened.
Only then did he realize he had given the rope to Broga — the beast Shakul had fought the night before.
You idiot, he told himself. The one creature in the pack who wanted Shakul displaced now had Shakul’s life in his hands. ‘Pull the rope!’ he shouted again.
Shakul fell, dislodging Stavut.
The rope went tight. Shakul’s arm shot out, talons slicing through Stavut’s shirt, and raking the skin beneath. They hung together over the dizzying drop. The shirt began to tear.
Grava’s head peered over the edge. ‘Pull us up!’ yelled Stavut.
The rope tightened once more, and slowly, inch by inch, they were hauled up the cliff face. Once above the overhang Shakul managed to gain footholds. As they neared the top Grava reached over and grabbed Stavut, pulling him to safety. The merchant moved away from the cliff edge, then turned towards Broga. There was blood on his hands, where the rope had burned him. Yet he had not let go.
‘Good work,’ said Stavut, patting him on the arm. ‘Thank you.’
‘Broga pull up,’ the beast said, dropping the rope and licking his bloodied palms. Stavut walked away.
His legs were trembling now, and he felt sick. To give himself something to take his mind off the possibility of vomiting he gathered up the rope, looping it over his forearm. Only when he was almost done did he realize that one end was still tied round Shakul. Walking back to the beast, he undid the knot.
‘An adventure, eh?’ he said.
‘We move now,’ said Shakul. ‘Find place. Eat. Sleep.’
‘No, no,’ said Stavut, ‘you are embarrassing me with such a show of gratitude.’
Shakul stared at him, nonplussed. ‘Again?’ he said.
Stavut grinned. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s find a place to rest, eat and sleep.’
Shakul nodded, then ambled off once more down the trail.
As Stavut sat quietly by the small campfire he kept glancing at Shakul. It seemed to him that the beast had been behaving strangely since the incident on the cliff. He had snarled and snapped at the others, and was now squatting alone beneath an overhanging tree branch. A group of the others, led by Grava, had left on a hunt. The rest, including the massive Broga, were sleeping. Stavut was also tired, but the stinging pain from the deep scratches where Shakul’s talons had pierced his shirt was keeping him awake. Rising from the fire he walked over to Shakul. The beast’s golden eyes looked up at him. Stavut sat down.
‘What is wrong, my friend? Are you hurt?’
‘Not hurt. Shakul sleep now.’ The Jiamad closed his eyes.
‘I know you are not sleeping,’ said Stavut.
Shakul snarled suddenly, causing to Stavut to jerk back. Then the beast blinked, and his shoulders sagged. He glanced at the others. Some of them, hearing the snarl, had stirred and were watching the pair. Shakul settled back. Realizing there was no drama the others returned to sleep. Stavut sighed. ‘Talk to me, my friend. What is troubling you?’
‘Big fear,’ said Shakul, his voice low. ‘Long way down.’
And Stavut knew what the problem was. Shakul was both embarrassed and shocked by his fear. The great beast had not experienced such terror before, and the new sensation had left him uneasy.
‘Nothing wrong with fear,’ said Stavut at last. ‘It is how we deal with it that counts. A friend taught me that.’ He laughed. ‘You and he wouldn’t get on. Though in fact I think you are quite similar.’
‘Shakul was coward,’ said the beast, his head sagging.
‘Nonsense! Every living thing knows fear. Listen to me, Shakul. When you were hanging on that rock face you were frightened. And so you should have been. It was a long way to fall. But when I was dislodged you caught me. You saved me. Shakul is not a coward. Shakul is brave. I know this.
Bloodshirt knows this.’
Shakul’s head began to twist from side to side, his body rocking. Stavut waited. ‘Big fear,’ the Jiamad said, at last.
‘Me too. But we survived, you and I. We live. We will hunt and we will eat.’
‘Bloodshirt came for Shakul.’
‘Yes. We are friends.’
‘Friends?’
‘We are pack,’ corrected Stavut, with a grin. ‘I am sure you would have done the same for me.’
‘No,’ said Shakul. ‘Long way down.’
‘Whatever! Are you feeling better now?’
Shakul’s head came up. His nostrils quivered. ‘Horse. Skins,’ he said.
‘Soldiers?’
‘Same Skin Bloodshirt meet.’ He sniffed the air again. ‘One other. Female.’