“That’s some warped logic! Why is it always women? How are they inferior, because they are easily tired?”
“Have you not learned our customs, Addie? Those who are tired are thrown off the cliff. And women cause trouble. They’re loud, and excessive talking distracts the High Counselor.”
Oh’na’s childish prattle abruptly dried up at Zoark’s words.
Against her will, Addie glanced toward the head of the line where the serpentine road made it possible to see the Chief and High Counselor walking almost towards Addie but on a higher rung of the trail.
“What does the High Counselor have to do with it?” She couldn't quite keep the frustration out of her voice.
Chele called from behind, “He’s making it all up, Addie.”
Addie did turn around then, briefly, to pulverize Zoark with a pointed look. He glanced back, deadpan.
They didn’t talk again for a long time.
Soon the trail had become worse. Already winding, narrow, and steeply inclined, it started to also tip precariously toward the edge that ended with the cliff. Walking without sliding on the loose rock was consuming all the concentration Addie could muster. Planting her spear in the ground for support, she took step after faltering step. Her body, laden with the burden she had to balance, was straining from angling itself awkwardly against the double down-and-sideways slide.
Fatigue set in. Even the sturdy For women were finding this trek challenging judging by the extreme slowness of their pace. Most children had been picked up and carried.
A gust of wind blew, hitting the wall high above. Something rustled, cracked, and a handful of small rocks peppered the heads and shoulders of the walkers. Someone cried out in pain. A louder crack sounded, and a large rock separated from the mountain, dropping smack on the path between two people some distance ahead of Addie before rolling off the side of the cliff. It happened in milliseconds. Miraculously, the rock didn’t hit anyone directly, but the person in front of whom it dropped stumbled badly, lost her balance and fell down.
Qalae.
The tribe took a collective intake of breath and held it, watching their queen in helpless despair.
Qalae didn’t tip over immediately but managed to hit the edge with her upper body, her lower part going overboard, and she kept sliding, belly scraping against the rocks. Weighted down by her own substantial load, she was unable to completely stop the inexorable pull of gravity despite her frantic efforts to break the momentum.
Chief Net’ok made an aborted move in Qalae’s direction, his position at the head of the line on a twisted path giving him an excellent view of the unfolding tragedy. But he couldn’t get to his mate. A good two dozen people separated them, and there was no space to go around them.
In the last possible moment, the queen's strong hand grabbed the sharp edge of the cliff with an iron grip, fingers straining, blood oozing from her scraped palm. Her hold held, and, hanging on for dear life, she twisted her body and reached into her boot with her other hand to yank out the knife that she stuck into the wall, further gaining purchase.
All of it happened in silence. Qalae never uttered a peep, never even groaned. Addie could see her upturned face with large eyes peeking over the cliff’s edge. She was taking in the mountain and her people one last time. She knew her hold wouldn't last, and her time had run out.
Without thinking, Addie attempted to move forward, to go around Melmie and Illied and the others who separated her from Qalae. An asinine idea, but impulsively, she took a stubborn step forward - only to be held in place by a hand that snatched her by her scruff and held fast.
“Stand still,” he hissed from behind. “What do you think you’re gonna do?”
“I don’t know! I can’t watch…”
He was fisting the top of her dress above the backpack, the backs of his warm, strong fingers making direct contact with the skin at her neck.
“Don’t watch then. You can’t help her. You can’t even get to her without falling over and taking others with you. By all that’s sacred, don’t move!”
Clenching and unclenching her fists, Addie had no choice but to stand still.
“I hate the Rule of the Fallen,” she said quietly and with feeling. Shivers ran up and down her body, from distress and utter helplessness, from the shock of his touch.
“It isn’t the Rule of the Fallen,” Zoark replied. “There’s no way to help her. Not at this narrow spot.” And he sounded as torn by what was happening as she was.
But something was brewing. A commotion swelled; raised voices reached Addie’s ears.
“Down, down! Get on your knees!” Someone was pushing from the front, rounding the bend.
People started dropping down on their knees, heads down low. Oh’nil emerged, free of his backpack, as he jumped, graceful and nimble, over each crouching person in a whacked-up game of leapfrog.
Zoark cursed under his breath.
Oh’nil’s face was set in tense lines, his concentration unwavering. Frowning and terse, at this moment he bore a striking resemblance to his brother, and Addie wondered randomly if Zoark had ever looked as carefree and relaxed as Oh’nil normally did.
