‘No!’
The movement stopped. He wiped his hands again and made another attempt to pull himself up. He had to reach behind him. The angle was all wrong. He tried a dozen times before giving up. He was weakening. His neck ached from the effort of trying to keep his head from slumping forward. Freezing fog streamed up past him. The cold had helped staunch his wound and his face was setting into a mask. The rope around his chest gripped so tight that he could breathe only in shallow gasps.
‘Don’t struggle. I’m coming down.’
It was Glum, not far above him.
‘Wayland, I’m on the ledge. You’re about ten feet below me. I’m going to drop another rope. Do you think you can hold onto it?’
Wayland half raised a hand.
‘Here it comes.’
The rope fell hissing over his shoulder. He snagged it at the second attempt. His fingers were too numb to tie a secure knot. He made two coils around his right wrist.
‘Put your weight on it. Then you will be able to turn and everything will be easier.’
Wayland gripped with both hands and strained. As his weight transferred from the rope pinned to his back, the pressure on his chest relaxed and air flooded into his lungs.
‘Turn to face the cliff.’
Wayland gave himself more breathing space before kicking off with his feet. He spun and smacked chest first into the cliff. He blinked up through a bloody veil and glimpsed Glum peering down from the ledge.
‘You are not strong enough to climb, I think. You must let Raul pull you up to me.’
Glum signalled by tugging on his own rope. Wayland felt himself borne upwards. Glum leaned down, gripped him by his tunic and hauled him onto the ledge.
‘That was good. Rest now until you have the strength to reach the top.’
The formal phrasing from a boy who hadn’t started shaving made Wayland laugh. It wasn’t normal laughter. He balanced on the ledge until his breathing steadied and he looked up through the dank updraught.
‘I’m ready.’
Raul dragged him up like he was a slab of meat. He crawled over the lip of the cliff and saw the German braced behind the anchor bar. As soon as Wayland stood on safe ground, Raul ran forward and caught him. He lowered him to the ground and took his face in both hands.
‘What happened? Did a rock hit you?’
‘It was the falcon. I don’t think she meant to strike me. I leaned back at the wrong moment and … ’ Nausea swept him.
Raul dropped to his knees and examined the wound.
‘We have to get you back.’
‘Is it bad?’
‘Put it this way, you ain’t going to be as pretty as you were.’ Raul realised that Wayland didn’t have his basket. ‘The falcons. Did you lose them?’
Wayland swung his head.
‘Don’t tell me the nest was empty.’
Wayland stuck up three frozen fingers. ‘Too young. Not ready.’ His bones seemed to melt and he sagged into Raul’s arms.
Glum was coiling up the ropes. He examined the one that had broken and frowned.
‘You were right about that line being weak,’ said Raul.
Glum clicked his tongue. ‘No, it was the new one that broke.’
Syth burst into tears when they brought Wayland down. The Greenlanders placed him in a tent and crowded at the entrance. Syth shooed everyone away except Raul. She heated water and bathed Wayland’s face. The wound began to bleed again.
‘Bring me a mirror.’
Syth returned with a disc of polished bronze. Wayland held it up and examined his face. The falcon’s hind talon had torn a gaping slash across the middle of his forehead. He felt for the bag that held his falconry furniture and fumbled out a bone needle and a thread he used to seel the eyes of newly caught hawks.
‘You going to stitch it?’ said Raul.
‘It won’t mend cleanly by itself.’ Hands shaking, he tried to thread the needle. He gave up and passed the implements to Syth.
She passed the thread through the eye and gave it to him, then squatted back biting the tip of her forefinger. He tried to hand the needle back. ‘You do it. It’s not difficult. I stitched up the dog when he was young and got too close to a stag I’d wounded.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You want me to have a go?’ Raul said.
Wayland closed his eyes. He opened them and held out his hand. ‘Give it to me. You hold the mirror.’
Wayland positioned himself and brought the point of the needle to one end of the gash. The flesh was swollen and discoloured and it was hard to manipulate the needle accurately. It took several attempts just to position the point. He pushed the needle through the lower lip of the wound. He flinched from the pain and ended up with a misaligned stitch. Blood ran into his eyes. Syth swabbed him with a cloth.
‘It’s no good. I can’t see properly.’ He held out the needle to Syth. ‘Please,’ he said. He lay back. ‘Raul, hold my head.’
Syth’s face leaned close and he shut his eyes. The first few stitches were excruciating, but then he seemed to float away from his body and though he could still feel each puncture, the pain seemed to be being inflicted on someone else.
He drifted back to find Syth gazing down on him. He brought up his hand and brushed at his brow. ‘All done?’
‘Yes. You were very brave.’
‘Show me.’
She held the mirror. His forehead resembled a bulging thundercloud but the wound was stitched as neatly as a hem.
‘I knew you’d do a good job.’
She was trying not to cry. ‘You’d better have something to eat.’
He rolled his head. The thought of food made him want to throw up.
‘Sleep then.’ She began to withdraw.
He spoke without knowing what he was going to say. ‘Syth, I love you.’
She stopped. ‘Like a sister?’
‘Like a woman.’
She slid down beside him and planted soft kisses on his cheeks.
He held her, his head cradled against her shoulder. ‘What will we do?’
‘Oh, Wayland, you say the silliest things. We’ll do what all lovers do.’ She laid a finger to his lips. ‘When you’re ready.’
XXIV
He was back on his feet next day and the following morning he resumed the search for occupied eyries. In the days that followed, he explored the fjords on either side of Red Cape and found another four nests. None of them presented such a formidable challenge as the first one. He climbed to two of them from below and let Glum rope himself down to the others. All the eyases were still too young to take. Wayland explained that falcons removed from the nest before they were fully fledged never grew out of their rude infantile habits. The best time to catch them up was when they were hard-penned and ready to make their first flight. Even then, some of them grew
