Rather than think about that, I concentrated on keeping my footing, and on my one-sided conversation with Killer. Neither went well. I couldn't go ten steps without my feet slipping from under me, and there are only so many absurd promises you can make to a horse. My body, already battered from riding, complained more with each step. My legs felt weak and elastic. I found myself remembering that moment of almost plunging to my death, and my head swam. Added to all those discomforts, the light was beginning to fade. The encroaching night played tricks with my eyes, and brought with it a ferocious cold.
I'd half convinced myself that the razor's edge path across the rock face would never end, so that when it did I halted in confusion. Saltlick, who'd been leading, had disappeared, seemingly into the stone itself. Only when Estrada followed did I see the narrow crevasse they'd entered. It was a sheer split in the mountain, reaching down from high above. It was almost like an open doorway, and the sense of boundary made me nervous.
Weariness had just about worn through the last of my courage. I thought seriously of leaving the giantstone there on the path in the hope that one of Moaradrid's men would find it — or perhaps trip over it and break his neck.
"Hurry up," called Estrada. "We're out of the wind here."
"Come on, Killer," I muttered, "nearly at the magic castle of hay."
The region beyond the gap was surprisingly spacious, a wide hollow between two slanting planes that tilted together to almost meet far above. It was like a tent of rock, and as Estrada had said, it cut off the worst of the wind. The change in temperature was dramatic.
Saltlick stood in the gloom at the far end. The chasm narrowed beyond him, and curved steeply upward. That must be the next leg of the path, though it looked even less deserving of the term than the route by which we'd arrived. The idea of attempting it made my legs turn to jelly, from my thighs to the tips of my toes. The still-rational part of my brain reminded me that Moaradrid's men must be less than an hour behind us. The remainder, numb with weariness, pointed out how little I cared.
"We'll have to leave the horses here," Estrada said.
Leave Killer? Was she serious? "They can't get down on their own."
"Of course not. But we can't take them any further. If we make it we'll come back for them."
"And if we don't?"
Estrada sighed. "Then it's not going to make any difference, is it?"
It was hard to fault her logic, especially with my brain melting from exhaustion. "Maybe we should take a minute to think about it."
"We don't have a minute. Be reasonable, Damasco."
"Reasonable?" The word came out as a sob. "What's reasonable? We've been on the run all day and I can't keep going! My legs won't work. I'm not made for heroics, Estrada. Please, just let me rest for a little while."
I expected her to shout at me, to accuse me of selfishness and cowardice. I expected an argument. What I didn't expect was for Saltlick to reply before she could. "Saltlick carry." The words rolled out of the shadows, tolled back and forth between the crevasse walls. "Go home."
"What?"
"Saltlick carry." He stepped into the thin streak of light from the fissure far above. Kneeling, he cupped his arms together, hand locked to hand to form a sort of cradle.
"You're joking."
"Carry. Not tired. Go home."
It was as many words as I'd ever heard Saltlick string together. There was a new tone to his voice too; even his monosyllabic grammar couldn't disguise the note of longing. I wanted to tell him it was all right, that I could go on. The truth was, I couldn't. I'd meant what I said. I felt as though the muscles in my calves and thighs were dissolving like ice in a fire.
"All right."
I moved nearer, let him scoop me off the ground. I thought I'd be embarrassed, but all I could feel as my feet left the earth was relief. I let my eyes slide closed, and soft blackness wrapped around me.
"Damasco, you can't… I mean…"
I felt Saltlick straighten up. He held me as carefully as any mother ever had her baby.
"It's okay," I murmured. "Just for a little while. Then it's your turn, promise."
"It isn't that. You'll wear him out."
I let my body go loose when he began to move, let myself bounce along with his steps.
"It's really okay."
"Damasco…"
I woke to a velvet sky splashed with shimmering, fluid stars.
The moon was gibbous, almost full, shining brightly through shreds of cloud. The rock stood out like alabaster beneath its light, glowing faintly, seeming slightly unreal. There was no transition from sleep to wakefulness, and no hint of what had roused me. I had the vague memory of deep, dreamless sleep. My nostrils filled with a musky scent like damp, warm straw, and I breathed in deeply, until I realised it was the smell of unwashed giant.
I remembered where I was.
"Hey, hey… put me down, Saltlick."
Saltlick lurched to a halt, bent his knees, and set me on my feet.
"Better?"
I thought about it. I ached from head to toe, yet it was almost pleasant compared with the numbing weariness of before.
"I am. I can feel my feet again."
"Quiet, Damasco. They're close."
I barely recognised the voice as Estrada's. I stepped around Saltlick, saw her, and gasped. She was skeletal and deathly pale under the moonlight. I fell into step between them and said softly, "Saltlick, can you carry Estrada?"
"Yes. Go home."
"Easie, I don't need carrying."
"Then do it, Saltlick. As your chief, I command you — whatever she says or does."
"Damasco, you…"
Estrada hadn't time to finish her sentence before Saltlick swept her from the ground. She glared down at me and looked as though she'd try to struggle free.
"Listen to sense for once. He can manage."
"Not tired," agreed Saltlick. Though it couldn't possibly be true, he sounded as if he meant it.
"Easie," she murmured.
"Quiet."
And for once, she was. I held a hand near her face and felt gentle, regular sighs of breath. She was fast asleep.
"All right, Saltlick," I whispered, "let's get going."
Estrada and I swapped places twice through that interminable night, one carried while the other clambered up the rock-strewn trail. At least, I assumed there was a trail. I saw no sign of one, but Saltlick seemed to be guided by something. I followed in his footsteps as well as I could. Whenever I diverged even slightly I'd trip over some obstruction or slip on a loose patch of ground.
My first shift on foot ran to around midnight. I remember the moon hanging directly above me like a pendulum, fat and heavy, ready to fall at any moment. Saltlick clambering over a particularly awkward outcrop roused Estrada, and she insisted we change places.
My second shift began a little before sunrise. I woke, saw Estrada labouring beside Saltlick and was overcome with guilt. I'd already regretted my nobility by the time we'd swapped places, but it was too late. Estrada was fast asleep in Saltlick's arms and I was stumbling around boulders beneath the flush of a new day.
It was a glorious dawn, the sky streaked with shades of crimson and orange and bright, brittle pink. It was spoiled only by the crawling black dots far below that represented Moaradrid's men. They were still on our trail. But they were no nearer. Thanks to Saltlick, we'd kept our lead through the night.
If the three of us might not be good for much, we were good at surviving. When Saltlick chose that moment to point with his free hand to a gap in the peaks above and whisper, "Home," I couldn't help but laugh aloud. Against all the odds, through everything Moaradrid and fate had conspired to hurl at us, we'd made it.
That final stretch of mountainside was almost a pleasure. It was as hard as everything that had gone before, and worse for the fact that I could see now how broken the terrain I clambered over was. Yet what did it matter? I'd kept a promise for the first time in my life. It was a good promi
se and I hadn't broken it. That victory seemed more important to my giddy, sleep-starved brain than the ferocious battle in the valley ever had. I scrambled with gusto, smiling to think of Moaradrid's thugs suffering below. They had no giant to help them, no small triumphs to keep them going.
For the longest while we clambered up wide steps littered with splintered chunks of rock. Then near the summit, those gave way to a wide slope of pebbles and loose shale. If there was the faintest suggestion of a path, it was no less treacherous than the rest of the climb had been. I tripped frequently, only saving myself each time by driving my fingers up to the knuckles into the scree. Even Saltlick, who so far had managed to compensate for the loss of his hands with sheer strength, began to struggle. Estrada gurgled unhappily in his arms whenever he slipped.
The opening was tantalisingly close. Estrada stirred and mumbled something. It seemed a shame for her to sleep through Saltlick's homecoming.
"Wake up," I called. "We're almost there."
She shook her head and wriggled, forcing Saltlick to set her on her feet. She stared around, rubbing her eyes, clearly not quite awake.
"What? Where are we?"
I pointed.
She followed my finger, looked drowsily at Saltlick and back to me. Then her eyes widened, as realisation dawned.
"Oh! Is that it?"
I nodded, grinning hugely.
"Way home," agreed Saltlick.
Estrada gazed back in the direction we'd come from, to the indistinct, dark shapes that represented our pursuers.
She smiled, and the smile widened and ended in a ringing, bright laugh. "We did it. After everything…" The smile flickered, and was gone. "Everything that's happened."
I could practically see the memories parading behind her eyes: that first, hideous battle all those days ago, Panchetto's death, the fight in the canyon and Alvantes's terrible injury. But there was nothing there that could be changed now, and nothing I was about to let spoil my good mood.
I punched Saltlick on the thigh, and said, "Come on. Lead the way."
Saltlick, perhaps following the situation for once, set off hurriedly towards the gap above. I fell in behind, taking more care, and after the slightest hesitation Estrada moved to join me. By the time we'd caught up, he'd come to a halt on the narrow outcrop that topped the incline. Twin crags towered ahead of him like miniature mountain peaks. Between ran the narrow cleft of the opening, and beyond that…
I heard a choking sound, and realised it was me.
" You can't be serious! "
CHAPTER 23
The gap between the crags ran for perhaps another twenty paces. Beyond that point the trail continued with only empty air to either side. It could optimistically be described as a bridge, albeit one crafted solely by the forces of nature, and then in one of her more capricious moods. Bridges, after all, were traditionally wider, and generally had something to stop a traveller being torn away by screaming winds and hurled into the void.
"You don't really think I'm crossing that?"
Saltlick looked at me questioningly. Then, apparently not seeing any reason for concern, he pointed to the far side.
"Home."
I gulped. I'd never been afraid of heights. I'd never been particularly afraid of bears either, but that didn't mean I'd wrap my head in fresh meat and thrust it into one's mouth. Knowing there was no going back didn't make the prospect any more appealing.
Estrada and I followed Saltlick as far as the end of the crevasse. He carried on without pause, as if there was no difference to walking between stone walls and terrifying expanses of emptiness. In less than a minute he'd reached the midpoint, where he paused to see if we were following. The bridge was so narrow that he barely had room to turn around, and his feet sent pebbles dancing off the edge.
It was only as I watched them fall that I understood where we'd come out. The span hung over a strip of broiling sea far below, which separated the mountainside we were on from the landmass towering ahead. That was the giant kingdom, hidden on a pinnacle all its own, held apart by this narrow causeway. It rose like the ramparts of some impossible fortress from a froth of white water, and behind, the ocean stretched crystal blue to the horizon.
"Follow?"
Saltlick's cry made the whole span tremble. "Keep your voice down!"
Cowed, he waved instead.
I looked to Estrada, vaguely hoping she would volunteer to go first. She merely stood watching me, arms crossed, a wicked smile playing over her lips.
"Fine. All right."
I closed my eyes, stepped forward.
Then I realised I was standing on a narrow band of rock over a chasm with my eyes closed, and hurriedly opened them again.
The wind wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Its constant push and tug was more unnerving than dangerous. The harder part was knowing where to look. At first, I focused on Saltlick. That meant I couldn't see where I was putting my feet. I looked down instead, saw how vast the difference between background and foreground was, and felt my legs turn to mush. I dropped to hands and knees, and panted icy air into my lungs.
The fear that an enthusiastic gust would tear me free soon overcame my giddiness. I fixed my gaze once more on Saltlick, who stood waiting now on the far side. I began moving again, this time letting my eyes drift slightly to keep myself on track. My pace would have shamed a baby, and only made the ordeal seem to go on forever. I dared a proper step. When I didn't tumble straight over the edge, I took another.
It was faster going after that. Still, by the time I rushed onto solid ground, Saltlick was staring at me as though I were insane. He'd lived all his life up here, no wonder he didn't grasp the concept of vertigo.
That thought brought another close behind it. "Are we there?"
Saltlick pointed. The opening at this side was wider, and its slight slant meant that only there, on the cusp of the bridge, could I see the gateway at its end. Where the walls ran almost sheer, a palisade of logs filled the gap. The fact that Saltlick seemed surprised by its presence suggested it was a new addition. Security had obviously gone up in priority since Moaradrid's visit.
I looked back and saw Estrada crossing the span. If she was even slightly nervous, she hid it well. She practically skipped across, and finished with a bow as she stepped onto solid ground. Ignoring my scowl, she pointed to the palisade and said, "Should we knock?"
In answer, Saltlick paced into the passage. Half way to the barricade, he cupped his hands around his mouth, and hollered. It sounded like a single word, but I couldn't quite make it out over the cascade of stones and loose dirt he'd shaken free.
"Keep it down, Saltlick!"
He ignored me, and howled again. The second time was even louder and just as incomprehensible. I cradled my head, expecting half the cliff to come tumbling down. Saltlick filled his lungs for another effort. Just in time, a voice called from beyond the palisade: two muffled syllables that sounded something like his name.
The logs swung back and up with a creak of straining timber. Two giants stood beyond, one struggling to knot a length of rope around a post driven into the ground. These two looked subtly different from Saltlick. They were smaller, their features weren't quite so coarse, and though their bodies were equally lumpy, they swelled in noticeably different places.
"Ohhh," I mumbled, as my brain struggled to fit the incompatible concepts of "giants" and "women" together.
"Shol Tchik!"
The giantess who wasn't busy keeping the gate open flung her broad arms around Saltlick, who looked both overjoyed and abashed. Releasing him, she rattled off a long sentence in incomprehensible giantish, clasped his hand in hers, and dragged him inside.
Estrada and I followed at a distance. Having just about come to terms with the shock of female giants, I could finally turn my attention to our surroundings.
One glance and my jaw fell open. Whatever I'd been expecting, this wasn't it.
As far as I could see, we were at one end of a bowlshaped plateau,
ringed on every side by low escarpments to form an immense natural arena. The ground sloped steadily down ahead, before rising to greater heights of mountainside at its distant far end.
None of that was so surprising. But the thick border of grass to either side, the line of trees that swayed ahead? Here the breeze, crisp to the point of chilliness just instants before, felt comfortably warm on my skin, and moist, almost clammy.
The dirt road we were following — which was more of a path by giant standards — descended from the gate, down a short embankment to meet the tree line. To either side I could see that planks had been laid, covering narrow crevices and punctures in the ground. The grass beside was wilted and brown and the air danced with heat-haze. I thought of the medicinal baths near my hometown of Conta Pelia, which drew from a spring heated deep beneath the ground and ran warm through even the harshest winters. Was there something similar beneath this plateau?
We passed through the edge of the woodland. The trees were vastly tall, bare-trunked for most of their height and then exploding into great canopies of fo liage at their peaks. They were widely spaced for the most part, spread like columns in a grand hall. Looking around to see if we were close to the giant settlement, I made another strange discovery: between many of the trees, huge banners of coarse fabric had been stretched from bole to bole. It reminded me a little of the streamers of drying cloth that dyers sometimes hung across the alleys of Muena Palaiya. Although they were all decorated to some degree, with swirls of symbols in various shades, I didn't think they were purely for show. Occasionally I saw one suspended lower than my head height, but most were so lofty that Saltlick could have easily stepped beneath them.
As we made our way deeper into the forest, Estrada and I hurrying to keep pace with Saltlick and our guide, I noticed more details. I saw how the banners would frequently meet to form a corner, or even a triangle or square, and how some of these shapes were topped with canopies of the same fabric hung taut between the trees. I realised that where crops were being grown — stands of green cane, a grain that looked like wheat but grew far taller, bushes laden with heavy purple and yellow fruits each as big as my head — the banners separated one from the other.
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