Tavi took one look at the thirty odd feet between him and the ground below, then reached a hand up, fumbling at Fade’s pack. He jerked the flap open and grabbed the first thing his fingers could reach, though all the squirming made him twist and spin on the rope. He squinted up as best he could and then flung it at the Marat above him.
Kitai let out a yelp and jerked back in a dodge. A hunk of cheese smacked into the stone beside the Marat’s head, clung for a moment, then dropped and fell toward the wax-covered ground below.
Kitai blinked at the cheese and then at Tavi, his face twisting into a scowl. Doroga hadn’t stopped lowering the rope, and so the cut the Marat had begun had already descended out of his reach. Kitai steadied himself against the cliff face, then reached out with his knife and began slicing at the rope again. “Foolish, Aleran. Kinder if you fell, broke a leg, and had to turn back rather than be devoured by the Keepers.”
Tavi scrambled in the pack and found cloth wrapped around several biscuits. He grabbed the first and hurled it at Kitai. “So I could be eaten by your people instead?”
Kitai scowled, not deterred this time. A biscuit bounced off his outstretched arm. “We would at least not eat you alive.”
“Stop that!” Tavi shouted. He threw another biscuit, to no effect. A thick strand of the braided rope parted with a whining snap, and Tavi’s heart lurched as the rope spun and swung from side to side. He glanced below him. Another twenty feet to ground. He’d never be able to fall that far without hurting himself, possibly too badly to continue.
Another strand parted, and Tavi swayed wildly back and forth, his heart hammering high in his throat.
Arms and legs shaking with excitement, Tavi took one last glance down (fifteen feet, or a little more?). He slipped his foot out of the loop at the bottom of the grey rope, and as quickly as he could, he slipped down the rope, gripping with his hands, and letting his legs swing below him. He reached the loop and with a gulp grasped onto it, letting his legs swing out far beneath him.
The rope parted with a snap. Tavi plummeted.
Between Doroga lowering the rope from above and the few feet he had gained by letting himself farther down the rope, the fall might have been little more than ten feet. Not much higher than the roof of the stables, and he had jumped from there several times—always into mounds of hay, true, but he had made the jump without fear. He tried to remember to keep his legs loose, to fall, roll if he possibly could.
The fall seemed to take forever, and when Tavi landed it was a shock to his ankles, knees, thighs, hips, back, all in rapid succession as he tumbled to the earth. He landed on one side, arms flailing wildly out and slapping down with him, and his breath exploded out from him in a rush. He lay for a moment without moving, dimly aware that he was on the ground, still clutching the loop in the end of the rope in his fist.
He regained his breath in a few moments, becoming aware of a couple of incongruous facts as he did. First, there was no snow, down here in the chasm. Of course, he had seen no snow from above, but the significance of it hadn’t quite registered on him until he reached the ground. It was warm. Humid. Nearly stifling. He sat up, slowly, pushing himself up with his hands.
The ground beneath him, or rather, the greenly luminous wax beneath his fingers felt pleasantly warm, and he let them rest against it for a moment, letting his chilled fingers recover from the cold wind that had frozen them on the way down from the top of the cliff. His ankles stung as though being prickled by thousands of tiny needles, but the sensation faded after a moment, leaving them feeling merely uncomfortable and sore.
Tavi gathered himself to his feet, the pack shifting about uncomfortably on his back, and squinted at his surroundings.
What was beautiful from high above was, once among it, disorienting and a little disturbing. The waxy growth, the croach, grew right up to the stone walls of the chasm and stopped there, but for one place he could see, where it had crept up the walls, evidently to engulf a lone and scraggly tree trying to grow from a crack in the stone. The luminous glow made shadows fall weirdly, with one engulfed tree casting several ghostly weak shadows on the glowing floor of the forest. Beneath the croach, the shadowy outlines of the trees themselves reminded Tavi uncomfortably of bones beneath flesh.
Tavi heard a scrabble on the wall and turned in time to see Kitai drop the last dozen feet to the floor of the forest, landing soundlessly, absorbing the shock of landing on both feet and on his arms, crouching for a moment on all fours, pale hair and opalescent eyes wild and greenish in the quiet light of the croach. His gaze darted left and right, wary, and his head tilted to one side, listening, focused on the lambent forest before him.
Tavi’s temper flared, fear and pain quickly becoming an outraged anger that made arms shake with the sudden need to avenge himself. He rose and stalked silently toward Kitai. Tavi tapped the Marat on the shoulder, and when Kitai turned toward him, he balled up his fist and drove it into the other boy’s ribs as hard as he could.
Kitai flinched, but didn’t move quickly enough to evade the blow. Tavi pressed his advantage, jerking the Marat’s arm away from his flank and punching him again in the same spot, as hard as he could. Kitai fumbled for his knife, and Tavi shoved him away as hard as he could, sending the other boy sprawling onto the glowing surface of the croach.
Kitai turned his opalescent eyes toward Tavi and pushed himself up with his hands. “Aleran,” he snarled, “my sire’s generosity is wasted on you. If you want a Trial of Blood, then—”
Kitai stopped abruptly, his eyes going wide.
Tavi, prepared to defend himself, blinked at the sudden change in the Marat. Gooseflesh rippled up his arms. Silent, he followed the Marat’s gaze down—to his own feet.
Some of the oozing green light of the croach seemed to have spilled onto Tavi’s boots. He frowned and peered closer. No. When he had landed, one of his heels must have driven into the croach and broken its surface like a crust of drying mud over a still-wet furrow. Whatever that glowing goo was within the wax, it had splashed droplets onto the leather. The droplets glowed, pale and green.
Tavi frowned and shook them off. He looked up to find Kitai still staring at him, eyes wide, his mouth open.
“What?” Tavi asked. “What is it?”
“Foolish Aleran,” Kitai hissed. “You have broken the croach. The Keepers will come.”
Tavi felt a chill roll over him. He swallowed. “Well I wouldn’t have fallen if someone hadn’t cut my rope.”