Soren daxion's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The chapel path lay behind them. Ahead, the high trail narrowed to a ledge carved in the cliff face. Soren stood at the mouth of it. He heard the drop before he felt it, wind rising cold from below. River had proved his eyes on soft ground. Now River walked ahead, and Soren would follow by voice alone. But the travelers had bunched close at his back, all of them talking at once about the schedule and the view. Soren raised his staff. "Quiet. Single file. My guide calls the trail. If you drown him out, you fall." A man laughed. Boots scuffed. Someone pushed forward to see the canyon. River's soft voice came from ahead. "Ledge tightens. Step left." Soren strained to catch it under the chatter. He stepped left. His staff found empty air on the right. He froze. "Louder, boy," Soren called. "I'm trying," River said. "They won't stop." Garrett Hawthorne shoved through the crowd. His hooded falcon shifted on his glove. "You heard him," the falconer barked. "Shut your mouths or die on this rock." The travelers went still. Soren had won them with warnings. Garrett held them with a raised voice and a bird's talons. Then a woman near the back gasped. Something flashed off the cliff below. Wings caught the light, thin as glass, and a lean creature rose on the wind. It hung level with the ledge. The travelers pressed back against the wall, and the crowd surged tight again. "Don't move toward it!" Soren shouted. But feet shuffled. He heard a pack scrape stone. He heard a boot slide. "Left, hard left, now!" River cried. Soren lunged. His hand closed on a sleeve. A young man had stumbled toward the drop, staring at the glass wings. Soren hauled him inward. The man's heel knocked loose a stone. It fell and made no sound Soren could hear. "Rope," Soren said. "Garrett. Tie the line." Garrett pulled the coil of braided rope from Soren's pack. The rope ran long and unbroken. Garrett looped it through the whole file, waist to waist, and cinched each traveler tight. Now no one could drift. Now if one slipped, the line held. The winged creature lifted higher and slid away over the canyon. Soren felt the crowd breathe. He tapped his staff along the ledge. "River. Call it slow. One step, then the next." "Ledge holds for ten paces," River said, clear now in the quiet. "Then a gap. I'll count you across." Soren moved. Behind him the roped line moved as one body. No shove, no scramble. He had feared the crowd would take one of them. He had kept every soul on the rock. But the far side of the gap was where the real killing drop began. Soren heard River's voice waver on the count. The boy had never crossed a gap this wide. Neither had these travelers, tied now to each other and to Soren's failing ears.