Free Finder's Shore by Anna Mackenzie Page B

your fault, Ness.”
    Ronan is beside me, his hand awkward on my shoulder. I take a shuddering breath. Now is no time to give way to tears. The sand on my fingers is gritty against my skin as I wipe them away. “I hadn’t time to find out enough. Sophie —” I stop, and shake my head. “Merryn will be able to tell us more.”
    It occurs to me abruptly that I didn’t ask whether Merryn still farms her own land, or whether she, too, fell victim to Colm’s spite. It feels as if I can’t do anything right. Ronan’s hand lifts from my shoulder and I turn, regretting its loss, but he’s already walking away.
    I bend to pick up a stick, worn smooth and grey by the sea. At the rear of the cove Ronan runs his hand across the cliff as if he’s testing its soundness. “My brothers and I used to climb for bird’s eggs on Ister’s northern cliffs,” he says.
    It takes me a moment to grasp his meaning. He walks back to my side. “It’s not as bad as it looks, Ness.” He extends an arm. “The first section is the hardest. From the ledge, there, it gets easier and there are plenty of holds.”
    I try to trace the path his finger picks out, but all I can see is the height of the cliff towering above us. “I —”
    “We could leave most of our gear here.” He opens his pack. I scrutinise the rope, like a coiled serpent, that he drops on the sand. He offers me a slab of bread, but any hint of appetite I might have had has disappeared.
    “The dinghy will be safer here than in the inlet,” he says. “And this way we’ll be at Merryn’s before anyone else has time to reach the headland. If they’re looking,” he adds, as he sorts our belongings into two piles. 
    After a moment he notices my silence. He looks up. “It’ll save us half a day, as well as reducing the risk. And it’ll mean we can get off the island as soon as it’s dark.” He’s convinced himself, at least.
    “I don’t know if I can do it.”
    “You used to use that path up the cliff above the cave. It’s more or less the same.”
    It’s not, I think. Ignoring my indecision, Ronan begins repacking our gear. I walk to the sea’s edge and sluice my face, welcoming the sting of salt in my eyes. Turning, I stare up at the cliff. Perhaps Ronan’s right: beyond the ledge he pointed out, the slope is less steep.
    “I could go on my own,” he offers. “If you draw me a map I can —”
    “No.” My mouth feels mealy and dry. I wipe my hands on my thighs.
    Ronan swings the pack onto his shoulders. “All right. I’ll go first, with the rope. Don’t start till I reach the first ledge.” He ties a loop around my torso. “I’ll tug twice when I’m ready for you to come up.” Dread oozes thick as mud through my veins. “If you need more slack, give three quick tugs on the rope and I’ll loosen it off a fraction.”
    Though I try, I can’t return his smile.
    “It’ll be easier than you think, Ness.”
    My palms are clammy as I wait, neck craned back till it aches, while Ronan inches upwards. The cliff seems to stretch to the sky. If I fall, Ronan surely won’t be able to hold me. More likely I’ll pull us both to our deaths.
    The rope tightens between us then jumps twice in my hands. “Come up to the ledge,” he calls softly. “It’s not far.”
    I curl my fingers around a rocky spur and lift my right foot to a jut. With my left I find a crack. Ronan is right: it’s easier than I expected, but the rock is sharp, the holds small and rough beneath the pads of my fingers. I’ve barely begun when the newly healed gash on my shin begins to ache.
    “You’re doing well,” Ronan calls.
    I grit my teeth. Easier to find purchase with fingers than toes. My knees keep getting in the way, and each time I search without finding a hold, my heart hammers so savagely it feels as if it alone might push me from the cliff. Ronan keeps the rope taut without unbalancing me, but still it sometimes tangles my arm or slaps at my chest. When his hand