Tarashana Rachel Neumeier (top 10 motivational books TXT) 📖

the cliff where the pads of one great foot had come down half in the snow. Only then did I see the tiger’s shadow, which poured across snow and stone, immense and terrifying. Snow whirled through the air, driven before a sudden hard wind. It was as though the tiger had brought the storm with him, or as though he were half a storm himself. Perhaps he was. The single track showed me a tiger far bigger than any tiger in the land of the living—twice as big, three times—bigger than that.

All this, I saw in less than a heartbeat of time. Though I could not spare much attention, I was aware that Etta had grabbed the belt of Inhejeriel’s coat and thrown her upward, then set a hand below her knee and shoved her up again. Even now, Inhejeriel did not cry out aloud. Everyone else was shouting or screaming, but the Tarashana woman was silent. Aras bent, offering Etta his hands, fingers laced together.

Then I did not know what else happened there, because the tiger eased forward a step and another step—I saw another partial track appear, and knew he was close enough to leap. Snow blew into my face, confusing my vision. I unfocused my gaze, looking past and through the snow for any sign that would tell me when the tiger moved.

This was the worst place imaginable to face a tiger, even if he had been a living beast rather than an immense and terrifying shade. Cliffs to two sides, a sheer drop to one side, the tiger between us and any possible retreat—I could not imagine any good ending. I shouted and stamped, slashing with my sword, making a show, but I already knew the effort was hopeless, and was certain of that when the tiger gave a deep, raking snarl. I heard the soft pad of his foot on the stone, though I saw nothing. Our packs lay at the foot of the cliff, ready to be pulled up; I seized one of those and flung it at the place I knew the tiger crouched. Some great unseen foot struck the pack out of the air, sending it tumbling away and out into the air. I threw another pack, shouting, with the same result.

Geras said, not to me, “Get up the gods-hated cliff!”

Aras answered, his tone perfectly reasonable, “Yes, but I can’t, you know. If I turn my back now, I expect the tiger will stop hesitating. I realize we haven’t shields, but if you can think of anything better than forming up into a line, I’m open to suggestions.” He raised his voice. “Back up a step, Ryo, and we’ll form a line.”

It was not even a bad suggestion, if the tiger had been a living beast. This tiger was something other than a tiger, something more than a tiger. His shadow wavered, enormous, fraying at the edges into snow and wind. From the sounds, I knew someone still climbed. Maybe both Inhejeriel and my sister still clung to the rope, exposed and helpless.

“Aras, climb,” I snapped, “Geras and I will slow the tiger. Do not argue with me! Listen to Iro, he will get you to Talal Sabero—”

“Ryo! Get in line,” Aras said forcefully, cutting me off.

“Gods save us from the gods-hated stupidity of gods-hated high nobles,” Geras snapped, and ran forward, shouting and waving his sword, not wildly, but deliberately, to draw the tiger’s attention. He would injure the beast if he could, but obviously that was not his greatest concern.

I knew at once I should have done that myself, but it would have been completely disgraceful to waste the chance Geras gave us. I did not wait to see what happened; I knew what must happen. I turned, sheathing my sword as I moved, closed my hands on Aras’ hips, and flung him up the cliff. He twisted, grabbed the rope, and went up, not arguing, and I followed. Behind us, there was no outcry, no sound of a struggle. The struggle would have been very brief. I might have heard the sounds of a dead man dragged across stone; I was not certain. I did not turn to see.

I climbed as fast as I could, careless of the ice, using the rope more than the stone. Twice I slipped, once badly, so that I would have fallen if not for that rope. I came up to Aras. He was pulling himself upward, but more slowly. I climbed past him, the rope wrapped around my wrist lest I should lose my hold. I did not slip, and in a moment found a good grip. I said curtly, “Put your foot on my shoulder.”

Aras did as I asked, not speaking, and that gave him the boost he needed to come in reach of Iro’s hands. Iro pulled him up and over the edge, and a moment later reached down again for me. I reached up, nearly slipping, but we caught each other, wrist to wrist, and he pulled me up as he had Aras. I got my knee on the edge of the cliff and twisted around at once, though I knew the tiger must have gone or Iro would not have turned his attention to helping Aras or me. I looked anyway. There was nothing to see. A little blood, not much. A scraped place in the snow. Nothing else.

After a moment, Iro said, “Someone will need to go down and send up the packs. I will do that.”

“I will do it,” I snapped. There were only two packs now. We had lost half our supplies. That was my doing. And Geras was gone. I could not bear to look at Aras.

“He died bravely,” Iro said, as one says when there is no other comfort. “He was a courageous and honorable man.”

Aras drew a breath. Then he turned to Inhejeriel and said, “He was