Orrian tests the weight of the spike, removing his other leg from the safety of the wall once confident. He hangs by just his arms now. Around me the others are doing the same, some hesitant at first but we only have to look down the wall for incentive.
“Dale,” shouts Horas, gesturing to the man over his shoulder. “help me with him.”
“Will he make it?” I ask as the man’s unconscious eyes flutter feebly.
“He’ll have to. If we leave him up here, they’ll just kill him,” replies Horas. I know he’s right, grudgingly I run over to hold him as Horas moves into position on his own spike.
“Ok, pass him here,” instructs Horas. Surprised but doing as he asks, I just about manage to heave the man over the wall and into the young chef’s arms. Horas wraps his legs around him, supporting both of their weight. The wooden shaft bends in complaint but holds true. Horas’ arms shake with the effort, but they don’t lose their grip.
The soldiers are nearly upon us, I don’t even have time to worry about the height and ridiculousness of what I’m doing before I throw myself over the side and cling to the nearest free pole.
So many things could go wrong with this, we don’t even know if the water is deep enough to catch us. Or what about if we can’t get up the sides and among the houses before they manage to lower the bridge? These worries only now introduce themselves to me as we hang over the abyss, along with my sudden realisation that I am not particularly comfortable with such heights. My fear of such altitudes has previously been kept at bay by the limits of the tallest tree I could scale. I would do anything to swap the wooden pole above me for a simple branch from which I can almost brush my toes on the grass.
I can hear the scrapings off their boots now, their heavy breaths carried by the wind. The soldiers are only maybe five seconds away from being upon us.
Four.
The first of them yells at us to stop, as if we may suddenly agree and give ourselves over to him.
Three.
I look past my feet at the inky depths below, praying that the trench is deep enough.
Two.
“JUMP!” Orrian shouts.
One.
I let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The soldiers disappear above us and, based off the pit opening inside of me, so does my stomach. I am yet to draw breath before we have fallen level with the A-framed rooftops, ground level approaching at an alarming pace. Despite the speed, we fall for far longer than I could have expected as I ready for an impact that never seems to come.
My brain is working at double-speed, slowing my descent as I fall towards my likely death. I suppose I should be grateful for being gifted with this one final opportunity to appreciate the world. A pale, glowing, disfigured face looks on calmly from amongst the stars and either the wind or blood rushes through my ears, I can no longer tell which. I recognise that the cobblestone wall stands worryingly close to my back, threatening to grate my skin to pieces at any second. Below, a rat scuttles across the street, taking shelter within its hole at the rotting base of a closed nearby shop. The shadow of a young lady crosses an open window, raising a small dark package to rock gently in her arms.
Perhaps this isn’t so bad, I think as we disappear below street level, remembering at the last moment to take a single deep breath. I swear the rat eyes us curiously as we vanish below it. A curious last thought.
SPLASH!
Iciness surges through me as my head disappears below the water’s surface. I spread my arms and legs wide above me towards the departing light, desperately trying to slow my fall. Ground slaps against my back hard and I catch myself from releasing some precious bubbles. I sink a little before coming to a stop into a sticky cushion that sucks at my skin.
I detach myself, placing my feet in the mud and kicking upwards, invaluable breath escaping through my lips. Something solid smacks me in the face, it feels like a foot, I push the obstacle skyward as I temporarily lose altitude. With my path clear, I propel myself upwards, one arm outstretched for the seemingly untouchable surface.
As the last of the breath leaves my lungs, I emerge. Cold, fresh, evening air invades my gasping mouth. The intense freeze of the moat chills the blood beneath my skin and my breath clouds up before my face.
Looking around at the splashing heads next to me, some of which are already making their way over to the side of the trench, I almost laugh out loud. It worked! We actually survived the jump. Even Horas’ injured companion has made it. He splutters next to me in shock, momentarily back in the world of the living after I would imagine a rough and terrifying reawakening. It must have been his foot who had collided with me.
I help keep an eye on the injured man as together he and Horas swim over to Orrian who has already begun to scale the steep muddy side. A tribesman below him gives his shoulder for support, allowing his king to climb higher upwards. The woman now moves forwards, using the man and Orrian as a ladder and managing to get a grip on the edge of the stone street.
Horas ushers the injured man forwards, manhandling him up the chain until he flops onto the solid surface above. His watery blood trickles down to us and loosens the dirt between our fingers.
One by one, we scale the human ladder until we all reach ground level, those of us at the
