He finally stopped when his guts threatened to throw up most of what he had drunk, closing his mouth and flattening himself against the cliff to avoid the continuing torrent of blood. After a few moments to recover his strength he eased himself back and concentrated his gaze on the crack in the rock just below his now-benumbed hand. He tried using just a small amount of Black to begin with, seeking to widen the crack just a little. The rock, however, proved unyielding and his efforts produced only a few flakes of displaced stone. Clay steeled himself against a new wave of fear and prepared to unleash half the Black in a single blast. It’s this or a long drop into nothing.
The result was immediate, the fissure widening by a foot as a cloud of splintered rock erupted around him with a crack like the snapping of a giant’s thigh-bone. The thin slab of stone came away from the cliff so fast it nearly proved fatal. Clay had no time to think, letting go of the slab as it came loose for just an instant as he reached out to grab it with the Black, then scrabbling to regain purchase as it hung in mid air. He held on with a light grip, uncertain of how the Black would affect an object subject to direct contact. He lessened the flow of Black, utilising every scrap of skill he had to concentrate the power on the centre of the slab then shifting his weight so that it slowly began to revolve. Sweat poured into his eyes as he fought to maintain the intense pitch of concentration needed to keep the slab horizontal. His body ached in protest as he slowly got to his feet, allowing himself a small grin of triumph. He was standing on a free-floating platform, a feat never before accomplished by another Blood-blessed, at least as far as he knew.
He looked up, finding the rope still out of reach. He tried using Black to elevate the slab to the required height but it gave an alarming shudder when he made the attempt. Must be too close to it, he realised. Well that’s a quandary. It took a few moments pondering before the solution occurred, whereupon he crouched as low as he dared and jumped straight up, using Black to raise the slab to meet his feet before he descended. He had only ascended about a foot but it was better than nothing. Repeated jumps brought the end of the rope within reach, but he kept going for as long as the Black would allow, wary of grasping the blood-slicked lower end. Finally, as he felt the last vestiges of Black fade from his veins, he took a final jump and gripped the unbloodied stretch of rope just above the drake’s headless corpse.
He watched the displaced slab of cliff tumble away below to shatter on the shingle beach, hearing the dim cheers of his companions above.
“Just hang on, cuz!” Loriabeth called to him. “We’ll haul you the rest of the way.”
“Wait!” he yelled back, turning to the dead Black. Riches not to be ignored. “Got something to do first!”
? ? ?
The Black’s corpse lay on a broad ledge protruding from a deep cave in the stone. Recalling Skaggerhill’s lessons, Clay punctured the vein at the join of the animal’s neck and filled his canteen with the resulting torrent of product. Foul as it tasted, it was clearly a potent brew. Once full, he stoppered the canteen and began to reach for the rope once more, then found his gaze lingering on the dark interior of the cave.
Don’t, he cautioned himself, nevertheless stepping closer to peer into the inviting gloom. “Dammit,” he muttered, crouching at the cave mouth and knowing he would crawl inside. “A curious nature is surely the worst vice.”
The interior of the cave was musty and remained a gloomy mystery until his eyes adjusted. A part-eaten animal of some kind lay in the centre of the cave. Clay thought it might be a cat from the blood-matted fur, but the mutilation was such he couldn’t be sure. Beyond it he could see a small patch of light glimmering on something. Stepping over the unfortunate creature, he drew up short at the sight of an egg sitting atop a pile of fused animal bones.
Guess that’s why she was so unwelcoming, he thought, sinking to his haunches and reaching out to smooth a hand over the egg. Sorry young ’un. Mama’s gone, and it’s my fault.
The sharp jab of regret was unexpected, Loriabeth hadn’t had any choice after all. But still, his brief if tenuous connection with Lutharon, and the drake memories Ethelynne had shared with him back in the ruined city, left him with a new appreciation for the true nature of these animals. The Blacks, he knew, were not like the others. They feel, they think. If the evidence found in the temple was to be believed there had been a time when the original Arradsians lived in harmony with the Blacks. Whilst all we’ve ever done is kill them.
He took the egg on impulse, finding it weighing only a half-pound or so. An idea had begun to worm its way into the forefront of his thoughts, a notion stoked by his remembrance of Ethelynne and what she had done to survive the Wittler Expedition all those years ago.
Making his way outside, he consigned the egg to his pack then once again removed the stopper from his canteen. “Don’t worry, young ’un,” he said, taking a hefty gulp and wincing at the taste. “Mama’s gonna make sure you get born after all.”
? ? ?
They made camp a short distance from the cliff-edge, clustering around a fire as the lights faded. They were once again in a forest, though less dense than the first one. The trees were more akin in form to the jungle giants Clay was familiar with, although, like the drakes, these appeared to be stunted cousins.
“Looks like Green country to me,” Loriabeth said as they made camp, eyeing the surrounding foliage with evident suspicion. “And you can bet there’ll be other Blacks about somewhere.”
Kriz tended to Clay’s injured hand as they shared the first watch. He found himself blinking tears and swallowing profanity as she bathed the various small wounds with diluted Green. Seeing his discomfort, she took a vial from one of the pockets on her belt and loaded it into her needle gun. “This help,” she said, pressing the muzzle to his neck and pressing the trigger to inject the substance. Clay gave a gasp of surprise as the pain abruptly vanished, the sensation transforming into a faint and not unpleasant tingle. Kriz completed her work by taking small bandages from her pack and fixing them over the ends of his two most badly damaged fingers.
“Well, that’s surely something,” he said, flexing the fingers and marvelling at the lack of pain. Whatever she had given him didn’t seem to impair his senses the way laudanum or poppy paste might. “Guns and medicine of marvellous design. And all this.” He gestured at their surroundings. “Your people were kinda special, huh?”
Kriz gave a faint smile, her gaze full of the same fascination she had displayed since they hauled him to the top of the cliff. It was an unfamiliar expression, one Clay had never thought might be directed at him, so it took awhile to place it. Awe, he realised. And a touch of fear too.
“How?” she asked now, flattening one hand whilst she danced her fingers atop the palm, miming a recreation of him jumping and raising the slab.