Their eyes met, a spark of hope leaping between them; then Thulu shook his head. “Without the rockpile beneath us, the rope’s too short,” he said wearily. “The fall from the shaft would kill us. Even if it wasn’t”—he gestured around—“there’s naught to anchor the rope, lad.”

Dani bowed his head, stroking the rope’s plaited length. A trace of moisture glistened on his fingertips. His pulse quickened, and he began to chant the Song of Being under his breath.

“Lad,” Thulu began, then fell silent as the rope began to grow beneath Dani’s fingertips, stalks seeding and sprouting, stretching and growing in ever-lengthening plaits, young and strong and green. One end sprouted roots, pale tendrils questing in the open air.

Still chanting, Dani risked a glance toward the east. The ravens were coming; no longer a smudge, but a wedgeshaped cloud, soaring and wheeling, mighty enough to cast a shadow on the plains. It rode before them on the grass, darkness moving over the waves, veering in their direction. Something had caught their attention; perhaps movement, perhaps the scent of the Water of Life itself, faint and rising.

His voice faltered, then continued. There was no other avenue of escape. In one swift gesture, he stabbed the rope’s end into the cold soil, feeling the tendrils take root, sending their shoots into the dark earth. The plaited stalks continued to lengthen and twine, whispering like a snake’s coils between his palms. He tugged once, experimentally. The rope was firmly rooted.

“It will never hold us,” Uncle Thulu said flatly.

“It will,” Dani said. “It has to.”

He did not offer this time, but simply went, clearing away the overgrown grass and clambering into the shaft. The rope felt sturdy in his hands, though he could hear the hoarse, dry rustle of its growth echoing in the shaft.

Hand over hand, Dani lowered himself into darkness.

It was a narrower shaft than the other. His elbows scraped the sides, and he prayed Uncle Thulu would fit. It was a relief when he cleared the shaft, dangling in the empty darkness. Ignoring his aching shoulder for the hundredth time, he went as quickly as he dared, fearful despite his assurance that the rope would end before his feet touched the floor of the tunnel.

It didn’t.

“Uncle!” he called. “Hurry!”

What faint light the shaft admitted was blocked by Thulu’s body. Muffled sounds of scraping and banging ensued, accompanied by a muttered stream of Yarru invective. Dani clutched the rope to hold it steady, his heart in his throat until he saw daylight once more and, at the apex of the tunnel, his uncle’s battered figure clinging to the rope, lowering himself at a dangerous pace.

Then he was down, a broad grin visible on his dark face. “Think I left half my skin on that damned rock, lad!”

“Did they see us?” Dani asked anxiously.