The elk skull dropped, snapping the four thongs taut. The square of buckskin filled with air and billowed up. Swinging gently back and forth, the strange contraption drifted down the side of the cliff very slowly indeed.
Amero’s heart raced. It worked!
Then the floating skull humped into the cliff wall, swung away, and got caught in the downdraft of the falls. As soon as the plunging water hit the hide, it collapsed and went tumbling into the permanent bank of mist at the foot of the falls.
Amero sat back, shaken. Yes, it could be done, but only if he kept away from the waterfall. That’s why Duranix had leaped through the water. He was able to do it because he was preternaturally strong. If Amero tried it and failed, he wouldn’t have long to mourn his lack of success.
The cave was growing brighter. Sunlight had crept up the cliff all morning and now was shining through the waterfall into the recesses of the cave. The pulsating, blue-tinged light threw everything in the chamber into strong relief, including the human skull Amero had found. The white bone shell glowed in the midday light, and the sight of it galvanized Amero to action.
With his tool he cut wide strips of hide and tied his ankles and wrists to the ox skin he’d chosen. He gathered the hide to his chest and waddled to the lower opening. At the last moment he stuck the sharpened gold leaf into the waist of his loincloth. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He cast one look back at the skull. Empty eye sockets gave him the encouragement he needed.
Amero sprang from the rim with all the force his legs could give. He hit the waterfall, and for a fleeting moment felt the power of the roaring column of water. Then he was tumbling through open air, head over heels. He opened his eyes and saw the sun and clifftop careen past. He let go of the hide and it fluttered and flopped like a living thing. Down he plummeted. He rolled over on his back to get away from the flailing ox skin. It caught the air and filled. Amero was jerked upward, snatched painfully by his wrists and ankles. His fall slowed greatly, but he was still going down fast enough to make the wind whistle in his ears. Worse, he was tumbling backward and couldn’t see where he was going — he saw only the ox hide above him.
It was difficult shifting the hide straps around his wrists, but he managed to flop over on his stomach. He wished he hadn’t. Below was the lake of the falls, rushing toward him at sickening speed. Amero opened his mouth and screamed.
He was still screaming when he hit the water. It felt almost as hard as hitting the ground. The air was driven from his chest and water rushed into his mouth and nose. Kicking furiously, he tried to rise to the surface, only to find his progress blocked by the sinking ox hide.
Nianki had been a better swimmer than he, a fact he regretted as he struggled to free himself. A painful poke in the ribs reminded him of his new tool. He drew it and cut the four straps. Kicking away from the confining hide, Amero broke the surface a few paces away.
He dragged himself ashore on a sandy spit. As he lay on his back gasping for air, Amero could see the dark circular openings in the cliff face behind the waterfall. They were so high up, yet here he was, alive on the ground!
Amero sat up and winced. His ribs ached. He had cuts on his hands and chest from the sharp tool, but none of that mattered. He was free again! It was time to put as much distance as possible between himself and Duranix. When sunset came and the strange spirit-man returned, would he come looking for Amero? Or, like a wise fisherman, would he not waste time on one that got away?
Amero hefted the golden tool. What this thing needed was a handle of some kind, some way to carry it so he wouldn’t get cut all the time. Maybe a split shaft, like Nianki’s hunting club had?
Amero went to the water’s edge and waded along the shore. The outflow from the falls would obscure his footprints in the sandy bottom and make it harder for Duranix to track him. With luck, he could be far away before sunset.
Luck was not with him, however. The terrain around the lake was rugged. There were no trails, and in making his own way, Amero had to tread on rocks and gravel washed down the ravine by winter rains. The sharp shards bit into his feet, drawing blood. He’d gone barefoot all his life, and his feet were tough, but he’d never had to contend with conditions like this.
When the sun started to dip below the surrounding mountain peaks, Amero was still within sight of the waterfall. Desperation made him careless. He abandoned the shaded slope of the valley and jogged down to the floor of the ravine.
It was more level there, so the going was easier, but he was in plain sight of anyone on the high ground around him.
The trees in the area were mostly pines and oaks, very tall and widely spaced. A flock of starlings flew over, and the dark shadow they cast frightened Amero into the bushes. When he saw the birds wheel about and return, he emerged from hiding.
“You! Stop!”
He spun around and saw four men rushing toward him. They looked like plainsmen, except they wore more clothing. They were all of an age, four or five seasons older than Amero, and alike enough to be brothers. They ringed him with leveled spears. One, whose dark hair was plaited into a single thick braid, shouted, “Stand still, or we’ll kill you!”
“Please!” Amero said. “I have nothing! I’ve done nothing!”
“You came from the lake of the falls, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but — ” Amero began, and found four spears pressed into his chest and back.
“I thought so!” said the man with the braid. “You’re the monster who lives in the cave behind the falls.”
“No, I’m not! I escaped from the cave today.”
Another of the men, with a large black mole on his cheek, shook his spear and scoffed, “Oh, yes? And how did you do that?”
“I used an ox hide — ” Amero stopped his explanation abruptly. He had floated down beneath an ox hide. It was the truth, but it didn’t sound like the truth. Indeed, it sounded ridiculous.
“We’ve seen you fly in and out of the cave, monster, and we know you can take on human shape. You’ve killed off all the elk and deer in this range. Our children go hungry!” The man with the braid raised his voice, his face reddening with rage. “And what did you do with our father, Genta? Last autumn he went hunting for you and never came back!”
The skull in Duranix’s cave had belonged to a big man, he suddenly remembered. All four of the hunters — all four brothers — were head and shoulders taller than Amero.
“I’m not the monster,” he insisted. “I was taken captive by Duranix — that’s his name — but I escaped. I dived into the lake and swam ashore. My name is Amero, son of Oto and Kinar.”
“Don’t lie to us, dragon!”
Dragon? The word meant nothing to Amero. “No,” he insisted, “my name is Amero.”
Two of the hunters prodded him from behind. Amero staggered forward, stung by the sharp spear points. The angry hunters might kill him at any time. He pointed to his cut and abraded feet and held out his scraped hands.
“Look at me!” he declared. “I bleed, as you do. Does your monster bleed? Is dragon’s blood red?”
Mole-face grasped his hand, running a callused thumb over Amero’s lacerated palm. “Feels like a girl’s hand,” he muttered.
Amero snatched his hand back indignantly. “I’m not the monster you seek, but he is returning at dusk from his day’s hunt. We should get away from here, quickly, before he finds us.”
The brothers had a loud debate over what to do. The eldest, the one with the braid, was called Annom. He wanted to kill Amero just in case he was the dragon. Mole-face, called Hatu by the others, had a sounder idea. They would tie up Amero and hide, watching the cave to see if Duranix returned. If he did, then Amero’s story would have more weight. Perhaps he would swoop down and they could capture him. If he didn’t return, they would know Amero was actually Duranix and could cut his throat then.