The Demigod Proving (63 page)

By the time he landed on the top-most level of boulders, with the cliff face sloping up ahead of him, a hundred feet above the base, Cuchorack and Athanaric had begun to scramble up the boulders below and to the left. The draegon's size made it easy for it to pull itself over the rocks without jumping. Above Wrend, a few small bushes of sage—some of it poison—and tenacious pinion trees grew out of the cliff face, but generally the slope consisted of small rocks and loose dirt.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he said.

“No,” she said. “Keep going. See, there?” she pointed up and to the right, at a ledge about forty feet up. “Aim there.”

She bent her legs, and with a swing of her arms ejected herself from the ground. She soared upward in a smooth curve to the outcropping, but right before she landed, her path veered backward as if she'd hit and bounced off of a wall. She cried out in surprise. It seemed she might miss, but then she surged forward, and her feet landed on the ledge. It looked too small for him to join her there.

She looked down at him, and motioned him upward.

“Come on.”

“Go on,” he shouted.

Cuchorack roared. The sound—so close now—pummeled his ears, and spooked him to jump. He hoped that by the time he reached the ledge, she would move on to the next one.

She did. He lifted into the air as she vacated the ledge, and he steered himself forward, adjusting the location of his Flux application. The wind whipped around him, jogging him one way and the other, surging away from the cliff as he approached the ledge. He applied Flux hard and fast.

Maybe too hard and fast.

His body and face slammed into the cliff. If he hadn't been applying so much Flux, he would have bounced back and off. Only another second of Flux application held himself against the cliff as he gained his feet. The dirt dug into his face and a rock poked his forehead. Below, Cuchorack gained the top-most level of boulders. Standing on its hind legs with its neck extended, it could probably almost reach the ledge where Wrend stood.

Leenda perched another thirty feet up, on another outcropping, and jumped again. She lifted off. Leaping, he steered himself upward and forward. This time the wind didn't fight him so much, and except for the difficulty of landing on a six-inch ledge, he made it without problem.

Below him, Cuchorack screeched.

“Wrend,” the Master said. “Come and face your punishment.”

Wrend kicked dirt down as he jumped for the next ledge. He glanced down as he rose. Cuchorack had begun to climb the slope, keeping its body tight against the ground. Its claws extended into the dirt as it stretched each leg and slammed the paws down. Athanaric lay low on its neck, his face turned up at Wrend. He was only fifty feet below, now.

Wrend landed on the next level up, which really only provided a few inches for his toes to find purchase, and fell against the slope—which wasn't much different than leaning against a wall. His blood thumped in his ears and he breathed hard. He couldn't bend his knees to jump again, or he would push himself off the cliff, so he turned sideways as best he could, so that he could crouch for his next leap.

“Keep coming,” Leenda shouted.

She stood on a jutting rock about a hundred feet up. Below, Cuchorack began to slide down the slope. Rocks and dirt tumbled around it. Athanaric's curses swirled in the wind.

Maybe they could do this. Maybe Cuchorack couldn't make it up.

Wrend jumped. He applied Flux in a surge, pushing himself upward faster. As he rose, he eased off on the Flux, so that he would almost coast to the correct height and could push himself onto the now-vacated ledge—except the wind that shoved him away was stronger than he expected, and his toes slipped away from the rock and his shins banged the front of the ledge.

He threw his arms out and caught himself.

The ground shook. Dirt rained around him from above. He looked down just in time to see Cuchorack push off and up from the cliff face in a mighty leap. Athanaric was having the draegon jump rather than climb, just like Wrend and Leenda jumped. Cuchorack beat its wings and strained its neck as it rose toward Wrend, and roared as it again hit the ground. More loose dirt fell away.

Another two leaps like that, and Cuchorack would have Wrend in its jaws.

Chapter 83: Unwilling to leave

Even when you know what you should do, it’s not always easy to do it. And that’s because chances are the right thing will involve some level of unpleasantness.

-Leenda

Leenda watched Wrend struggle to lift himself onto the ledge. She was two jumps ahead of him now. Only one below the top of the plateau. She probably could’ve climbed the entire plateau in just two or three jumps, but Wrend didn't have as much experience as her, and she didn't want to leave him behind.

Although she’d done exactly that. Just as she'd left Krack behind all those years before, now she'd left Wrend behind to make his own way up. But she could do nothing. She couldn't go back down because there simply wasn't enough room on any one ledge for them both to stand. She could apply Flux to help him, but it might throw his balance off completely and ruin his trajectory.

She could do nothing.

The draegon pushed off from the cliff again just as Wrend pulled himself onto the rock outcropping and found his feet.

She pointed down at the place she'd just jumped from.

“Jump there!”

He didn't take the time to even acknowledge her, but leapt. Cuchorack, wings flapping and legs clawing at the cliff face, landed with its foreclaws clutching onto a few larger rocks. It couldn't grip with its paws like a human could with fingers, but bent the paws near the joint, like a human's wrist. It roared, and Athanaric commanded it to jump, again. It did.

Wrend landed on the outcropping just thirty feet below her.

“Come on,” she said, motioning for him. There was enough room for them both here. The ledge was about a foot deep and three-feet wide—bigger than the others they'd used to climb.

“Go on!” he shouted.

The draegon hit the slope where Wrend had just jumped from. Its hind legs clawed at the ground, slipping over and over in a quest for purchase. Rocks and dirt rained down. It wrapped both forelegs around the rock and tucked its wings against its back. Athanaric looked up with concentration and murder in his eyes. Nearly three hundred feet below, the black boulders looked like little rocks.

“There's enough room,” she shouted to Wrend.

He shook his head. He didn't believe her. He couldn't see the space next to her.

The draegon lifted off, half scrambling, half flying up the slope as it spread its wings wide and flapped for the ledge Wrend stood on. Its legs clawed at the ground, pulling it upward. The shredded wing seemed to do nothing. It should have been impossible for it to lift so rapidly—unless Athanaric used Flux. She couldn't imagine the amount of Ichor it would take to even nudge the draegon, let alone steady and lift it.

Wrend looked down, and by the time he glanced back up at her, he'd already started to jump.

The draegon flew high enough that if it had used its horns, it probably would have skewered Wrend, but it didn't. Instead, it snapped at Wrend's legs. It missed only by inches as it slammed into the cliff and scrambled to dig its hind claws in. The muscles in its body pulled tight. From a wound in its side, salt drizzled out. Its forepaws wrapped around the lip Wrend had jumped from. Athanaric leaned low against the draegon, but also half stood, ready to leap off.

Wrend flew upward toward her, and she scooted as far to one side as she could, to give him as much room as possible.

But somehow he missed. He misjudged the distance or the strength of the wind. Or the edge of the lip was just a little looser than anticipated. Whatever the case, as had happened on the level below, the toes of his black boots slipped off the edge of the cliff, and he began to fall.

He reached out.

She threw her arms out.

Her hands wrapped around his forearms. With all of the Thew she could muster, she steeled herself against his weight. Her arms jerked taut and her back bent, but her fingers held true. His hands grasped her arms. He looked up at her with bulging eyes.

Cuchorack pushed off of his perch, and began to rise toward them, jaws wide in a roar, claws extended as it half-scrambled, half-flew up the cliff face. It tilted its head from side to side, scraping the dirt with its horns.

She pulled Wrend up, grunting. He swung one leg onto the ledge, released one of her arms, and grabbed the lip.

It didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to stand and jump in the time it would take Cuchorack and Athanaric to reach them. They were both going to die.

Or, she could let him go and jump. She could get to safety.

The thought hung there for an instant, dominating her mind and body. Everything disappeared except for that possibility.

She could let him go. She could get herself to safety.

Her heart revolted at the thought. She rejected it with prejudice. She pulled harder on Wrend, standing on her tip-toes to try and give him a little more lift. She couldn’t leave him. She’d done enough leaving.

From above them came a rush of wind and a deafening roar.

She knew that roar. She'd thought she would never hear it again.

A shadow fell over her as she looked up in time to see Krack come over the lip of the cliff, wings back, neck extended, and claws forward.

Chapter 84: It’s what a draegon does

Sometimes I have to wonder about my decision-making skills.

-Krack

As Krack peeked over the lip of the plateau, trying to avoid notice as his mother and father fled up the slope, with Athanaric and the husk of his father pursuing them, he realized that he had more to fear than just Athanaric.

That draegon was huge. Monstrous. With horns that curved down well past its mouth. Recently, he’d flown over a lake and looked down, admiring his own horns and how they’d grown. But those had been nothing compared to these ones. They'd been pretty little toys that a scaella baby could play with.

These—these were freakishly huge.

He pulled back from the edge and crouched, frozen on the brink. He had to do this. He'd returned to help his mother, as he'd foolishly promised he would. A draegon kept his promises. He sacrificed for others and took risks for them.

Stupid risks. Why had he promised her he would help her recover his father? What a ridiculous thing to do. He didn't even know the man. The weak, little human. Not even a draegon.

He could turn away. He could leave. No one would ever know he'd even come and then turned away.

No one but him.

He crouched there, the warm desert sun beating down on his back, the wind rippling through his fur. His legs trembled. He’d tensed them for a jump. His wings had spread some, ready to snap all the way open. His tail had arced upward.