The Eye of the Falcon (11 page)

At least—Hylas thought that was what it meant. If he was wrong, he was about to risk his life for nothing.

From his hiding place, the stream tumbled down a scree slope dotted with juniper bushes, and rushed past a corner of the sanctuary. There wasn't much cover, although at least the water might mask the sound of his approach.

And then what? Those walls were unclimbable, and the whole place was crawling with Crows.

As Hylas hesitated, he caught a bitter tang on the wind, and his belly tightened. Black smoke was rising from the roof of the sanctuary, and orange flames were flaring in the thatch.

If Pirra was inside, her time was running out.

The Crows were setting Taka Zimi on fire.

T
he crackle of flames grew louder, and smoke seeped into the cellar. Pirra's heart hammered in her chest. If she stayed down here, she would die.

The hatch above her head felt hot, and when she pushed, it didn't budge. She pushed harder. No use. She fought the urge to scream. She'd prayed to the Goddess to hide her—but whatever concealed the hatch was now shutting her in.

“Pirra, it's over!” Telamon's voice was muffled; he must have fled to the courtyard. “Tell me where you are and I'll save you!”

Pirra pictured him standing triumphant in the snow—and her panic turned to cold hard rage.
You'd like that, wouldn't you, Telamon? Then you could show me off as your captive and make all Keftiu bow before you. Well, I'm not some weasel in a hole, I'm the daughter of Yassassara—and I beg no man for help.

“Pirra, come out!” yelled Telamon. “It's not worth dying!”

Gritting her teeth, Pirra groped for the hammer and wedge she'd hidden near the water pipe. She would make one last attempt to dig herself out. She'd rather die trying than give in to the Crows.

The wedge was where she'd left it, stuck in the joint between two stones edging the hole. She hit the wedge as hard as she could, and one of the stones rocked. She struck again and again—kicked, pulled, hammered. Couldn't work it free.

“Pirra, this is madness!” shouted Telamon.

With rising panic, she kept going. Suddenly the stone moved by itself. Then someone yanked it out, a hand reached through and grabbed her wrist, and she heard a hoarse whisper. “Pirra! It's me!”

To Hylas' relief, Pirra didn't waste an instant asking how he'd found her. The Crows might appear at any moment.

The first stone had doubled the size of the hole, which made it easier to get at the next. In frantic silence they attacked it together, Hylas digging and levering with a stick, Pirra hammering from inside. At last the stone jolted free. With both feet, Hylas kicked in another one—and before he could help her, she'd wriggled through.

Seizing her hand, he half dragged her up the slope. The wind helped, hiding them in choking smoke as they scrambled from bush to bush. But it would hide the Crows too.

At last they reached the boulders below the waterfall, where Hylas had hidden to spy out the sanctuary. Pirra leaned against a rock, bent double, with her hands on her knees. For the first time, he got a good look at her. He was shocked. Her face was gray and painfully thin, with dark-blue shadows under her eyes. She didn't look strong enough to make it up to the ridge, let alone trek across a mountain.

“Are you all right?” he panted.

“No,” she snapped, suddenly a lot more like herself. “I've had fever, I'm weak as a cat. And I've lost my sealstone,” she added, staring in horror at a bloody scratch on her wrist.

He snorted. “Well, you can't go back for it now.”

“I know that,” she retorted.

He flashed her a grin—which she didn't return. It was taking all her resolve just to stay standing.

Below them, the roof of Taka Zimi collapsed with a crash, and orange flames shot skyward. Through the smoke, Hylas glimpsed warriors searching the ground near the walls. Soon they would find Pirra's escape hole and pick up their trail.

Hylas thought fast. Returning the way he'd come would mean a long, steep climb past the waterfall and onto the ridge. Even if Pirra managed it, she'd never outrun the Crows. There had to be another way . . .

“Let's go,” he said. “If we head down the other side of this slope, we'll come to a gorge. There's a bridge. When we're across, we'll cut it; that'll give us a good day's lead.”

Under cover of the smoke, they started off, stumbling between the pines toward where Hylas reckoned the gorge must be—although in this smoke, it was hard to tell. Trees and boulders loomed out of the haze, but no Crow warriors. Which didn't mean they weren't close behind.

To his relief, the pines thinned—and there was the gorge, with the bridge just a few paces away.

“That's not a bridge,” panted Pirra, “that's a rope!”

“It's a bridge,” said Hylas. “One for the feet, two for the hands. But we need to go barefoot.” Already he was yanking off his boots and tying them around his neck.

“I can't do it,” she said. “I—”

“You can. Quick, take off your boots and tie them round your neck.”

After an instant's hesitation, she did, although he could see that she didn't think she'd make it across.

“The trick is to keep moving,” he told her, “but don't rush and
don't
look down.”

The “bridge” was braided rawhide, lashed on this side to three wind-battered pines and on the other to a clump of sturdy oaks. It was maybe twenty paces long, and the drop to the bottom was stomach-churning. One wrong move and they'd be splattered all over the rocks.

“Will it take both our weights?” muttered Pirra.

“Yes,” said Hylas, although he was far from sure. Blessing Periphas for his gift of rope, he tied one end around his waist and the other around Pirra's, leaving a couple of arm-spans' slack between, so they could move independently.

Pirra was shaking her head. “If we're tied together and I fall, I'll take you with me.”

“No you won't, I'll hang on somehow.”

To prevent further protest, he grasped both hand ropes at shoulder height and stepped onto the footrope. All three were strung so taut that they barely sagged: thank the gods that these Keftians knew what they were doing.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he said over his shoulder, “and
don't look down
.”

The bridge held firm, but swayed alarmingly in the wind gusting up from below, and behind him Pirra wobbled so badly that she nearly tipped them both upside down. Somehow, they managed to keep going, and the oaks on the other side drew nearer.

Once, Hylas glanced around. Pirra's face was set, and she was staring fixedly over his shoulder. He didn't speak in case he put her off.

They were a few paces from safety when shouts rang out behind, and an arrow hissed past Hylas' ear. His mind reeled. High above the gorge, they were easy targets. Or maybe the Crows would cut the ropes and send them plummeting to their deaths.

The same thought had occurred to Pirra; the rope around his waist jerked as she halted, and he fought to stay upright. “Keep moving!” he told her. “We're nearly there!”

“It's no use running, Hylas!” shouted a voice behind him.

Now it was Hylas who lurched. That voice was Telamon's.

Over Pirra's head, Hylas glimpsed his erstwhile friend at the edge of the gorge, nocking another arrow to his bow. Warriors ran up to support him. Hylas quickened his pace, hating the fact that Pirra was behind him and he could do nothing to shield her from their arrows.

One struck an oak directly ahead; more bounced off the rocks. Hylas leaped for solid ground—staggered—then grabbed a branch of the oak and spun around to hold Pirra if she fell.

She was nearly at the edge, but now on the far side, Hylas saw Telamon shoulder his bow and start across the bridge. Hylas whipped out his axe to cut the footrope—but Pirra was still on it. “
Hurry!
” he urged her.

Her foot slipped. He pulled the rope taut about her waist as she fought to steady herself.

The wind whipped Telamon's long dark hair about his face, but still he came on. Then Kreon—
Kreon,
the tyrant of Thalakrea—moved right to the edge and drew back his bowstring to take aim at Pirra.

Suddenly a dark bolt hurtled out of the clouds and swept past Kreon's head. The Crow Chieftain faltered. So did Pirra. “
Echo,
” she cried. “You came back!”

“Pirra,
come on!
” yelled Hylas.

The next instant she staggered to safety—and Hylas brought down his axe on the footrope.

The rawhide resisted, but Telamon lurched and nearly fell.

“Telamon, turn back and get off the bridge!” warned Hylas. “I don't want to kill you, but I will if you take another step!”

Telamon took another step.

Hylas hacked at the rope. Telamon's face worked in fury, but he saw that Hylas meant it, and made his way back to solid ground. A heartbeat later, Hylas struck the rope and it snapped. With Crow arrows hissing and clattering around him, he used the oaks for cover and cut one of the hand ropes, then ran to help Pirra, who was sawing at the other with her knife.

On the far side of the gorge, Telamon lifted his sword to the sky. “You can't get away from me, Outsider!” he roared, his face twisted with rage. “I swear by the Angry Ones and by the dagger of Koronos that I will hunt you down, I will feed your carcass to the dogs!”

For a moment they faced each other across the void. Then Hylas cut the last rope and sent it hurtling into the gorge.

“W
ait,” panted Pirra, “I have to rest.”

“Just for a bit,” said Hylas. “Dark soon, we've got to find shelter.”

Wearily, she slumped onto a rock. Hylas was alarmed to see that her lips were tinged with blue. She couldn't go much farther.

They hadn't spoken since leaving the gorge. It had taken all their strength to scramble over boulder-strewn slopes and through snowbound forests, and now they were at the bottom of a wooded gully. Silent firs guarded a frozen stream, and the slopes were pocked with the dark mouths of caves.

There'd been no sign of the Crows, and Hylas guessed they must be at least a day behind. Unless of course they'd found another way down.

Leaning against a tree, he waited for Pirra to recover. She sat in a cloud of frosty breath, clutching her knees. They glanced at each other, then swiftly away, both aware of the months they'd spent apart and the weight of things unsaid.

“Better be going,” said Hylas.

Raising her head, Pirra gave him a level stare. “What are you doing on Keftiu? Why did you come and find me?”

“Pirra, not here, there isn't time—”

“I need to know.”

There was too much to say and he didn't know how, so instead he said, “Why are the Crows after you?”

She licked her lips. “They think I've got the dagger,” she said under her breath.

“
What?
But—I thought
they
did.”

She shook her head. “I brought it to Keftiu.”

He stared at her. “So—on Thalakrea when I put you on that ship—”

“Yes. I had it then.”

“Where is it now?”

“I hid it.”

“Where?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you really want me to tell you out here in the open, where anyone might be listening?”

She was right and he didn't press her; but as they headed off, he struggled to take it in.

Night gathered under the trees, and he started looking for a campsite. Pirra kept glancing expectantly at the sky, as if she was waiting for something to appear. He spotted a cave that might do. Telling her to wait, he climbed up to check it for bears.

At first the cave appeared promising, but as he crawled deeper, he felt the warning ache in his temple. At the corner of his vision, he glimpsed a shadowy man and woman. Their breath didn't smoke—because they
had
no breath—and around them swarmed a seething mass of Plague.

“That one's no good,” he told Pirra as he ran down to her. “We'll have to keep looking.”

“What's wrong with it? You've gone pale—”

“It's nothing, it's—it wasn't right.”

She shot him a puzzled glance, but didn't ask any more. Then she saw something over his shoulder and her face lit up. “
Echo!
” she cried. “You came back! You came back!”

Farther down the gully, Hylas made out the young falcon, perched on a rock by a clump of junipers.

“Echo!” Pirra called softly—and to Hylas' astonishment, the bird flew to her and landed on her wrist. “I kept calling her in my mind,” she told him. “I felt that she was coming, but I didn't know when. And look, she's found another cave.” She pointed to a patch of darkness behind the boulder that had been the falcon's perch.

“How do we know it's all right?” said Hylas.

“If Echo thinks it's all right,” said Pirra with startling confidence, “then it is.”

The cave turned out to be perfect: hidden and dry, with a fissure at the back, which meant they could risk a small fire. Hylas went to gather wood, and Pirra crawled inside and slumped with her head on her knees.

She was dizzy with fatigue and still shaky from the fever. She was also confused. Now that Echo had returned and they seemed to be safe for a while, she could allow herself to think about Hylas. All through the winter she'd been furious with him, but now . . . she didn't know what to feel.

And she dreaded telling him about Havoc. How was she going to break the news that his beloved lion cub had been lost in the Great Wave?

As if sensing her confusion, Echo ran toward her, her talons clicking on the rocks. With her forefinger, Pirra stroked the falcon's scaly yellow foot. “I'm so glad you came back,” she said softly. Echo took the toe of Pirra's boot in her beak and gave it a tug. Then she decided it wasn't worth eating and flew to the rock at the cave mouth, where she settled herself on one leg for a nap.

Pirra realized she was ravenous: She hadn't eaten since Taka Zimi. Rummaging in Hylas' food pouch, she found six wizened olives and a lump of sooty cheese the size of a goose's egg. She wolfed two olives, left three for him, and offered one to Echo—who just blinked at it, so Pirra ate it herself.

Hylas crawled in with an armful of firewood. Without looking at her, he started laying the fire. “Feeling better?” he said.

“Mm,” she lied. “I ate some of the olives.”

He nodded. “We'll split the rest when I've woken a fire. When the snow in the waterskin's melted, we'll have something to drink.” He was talking too much. Pirra wondered if, like her, he didn't know what to say.

She watched him strike sparks between two stones in a handful of bark. A tiny red flame flared, and he bent and blew on it softly to make it grow.

He'd changed since last summer. He was taller, and his shoulders were broader. His voice was deeper, which made him seem different from the boy she had known, and in his rough sheepskins, he looked startlingly foreign: more Akean than when she'd last seen him.

“Did you find your sister?” she said awkwardly.

“No,” he said, snapping sticks over his knee. “I heard—I heard your mother died. I'm sorry.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” she said curtly.

“Right.”

She was almost disappointed that he took her at her word. The harder she tried not to think about her mother, the more she did. Her feelings were a painful tangle of anger and loss. She wished Hylas would help her sort it out.

On her perch, Echo stretched out one wing and began preening with furious little beak-clickings.

“Does she need water?” Hylas said suddenly.

“She needs meat, but I don't think she knows how to hunt.”

“She doesn't. I saw her chase a baby crow and get mobbed by its parents.”

They exchanged tentative smiles.

Hylas described how he'd seen Echo wheeling over Taka Zimi. “That's how I knew you were there.”

Pirra went to the falcon and put out her finger. “Thank you, Echo,” she said. Echo gave her finger a gentle peck, then went back to tidying her feathers.

The fire crackled and warmth stole through the cave. They shared the cheese, and Hylas put a crumb at the foot of Echo's rock. The falcon shot him a wary glance, then surprised Pirra by hopping down and eating it.

“I didn't even know she liked cheese,” said Pirra with a twinge of jealousy.

“Tomorrow I'll see if I can catch her a mouse,” said Hylas. He asked how she'd met Echo, and she told him. Then she asked how he'd survived since Thalakrea, and he told her about roaming the Sea with a gang of escaped slaves.

“Do you miss them?” she said.

“I miss Periphas. But sometimes when I was with him, I almost forgot about Issi and you and Havoc. I hated that.”

At the mention of Havoc, Pirra's belly turned over. “Hylas . . .” she faltered. “About Havoc—”

“I wish she was here now. The last time I saw her was on the other side of the mountain, and—”

“She's
alive
?” cried Pirra, startling Echo. “I thought she'd drowned in the Great Wave!”

“It's because of Havoc I knew about the Crows,” said Hylas. “I pulled one of their arrows out of her shoulder.”

“They shot her? Is she all right?”

“I don't know. I wish I did.”

At the thought of the Crows, they fell silent, listening to the firs moaning in the night wind. In her head, Pirra saw Kreon's murderous glare as he took aim at her with his bow. She heard Telamon screaming his oath to hunt Hylas to the death.

“Do you miss your sealstone?” said Hylas, startling her. “You keep rubbing your wrist.”

“Oh. Well, I've had it since I was born, so it feels weird without it.”

She asked if he still had the lion claw she'd given him, and he drew it out on a thong from the neck of his jerkin. Then he asked if she had the knife he'd made for her.

“Um. No,” she said. “I chucked it overboard as the ship left Thalakrea.”

“Ah,” said Hylas.

“I threw away your falcon feather too.” She flicked him a glance. “Seven moons, Hylas. Seven moons shut up at Taka Zimi—because of you.”

He sat with his arms about his knees, scowling at the flames. Firelight glinted in his fair hair and lit the strong, bony planes of his face. “The last thing you said to me on Thalakrea,” he said, “is that you'd hate me forever.”

“You'd just bundled me onto a ship and sent me back to captivity.”

“I was trying to save you.”

“You didn't give me a choice, you decided for me.”

“There was no time! And when I put you on that ship, I had no idea Keftiu would suffer worst of all. I didn't know the Great Wave was going to happen, or the Plague.” He paused. “But you're right. It's my fault you were shut up at Taka Zimi. I'm sorry.”

Pirra stared at her boots. “Well, if it wasn't for you, I'd have burned to death or been caught by the Crows, so I'm glad you found me.”

She glanced up to find him watching her with an unreadable expression in his tawny eyes. “It's good to see you, Pirra,” he said quietly.

She flushed. “Is it?”

“Yes. It really is.”

Her flush deepened, and she sucked in her lips. “Well. It's good to see you too.”

Another silence.

A beetle had wobbled its way to the end of a stick and was in danger of falling into the fire. Hylas picked it up and set it down at a safe distance. Then he went off, muttering about fetching fir branches to sleep on.

As Pirra waited for him to return, the warmth of the fire made her sleepy, and her thoughts began to blur. She seemed to be back in the cellar, with the flames crackling overhead and smoke seeping through the hatch . . .

She jolted awake. “Userref!” she cried.

Echo squawked, and Hylas came running. “What's wrong!”

“I just realized! Userref—he'll find Taka Zimi in ruins, he'll think I'm dead!”

Hylas looked puzzled. “But you're not, so what does it—”

“No, you don't understand! When I was ill, I made him swear that if I died, he would fetch the dagger and destroy it. So now . . . oh, poor Userref.” She pictured the Egyptian staring in horror at the smoking ruins of Taka Zimi. He would be devastated. He had devoted his whole life to keeping her safe.

“Pirra?” said Hylas. “Did you hear what I said? The dagger. Where is it now?”

She swallowed. “I hid it. As soon as we got to Keftiu, I hid it, but then my mother sent me to Taka Zimi that same day and I didn't have a chance to take it with me—”

“So where is it?” he cut in.

“In the House of the Goddess.”