Soren daxion's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

Soren stood at the lip of the gap. The roped line waited behind him, every traveler cinched waist to waist. River's voice came from the far side, thin and unsure. "Gap runs eight paces. Narrow ledge on this end." Soren tapped his staff into open air. Then he heard it. A dry rattle above, wings thin as glass slicing the wind. The creature had come back. The travelers stirred. Boots scraped. A woman whimpered. Soren knew the danger now was not the drop alone. If the winged thing spooked one roped man mid-crossing, that man would drag the whole file off the ledge. One slip. Everyone gone. "River," Soren called. "Where is it?" "Circling low. Left of you. It keeps looking at the crowd." River's spectacles caught the light as he leaned out over his journal, watching where Soren could not. Soren turned his head toward Garrett. The falconer stood near the middle of the line, hooded bird on his glove. Soren had won these travelers with warnings. Garrett held them with a raised voice and a bird's talons. Now Soren needed the bird itself. "Garrett. Loose your falcon. Send it at the thing." "That'll cost me the bird," Garrett said. "It'll cost us the line if you don't." Garrett swore. Then Soren heard the hood pull free and the jesses snap. The falcon left the glove with a hard beat of wings. River shouted the play. "It's climbing. Now it's chasing. The glass one's breaking off. It's turning away from us." "Cross," Soren said. "Now, while its eyes are elsewhere. River, count me." "One. Ledge holds." Soren stepped into the gap. His staff found stone. "Two. Steady left." He moved. The line moved with him, one slow body. "Three. Don't look up." A traveler behind him gasped but held. Soren felt the rope pull taut, then slack, then taut. "Four. Five. Almost." Above them the two winged shapes tangled and screamed. The glass creature dove after the falcon and drove it down the canyon. The travelers kept their feet. Soren counted with River, breath by breath. "Seven. Eight. Solid ground." His staff struck flat rock. He hauled himself onto the far ledge and dragged the next man after him. One by one the line came across. Soren felt each pair of boots reach stone. He counted every soul off the rope. Not one had slipped. River stood beside him, journal clutched to his chest, hands shaking. "I called it wrong twice," the boy said. "You called it," Soren said. "That's the trail." Garrett came last across the gap. His glove was empty. He did not look at the sky. "Bird's gone," he said, flat. Soren gripped his staff. The gap was behind them. But the killing drops of the deep trail lay ahead, and now they had no eyes in the air at all.