Fall of a Kingdom (The Farsala Trilogy) (17 page)

“I don’t know what you mean, talk rock.” Soraya’s voice was rising. “I can’t climb down. You. Bring. Me. Down!”

His scowl this time was not from puzzlement. Some of the others were frowning too. “Not yell. Yell like jackal girl. Talk—”

“I can’t talk rock!” Soraya yelled. “I can’t climb down by myself. I need your help, you barbarian buffoon!”

He probably didn’t understand half of the words, but her meaning evidently got through.

“Rude,” he said clearly. Then he turned and walked back down the canyon the way he’d come.

The others followed. They moved swiftly, as silent as the ghosts they’d first seemed to be.

Soraya’s jaw dropped. “Wait a moment. Get
back
here, you stubborn spawn of Eblis. Come back! I
order
you to come back!”

They didn’t even turn their heads.

Soraya sank back onto the ledge, hissing with fury, groping for a rock to throw, but there was nothing larger than gravel.
How dare they!
When her father came for her, she’d tell him about this, and the whole Farsalan army would descend on the desert and wipe those insulting, arrogant savages from the face of the earth!

Except that her father had sworn never to take an army into the desert again.

Then she’d get the boy when he and his parents came to trade! He’d said he went with them. She’d circulate his description to every city, offer a reward…Except that she didn’t know how to describe him in a way that would differentiate him from any Suud boy in his teens.

Then she’d track him down herself! Hejir and his father and brother would find her and get her down. When she was warm and fed and rested, she would return. With weapons! And track him down and…

The fantasy kept her from crying, but eventually she had envisioned her tormentor’s destruction in all the ways she wished.

The moon was riding high now, but winter nights were long. And they were mostly dry here in the desert, though wishing for rain was silly no matter how thirsty she was. The Suud should have left her some water!

Soraya leaned forward and groped below the ledge, hoping to find some handhold she couldn’t see. She’d gotten herself up here, after all. There had to be a way to get down. But she found nothing within reach.

Soraya tried to find a way to climb up again—and failed. She tried stretching down with her toes, then rolled back onto the ledge, trembling, when her feet skidded and she almost fell. At least five yards high. Maybe more. She’d certainly break an ankle, even if she jumped into the sand. She’d be worse off helpless on the ground than she was up here.

Hejir could probably track her. She’d give them a day to find her before she tried anything as risky as jumping.

But that left the rest of the night and most of the next morning to wait. So she would wait. With dignity. And not cry. She started to wrap her vest around her knees again and then paused. Someone was coming up the canyon. Humming, though the tune was low-pitched and strange.

“Help!” Soraya called. “I’m up here.”

“I know.” It was a woman’s voice. “I come.”

The tribeswoman strolled up to the foot of the cliff below Soraya’s ledge and looked up. Her face was creased like a withered apple, and it wrinkled even further as she grinned. “You do have a problem, jackal girl.”

Soraya scowled. “The rude boy sent you, I see.”

“Abab? Rude? Maybe.” Her Faran was accented, but it was far better than the boy’s had been. Perhaps that was why they’d gone, to get someone who could translate.

“I can’t get down,” said Soraya. “I need a ladder.”

“Abab said ‘ladder.’ We not have one. So I come.” She laid her hands on the rock below the ledge and closed her eyes.

Soraya sighed. Of course they had no ladder—and probably no rope long enough to stretch from the top of the cliff, where it could be tied, to the canyon floor. Even Behras didn’t have that much rope, but the ladder that went to the barn loft was tall enough.

“I need to send a message,” said Soraya. “To my servants, so they can bring a ladder.”

“Silent,” said the old woman. “I am speaking.”

Soraya frowned. The woman hadn’t been speaking. Perhaps she meant she wished to speak now. Soraya waited, peering down. The old woman laid her weathered cheek against the rock and said nothing.

“Look, I just need some—”

“Silent. Shh.”

“Oh, very well.” Soraya leaned back. How like the rude boy to send her a woman so old that her mind was enfeebled. But at least she spoke decent Faran. When she stopped petting the rocks, Soraya could offer a reward to whoever would go to the croft and bring back her servants and a ladder. And perhaps they could bring a water-skin and some food as well. Soraya heard the snap of breaking rock and leaned forward to speak—then yelped and lurched back as the woman’s face appeared before her.

The woman smiled cheerfully and clambered onto the ledge to sit beside Soraya. The legs displayed by her short tunic were veined with age but firm and muscular. “There.” She pulled out a damp-looking, skin bag. “Thirsty?”

“Yes, thank you.” The water tasted leathery, but no worse than the water in her own flask would have tasted by now. Soraya hadn’t let herself realize how thirsty she was. She drank half of it before she stopped to breathe and ask the question: “How did you do that?”

“I climbed.” The woman shrugged. “Like you did. Ready to go now?”

“I can’t climb down.” Exhausted tears rose in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “There are no handholds….”

If there were no handholds, how had the old woman climbed up?

“I will help,” the woman offered. “Here.” She put the water-skin back in the pouch slung over her shoulder, turned, and crawled back off the ledge as easily as a lizard or a spider. As if she did it every day.

Her calm face vanished below the rim, and Soraya leaned forward to peer at her hands and feet. “How are you
doing
that?” There were no handholds under the woman’s fingers that she could see.

“Turn and give me your foot. I will show you.”

Remembering her near fall, Soraya hesitated. But if an old woman could do it…She turned and carefully reached down with her toe.

“Other foot.”

Soraya complied, and firm fingers gripped her ankle, pulling her leg slowly down till her foot touched a small chink in the rock. It didn’t feel big enough to support her, but somehow her toe stuck there, so when the woman took her other ankle and pulled it down, Soraya allowed her weight to slide slowly off the ledge. The first foothold held, and her other foot was guided to another cleft, which felt even smaller. But with the old woman’s hand on her ankle, her foot adhered.

“Very good.” The old woman climbed up so her body was between Soraya and the drop. What in Azura’s name was she using for handholds? “Now let this hand go.” She laid her small, rough-skinned palm over the back of Soraya’s hand till Soraya lifted it.

“Good. When I move foot down, hand to foot-place.”

“But…”

The woman was already descending, and Soraya felt her foot being pulled from the rock and slowly lowered. She drew a deep breath and let her body sink, groping for the chink her toes had occupied.

The woman guided her slowly down the cliff.
She must be the most skilled rock climber in the tribe,
Soraya realized, with the small fraction of her mind that wasn’t engaged in clinging desperately to the smooth stone. There were a few crevices, apparently, and the old woman found them all. Soraya was just imagining that at times there was nothing but the woman’s small hand bracing her foot on the rock. And when her palm was flat against the surface, with the woman’s on top of it, well, there had to be some sort of fissure under her fingers, or she would have fallen. Besides, those strange moments passed too quickly for her to be sure of anything; the climb down seemed to last forever, but in only moments her feet touched the canyon floor.

Soraya’s knees wobbled like wet leather. She stepped back and gazed up at the sheer wall below the ledge. She could see a few small holds, but not nearly enough. “How did you
do
that?” she repeated, turning to her rescuer.

Her father had scoffed at the tales that claimed the Suud were djinn or descended from them. He’d lived among them, and he said their only powers were their knowledge of the desert and their mastery of the skills they needed to survive there.

The woman grinned like a girl. “You climbed up. Why not climb down?”

“But…” It was true. So much for magical powers. Soraya took a deep breath and went to find her satchel. The jackals had been at it, eating her food, biting through her water-skin. And they’d fouled what they couldn’t eat. Soraya let the stinking thing drop. “Thank you.”

“Little trouble. More trouble to have you bringing jackals from all ends of the world to here.”

“I didn’t bring them,” said Soraya tartly. “They were here already.” She turned and started out of the canyon, toward the trail that led up the great cliff. She’d had enough of the badlands to last her for quite a while.

To her surprise, the woman followed. “I know, girl. I am…teasing? We just came here. Our hunters will thin that pack. More than ten is dangerous to the camp and to every hunter goes out.” She grinned again. “We will eat jackal for weeks. It tastes…” She grimaced, and Soraya laughed.

“It tastes musty,” Soraya said. “Or so I’ve been told.” At the moment she’d be delighted to eat jackals, no matter how they tasted. “You don’t have to come with me. I know the way.”

“Little trouble,” the woman repeated.

She escorted Soraya all the way to the top of the great cliff. Soraya watched her climb the trail, slowing her own pace when the woman fell behind. She walked up just like any other strong, elderly woman, doing nothing in the least bit odd. She was even a bit breathless when they reached the top.

“You’ll be well now,” she puffed. “Not so large a pack in the forests.”

“The sun will rise soon.” Soraya gestured to her white-skinned face. The cold breeze off the mountain snowfields ruffled the silky, pale hair. “Will you be all right?”

“Probably be back to camp in time,” said the woman. “If not, I have robe. Cloth thick enough.” She turned to go.

“If you come home with me,” said Soraya, “you can stay inside during the day. And I’ll reward you for your help.” What Golnar would think of a tribeswoman spending the day in her house was Golnar’s problem.

The woman just waved and walked on down the trail. She was surefooted, but not extraordinarily so. Ignoring Soraya’s wishes seemed to be a habit with the Suud, but that changed nothing. She would have to return to the desert after all. A deghass recognized a debt of honor.