Transformation Space - Marianne de Pierres [60]
The shaking became so intense that Balbao felt his teeth rattle. A terrifying pain shot down his neck and spine, and his desire to piss was overwhelming. He couldn’t take much more of this. Nor could the ship. Even the deckhands were gripping their seats.
Then, suddenly, it was over, and everything became still.
The soldiers were out of their seats first, stretching their limbs and rotating their necks.
‘What the fuck was that?’ asked one of the dekkies.
‘That,’ replied a soldier, ‘was imperfect shift.’
TRIN
Under the light of Araldis’s moons and a plethora of shining satellites, Trin laboured around the rocky crest of the mountain. What should they name this island and these landmarks? It was their right to do so now, and it would mean easier communication between them.
Pellegre, he thought, for the island. He would allow his carabinere, and maybe Cass Mulravey, to pick names for the caves, springs and other landmarks. The island was his to christen; his and Djes’s, for in truth she had found it.
He stopped and caught his breath, listening in the dark. Something nagged persistently at the edge of his consciousness. Odd little sounds came to him, but he could see nothing despite regular glances over his shoulder. Then he heard a faint rustle of movement coming from below the next expanse of rock. An animal foraging for food?
He slid down the large slab and peered over its edge, hoping to put his mind at ease. This time he held his breath to listen. His heart beat faster; there was something. He stared intently at the terrain below him, wondering which path to the bottom would be easiest.
There. Where the rock folded over itself. A natural step. But getting there required sliding close to the edge, and would he be able to get back up the same way? Unlikely. He shook himself. Of course there’d be another way up, even if it took a little longer.
He glanced into the sky, which teemed with bright orbiting objects. First light was only a few hours away. He must look now or wait another night.
Something urged him to pursue it now. Another night and everything might change. Who knew what the mass arrival of ships meant? There was no time for hesitation.
He slid closer to the edge, his feet dangling over, fingers searching for grooves and crevices in the slab. At full stretch, he thought he could reach the folded rock beneath, which would act as a step. Slowly, he extended one leg. His toe connected with the surface, and he began to ease his weight down onto it. Perspiration leaked into his robe; he felt it pooling in the crevices of his skin, and his heart thundered.
A scuffling noise behind him. He jerked around to look, trying to stay balanced.
Hands planted firmly into his back.
The force of the push sent him over the edge. He paddled his legs and arms for a brief moment as he fell. Then he slammed hard into the ground below.
The sound brought him round, an insistent noise, and irritating warm splashes across his cheek. Trin opened his eyes to nearly full daylight. He lay only a breath away from water running over a rock.
He tried to raise his head to look properly, but his neck muscles refused to comply. Even so, a number of things registered: he’d been pushed from the rock above; he was injured but alive; and he would die from heat exposure in a matter of minutes if he didn’t find cover.
The latter realisation took priority over everything, and he rolled over, looking for options. The water was coming from underneath the overhang of the slab he had fallen from, a strong enough flow to carry it down the hill before it drained through a lattice of rocks.
Crawl under the overhang. Crawl or die.
Bringing his knees up, he used his feet to push him forward. One leg felt odd, numb below the knee but with sensation still in his foot. He didn’t stop to look. It wouldn’t matter, not if he was still lying in this spot in a few more minutes.
Sharp rocks gouged his stomach