Edge of the Falls (After the Fall) Page 2

  I switch off the holo, and Guin lights candles, pulls the dark screen from the fire. “We’re done for today,” I say quietly. “Cook has lunch prepared and then I want you all to weed the greenhouse. Spiro, check with Berg to see if he needs your help today.”

  I start to turn away, and Kaida’s clear voice stops me. “Sabah?”

  A wild thought goes through me that I cannot face her—she’ll see the truth, if she looks at me. I steel my expressions, and turn, arching an eyebrow.

  “What was sunlight like?”

  It isn’t the question I expect and I flounder for a moment, unsure how to answer her. How, how to describe something that I have never seen? That no one alive has ever seen?

  “Like spun gold,” Berg says from behind me, and I tense.

  Kaida’s gray gaze darts to him, questioning.

  “You’ve seen the lights from Mlena?”

  Around the room, they nod, all but Alba, who watches, her arms crossed over her chest, as Berg moves past me, crouches in front of Kaida, and smiles. “It’s like that—except it’s more. It’s bigger—so big it filled everything with light and warmth. It warmed even the Falls. It was happiness, and light, and life—it was safety in the day, and seasons, and warm hands and healthy crops. It was everything we don’t have now.” There is a touch of wistfulness in his voice and I almost step toward him, almost reach out to touch and reassure him. But I feel so fragile already, and I still need to inform the children of the Mistress’ demand.

  I clear my throat, Kaida looks at me, and something in her gaze is alert, almost as if she knows what I will say before I speak.

  “She wants you ready to look for starrbriars in two days,” I say. Kaida meets the words with silence, a muffled gasp slipping from Lilith. I glare at her, and then look back to Kaida.

  How can she look so serene, so calm? For a heartbeat, fear flickers through her eyes, and then she nods.

  I turn and escape.

  **

  Night is a precious time. A time of deep darkness and danger, and the only time I can call my own. When the weight of the children and the Manor and life does not sit so heavily on me.

  Berg is waiting when I slip into the study, his hands worrying the worn edges of a thick leather book. It is old, dated pre-Before. I know what it is without reading the almost invisible title—the gold gilt has long since flaked off.

  I tug the book gently from his hands and set it on the table. He smiles at me, but there’s a tension in both of us—something unfamiliar in our relationship.

  A sigh slips from me as I snuggle into his lap, leaning my head against his shoulder. His lips press against my hair and we sit there, recovering from the long day in each other’s embrace.

  I’m not entirely sure when the relationship between us changed. Berg is one of the first things I can remember from Outside. My mother is a shadowy figure that I can barely recall. I know, deep inside, that she must have loved me.

  I know that she had turned me out only because she had no choice. Gutterlings, the outcast children living in the sewers of Cities, were prey to the Keepers, and more often then not, disappeared into the Commission’s experiments. Putting me out of the Shield that protected the whole of the City was necessary—sometimes I like to think she’d been called before the Prince, and threatened. The Commission could Exile her, snatch away her Insurance—the promised marriage to another Citizen that allowed each to fulfill their assigned Quota.

  But she is a distant memory—someone who had loved me, and let me go, for whatever her reasons. Berg is the one who never let go. I was Outside for almost two days before Berg found me. We’d both been pathetically small, but I can remember him giving me water he’d collected from mist landing on his rain slicker. I can remember him promising me we’d survive, that he would protect me. I remember believing him.

  When the ban-wolves screamed through the pitch black of night, he’d stayed awake, holding my hand, and tied me to him with a rope around both our waists. If one of us goes, we’ll both go, Sabah.

  We hadn’t fallen. We weren’t snatched by the pack of ban-wolves, either, though we heard their screams through that endless night. The Mistress had found us, and with a gleam in her eyes that made me shiver, she had scooped us up and taken us to her Manor.

  We’d been the first. Her first orphans. Over the years, she’d collected Gutterlings and outcast orphans. Berg and I had helped them, taught them, and held them while they cried in the night. When I was overcome with missing the shadow that was my mother, he held me.

  Sometimes I wonder who holds him.

  He’s always been my friend—my only friend, since the girls were mine to care for, and the Mistress is so far above me, she could never be considered anything but what she is: my patron and Mistress.

  “What are you thinking, Sabah?” he murmurs, his voice soft in my ear.

  “When we met,” I answer, twisting my head to smile at him. “Did you think, then, that the Gutterling you rescued would be the girl you love?”

  His eyes darken, and my breath catches. “Yes,” he murmurs and he's so close I can feel the word on my lips. His hands fist in my hair, pulling me even closer. I inhale, fighting to breathe, caught in the kiss and the storm of emotions he can make play across me.

  We’re both shaking when he lets me go. We sit silently, and then he pats my knee. “Walk with me to the greenhouse.”

  I stand, grateful for the chance to think about something other than his lips on me, as delicious as that is. His kisses always make me think of the future, and that is not certain for either of us.

  We are Exiled.

  The greenhouse is silent and creepy in the dead of night. It is the only time we turn off the Growlight, and the darkness that is a constant everywhere else fills the room. The smells are comforting though—natural and clean, fresh. I let my fingers brush over the herbs, and the smell of rosemary and thyme and cilantro flood the air around me. It makes my mouth water, despite the pleasant fullness in my belly from lastmeal.

  “What was that, today? Why did you question her?” he asks, and despite the casual tone, I can feel the edge of tension. The hint of anger.

  “Am I not allowed to do that? I thought it was only the Commission who hates questions,” I say, lightly. I pick up a pair of scissors and clip some rosemary, sniffing it before I tuck it into a pocket to leave for Cook.

  “Sabah,” he snaps, and this time he does not attempt to censor the anger from his voice, “don’t be difficult.”

  I blink, turning to face him. That is something that I am seldom, if ever, accused of being. If any of us—aside from Alba—is difficult, it is Berg.

  “I’m not,” I say, my voice flat and unfriendly. “I’m asking why it is so damn necessary to risk the life of a child. Is that wrong, Berg? Because as far as we know, those starrbriars could be making her bath scent.”

  Something flickers in his eyes, too quickly for me to catch, before he says stiffly, “If that is the price she asks for protecting us, it is her business.”

  “No,” I snap. “Not when I raise these children. She makes it our business.”

  He reaches for me, and I step back, out of reach.

  “Why are you defending her?” I demand. I watch him shrug, watch worry and confusion war for supremacy on his face.

  “I don’t want you hurt,” he says, and something in me tightens. He is telling me the truth—but not all of it.

  For the first time in our lives, Berg is keeping something from me.

  Chapter 3

  I steal into the kitchen, my feet silent in oiled leather boots. Cook is humming, her back to me as she beats a loaf of dough into submission. I reach out, snatch a few pastries from a tray she has ready for the children and dart out again, shoving them deep into my bag. My cloak is in the hall, and I grab it as I hurry to the door. I need the cold embrace of the Falls, the mind-blanking dangerous beauty.

  I pick my way across the icy expanse that separates the Manor from the edg
e of the Falls, heading for the outcropping that is my favorite place to sit. It is dangerous this late in the autumn—the temperature has dropped enough that ice has taken hold and made the rock a sheer slick that plunges into the murky depths and jagged rocks that line the Falls.

  According to the histories the Mistress taught us, Before the Cataclysm, the Falls were a spot for tourists. They separated two nations, and passage between was easy and harmless. Viewing decks lined the cliffs, and people filled them at all seasons of the year, laughing and taking tiny portraits of the Falls. I saw one once, a relic of another time. It made me wonder how they thought they could capture the majesty of the waterfall in something so small.

  It was a place, the Mistress said, of enjoyment. A place they went to forget the empty lives they led.

  Sitting here staring at the terrible splendor of the water, I can almost understand. It is so simple to lose myself in the devastating beauty, to forget that Kaida will be lowered over the side in less than a day.

  I take a trembling breath, and glance across the gorge to the City.

  It is, as always, blurred by the mist coating the Shield. I can see the brilliant lights that shine during the day, letting Citizens pretend that the sun still fills our skies.

  Anger bubbles in me, at everything—the Mistress and her insane demands, Berg who defends her, and the Citizens who can live a life free of danger.

  What makes them so special? So different from us? Why should they enjoy the freedom of safety while we struggle to live?

  A shiver of fear goes down my spine, and my eyes drop.

  Even here, alone with my thoughts, a clear view all around me, I am afraid. The Commission does not tolerate questions.

  Sometimes, it feels like I’ve been frightened my entire life.

  I glance over my shoulder, and I’m startled to see a flash of white in the fading graylight. Gleaming golden eyes stare at me from behind a boulder, and I jerk.

  I scream as I slide, scrambling on the slick icy rocks for a handhold, anything to catch myself. I feel the world shifting beneath me; glimpse the Manor as my feet scramble in the wet empty air.

  I scream again, and wonder, in a breathless flash, if Berg will hear it. Then a hand clamps down on my arm. I see bone white claws digging into the ice, bare feet that look oddly human, as I’m yanked away from the cliff face. Pain flares in my arm as the world spins, sky, water, and earth blurring into a stomach-turning display.

  When I can think, I realize I am pressed to the back of the pine. It’s massive, pre-Before. It also stands ten feet from the edge of the bluff. It is usually the marker of safety; the younger children are not allowed past it.

  There’s a rustle, and I jerk, biting back hysteria as I see a misshapen white face, long coarse hair hanging over slightly pointed ears. A mouth full of serrated teeth gleams in the darkness, and a nose—it appears to have been broken at some time—sniffs at me curiously. He half crouches a few feet away from me, his thin cotton pants torn and blowing in the wind. His legs are misshapen, his arms too long and reaching.

  A ban-wolf. I freeze, my heartbeat suddenly so loud it’s impossible to hear anything above the sound pounding in my ears. They’re part of life Outside, humans altered to have the mentality of a wolf—and the claws, and teeth, and the viciousness. I wonder if they have the hearing, the ability to smell my fear. It has to be choking him, if he does. I wonder why he doesn’t move, rip into me. Why save me, if not for a meal for his pack? A memory—Berg, blood streaming down his neck and back, my frozen fingers tracing his wounds—fills my mind.

  I know how ruthless ban-wolves can be. I’ve seen the damage they can inflict.

  His golden eyes are hard, pitiless, furious—and curious. I close my own, waiting, and there is a soft snort, a distinctly human noise, and then he is gone. A brush of air makes me tremble, but I force myself to look. All I see in the darkness is the flash of his white hair as he vanishes into the mist.

  **

  I sit under the pine for a long time, waiting for Berg to burst from the house, summoned by my screams. I’m almost relieved that he doesn’t, although distantly, I wonder why he hasn’t. As darkness deepens around me and the lights in the City begin to dim, I stand. My muscles spasm in pain from the hours of cold and lack of motion. I lean back into the tree, waiting as the blood moves sluggishly down, pinpricks of pain dancing across my legs and vision.

  I don’t understand. Beyond the pain, beyond the icy cold that wraps around me, beyond even the consuming fear, I don’t understand. How could he be so gentle? I saw the hate in his eyes—and I grew up seeing the remains of the ban-wolves’ prey. They didn’t save people. They didn’t protect. They certainly didn’t run from a meal waiting, pinned to a tree. But, despite his contained violence, he was careful, almost gentle with me.

  My wrist is beginning to bruise, evidence of the only roughness he had displayed. I wonder if I will be able to hide it from Berg. I don’t want to face his questions, don’t want to try to explain this. Berg hates the ban-wolves. He will not be sympathetic, won’t understand that for a split second, I had seen something heartbreakingly human in those golden eyes.

  The house is quiet when I step inside. I can smell the fish Cook made for mid-meal; hear the soft murmur of voices and clatter of utensils.

  Is it really that late? I hesitate on the first step, guilt almost enough to make me go into the kitchen, and then shake my head and hurry upstairs. The bedroom is empty and I change silently, and then steal even higher, to the top floor of the Manor. It’s higher even than the Mistress’ quarters, a tiny garret framed by glass and inky night. It’s my private retreat, the one place in the Manor I claim. The height and view of the City make most of the children nervous.

  I sink into a corner, and for the first time since my foot slipped, tears fill my eyes. Finally safe, the terror washes over me, replacing the wonder. The ban-wolf’s face fades, and I begin to shake.

  How did Berg not hear me? How could he leave me out there all these hours? To not miss me, he has to be preoccupied with something—someone else. For a moment, the anger is stronger than my fear, and I choke, sobs ripping through me. I am never like this, and I hiccup, trying to force my cries down. I am always the strong one, the solid, dependable sister. The fears that haunt the other girls—I don’t give into them. I don’t fight the Mistress. I don’t even question her. Until now.

  “Sabah.”

  My sobs still. Mistress is sitting so close I can feel her velvet skirts on my bare feet. Belatedly, I realize I can smell the warm fish.

  “What happened?” she asks, and her voice is warmth over steel. Anger at my disobedience is still there, lurking in her posture and her tone.

  I can’t tell her. Without bothering to wonder why, I blurt, “I slipped on the ice. I thought I’d fall into the Falls.”

  Her eyes are empty and hard, demanding. I hold my breath, and wonder if she will accept this as the truth. “What else?”

  My breath rushes from me. “It made me think. If I died, would it be so bad? I have nothing, no real future.” The words are spoken before I can think, and I am shocked to realize how very true they are.

  She laughs. It is so unexpected it startles me, the sound filling the tiny room like the cascade of the waterfall. I stare at her as she chuckles. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Mistress, I’m almost Majority. Berg, too. What then? Neither of us—none of us—have Quotas. No Insurance. We have no chance at life within the City—the Prince would never permit it.”

  Mistress’ eyes twinkle as she sighs. “Sabah. You, of all people, to doubt me so much. Do you think I would have spent all these years teaching you and making you a lady if you were going to spend your life Outside? If I did not have a plan, don’t you think I would have sent you with one of the tribes years ago?”

  I bite my lip and then shrug. My brush on the cliff has loosened something in me, and I think she sees it as I look up at her. “I don’t know, Mistress. I�
�ve never known why you took us in to begin with.”

  She smiles, a small secretive smile, the one I’ve always seen on her lips when one of us goes over the edge of the Falls in search of her elusive obsession, the same smile that fills her eyes when Berg brings home a Gutterling. The one that raises the hackles on my neck.

  “Has ‘why’ ever mattered?” she asks quietly.

  I shrug again and take the fish from her. My gaze never leaves her as I swallow the first bite. “Maybe I was too young to care about the why, before now. But I can’t afford not to care anymore. You can’t care for all the City’s orphans forever.” I let a cold smile, mocking smile curl my lips. “Or maybe I’m just tired of all the secrets and lies.”

  She laughs, but this time, it’s bitter. It echoes, unnaturally loud. I clench my eyes closed, hating the sadness filling her eyes. The disappointment. Even with unfamiliar anger coursing through me, I hate disappointing her. But she surprises me.

  “You want to know what my plans are? Very well. You deserve that much. I want Berg tested at the University. He’s smart, and the Commission may be cold and calculating but they aren’t foolish—they won’t throw away an Exile as intelligent as he is.”

  I swallow my shock along with fish. I did not expect her to answer so easily. I let my greasy fingers drop to my lap and half-filled plate. “That’s Berg,” I say, and I am stunned my voice is steady. “What about me?”

  She looks at me for a long moment; so long I think she won’t respond. Then she nods. “I suppose that’s fair.” I blink, and she gives me a wry smile. “I can’t keep it to myself forever, dear.”

  “So you do have a plan,” I say, my mouth suddenly dry.

  “There are two obvious options, Sabah. First, you can wed into the tribes.”

  A shiver steals over me. I can’t help but think of Hawke, his hard, laughing mouth, sharp eyes, the dig of his fingers on my hips when he stole a kiss. I flush, looking down and she laughs. “You seemed fond of the Rover’s son, last he was here.”