Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(45)

18

Ailesse

I CLING TO THE CHASM wall, my hands tied. I’m barely able to keep purchase on the thin outcropping of rock. Rubble rains down on me. My muscles tense. Fingers cramp. If I fall, how long will it take before I hit the bottom and shatter every bone in my body? Don’t think like that, Ailesse. I’m not ready to die.

“Mother!” My ragged cry doesn’t echo. It’s swallowed by the settling debris and thick air.

All I see above me is a veil of dust, dimly lit by torchlight. How far down the wall did I slide? I glance across the chasm to the opposite wall to find my bearings. When I was standing with Bastien on the ledge, I saw another tunnel below ours. That’s where Marcel must have placed the black powder. But no sign of that tunnel exists anymore. It’s either fully collapsed or I’ve plunged far below it. I whimper at the thought.

My feet dig at the wall, groping for a foothold. Each time my toes catch a ridge, it crumbles away. I heave a panicked breath. If only I had my ibex bone.

Stop, Ailesse. Pining for what I’ve lost isn’t going to help me. I briefly close my eyes, trying to feel the strength and balance of my ibex grace. My muscles must remember.

I steadily drag one leg up until my toe finally grips a foothold. I carefully set my weight on it, my calf cramping. I slide my other leg up, but my foot can’t find purchase. The other foot slips, and my knee slams the wall.

“Mother!” I hate the sob that rips from my lungs. How weak she’ll think me. My legs dangle uselessly, my hands tremble. I can’t hold on much longer.

“Ailesse!”

My head snaps up. My mother’s voice is faint. I can’t tell if she’s near or far due to the way the catacombs eat sound. “I’m down here!” I instinctively shout. But she doesn’t need to hear me or see me to gain a sense of direction. She still has her tooth band from a whiptail stingray and the skull of a giant noctule bat. She pried the latter from her crown when Bastien wasn’t looking. Between the two bones, my mother has a sixth sense and echolocation. Even if she can’t see me, she’ll find me.

As long as I can hang on.

My hands grow clammy. My grip is sliding. I squeeze with all my might. Elara, help me.

My vision blurs, shimmering with silver. A hazy form appears. Ghostlike, transparent. Its wings take shape and unfurl.

The silver owl. The same one I glimpsed for a moment in the secret chamber.

The owl screeches, and a surge of strength flows into me.

“I’m here!” my mother says. I startle. The owl vanishes. So does my newfound strength. I gasp, my mind reeling. What just happened?

“Ailesse!”

I look behind me at the opposite wall of the chasm. The dust thins. My mother’s lithe figure descends. She must have been blasted back to that side of the tunnel from the force of the explosion.

She eases down a rope—the severed pulley rope. She’s extended it to its full length. “I’m going to swing out for you.”

I nod with a steadying breath . This torture is almost over.

She kicks away from the wall and propels across the fifteen feet between us. She grazes my wall, but her rope hangs askew, throwing off her aim. Her momentum pulls her back to her starting point before she’s able to reach me. She tries again, but her body suddenly twists when she’s halfway across. An arrow whizzes by her.

“Careful!” I cry. Jules must be above with her bow.

My mother doesn’t look worried. She hovers against her wall of the chasm, waiting for a gap between the arrows. Jules is firing blindly, so my mother has the advantage. She’ll sense the arrows as they fly.

“Hurry,” I beg, my body trembling with exertion. My fingers feel like they might break if I have to hold on much longer.

More chunks of limestone fall from above. Another section of the tunnel is caving in. My mother scrambles sideways and scales the wall with impressive ability—another grace from her bat skull. She doesn’t wait for the rubble to clear. She launches for me again, taking advantage of the distraction. My chest swells. She must love me, or she wouldn’t endanger herself like this.

She lands closer to me this time and grasps a protruding stone to anchor herself. She’s two feet away, her waist level to my head as she hangs by the end of her rope. I could reach her leg if not for my bound hands.

She scans the nearly smooth wall around me. She can’t find anything else to grab on to. “We need to cut your hands free.”

“How?” The rock I’m clinging to isn’t sharp enough to saw through my rope.

“I have a small knife. I’m going to toss it to you.”

“But I can’t let go to catch it.”

“Find a foothold to distribute your weight, then open one hand.”

My heartbeat thrashes. Blood pounds behind my eyes as I try not to panic. I grapple with my feet once more, struggling to find purchase. Nothing. With one last burst of adrenaline, I pull up a little higher and my right knee knocks against a jutting stone. I wrench my leg up and balance my knee on it. I’m not fully secure, but some of the pressure eases off my hands. “I’m ready,” I say, sweat dripping down my face.

My mother holds her rope by one hand and pulls a thin knife from a concealed slit in her dress.

“On the count of three.”

I nod, praying I can grab it.

She exhales in concentration. “One. Two. Three.”