Jane and the Raven King by Stephen Chambers Page A

the dark.”
    “Where are you?”
    “I’m right in front of you, but don’t move. There’s a drop all around us.”
    “A drop?”
    “We’re on a platform at the wall of a cave.”
    Gerhard was breathing fast. “I think I see it now,” he said. “What are we meant to do?”
    “I don’t know—maybe get to that platform somehow.” She pointed across the chasm to the other one.
    “How?”
    “I have no idea.”
    Gerhard felt along the wall, and Jane said, “Be careful!” as he inched closer to the edge.
    “Walk on water,” Gerhard said. “The needle in the haystack—you left the key in the lock, so that was no problem for me—but this does not look like a fire trial.”
    “A trial by fire,” Jane said.
    “Yes.”
    “I know—maybe Gaius wasn’t being literal. Maybe he just meant that the third test would be hard.”
    “This is impossible. No one can jump that far. And even if we can get over there, I can’t see what’s on the other side of that platform. It is too dark. We might be stuck out there, you know.”
    “I don’t think we’re supposed to jump,” Jane said, and noticed the ceiling. Sure, it was uneven rock, but it wasn’t far away—if she stretched, she could almost touch it—and there were handholds. Grooved, round handholds made out of rubber went in a straight line to the platform.
    “Oh, no,” Gerhard said.
    “We’re supposed to climb.” Hand over hand, Jane thought. I’ve never been good at that. My arms aren’t strong enough, and this is way too far. He’s right—it’s impossible.
    Gerhard jumped to grab the first handhold. “Climb out there? This is a joke, do you think?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    Gerhard pulled himself up and dropped back to the platform. He laughed uneasily. “If I fall…”
    “You’re right,” Jane said. “Let’s look for another way.”
    “No. It’s just—if I fall, tell them I made it to the third test.”

B e careful.” Jane’s palms were clammy, and her pulse was fast. “Wait, maybe you shouldn’t—”
    “It’s easy.” He grunted and pulled himself up, one arm, then the other. Gerhard paused, hanging over the pit. He was five feet away from Jane and thirty-five feet from the other side. He huffed again and grabbed another handhold—and again. Then he went slack. He was eight feet out.
    “Jane?” Gerhard called.
    “Yes?”
    “I don’t think this was a good idea. You know?”
    “Come back!”
    “I can’t climb backward!”
    He was right, she realized. The only way to return now would be to make it to the other side and turn around. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
    “You can make it!” she called.
    Gerhard grunted and kept moving. Left arm, right arm, over and over, and then he sagged again, his legs kicking, fists on the handholds. He was twelve feet away.
    “How far down do you think it is?” he asked.
    “Keep going!”
    He did. Fifteen feet. Farther and farther. When he was halfway there, Gerhard stopped again.
    “I can’t,” he said. “My arms are too sore!”
    “You have to!” she shouted. “Go! You can do it!” There were tears in Jane’s eyes. I don’t want to watch him fall, she thought. Can’t I help him? Can’t I do anything? Did Thomas make it across? “Go, Gerhard!”
    He continued over. Twenty-five feet away, almost thirty, and his right hand slipped. He shouted something in German and found his handhold. He was crying with exhaustion and terror and murmuring in German.
    “Don’t stop!” Jane yelled.
    He pulled and groaned and fell slack again. Then again. Each time he grabbed a new handhold, his arms slumped from the strain. She could see his muscles trembling. He was five feet from the other side. Don’t fall, she thought. Please. Another handhold. A pause. Another, and his fingers slid again—found the grip. He was almost there. Two more.
    “I have to stop!” Gerhard called. “I have to—”
    “No!”
    “I can’t—”
    “ Go! ” Jane shouted.
    He found