Rope.
Nes.
The dark moved toward him, a slow-moving attack. But he was slower still. Shadows crept in, and he couldn’t outrun them.
24
Nes
Time was her enemy. The silence surrounding her its weapon.
Nes paced the tunnel entrance, her eyes never leaving the expanding dark. Over and over, she ran her hands up and down the length of rope.
She should pull him up. But he hadn’t given her the signal. Hadn’t given any signal. He could be dead.
No, he wouldn’t die on her. She would make sure of it.
When Toran made it back with Genna, Nes would suggest Genna get far away from Gadore. Best to pack up and leave tonight. It wouldn’t do to have Genna live through this only to be thrown back down the well tomorrow. If anything, her survival would only increase the belief she was the Witch.
Nes wound the end of the rope around her pinkie as tight as it would go. Unraveled it. Wound it again. She leaned over the lip of stone, but all she could see was black. She hadn’t felt a tug. But how long had it been since she’d lowered him down? Five minutes? Ten?
Even with her ear angled toward the dark, she couldn’t pick up any sound other than the slosh of water on stone. Her mind swirled with images of Toran sinking beneath the water. Her nightmare of drowning, of choking on the sea and shriveling in the dark, became visions of Toran.
She gnawed on her bottom lip. A tremble ran through the rope, and her breath caught. She stared at the rope. It didn’t move.
Without the steady creep of the sun across the sky to help her gauge the time, she felt blind, like she was wandering the dark in moreways than one. Time had mocked her long enough. If Toran didn’t have Genna by now, she was dead. And if she waited any longer, she might pull up two dead bodies. She had to get them out.
Nes wrapped the rope around her middle several times and gripped the end with both hands. Slowly, she began walking back.
The rope had grown damp under the chill, moist air. She held on tight. One step, then another. With every step her heart thudded harder. There was so little resistance on the rope.
She tried not to imagine how he might not be on the other end anymore. How she might be pulling for nothing.
It took another fifteen steps before she felt any weight. But even then, she didn’t breathe easy. She wouldn’t until Toran was safely out of the water. She kept walking, fighting the increasing weight. She’d promised him she was strong enough to get them out of the well.
It was the first time she’d made someone other than her father a promise since…she couldn’t remember. She intended to keep it, no matter the cost.
Promises were more intimate than deals. More personal. She didn’t want to be the type of person who broke a promise.
She let the rope fall from her fingers, let her waist and her core bear the weight, her thighs working harder than they had in weeks. Her legs shook with the effort. If she didn’t get them out soon, she wouldn’t have the strength to start over again.
A scrape of a boot on stone had her pulling up short. She wasn’t alone. Someone must have followed them down here. She couldn’t save Toran and Genna and fight this new person, too. Not without an advantage.
Something within her squirmed, a wriggling sensation taking over her gut. Her breaths turned heavy.
Focus lost, her feet began to slide against stone, back toward the half wall. Then slender hands slid around her twisting abdomen and linked in front of her belly button. A familiar scent of citrus wafted around her.
“I’ve got you,” Suri said.
From there it became a slow dance. Suri’s foot, her foot, Suri’s foot. Together they pulled, easing the rope up and over the edge.
“Nes.” Suri’s voice held an inevitability Nes didn’t want to consider. “The rope.”
Fraying splinters had begun to jut out at all angles, the rope tearing itself apart under the pressure.
“Keep going,” she ordered. They continued pulling.
Please, she begged.Please keep the rope together.
