The Heretic (Beyond the Wall Book 1) by Lucas Bale

bark broke through the noise of the river again.
    They were coming.
    Jordi moved more quickly, until at last he edged round the curve of the river and spotted the crossing. He hauled the branch into his armpit and used it as a crutch. He could see the shallow rock beneath the water as it purled over the polished stone. He’d always done this before with Ishmael—slowly and in the summer when the river was lower, knowing that if he fell, he could just swim out and let his clothes dry in the sun as his brother laughed at him. The only injury would be to his pride.
    This was no different, he told himself. He tried to clear thoughts of Vaarden and the dog from his mind. Tried not to imagine the cold steel of the rifle, and the tiny, razor-sharp bullet within it, spinning through the cool winter air towards him, lancing through his chest and bursting out the other side in a spray of his own blood.
    He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.
    There was no time.
    He opened his eyes and began to walk. The rocks leading across the riverbed cut through the water and sent it sluicing down a short drop. This natural cascade was formed by the thin trail of exposed rock at the top; but almost everywhere else, the river was deep enough that it would knock him off balance. If he fell, he doubted he’d ever get up.
    Jordi led with his uninjured leg, placing his boot on the first rock—a confidence trick as much as anything else—and put his weight on the branch to balance himself. He pivoted and gently rested his other foot, his injured leg, on the next stone, still maintaining as much of his weight as he dared on the branch. The wood was sturdy and would take his weight, but it might easily shift under the push of the surging river.
    It held firm, and he allowed himself to put more of his weight on the injured leg.
    The pain was excruciating. He could feel his head begin to reel.
    He dragged the branch forward and jabbed it down, desperate for it to find purchase between the rocks. Before he could even ensure it was secure, he found he had lifted his weight off the injured leg and brought the other leg forward, searching for footing. But his good foot slipped, and he shifted quickly to try to retain his balance.
    The barking grew louder and more distinct. He forced himself not to look.
    Concentrate.
    He was halfway across the river, his injured leg hanging inches above the stone, shuddering as pain surged up and down in gushes.
    Two more stones.
    Again he placed his foot on slick rock, leaning on the branch as it perched in the deluge of the river. Water engulfed his boot and flowed up to his ankle, cold and sharp. The branch teetered, its position unstable. He tried to shift his weight, to maintain equilibrium.
    The bank wasn’t far but he could feel himself pitching, falling. Another step was all he needed. As he began to topple, he threw the branch and the injured leg forward and rocked on both. He veered and shuffled in equal measure—a collapsing rag doll, falling with neither control nor dignity.
    He fell, knuckles first, into the rock and mud on the other side of the river, scraping the skin, his hands too numb to even feel it. He lay there, hugging the mud, wet, bedraggled, his leg screaming in agony, reeling from the pain.
    But he was elated.
    Behind him, he could hear movement above the roar of the river. He glanced up and saw the dog weaving between the trees leaning off the bank. Its nose darted about the ground, searching for any trace of him. It looked a vicious animal, its lips drawn into a snarl, revealing yellowed teeth. Its grey fur was mottled with snow and mud. It looked, in the wildness of the forest, like a wolf.
    But it had not yet seen him.
    Jordi searched frantically for somewhere to hide—some hollow in the riverbank, or a way up the bank so he could hunker down behind the cusp of the ridge.
    Behind him, blood from his gashed thigh had spilled onto rock and moss. If Vaarden and the dog crossed, they would find