Book of Stolen Tales (25 page)

D
ina cried out and goaded her horse into a full, heart-pounding gallop. My mare tore after them. I lost my balance and pulled back hard on the reins, forgetting Hanzi's careful instructions. The mare reared, yanking her head away. I jolted backward, felt gravity pulling me down. My foot slipped out of the stirrup. She reared a second time and wrenched the reins from my hands. With no restraints, she flew like a fury.

How I remained astride I'll never know. Instinctively, I gripped the horse's belly as hard as possible with my legs. Thankfully, she seemed heedless of my hands wound into her mane. I could smell her sweat rise as she heaved huge drags of breath, almost as if she, too, feared the man behind us.

At some point I settled into the rhythm of the mare's gallop. Cliff faces, yawning over the flat pebbled terrain, came into view ahead. The land sloped upward and the mare labored to keep up speed. A bright arc of water glimmered in the distance as a grove of dense bushes gave way once again to grass.

Dina waited for me just ahead. The mare lifted her head and whinnied when she saw them, slowing to a canter. We pulled up beside them. I slid off and nearly catapulted to the ground. My legs shook so much with the prolonged exertion I could barely stand. My groin and upper thighs were numb. Dina leaned down and grabbed the mare's reins. “You did well. Frankly, I'm amazed you made it,” she said.

“I know you were frightened”—I had to stop talking for a few seconds to drag in a few deep breaths—”but you took off without even giving me a warning.” I fished in the pack for a bottle of water and chugged down half of it.

Unconcerned, she reached for the bottle and threw back the rest.

“We've gained a lot of distance. He must be far behind by now.” Dina looked toward the cliffs. “I want to take that Roman road, not the one she told us to follow.”

“What's the point of that? Alessio can track us there just as easily.”

“He won't expect us to take it. He'll go to the one everyone else uses.”

That imperious tone had crept into her voice again, as if I were one of her servants. I was too wiped to keep the annoyance out of mine.

“Dina, Lagrène said not to deviate from her directions. It could take a lot more time to negotiate the other road. That's a bad idea. Alessio must know the second volume's at the estate. He'll end up there anyway, regardless of our course.”

She tossed her hair back. “Renard's wealthy. Once we're on his estate I assume he'll have security and we'll be well protected. We're totally vulnerable out here. But please yourself. Do whatever you want.”

I grabbed the mare's reins when Dina dropped them and trotted off astride her stallion. I mounted and caught up with her. “This will end up being a dangerous waste of time,” I said. “But separating is an even worse idea.”

We coaxed the horses to keep up a brisk pace and sooner than we'd expected reached the route Mme Lagrène told us to take, a paved road that scaled the rock face at an easy grade. A couple of cyclists wearing helmets, skin-tight black shorts, and bright jerseys rode ahead of us, laughing and collegial. A motorcycle whipped by to make the climb as well. We'd be much safer here with other people around us. It was mid-afternoon and clouds began to build. The air felt cooler. Once again I insisted we use this route. Dina's answer was to ignore me and, setting her lips in a tight line, urge her horse forward.

The Roman track began farther along on a protrusion of rock, like a broad ledge, ascending the cliff at a steep angle. The stone of the ledge differed in color and I reasoned it hadn't eroded as much because it was stronger than the rock making up most of the cliff face, providing a solid base for the road. Its width easily permitted the two of us to ride side by side, although, unlike the new road we should have taken, it had no protective barrier and dropped away sharply at the edge.

The stallion bucked when Dina tried to urge him onto the track and laid back his ears, unwilling to venture onto it. To Dina's credit she didn't force him but patiently coaxed him onto the trail. He finally complied, although he was skittish and walked stiffly. The mare forged ahead and I took the lead.

Climbing uphill at a walk was uncomfortable, so Dina suggested we canter the horses up to the next level. I managed the faster pace with no problem. There was little evidence of others having used this trail recently. No empty soda cans or water bottles, and the spans of dirt we crossed looked undisturbed. We did spot a few intriguing signs from the past. Here and there small patches of symmetrically laid stones appeared. Roman cobblestones, I guessed.

About eighty feet along, the track widened into a small plateau, providing a good vantage point while we refueled. We dismounted and pulled out the second bottle of water and hard-boiled eggs from our packs. We fed the horses the carrots and apples, their wet, rubbery lips smacking enthusiastically on the treats.

Banks of somber gray replaced the white pillows of cloud. The temperature dived and we heard the first soft rumble of thunder. We put on our windbreakers. Dina held both sets of reins while I walked over to the cliff edge. On a sunny day the view would be magnificent. Weathered white limestone cliffs, scrubby silver-green bushes sprouting from crevices, and below the cliffs, fields and vineyards, the earth like rough corduroy between the rows. Now the threatening skies gave the landscape a menacing feel.

In the distance, beside the narrow gleam of a canal, I spotted movement. From this far away it looked like a dark fly crawling along a window ledge. He moved slowly with that same nerve-racking, dogged tread. I couldn't distinguish his features or even a clear outline of his body but I swear I sensed Alessio honing in on us, perched up on the ridge. A sudden wave of dizziness hit me.

“What's wrong?” Dina asked nervously. “Don't tell me you've seen him.”

Before I could answer the ground beneath my feet split apart and crashed into the chasm below. It was all I could do to right my balance and keep my footing. The stallion whinnied. I squatted down to examine the surface where the piece had broken off and was dismayed to see not stone at all, but a composite of organic material and rock rubble impacted into a kind of loose cement.

“Dina,” I said quietly, “keep as close to the cliff face as possible. Single file. The entire edge of this road is treacherous.”

She moved back immediately. My warning tone frightened her, so I didn't mention Alessio. No need to petrify her even more than she already was.

On the horizon, long vertical bolts of lightning cut through the heavy clouds. The wind howled. We hurried the horses onward. About an hour and a half into our ascent, a crest of limestone shot up from the cliff face. The track curved perilously around it. Once again Dina held the horses while I made my way around to check the other side.

Our rough road continued upward until it was bisected by a crevasse, leaving a substantial gap.

I walked back. “We've got a major problem. Part of the road has fallen away and the gap may be too wide for the horses.” I was tempted to say this was why we should have taken the other route but held my tongue.

“How wide is it?”

“About four feet.”

She dismissed my concerns with a shrug. “The horses are probably more adept at making the jump than us.”

We had no choice but to continue. We led the horses around the rock crest, the wind slashing at our bodies. From this distance, the trees in the valley resembled miniature shrubs. Without question, a fall would kill us.

I tied one of the leads to the mare's halter and threw one end onto the other side of the gap. I patted her neck, more to reassure myself than anything else. I took a run and cleared the gap easily and then pulled on the lead, urging the mare to follow. Her hind hoof slipped on some scree but she righted herself and made it over cleanly. I tied her to a stunted cedar tree farther down the track and went back.

The stallion was balking. Dina stood between his body and the rock wall. She gave up trying to pacify him for the moment, motioning for me to come nearer and reaching into the pack for his lead. She hooked one end of it onto his bridle and threw the other to me. I caught it and hauled it back until it tensed. The stallion still refused to cooperate, backing up, twitching his ears, snorting, and arching his neck. His eyes rolled, showing the whites. He tried to get away and sidled dangerously close the edge. Dina used all her strength to force him away from the drop and gave him a firm slap on the rump. That spooked him. He reared, almost crushing her against the cliff. Then he took off. His powerful muscles bunched and flexed as his front legs bore down to propel his great weight across the gap. My whole body tensed watching him try to make it.

He leapt.

For a few precious seconds it looked as if he'd make it. His front hooves landed solidly on my side. Then his left hind hoof hit the scree and slid into the cavity.

Twenty-Six

T
he stallion brought all his strength to bear on his front legs and propelled himself forward—far enough to get his rear legs up and onto my side of the track. When he trotted up to me, I hugged his neck for sheer joy. Dina hopped the space and unfastened his lead with shaking hands. “That was very close,” she said. “You were right. We never should have come this way.”

“We must be getting close to the top. We'll make it.” If only I felt as confident as I sounded. We had no idea what to expect at the peak even if we did finish the climb.

To add to our woes freezing rain began to fall, the tiny ice crystals like sharp pins pricking at our eyes, hampering visibility. A constant stream of pebbles and sticks washed down the track as if we were standing in a sluice. And worse, the stallion limped. He could barely touch his left hind leg to the ground before pulling it up again. I prayed the top was not much farther and squinted through the sleet. Ahead, the track appeared to divide around another massive cylinder of rock.

Dina yelled but I couldn't tell what she was trying to say over the roar of the wind. She waved her arm toward the left-hand fork. It seemed the logical way; the ground there was covered with an accumulation of cedar leaves and twigs like a forest path. It would be good to get away from the slippery scree. Although the route she wanted to take was tight, it did offer the protection of the cliff wall on one side and the rock promontory on the other.

As the mare and I entered the left fork I put up my hand to balance against the wall and noticed a mark carved into its surface. A crude drawing of falling water. A warning to travelers not to proceed. I shouted back to Dina, “We need to go to the right!”

She shook her head in reply but I ignored her and led my horse onto the scree. Dina followed reluctantly. Rounding the column of rock we could see the cliff head at last, about fifty feet farther up. On the left, a torrent of water poured into a deep chasm. Had we taken the other route, we'd have been pinned in the narrow passage, unable to turn the horses around.

We reached the top and I groaned. Our rough road separated. On our left it dwindled to a footpath leading down to an immense stretch of dense, overgrown forest. A hidden valley in the barren rock, the wind blowing the forest treetops almost sideways. Straight ahead, the path climbed again, and as the mountain surged higher it was only bare rock. We desperately needed shelter but saw no sign of human habitation, not even a farmer's shack in the valley. The silhouettes of the trees began to blur in the declining light.

I scanned the valley for the pillars with the horse heads Mme Lagrène mentioned but could see nothing but trees. The forest had to surround the merchant's estate. Our clothes were soaking wet and both of us were freezing. We couldn't stay out in the open any longer. The descent proved easy and we ventured into the shelter of the trees.

Once under the umbrella of the foliage I drew in the fragrance of pine and cedar. Here, we were protected from the worst of the storm. The fat, mossy tree trunks of giant oaks suggested a mature forest. Out of the wind it should have been warmer, but the temperature was just as frigid. It began to snow. I'd never heard of snow this far south, even in the dead of winter.

Exhausted from our ordeal and desperate for some rest, we found a huge upturned tree root beside a stream. We tied the horses to a sturdy branch and they waded into the brook for a long guzzle. They cropped at the stands of grass growing on the bank as snowflakes settled on their flanks. Their warm breath was visible in the air.

We huddled underneath the tree trunk on a deep bed of pine needles, damp but soft. Dina wriggled into the extra sweater she'd brought with her and I gave her my fleece sweatshirt to put on over top. It was a tossup whether our wet windbreakers provided protection or added to the problem, but we decided to keep them on. Dina's hands had turned white with the cold so I rubbed them between mine. I pulled out the bottle of Bordeaux from my pack and the little plastic glasses we'd brought. Our bread had turned to mush so we contented ourselves with the brie and washed it down with generous draughts of wine. Dina nestled as close as possible to me, her reluctance to get close forgotten with the frigid weather. Our shared body warmth helped alleviate the cold.