Page 7 of Beholden
He nodded, even as his fingers against the slat began to slip. He hastened to readjust his hold, the veins in his wrists and fingers protruding from his effort at hanging on.
“Gabi, get back here!” Curly’s shout was loaded with urgency. “Why can’t ye be thinking about yerself for once?”
I ignored my friend. He gave me too much credit and praised me too oft for taking care of others. What he didn’t see was the bitterness eating away at me since my father’s death—an ugly part of me, festering and growing and at times choking off my singing.
After two more steps, I was close enough. I looped and knotted the rope around my arm and then tossed the rest of the length toward the lad. It fell close to his hand but not close enough. I dragged it back and threw it again, this time hitting his knuckles.
“Ready?” I grabbed on to the bridge’s handhold to brace myself.
“Ready.” He heaved a breath, then let go of the slat and lunged for the rope. He fumbled for a moment, dangling by one arm from the side of the bridge. I was vaguely aware of shouting and tussling behind me, but I had to focus if I had any chance of saving this young man.
I leaned in and shoved the rope so it draped over the edge of the slat where, hopefully, he could see it. He groped frantically and managed to wrap his fingers around it. The moment he had a hold, his weight nearly yanked me off my slat. But I held fast, even as the knot tied to my arm sawed into my skin, twisting the tender flesh.
“Come now,” I said with as much encouragement as I could. “You can do this.”
The commotion behind me grew louder, and I thought I heard Benedict’s voice raised in alarm. No doubt he was attempting to come after me, and someone was detaining him. I could only pray they would succeed and he’d remain safely on level ground. If anything happened to him, Alice wouldn’t be able to survive.
The young man pulled on the rope again, and this time managed to drag himself up until he was clinging to the next slat. As he gripped the wood with both hands and lifted his body onto it, the pressure against my wrist subsided, and I released the tension in my shoulders.
We’d done it. He was safe.
“Careful!” came a shout from the end of the bridge.
In the next second, the sound of splintering wood filled the air. The board beneath the youth ripped into two pieces. Panic once again flashed across his face as he hung on to the sliver that remained.
I held myself motionless, willing him to press onward.
But the rotting wood crumbled beneath his fingers, and he began to fall, dragging me with him.
Chapter
3
Vilmar
I wrenched loosefrom my captors and darted toward the bridge. Though several of the men leapt after me, I was too quick now that I was free.
If they’d allowed me to go back for Farthing as I requested, then the young woman wouldn’t have gone onto the bridge. And now instead of losing one person, we were at risk of losing two.
As I flew across the slats, the bridge rocked from side to side. But the movement was of no concern this time. Only speed mattered.
Somehow she managed to grab the edge of the bridge, whereupon she released a desperate cry, as though trying to summon inner fortitude. Nevertheless, the weight of the boy pulling on her arm was too much. Her bandaged and bloodied fingers were slipping.
With mere seconds before Farthing dragged them both down to their deaths, I threw myself the last distance and caught her arm.
“Grab on to me!” I commanded, digging into her flesh and stopping her descent.
She grasped me, her fingers tightening around my wrist in return.
I hoisted her high enough for me to clutch the rope binding her to the lad. As I held the weight of both of them, the slats beneath me begin to crack. I needed to get off the bridge with haste. The structure could hardly bear my weight, much less all three of us.
I’d known the bridge was unsafe from the moment I first stepped onto it when making the crossing. In fact, I’d warned the others to tread on the outer edges of the boards and not to put their full weight into the middle. But the lad hadn’t heeded my advice.
Behind me, at my waist, I felt a sudden tug. “Pull,” Ty said in his usual calm tone.
With Ty’s strength added to mine, I scrambled backward, dragging the pair upward and onto the bridge. Thankfully, neither weighed much.
As more slats gave way, I towed the woman back with me. Ty did the same with Farthing. The boards crumbled in rapid succession, but within seconds we made it to solid ground.
