“What would you advise?” Magda asked.
“I wouldn’t advise; I’d try not to get into such a spot. But being in it, I’d probably go on. Just the same, I didn’t want you to go at it thinking it’s easy or safe, because it’s not. This is your last chance to lose your nerve.”
And this was the last chance. If they did not make it across Scaravel tonight, and it proved to be blocked by daylight after the night’s snow . . . She said, “But what about you, Jaelle? You’re still not strong-”
“There’s almost as much risk to turn around here and go down,” Jaelle said, “and if we stay here, we might freeze. I can make it if you can.”
Magda was not so sure; but having come so far, she was unwilling to retreat or give up. She swallowed the last of the dried meat, and said, “All right, then, we’ll try. Want me to break trail? You’ve been doing it this far.”
“From here on we don’t break trail; we let the horses do it,” said Jaelle, “and we stay between them, in case any banshee is prowling around looking for a midnight lunch!”
The trail was really steep now, but between the two saddle horses, crowded together on the narrow path, the howling of the wind reached them less fiercely. The snow crunched hard underfoot, and they clung to the saddles on the horses to keep their footing. The trail twisted and turned between great rocks that gave some slight shelter from the wind, but now and then Magda caught, between the horses’ legs or over their backs, a faraway and eerie glimpse of great chasms and cliffs, of dizzy gulfs of space dropping away from the trail; and, hastily turning her eyes back into the enclosing world-the horses on either side, Jaelle pressed close against her elbow-she was glad of the darkness that concealed the giddy heights to either side. They struggled along side-by-side, so close that Magda could hear the other woman’s labored breathing; again and again, from the heights above them, they could hear the eerie, demoralizing banshee cry. The horses stirred and stamped; Magda’s horse tossed its head, and she hauled on the bridle, trying to calm and quiet the frightened animal.
“Won’t the saddle-lanterns attract the banshees, too?”
“No, they’re blind,” Jaelle said. “They sense warmth and movement, that’s all. I remember-”
Magda never heard what she remembered. In the next moment there was another high, chilling banshee scream-this one almost on top of them-and a screech from the pack animal behind them, and Magda’s horse reared, struggling, at the very edge of the cliff. The pack beast went down, screaming, plunging, kicking in the snow, and over its struggling body Magda caught a blurred glimpse of a huge, naked, buzzard-like head, an enormous ungainly body, the beak plunging into the pack animal’s soft underbelly and rearing up, dripping gore. Magda pulled out her knife, backing away, waiting for the moment to strike. The naked head whipped around in her direction, weaving, darting, and Jaelle caught her wrist and dragged her back.
She said in a harsh whisper, “Let it eat! It’s too late to save the animal, and if it’s full it won’t turn on us!”
Magda knew that made sense, but the screaming of the dying beast, the terrified screams of the other horses and the foul stench of the great predator turned her sick. She covered her face with her hands as the wicked talons struck down, scraping, raking, and the evil beak plunged d6wn, again and again, as the banshee gorged his fill. Jaelle pulled Magda down behind the horses, and ‘the women lay there concealed, trying not to hear or to see as the creature ate with little growling clucks and snarls.
God, those talons! One blow from them almost ripped the animal in half! Magda thought.
It seemed a long time before the banshee jerked up its huge head, darting it from side to side without interest, then plunged back once for a final tidbit and lumbered heavily away. The talons left great sloppy prints of blood and filth on the snow. Magda, struggling to control her sickness, got up slowly. The antlered pack beast lay almost still, and-this was the ultimate horror-whining thinly, still alive. Magda could not stand it. She bent swiftly, drew her knife across its throat, and with one final twitch, it lay still. Behind the horses Jaelle was lying in the snow, retching weakly, helplessly.