Seeds of Rebellion (50 page)

Jason had no words. Ferrin didn’t help him. “Should you ask to be imprisoned?”

“What do you think?” Ferrin asked.

“I already told you. I think you should start fresh. I think you should call your old life over. This is a better cause. You said you never had real friends. You’re on your way now. I’m one of them. Let that be enough.”

Ferrin flicked a piece of fruit into his mouth with his thumb. “I don’t know. I think if you lie long enough, often enough, you become a lie. Strip away my pretenses and deceptions, and I’m not sure there’d be anything left.”

“You won’t fix that problem with more lies,” Jason said. “Not by lying to yourself. Not by lying to us. If you’re true to this cause, you’ll have something left when you strip away the rest—this cause and these friendships.”

“You don’t get it,” Ferrin said. “No matter how hard I try, there’s a cynical corner of my mind where everything is an act. People are game pieces. Information is currency. At the same time I portray myself as a rebel displacer loyal to a new cause, I secretly feel like a deeply placed spy worming his way deeper all the time. I’ve mustered sincerity before. I’ve almost believed it. I’m an expert at almost believing my lies. How is this different? How can it be?”

“Because we know what you are and we’re still giving you a chance.”

Ferrin bowed his head. He reached one hand up the sleeve of his robe and withdrew a chunk of flesh.

“What’s that?” Jason asked.

“Part of my brachial artery,” Ferrin said. “Take it. Consider it an extra fail-safe. I’ve spent my life backstabbing anyone foolish enough to trust me. Now I’m betraying the one master I’ve always served. And I’m betraying my people. But I’ll try to be true to this rebellion. For the sake of friendship. It’s a better reason than I’ve had before.”

Jason accepted it with a nod.

Footsteps approached. Drake poked his head into the storeroom. “We’re getting ready to move out. Is that dried fruit?”

“They have mountains of it,” Ferrin said.

“Bring me a handful,” Drake said. He looked back and forth between Jason and Ferrin. “Everything all right?”

“Just peachy,” Jason said.

Crossing the three ropes over the chasm was no fun. They jiggled and swayed far more than Jason preferred, and it seemed impossible to avoid looking down at the seemingly infinite fall awaiting him.

Drake explained that these makeshift bridges were easily destroyed, leaving the trail virtually impassable if even lightly
defended. The delegation traversed several more of them as the trail zigzagged northeast toward the unseen tundra.

By the twelfth day of the trek, still surrounded by colossal crags and escarpments, Jason began to notice the wind keening ominously in the distance. “We might have some bad weather coming,” he commented to Farfalee as they gathered around a campfire below a sheltering overhang.

“Not necessarily,” she replied. “You hear Howling Notch. We’ll get there tomorrow.”

“That’s where the fun really begins,” Drake said, munching on a strip of dried meat.

“What’s Howling Notch?” Rachel asked.

“An unnatural anomaly,” Drake said.

“The terrain north of Howling Notch funnels high winds through a narrow gap,” Farfalee explained.

Drake prodded the fire with a stick. “The wind is constant and fierce, yet the terrain never changes, the gap never erodes.”

“A secretive wizard once made his home in the vicinity,” Farfalee added. “He built his stronghold into the living rock, shaping it with Edomic. Many believe the terrain around Howling Notch is under some lingering enchantment.”

“I’ve been through the notch a time or three,” Kerick said, stepping up to the fire. “It’s demanding, but if you keep your head, it can be done.”

The prospect of high winds and steep cliffs made Jason recall a certain nightmare with a torivor involved. “Can we blow off an edge?”

Kerick chuckled knowingly. “It’s the deadliest stretch of this trail. In stormy weather, no living thing could drag itself through that gap. We’re later in the year than I’d prefer, but the summer weather keeps holding. If you hold tight to the line and follow instructions, we should get you through.”

The next morning the wailing wind grew progressively louder. The tempestuous howls seemed incongruent with the blue sky and wispy clouds overhead.

“You’d think we were hiking into a hurricane,” Rachel said from behind Jason.

“It’s weird,” he replied. “I’ve hardly felt a breeze all morning.”

Walking in front of Jason, Drake glanced back. “The same terrain that funnels the gusts through Howling Notch mostly shields the approach. You’ll see it just up around this bend.”

When Howling Notch came into view, Jason stopped walking. Still some distance ahead, a high saddle of rock connected a pair of towering escarpments. A steep, V-shaped gap split the saddle.

“It’s so loud even from here!” Rachel said. Jason could hardly make out her words.

The trail approaching the notch was a narrow ledge chiseled into the mountainside. Jason had begun adapting to the constant threat of falling a thousand feet to his death, but this scant trail was the narrowest they had encountered. No matter how carefully he positioned himself, his feet were never more than six inches from the edge.

Fortunately, a rope ran along the wall of the ledge, staked in place. Without something to hold, Jason wondered if he could have forced himself to proceed. Even with the rope, he tried to focus on Drake’s back and ignore the dizzying drop. The wind roared constantly, occasionally falling to a moan or rising to a piercing shriek so intense that Jason could hardly believe he still felt no significant stirring of the air.

The closer they got to Howling Notch, the less Jason could see of it. The trail climbed diagonally from below and to one side. At last the narrow ledge widened into a semicircular shelf spacious enough for the entire group to assemble. Farfalee shouted to be heard over the deafening gale.

“We’ll cross through the notch in two groups of five and one of four. Kerick will lead the first group, Halco the next, and Andrus the last. Listen carefully to their instructions.” Kerick and Halco each tapped four other members of the delegation. Andrus claimed the remainders. Jason ended up in Halco’s group, along with Delissa, Nedwin, and Aram. They huddled together apart from the others.

Halco had spent most of his time away from the delegation, scouting and hunting. Jason had never really conversed with him.

“Three rules,” Halco said. “First, hold on to the line. The line will guide us through. Always have a firm grip with at least one hand. You never know when the wind will surge. Second, stay low. If the wind grabs you, it will be a very long time before you hit the ground. It can happen very suddenly. We move through the notch hugging the ground—slithering, not crawling. We don’t want to present anything for the wind to seize. Third, move when I move, pause when I pause. We won’t be able to hear one another. If somebody gets torn from the line, you can’t help them. Raise your head, reach for them, rise up even a little, and you’ll join them. Any questions?”

“Can we do this after the sun goes down?” Aram asked.

Halco shook his head. “Your smaller size will probably serve you better than greater strength. Less surface area. Nobody outmuscles the wind in Howling Notch. Besides, the wind tends to blow harder after dusk. Anything else?”

“What order?” Nedwin asked.

“I’ll lead, then Jason, you, Aram, and Delissa. Once we’re through the notch, the line will guide us to a trench. Only by keeping low in the trench will we be able to descend the far side.” He held up little cylinders of cork. “We’ll all want these for our ears.”

Jason accepted a pair of earplugs and inserted them. Rachel was part of the first group, led by Kerick. After adjusting his pack
and his robes, Kerick guided his group beyond the sheltered shelf and out of sight. Jason and the others sat down to wait.

Even with the earplugs, the wind remained plenty noisy. Jason listened to it rise and fall, imagining how it must be whipping at Rachel. Tense with anticipation, it was hard for him to tell whether time was passing slowly or quickly. He could have waited on the shelf all day without growing bored.

Off to one side, Corinne put a hand on Farfalee’s shoulder and spoke to her. Farfalee made a motion to Halco, who stood and gestured for his group to rise.

Corinne came over to Jason, and he pulled out an earplug. “The first group made it,” she reported. “Rachel says it’s worse than we could guess.”

“Comforting,” Jason replied. “See you on the other side.” He replaced his earplug and got into position behind Halco. The seedman led him away from the shelf along a narrow ledge.

They progressed another couple of hundred yards, sheltered from the wind by the wall of rock beside the trail. The wall shrank until it finally ended. Just beyond the end of the wall, a guideline was staked into the gray rock of the ground, proceeding up to the notch.

Halco looked back at the others, holding up his forefinger. The wind screamed unnervingly. Finally, the howl diminished to a strong moan. Flat on his belly, Halco took hold of the line and wormed beyond the sheltering barricade.

Jason followed. Even at a low moan, he could not believe how forcefully the wind washed over him. Air had never felt so tangible. If he had tried to stand, no amount of strength could have kept his hands on the guideline. It felt like he was trying to drag himself upstream through a raging river.

The ground rose at an incline to the notch, overlapping sheets
of stone textured by grooves, lumps, and other irregularities. Pulling himself over the sharp-edged terrain was uncomfortable, but Jason figured the jagged unevenness might serve to help disrupt the wind a little if he stayed low. Twenty yards behind him, the incline ended at the brink of a lofty precipice. The cold air smelled like iron, stone, and snow.

The moan rose to a roar. The wind slicing by overhead seemed to have weight, pressing him down. If he raised a finger, he could picture the slipstream tearing it off.

Jason kept moving forward hand over hand. Even below the worst of the wind, and with Halco in front of him bearing the brunt of the gale, it took all of his strength and concentration. Keeping his eyes down, Jason tried to press himself into the mountain.

The wind gusted to an earsplitting shriek, and his head bumped against Halco’s moccasins. Jason halted, clinging to the line. The shriek remained steady until long after an opera singer would have passed out. As the scream diminished to a roar, Jason glimpsed Halco squirming forward again.

Foot by foot, inch by inch, Jason gained ground. At intervals he passed the stakes that kept the guideline anchored. He expected he would have bruises all over tomorrow, not from impact, but from merciless pressure on various points of his anatomy, especially his elbows.

Finally they reached the front of the notch. Halco paused. The wind roared like never before. Without earplugs the volume might have done permanent damage. The muscles in Jason’s hands and arms burned with exertion. After what felt like forever, the wind ebbed a little, and Halco scrambled hastily forward.

The narrow notch ran straight for about ten yards before it started to widen. Jason felt relief as he slithered across the highest
point of the saddle, the ground scraping his face as he tried to keep low. Descending the far side, he peeked ahead at where the guideline vanished into a trench. Twenty more yards.

He heard the wind increase in force before he felt it. Halco froze, flattening himself. The wind rose to a shriek, then to a penetrating whine, like a jet engine. Jason gripped the rope with all of his might. He could feel the guideline shuddering. No matter how low he remained, the blasting air seemed on the verge of taking hold of him. Several times his rope jerked so hard that part of his body left the ground slightly before slamming back down. These new bruises would be from impact. The wind was unbelievable. This was how it would feel to water-ski behind a missile. How fast was the wind going? It had to be hundreds of miles per hour.

Jason glimpsed Halco, still flat, gazing backward, eyes wide. Turning his head slightly, keeping his cheek to the ground, Jason looked back as well. Nedwin clung to the rope behind him, head down. Then Aram. Delissa trailed them, just coming over the highest part of the saddle. Her body looked like a flag in a tornado. Suddenly Jason understood why the rope had twitched so much.

As Jason watched, the relentless wind gusted even harder, and she lost her grip. It looked like Delissa had been shot from a cannon. Her body clipped the side of the notch, setting her spinning as the gale rocketed her away. Despite the low angle of Jason’s viewpoint, she stayed within sight for a very long time, shrinking with distance until she dropped out of view.

Horrified, Jason bowed his head, squashing his face against the ground. Closing his eyes, forearms burning, he squeezed the guideline harder than ever. Surely the wind would slacken any moment. If anything, it rose a bit more. Any moment. Any moment.

At last the wind ebbed, becoming a scream, then a roar. Peeking ahead, Jason saw Halco advancing. Jason hurried forward
in his wake, not wanting to lose the seedman as a partial windbreak.

The notch widened. Glancing ahead, Jason saw the entire valley spreading outward from the gap, a giant funnel, just as some of the others had described.