“No,” I whispered as my father’s voice echoed in my head: “If someone is in need, ’tis better to try to help, even if you fail, than never to try at all.”
I couldn’t just stand by and watch someone fall and die.
Frantically, I glanced around for something—anything—I could use to rescue him. But our town had naught to boast of except hardship and barrenness.
I stumbled forward regardless, tripping over the rocks and nearly falling in my haste to reach the bridge. All the while, I untied the rope around my waist that served as a belt for my mining tools. It wasn’t long, but it was something.
One of the newcomers, a thickly muscled man who’d already crossed the ravine, was straining against the hold of the overseers and several other slaves. “Release me! I shall go back for him.”
Curly was one of the men attempting to contain the newcomer. “If ye be stepping on the bridge and getting it moving, yer friend won’t be able to hold on.”
“He won’t be able to hold on as it is!” The man lunged, causing the four or five men at his sides to have to wrestle him back.
Making full use of their distraction, I approached the bridge. As I stepped lightly onto the first slat, I held my breath and hoped the ropes wouldn’t sway too much. I was lithe and lightweight, especially after toiling in the mine pits for the past months. If anyone could cross without swaying the bridge, I was the most likely to do so.
I tiptoed several slats in before Curly’s anxious command beckoned to me. “Gabi, ye get back here right now, d’ye hear me?”
“You know I am the best choice to make such a rescue,” I called over my shoulder.
“No one can be helping him but himself! Now get on back here.”
I took another delicate step, praying fervently I wouldn’t cause the man to lose his grip. His knuckles were white, but he seemed to have a strong hold, one hand on the broken slat and the other on the cord that ran the length of the bridge. If only I could toss my rope out to him so he had something sturdier to cling to.
As I continued my tentative walk, my thoughts strayed to the day I’d arrived last autumn, to how frightened I’d been to cross the bridge. With each step I’d taken, I hadn’t been able to block out the terrible rocky gorge that lay far below. Not only had I feared I’d slip and fall to my death, but I feared crossing to the other side would lead me to the bowels of death itself, to a future so different from anything I’d known that I couldn’t fathom how I’d survive.
Of course, my new life was as hard—perhaps harder—than I’d imagined. Yet even though I’d lost everything, I still had so much to give, especially kindness. “Kindness is a commodity one can never use up.” I recalled more of my father’s advice. “And kindness is a commodity that will always be in demand.” People around me needed it in abundance every day. Like now . . .
“Hold on,” I gently urged the dangling man. Drawing closer, I could see he wasn’t a man after all, but a lad of twelve or fourteen. What had he done to earn a place in the mine pits? Likely not much. Very few in Slave Town were true criminals. Most were simply victims in a land where justice rarely prevailed and mercy was nonexistent.
Only six slats away now, I met the young man’s gaze. His pupils were dark and wild with fear.
“I shall throw you this rope, and I want you to use it along with the side of the bridge to heft yourself back up.” And while he did so, I’d pray for the strength to hoist him. “Do you think you can do that?”
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 loose from 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.