OTHERBORN: THE DIG [WP PROLOGUE EDITION]

SEVEN

It's late afternoon, when I get back to our cliffs. And first, I make my way up the first rungs towards grandfather's "stay". That's high above.

My cousin, Mateo, calls up to me, but I can't take my attention off the skull that I've hidden under my wrap. I want to be sure I can't damage the thing.

Steady, I wing my way up the ladder I've built for Grandfather—to make his climbing easy for him. I've had to forgo any lost chips of valuable bone at the dig for a fast getaway in case the Outsider man should return.

Our people can climb effortlessly, right up till they spend too much time in the lands of the town folk—and then their strength goes.

Grandfather seems shamed by my ladder, but I know he can pass off using my gift as a kindness to me—so he leaves this in place, pretending he's glad; and I do not worry.

I'm almost to the top. I keep both eyes down on the skull beneath my elbow. I know there is a craggy shelf one hundred feet lower, then a drop, and two hundred feet further again to the canyon dry bed.

It mystifies others—the soft folk beyond—how strong we are when we're here at home. But any tied-together lengths of all ladders will whisk away quietly and into the caves if outsiders approach, and long before the intruders get anywhere near and able to spot them.

They don't ever find us. We well vanish, silent as ghosts who had never lived here. We can sense intruders across miles with our sight, through cracks in the canyons and presence of echos where most of us "bed".

The beautiful soil of the crust, with its folds and crevices that hide us between them...is deadly to some...and life giving to us!

According to soft folk, these are the Badlands. However, they are very much "good" and our ancestral home—where we shall belong until an improbable day when Father Sun would abandon our sky.

"Are you sick?" Mateo hellooos, in our native language.

I know he is watching how slowly I climb. He will guess I hide something if I do not answer. What to say back?

"Sunsick," I shout down, and he leaves me alone. Dizzy is much to be avoided on cliffs.

I want to be sure someone is up here first. Getting over the rim will be the hard part—to keep the skull safe to my side—so I call out to Grandfather, making sure that he's in his cave before climbing over.

And, then it happens...

I hear my grandfather's voice, say, "Kylo"... And I start to lift the skull past the rim, when it twists and tips over the side of my fingers and out of my grasp.

I don't know how this has happened, but my heart plummets straight down the cliff after it.

"—Krakus," I almost scream, but it is too late....

I barely remember to grab for the ladder, when a wrinkled claw hand clamps over my wrist—wiry, a vice-like grip, as tight as the tool I've used in the shop.

Another second would have been much too late to secure me back to the wall.

I feel the shock of my cold, clammy sweat and shame beneath Grandfather's warm, rough hands now. My lungs refuse to take in the air.

I at last see where I could have tumbled headlong down to the bottom as well. The skull is still falling!

This is the worst mistake I could ever make in the eyes of the free "climbing-people". It is already my most irresponsible move up till now, but I behave even worse in watching it fall.

Grandfather hoists me up like a vulture in spite of myself—eyes glued to my prize—and then safely let's go of my arm. He sounds incredulous, but formidable as he states, "You dropped your 'wellness' to attend to your prize." He doesn't need to say more. He refers to my focus.