Fool's Errand (26 page)

And then the avalanche was roaring over the crack through which she and Azriel had fallen, burying all but a sliver at the far end.

And then it was over and the world was plunged into deafening silence.

It was into this silence that Azriel called, “Cut the rope, wife! Save yourself!”

Persephone's arms were beginning to tremble so violently with the effort of holding both herself and Azriel up that she was barely able to gasp out, “Do … do you still have your axe and your knife?”

There was a pause—as though the handsome Gypsy believed she was about to tell him to cut the rope himself and was much dismayed by how readily she was agreeing to save herself at his expense. Then, cautiously, he said, “Y-y-yes, I still have my axe and knife …”

“
WELL, THEN, YOU GREAT USELESS OAF, USE THEM … TO CLIMB UP HERE … BEFORE MY DAGGER SLIPS … AND WE BOTH … GO PLUMMETING … TO OUR DEATHS
!” hollered Persephone in between gasps and grunts.

From somewhere below her dangling feet there came an offended huff. Then came the sound of metal biting into ice and then—mercifully!—the feel of the rope slackening. Without Azriel's dead weight dragging her down, Persephone was able to wriggle forward on her elbows, throw one leg up onto the narrow ledge and drag the rest of her body up after it. As she lay on her side gasping and trying to blink away the black spots that danced before her eyes, Azriel's knife hand rose up above the edge of the ledge and drove downward, halfburying the blade in the ice. There was a pause in which Persephone could hear Azriel breathing heavily. Then the top of his head appeared, then his very blue eyes. There was another pause and then, with a final grunt of effort, he heaved himself onto his elbows and scrambled up onto the ledge beside her. As he did so, his foot knocked a loose chunk of ice over the edge.

While Persephone struggled into a sitting position to make room for Azriel, she listened intently for the sound of the ice chunk hitting the bottom of the crevasse.

It never came.

“I had thought that binding my fortunes to yours would be a sacrifice on my part but it would appear that being bound to you has saved me in very truth,” said Azriel lightly, having obviously noted the lack of sound as well. When Persephone didn't reply, he tilted his head toward hers and murmured, “This is where you say that being bound to me saved you, as well, and that this knowledge—combined with the heightened physical awareness you are feeling on account of your most recent near-death experience—compels you to confess that when we get out of here you will finally be ready to beg me not to behave myself.”

Persephone smiled weakly but didn't say anything in response to this teasing reference to the words he'd spoken on their wedding night. Instead, she looked around the eerie blue dimness trying not to think about how very unlikely it was that they
would
get out of there. The narrow ledge on which they sat was twenty feet below the opening of the crevasse. The walls above it angled out over the bottomless abyss. The first fifteen feet were sheer ice; the last five were packed snow in which a climber might bury a knife or axe blade only to have it come away without warning.

And even if she or Azriel somehow managed to make it to the top of the crevasse without falling, the opening was entirely buried in snow except for a tiny crack at the far end that was all but unreachable from their current position.

Rescue was clearly their only hope—if, indeed, there was anyone left to rescue them.

Even as this occurred to her, Azriel cupped his gloved hands around his mouth and bellowed for Rachel, Fayla and Tiny. The sound of his voice ricocheted off the walls of the crevasse before eventually fading to silence, and although Persephone held her breath and listened with all her might, she heard no reply.

Indeed, from the world above she heard nothing at all.

Unwilling—for the moment—to consider the dread possibility that their companions had all perished in the avalanche (or afterward been turned into mincemeat by the panicked mother bear), Persephone turned her attention to her and Azriel's immediate survival. Their supplies were meagre. They had flints with which to start a fire but no fuel to feed it; they were surrounded by ice, but without a fire to melt it to water, it would not quench their thirst. They had food enough for two or three days—longer if they rationed carefully—but without a fire to keep them warm, they would most likely freeze to death long before they starved to death.

Or at least,
she
most likely would. For although she'd somehow found the strength to survive her “most recent near-death experience,” the sickness that had been steadily worsening since that morning had taken its toll. And Persephone knew from her time in the mines that the weak were always the first to go.

As if to punctuate this bleak thought, she felt something warm trickle out of her left nostril.

“I think my nose is bleeding again,” she said.

“Lie down,” said Azriel, shifting to make room for her to stretch out.

“No, that's okay,” she wheezed. “I'm—”

“Fine,” interrupted Azriel briskly. “Yes, I know—I can tell by the way you've been gasping, shivering, squinting, stumbling and bleeding without cause. Believe me, wife, I ask you to lie down not for your sake but for mine, for my lap is feeling uncomfortably chilled and I think that your head would be the very thing to warm it up.”

Though Persephone felt she ought to protest, her body was crashing so hard that she was unable to put forth more than a token effort. “Well, all right,” she mumbled. “But I feel it is my duty to warn you that this situation has the potential to cause irreparable harm to my womanly pride.”

“And if that happens, the consequences could be
truly dire?
” guessed Azriel with a smile.

“Exactly,” she said, with a smile of her own.

Neither of them said anything more as Azriel gently helped her remove her pack. Lying down, she put her head in his lap. Almost immediately after she'd done so, she was struck by a wave of exhaustion so powerful that she was unable to summon the energy required to swat away Azriel's hand when he insisted upon pinching her nostrils shut to stop the bleeding. Feeling helpless as a child, she simply lay there with her eyes closed and her head swimming. The warmth of Azriel's strong thigh beneath her neck was inexpressibly comforting, and when he stopped pinching her nostrils and began tenderly stroking her hair, she could not keep from sighing aloud. As she hovered in that shimmery in-between place between wakefulness and sleep, the thought that a near-death experience really
did
heighten one's physical awareness had just flitted through her mind when—

“
IS THERE ANYONE ALIVE DOWN THERE
?”

Heart leaping so hard that it took what was left of her breath away, Persephone's eyes flew open to the sight of Rachel's face peering down at her from the tiny crack that had escaped being buried in snow.

“You're
both
alive?” cried Rachel. “Oh, thank the
gods!
”

As she said this, a bit of snow fell from the spot directly beneath where she was standing.

“Careful!” panted Persephone as she laboriously manoeuvred herself into a sitting position. “For your own sake as well as for ours, you must be—”

“Rachel!” interrupted Azriel in a voice that was almost harsh. “Where are Tiny and Fayla?”

The joy that had thusfar lighted up Rachel's face fled instantly, leaving only troubled shadows behind. After a pause that spoke louder than words ever could, she swallowed hard and called, “I'm sorry, Azriel.”

There was another pause—this one of stunned disbelief. Then, in an incredulous voice, Azriel said, “What are you saying? Are you saying that they are
dead?
”

“I am saying that they are … nowhere,” replied Rachel lamely.

Persephone felt ill when she realized what her friend was too soft-hearted to say aloud: namely, that Fayla and Tiny had been swept away or buried alive. That they were dead, their bodies forever lost to the mountain.

“Oh, Azriel,” she murmured, tentatively touching his shoulder.

The grief-stricken Gypsy did not shrug off her comforting hand—but neither did he acknowledge it. Instead, in a painfully businesslike manner, he asked Rachel if she had any rope.

“No,” she replied.

“Neither do I—it slipped off my shoulder when I fell into the crevasse,” said Azriel. And then: “This is a problem.”

“It is, but don't worry,” said Rachel bravely. “I'll go for help.”

Azriel didn't say anything in response to this, and neither did Persephone. For all intents and purposes, Rachel was alone high on the mountain and night was falling fast. Even if she somehow made it down to the foothills in the darkness, she was miles from the nearest settlement. Even if she somehow reached it, it was unlikely that she'd be able to convince a complete stranger that a long-lost Erok princess was trapped in the heart of Khan territory and that he ought to risk his life to rescue her.

And even if she managed to do so, the chances were slim that Persephone, sick as she was, would be alive by the time help arrived.

Still, it was their only hope and Persephone knew there was nothing whatsoever to be gained by giving voice to her doubts. Therefore, instead of doing so, she merely suggested to Rachel that before leaving she mark the crevasse in some way, since shouting from below could not be relied upon as a means to guide would-be rescuers to the proper location.

“I'll mark it to be safe, but you needn't worry,” said Rachel. “Earlier, when Azriel was shouting, I heard him clear as a bell.”

“You did?” said Persephone in surprise. “Why didn't you call back?”

“The mother bear appeared to be trying to decide whether to take her baby back to her den or to eat me, and I thought it best not to start yelling just in case it annoyed her and tipped the balance in favour of eating me.”

Rachel sounded so earnest when she said this that in almost any other circumstance, Persephone would have smiled.

“A wise choice, I think,” was all she said now. “You'd better make haste, now, Rachel. Godspeed and good luck, and … if for some reason you don't return—”

“I will return.”

“I know you will, but if you don't—” “Goodbye, Princess. Be kind to your husband in his time of grief, and I will be back before you know it.”

After Rachel left, Persephone sat next to Azriel in awkward silence, wondering what she should do. She'd experienced the profound grief of sudden, catastrophic loss several times in her life, but she'd never known what it was to be comforted. All she knew for a certainty was that words and wishes could not bring back the lost and the dead.

At length, she did the only thing she could think to do, which was to reach out and touch his shoulder again. This time he briefly pressed his lips together in polite acknowledgment. Instead of making Persephone feel as though she'd done the right thing, his reaction made her feel as though her gesture had been woefully inadequate. And so, taking her courage into her hands, she unsteadily climbed over his outstretched legs, planted one knee on either side of them, sat down on his lap and, after a moment's hesitation, tentatively wrapped both arms around him. As soon as she did this, Azriel heaved a shuddering sigh and pulled her so close that as she lay against his chest feeling the beat of his heart against hers, she had a fair idea that she'd done the right thing, after all.

They survived the long, cold night by staying locked in this embrace that somehow felt more intimate than passion. When the thin light of dawn at last began to pervade the gloom of the crevasse, Azriel lightly brushed his lips against Persephone's forehead.

“Good morning, wife,” he whispered. “How do you feel?”

“Well enough,” she lied, hoping he wouldn't notice how much more laboured her breathing had become.

If he did notice, he didn't say anything. Instead, he leaned forward as though he meant to kiss her. Without thinking, Persephone tilted her head to meet him partway. Before their lips could meet, however, the crevasse darkened abruptly.

Frowning slightly, Persephone looked around to see Rachel's head in the crack above, half-blotting out the sunlight. Her heart sank at the sight, for though she was pleased to know that her friend yet lived, she was much disappointed by the fact that she'd not yet left to find help.

Before she could ask
why
she'd not yet done so, Rachel called out,

“Well, I have good news and bad news.”

Azriel sat up from his reclining position so fast that it made Persephone dizzy. “What is the good news?” he demanded, the hope that it concerned Fayla and Tiny fierce upon his handsome face.

“The good news is that I've found a way to get you out of there,” replied Rachel.

Azriel said nothing, only nodded as he slowly leaned back against the wall of the crevasse.