Ben looked out, over the sea and the sheer drop below. “You must be mad, Spenser,” he said aloud, and he was laughing at the thought as he ran two steps and threw himself off a cliff.
He landed hard in the air and pushed himself off right away. Don’t stop, don’t stop. Jonah was seated in a sort of niche in the cliff face, over the precipitous drop, beckoning. Ben ran towards him, and the wind caught him and sent him stumbling sideways. “Jesus,” he gasped, and suddenly, far too late, he was afraid.
“Here!” Jonah yelled.
The wind pushed at Ben again. He shoved back, desperate, and pounded towards the cliff face, heart tightening in sudden panic as the solid, precipitous stone wall loomed, but Jonah’s arms were out for him. He ran towards those in a choking frenzy of fear and disbelief, and landed on stone, knee first, and Jonah’s arms were round him, dragging him to safety.
“Hey. Ben?”
Ben’s heart was thumping wildly, but he was on a solid surface, and Jonah was there. He managed a breath. “Fine. Fine.”
“Head between your knees. Come on, don’t faint.”
“I’m not going to faint.” Ben took a deep breath, and released what he realised was a death grip on Jonah’s forearms. “That was a bit… The cliff is big.”
“It is,” Jonah agreed, with total seriousness, and Ben exhaled hard. He shuffled backwards—the indentation in the rock meant that the ledge was about three feet deep—rested his back cautiously on the rough stone, and looked out, feeling his heart rate slow.
There was nothing but the sea. They were on—under—a promontory, where the edge of the land jutted out, and if he looked straight ahead, there was nothing. No islands, no cliffs, no land. Just the sea, forever, dotted with the red sails of the fishing fleet against blue, like butterflies in the sky, and then nothing till the horizon.
“How far can you go?”
“It’s about thirty miles to France,” Jonah said thoughtfully. “I couldn’t do that without a rest. If I landed on a ship…”
“You’d startle sailors.”
“Perhaps they’d startle me.” Jonah gave a waggle of his eyebrows that made Ben snort. “No, that’s not something I’d want to try. Anyway, I don’t want to think about land. I like the endlessness.”
“Yes.” Ben gazed out. He had his knees pulled to his chest. Jonah had one leg dangling idly over the precipice. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“This. Making me fly.”
Jonah looked out at the waves, his face still. He was silent a moment longer, then said, softly, “I’ve never done it before.”
“What?”
“Shared it. Walked anyone else.”
“Really?” Ben said. “Hang on. You told me to run to you over a thirty-foot drop. That was the first time you’d done that?” His voice rose on the question.
“Oh, I was sure I could hold you.” Jonah spoke with utter confidence. “I windwalk, Ben, I manipulate the ether. I’m really quite good at it. I just never wanted to share it with anyone else till now.”
Ben watched a seagull circle by. He should, he supposed, be flattered, but…
“Why not? Why wouldn’t you share something so wonderful? Why would you keep that to yourself?”
Jonah shook his head. He was smiling, but there wasn’t any humour in it at all, and his gaze was fixed on the horizon.
“Jonah?” Ben felt a shiver of uncertainty at his bleak expression, coupled with the sudden awareness that he was, in fact, trapped on a remote cliff over the sea. “What is it?”
“I was twelve when my powers came in.” Jonah’s tone was distant. He still didn’t look at Ben. “It’s a funny thing, you know, the talent. It comes to you, out of nowhere. My family weren’t practitioners. I didn’t know anyone who was, and nobody knew me, and when my powers came in, they came fast. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know it was wrong.”
“Wrong?”