A Cave beneath the Cliffs, to the South of the Rose
It didn’t matter, Aremu decided. He wasn’t interested in Gideon’s secrets, as long as they didn’t keep him from getting out of this ten-times-blasted cave; let him keep them, private, where they ought to be. Every man, no matter how cracked, no matter how unsettling, deserved the privacy of his own mind and his own thoughts within.
Aremu breathed in deep; the thought had settled him somewhat. Gideon was muttering to himself again; he turned, and looked directly at Aremu once more. Aremu looked back at him, still set against the wall, still holding himself in readiness; his right wrist rested easily against the inside of his coat’s pocket, and his left hand hung loose at his side.
Aremu shifted against the wall. Something bitter surged in his chest; he tasted it on his tongue. Any good at climbing. Gideon didn’t know him; Gideon didn’t know the first damned thing about him, but that he had only one hand, where he should have had too. Aremu breathed in, tightly, and exhaled once more. Can you do it, the other man had asked, contemplating the hole in the ground and the crawl through the tunnel they had guessed awaited them.
“Pretty good,” Aremu said, looking at the other man. He shifted. Would Gideon try to stop him…? He didn’t know why the thought even occurred to him; it wasn’t as if it’d make any sense to do it. But there was something in the other man’s gaze that pricked through him. He didn’t much like the idea of beginning the climb with Gideon watching him; he couldn’t imagine asking for a boost, even if it might’ve helped him get started.
I mean to get out of here, he wanted to say, like a warning. Aremu shifted his weight, lightly. He’d want to climb this one barefoot, he thought; climbing in shoes was never easier for him, and less so now that he needed to rely more on his feet. He didn't like the idea of taking his shoes off in front of Gideon. His right arm throbbed; not the scar, but the imaginary ache he felt, sometimes, out past the place where his wrist ended, like a hand he couldn’t unclench. All the muscles in his right arm, too, were tight; he exhaled, carefully, and tried to relax them, along with all the rest. He wasn’t sure when they’d tensed up again, or why.
Aremu glanced up at the circle of light, and back down at Gideon. His jaw shifted; he ran his tongue over his teeth. Slowly – slowly, he spoke. “I’ll throw you the rope,” Aremu said, carefully, “when I reach the top.” He didn’t expect the other man to believe him; he didn’t know why he’d said it. He watched Gideon, standing not too distant, and waited.