I pulled Shad toward me with my left hand, shoulder aching, then I yanked out my knife with my right, hiding it behind the old man. The big man squeezed by, taking shots at us with knees and elbows, and swearing at us for being pushy. He stared at me coldly, and I stared back. Who would blink first? Not Nick Seagrave. I didn’t. I wondered if before I could act he would grab someone and push him off the cliff. I almost waved the knife at him, but resisted the urge.

Then the others, eight of them, passed us single file. They waddled cautiously, like penguins on a narrow ice ledge, following their leader.

But the man in the orange stocking cap held back. He pressed against the mountain between Malaiki and me, telling the others to pass him.

“I’m Shaun,” he said. “Tell me more of the chasm. And the Chasm-crosser.”

“Get back in formation,” one of the penguins commanded Shaun. He ignored the scolding.

The penguins stopped to rest maybe sixty feet behind us. I talked with Shaun, telling him what the Woodsman had done, about Charis and why we were headed that direction, and warning him about the Pretender. Finally, he went off to rejoin the penguins, but he promised he’d consider what I’d said. Though I’d expended a lot of energy, I felt less tired than an hour before.

Back behind us, where the penguins had started moving again, I heard a strange noise, like someone kicking hard against metal. I turned and saw a dozen warriors in battle. I couldn’t understand how they all fit on the narrow walkway, then realized they didn’t—they were standing on air. There was only one bright warrior against a gang of dark ones. I prayed, and so did Malaiki and Shad. When I looked up, out of the air there appeared one more bright warrior, then another, then another. They were still outnumbered three to one, but at least it was a fight.

“These stupid guardrails!”

It was the voice of the head penguin, and when I focused on it, the warriors disappeared. But the noise continued, metal crashing against metal. Then I heard a scream and squawks and the sound of something careening off the mountainside, falling onto the rocks below. It was the sickening crunch of bouncing flesh and broken bone. I listened breathlessly.

“I told you those rails were dangerous,” said a whiny voice. “Look at what they did to him.”

“Let’s get rid of the railing so it doesn’t hurt anyone else.” The air filled with grunts and groans and kicking and hitting and pulling.

“Please don’t,” Malaiki called to them. “You’ll just make the road more dangerous for yourselves and others. Without the guardrails, more people will fall off the cliff—or jump!”

We heard no answer. Then another scream bit the air, followed by thuds below and another silence.