All Who Wander Are Lost (An Icarus Fell Novel) (28 page)

“
I
can’t stay here.”

Her words echoed
into the abyss, smothered by the mist, and she chastised herself
silently for not being more careful. She didn’t know if the
demon thought her dead or alive—best not to announce the
truth.

Slowly, she pulled
the fingers of her right hand free, reached as high as she could,
then rammed them against the rock. They sank in half-an-inch—enough
of a hold to inch herself up. She repeated the procedure with her
left foot, then her left hand. Each impact sent a jolt of pain along
her arm, her leg. The gash in her thigh screamed in protest, but all
of it was nothing compared to what Abaddon would do to her if he
found her clinging defenseless to the cliff face.

Inch by inch she
made her way up the cliff, concentrating on each handhold, each foot
placement. When she looked up again, she saw she’d cleared the
mist and the edge of the canyon taunted high above with nothing but
the cloud-covered sky beyond it. The odd perspective made it seem
like the climb would go on forever.

Right hand. Left
foot. Left hand. Right foot.

Poe focused on the
movements, struggling to put the consequences of slipping, of losing
her grip and plummeting into the abyss, out of her mind. Sweat ran
down her forehead, sticking her blond hair to her face, stinging her
eyes. She craned her neck to wipe her eyes on her shoulder and felt
her hold slip. The jolt froze her, sent adrenaline coursing through
her veins. She hugged the cliff face, breathing heavily from the
scare, then directed her attention back to the climb, ignoring the
sweat irritating her eyes.

It seemed like a
very long time before she’d drawn herself to within ten feet
of the edge, the effort twisting all her muscles into granny knots.

Right hand.

She went to remove
her fingers from the furrow they’d created but nothing
happened. Again. Her elbow quivered; her hand and fingers didn’t
move. She tried her left hand with the same result. Her head lolled
back, staring at the end of her climb so enticingly close, and a
knot clogged her throat. She swallowed hard hoping to swallow the
panic, the desperation, and breathed a shuddering breath through her
mouth.

A screech rose out
of the mist far below. Poe looked down between her feet and saw
nothing but the fog. A wave of vertigo tilted her head and canted
her gut forcing her to look back to the edge of the cliff above and
the sky overhead. She willed her hands to move again, her feet, but
they remained stationary, revolting against her wishes with the end
so near.

She needed help.

“
Trevor.”

The word might have
been whispered by a bullfrog. She swallowed what little saliva her
mouth mustered in an attempt to lubricate a throat gone dry with
effort and fear, coughed to clear it like an opera singer preparing
to belt out an aria.

“
Trevor.”

Louder but still
meek. No answer floated down from on high, no promise of help or
salvation, no cry of surprise or concern. Poe rested her forehead
against the rock wall, felt the hardness of it press directly on her
brain.

I have to get
out.

The screech again,
but she didn’t bother attempting to look. Her fatigued arms
wouldn’t go any further, though she thought her fingers would
gladly let go and revel in the relief as she fell to her ultimate
death or whatever waited in the mist.

She breathed deep
and shifted her weight as far to the left as she dared. Her muscles
screamed, but the action brought a crumb of respite to their
right-hand counterparts. If she held herself like this long enough,
maybe she’d be able to continue, maybe she’d be able to
climb the last few feet.

As she controlled
her breathing, something struck the top if her head, something small
and light. She ignored it.

My imagination.

When it happened
again, she couldn’t disregard it.

“
Trevor?”

She shifted her
weight to look up and the muscles on her right side, moments away
from finding enough reserve to continue, failed her. Her foot
slipped first, her hand followed close behind. Her right side swung
away from the cliff and she instinctively gripped tighter with her
left. Searing pain shot through her left shoulder into her chest as
she struggled to right herself. She saw the edge of the cliff above:
still nothing.

“
Trevor!”

She heard the chant
begin first, quiet and tentative, growing as more voices added
themselves.

“
P.”

“
Oh.”

“
P.”

“
Oh.”

The first gray face
peered over the edge a few seconds later, then others gathered
beside it. They stared blankly, thin lips moving with each syllable
of their chant.

“
P.”

“
Oh.”

“
P.”

“
Oh.”

“
Help,”
she whispered in response. “Please help me.”

Two of the damned
looked at each other, a cursed expression of questioning passing
between them. One faced Poe and reached out a bone-thin arm, its
long fingers stretching out. The attempt fell well short, though she
doubted her ability to grasp it, anyway. She tried to right herself,
dig the fingers of her right hand back into the stone wall, but the
muscles in her arm refused her request.

The fingers of her
left hand slipped out a quarter-inch.

Her useless right
hand pawed the cliff face, the numb tips of her fingers brushing the
indentations they’d previously made but finding no purchase.
She settled her right foot back into a divot in the wall and a knot
in her calf squealed its protest.

Above her, the soul
which had been reaching out, attempting to help, dangled its legs
over the side, its waist bent over the edge.

Not close enough.

It let itself down
further until it hung from its fingers, stretched to its full
height. Poe looked up at the bottom of its bare feet stained orange
by its accursed march across the plains of Hell. She threw her limp
arm toward it, missed by a yard.

With a jerk, the
damned one moved closer by six inches. The movement startled Poe and
her right foot slipped again, but she recovered, the knot in her
calf feeling as though it would tear muscle from bone. Carefully she
shifted to see past the pendulous soul. The second one had lowered
it over the edge by the chain which bound them together. Poe saw the
shackles digging into its wrists, shredding the flesh beneath the
iron band. No blood flowed from the wound.

A warmth flowed
through Poe, giving energy to her fatigued limbs, and she recognized
the feeling as hope. Her would-be rescuer jerked down again, inches
closer. She reached up, swiped at its foot. Her fingertips brushed
the orange-tinted skin.

Somewhere below, an
angry shriek echoed up out of the chasm.

The urge to look
down, to seek the source of the screech, nearly made Poe shift her
position again, but at the last second, she remembered the results
of the last time she’d attempted it. Instead, she concentrated
on those above her and their attempt to save her.

How do they know
me? Why would they save me?

She didn’t
have the answers, truthfully didn’t care right in that moment,
but they served to distract her when a second howl reverberated up
the walls of the canyon.

The second soul
lowered itself over the side. The first jolted down three more feet,
its knees coming even with Poe’s eyes. She threw her arm up a
third time, hand slapping against the soul’s loose, gray
flesh. Her fingers slid off without grasping. She did it again,
concentrating all her will on her fingers, on being able to grab on.
Flesh clapped against flesh, her fingers twitched but her energy,
her strength, failed her.

The chains rattled
and the soul plummeted another four feet, its slack face now even
with Poe’s. She looked into its bottomless eyes and saw the
misery churning in them, felt some of the pain and hopelessness this
one-time person must deal with for the rest of eternity.

“
P,”
it intoned.

“
Oh,”
the one dangling above added.

She smiled.

A sound like a
sheet flapping on a clothes line on a blustery spring day sounded
and a whoosh of air engulfed her. She wrenched around instinctively
and saw the black shape shoot past, headed for the sky, when her
hold on the cliff face gave way. Poe tumbled backwards.

So close. So
close to making it.

And she fell into
the damned soul’s arms.

She hung limply in
its grasp, cold radiating from it like its insides housed a million
ice cubes. Relief flooded her, though she wanted to wriggle out of
its grasp, get free from the icy, dead grip, but she let herself be
saved.

Her shoulder
scraped painfully against the jagged edge as they pulled her over.
The gash in her thigh, almost scabbed over while she clung
desperately to the rock face, reopened and started bleeding anew. A
second later, she lay on solid ground, safe.

Safe from the fall.

The souls who saved
her and their compatriots—it looked like hundreds of them
crowded around to see her—backed away a few steps, giving her
space to breathe, recover. She raised her head off the ground,
pebbles and sand sticking to her cheek, but didn’t have the
strength to hold it up.

“
Thank
you,” she said as her head sank back down to the orangey dirt.

“
P.”

“
Oh.”

The crowd of souls
got through one verse of the chant before the demon landed on the
ground between them and Poe. The earth shook as its talon feet
struck, its wings flapped giving it balance and kicking up a tumult
of dust into the air. It leaned forward on all fours and bellowed at
the damned. They backed away a few steps, cowering, then the beast
turned toward the collapsed guardian angel.

Poe blinked the
dust out of her eyes, struggled to get her arms moving, to push
herself to a sitting position, then to her feet to defend herself.
All the aches and pains, knots and wounds protested collectively and
she fell back.

The demon stalked
toward her, covering the space between them in two steps. It leered
down at her, huffing hatred through its flapped nostrils, saliva
dripping off its double row of picket fence teeth. A split tongue
flicked out and brushed Poe’s cheek, tasting her sweat, and
she cringed.

I’m so
sorry, Trevor. Sorry, Icarus.

The beast reared
up, wings spread for balance, and put the talon of one foot against
Poe’s throat. It threw its head back and screamed a victory
cry toward the swirling sky, then glared back down at her. She swore
the demon smiled.