Edge of the Falls (After the Fall) Read online

  “We’ll discuss it later, Berg.” Mistress says, and her attention goes back to the water and the cliff.

  Berg’s eyes dart between me and the Mistress, and I can feel the long look he exchanges with Gwen. Let him wonder, I think angrily. I wonder about many things—like the unusual warmth that fills the Mistress’ voice when she talks to Berg.

  I stare at the water, lost in thought while lizards swarm the cliff top. And almost scream when a breathy voice whispers, “Sabah.”

  Kaida. Sounding weaker than I have ever heard her, but there. “Are you clear, sweetheart?” I murmur, my voice tight. The others look at me, alert.

  I am still angry, and I can’t talk to her in that tone, not now. Deliberately, I shove my anger and emotion aside. Force a calm I don’t feel. “I’m at the front of the tunnel,” she answers.

  I stand, and look at Berg. “Hold very still, sweet. Keep the bag close to you.”

  I hear a shift, and then whisper, “Count, pet. Count for me. One more time.”

  She does, and there is a quick jerk of the Lift---a whoosh of air and torrent of water, and then a scream—it’s not in my ear. It’s in the air. I jerk my earpiece out as my breath rushes from me, and I almost collapse as the Lift hauls her higher, over the firewall and dying lizards, depositing her on the icy ground by my feet.

  Then I see her.

  Chapter 6

  I stand outside the sick room, watching. Gwen is changing the wraps on Kaida’s hands, and I can smell the stench from here—the wounds are turning septic.

  After we un-strapped Kaida that morning, Berg carried her inside. The Mistress snatched up the bag of starrbriars, and before I followed Berg and Gwen, I saw the greedy smile that filled her face before the reserved mask fell again.

  She has vanished into her study, taking all her meals there—I haven’t seen her in over a week

  Kaida had been burned—she had put her hands into a hollow filled with fire-lizard acid. Her small face was splattered, bright red spots speckled across her like bloody freckles. Her hair was singed—Gwen had cut it brutally short, to make it easier to care for her. The force of the water had torn at her, leaving her tiny body covered in bruises—Gwen thinks some of her ribs were fractured by the pressure and hitting the rocks.

  I wonder, not for the first time, if this is why Mistress is Exiled.

  Before, in the world that destroyed itself with violence, children were victims. Mothers grew tired of the offspring they bore, and they killed them—in horrible, unthinkable ways. Children became the prey of the deranged mind, sexual toys for the sick dregs of a diseased society. Little bodies became punching bags for the anger of fathers, brothers, uncles, sisters. Millions were killed before they had a chance to see life—and those were often called the lucky ones.

  Violence against children was a plague, and the world did not see it.

  And that was not even the worst—the worst part was that the population fluxed and grew, soaring to an unbelievable height. There was no regulation on childbirth, no Quotas, and without it, thousands upon thousands of hungry mouths were born—to the poorest nations of the world, the ones least suited to feeding their hungry.

  It was one of the sparks that lit the fire of the Cataclysm—the desperate need of the poor and the children.

  After the nuclear fires burned out, the largest cities of the world lay in ashes. In the aftermath, the Commission came to power. They forced the remains of humanity into Shielded Cities, protecting them from the acidstorms, the toxic air, and the genetic experiments of the bio-geneticists. They set safeguards to protect the fragile ecosystem that was all that remained of our world—genetic testing to prove the health of every child born. Quotas to control the population. Insurance to provide fertile marriages.

  In the aftermath of the violence, pregnancies were sacrosanct—abortion was banned in every City. And the law was written—no harm would come to a Quota born child.

  Standing here, I watch the consequences of the Mistress’ obsession and I wonder: did the Commission and the Prince who governed Mlena—did they know about the Mistress’ fixation? Did they know it caused her to not only harm children, but force them into danger? Every year?

  It is an offense worthy of Exile, I think, staring at Kaida’s sick little body. Except for the fact that Kaida is not Quota. I’ve never asked—none of us have ever known and she was no exception—why her mother turned her out. Maybe it was her sex—Quota is very specific, after all. Maybe her mother’s Quota specified a first-born son—it happened. Or perhaps she was born with a genetic defect—all children are tested for them, upon birth. The Commission orders the unhealthy ones deposited Outside—their fates, left to the elements, no longer a concern of the City or Citizen who bore them.

  Bitterness creeps over me, a blind hatred for a Commission so coldhearted it could order the death of children. Did that make them better, I wonder, than those who had abused children so callously?

  Did the need to control—for the supposed good of the City—outweigh the lives of the innocent?

  Gwen is finished changing bandages, and she walks to where I am standing in the doorway, closing it. Kaida is slipping into a world of dreams, her pain abated for now by the laudanum Gwen dosed her with.

  “How bad is it?” I ask, my eyes tracing the grains of wood in the door.

  I feel Gwen’s eyes on me, and then a slight sigh, rustling my hair. “She needs meds I don’t have,” she admits.

  “Does the City?” I ask and she nods. I give her a fierce smile, and turn away. “Then I’ll go to the City.”

  “Mistress won’t allow it—the meds are expensive.”

  I pause, thinking about the woman who raised me, saved me, who has retreated behind her silent wall. I think of the few times she has taken me with her to the City in the ten years I have lived with her. “Will they save Kaida?” I ask, pushing the memories back, and Gwen hesitates, then nods. “Then I’ll go to the City,” I repeat, and wonder how I’ll make it happen.

  **

  The children chatter around us, Guin and Cedric telling me about the story Berg has been reading them, about a family of children who find a world in a closet. I remember that one, from the first time Mistress let us read it. I remember that whole winter, sitting wide-eyed near Berg as he read all of the books to me. I remember vanishing into that magical world with the siblings—and how horrible it was to put the book down and realize we were still here—Outside.

  I help the girls clean the kitchen, and murmur agreement when Cook tells me what she’s planning for the next night. I’m familiar with this routine—the void that fills the house when Mistress retreats to her study for weeks on end. The way all of them look to Berg and me to fill that hole—even Cook who has been here longer than we have.

  When I have the younger girls settled into their beds, Lilith reading them a chapter from our current book, I slip out, with a quiet warning not to chatter. They will listen—they’re good girls, and they know Kaida is only two rooms down. In a house as quiet as the Manor, it will be impossible not to disturb her.

  Gwen is sitting with Kaida. Her eyes are hopeful when I step into the room, and I shake my head. No point in letting Gwen hope when I have yet to talk to Berg.

  Kaida is awake—or in the groggy state that currently passes as awake. I sit next to her, on a hard stool and smile, brushing her short hair back gently. She flinches, and I bite my lip. “Sorry, sweet,” I murmur.

  “Don’t be,” she croaks, and she grimaces—something I think she means to be a smile. “Is Mistress pleased?”

  I knew the question was coming, and answer as I always do, “Of course she is. You did so well—she’s thrilled.”

  A content smile. It is enough—for her.

  For me, it will never be enough. The dubious pleasure Mistress gets from her small supply of starrbriars will fade—it always does. She won’t find what she is looking for, and spring will come. Kaida will risk her life again, in pursuit of something unattaina
ble—something that makes no sense to any of us.

  Mistress says it is worth the sacrifice. But Mistress is not here—she never comes to the sick room as the children recover. She doesn’t even acknowledge it when they die.

  And so many have over the years. I wonder if she finds it easier to ignore them than face the guilt.

  I shove the treacherous thoughts from my head, and talk to Kaida for a few more minutes, telling her about the twins, crawling around the library floor, about how much Guin and Cedric miss her. Her eyes are bright and determined as I say, “You need to get well, Kaida. You’re very loved.”

  Gwen makes a soft noise to interrupt and I sigh. I may stand for the Mistress throughout the Manor, but when it comes to the sick, no one outranks Gwen.

  I kiss Kaida’s forehead, and I’m alarmed by the heat pouring off her. Her temperature has gone up since this morning. It’s enough to make me forget my worry about talking to Berg—all I care about is finding him and forcing him to agree to get the meds.

  I don’t need to find him—he is waiting outside the sickroom, a grim expression on his face. “How is she?” he asks distractedly.

  “How is she?” I echo, fury washing through, as strong as the Falls over the rocks. “She’s burning up. She’s so bruised it hurts her when I touch her hair. How do you think she is?” I know I shouldn’t fight with him, but his distraction, the way he looks over his shoulder tells me more than words where he’s been—with the Mistress.

  And for reasons I don’t even want to consider, that enrages me. There is, beneath my anger, a nibble of fear that worries me.

  “I’m going to the City,” I announce before he can speak, and feel a spark of vindictive pleasure when that jerks his attention to me.

  “What? Why?” he demands. “You can’t, Mistress will never allow it.”

  I smile, razor sharp. “She’ll die without meds, Berg. I don’t care what the Mistress says. Kaida deserves those medicines.”

  There is real fear in his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. I can almost see his mind working, thinking through angles and arguments. “I’ll talk to her,” he finally says. “She’s had some success, she may agree. How much money do you need?”

  “A hundred Commission marks.” Gwen’s voice startles me. I wonder how much she has heard, and then dismiss the concern. She will not side against me—not with a small life hanging in the balance.

  Berg’s eyes widen at the impossible amount. “No. I can’t get that much.”

  My expression is pitiless, and I can see the hurt in his eyes as I growl, “Make it happen, Berg. You made the promise.”

  He flinches as I turn away—despite my anger, I don’t like this. I don’t want to hurt him. Hurting him is like hurting myself—we are so close that what hurts him is inflicted on me as well.

  “She will die,” I whisper against the window, a shield drawn to protect us from the elements. “Kaida trusts us—we saved her, and brought her here. Berg, we have to try.”

  I can’t wait for his answer—tears are stinging my eyes, making my nose burn. I dart past both him and Gwen, fleeing down the hall and ignore my cloak on its peg. The night waits like a dark mouth, gaping and pitiless. I race into it, years of living in the ice and mist making it second nature to pick my way across the treacherous rocks. I hear a shout behind me, but ignore him, my hair whipping my face as I lose myself in the darkness.

  I slow when I reach the pine, leaning against the trunk as great shuddering sobs break free. I collapse in a heap with burning tears running down my cheeks, and I give in to the desperate anger that has been building in me. Something changed in me, when I almost fell into the water—emotions I have long held inside are running rampant. I don’t know how much longer I will be able to keep them bottled up.

  I hear the door to the Manor shut behind me, through the pain and tears I wonder what Gwen has done to convince Berg to give me what I craved—solitude.

  Then the swirling emotions—fear, desperation, hope, rage—claim me, drag me down in the maelstrom. I don’t know how long I lay there, screaming and crying. My voice is hoarse when I finally stop. The lights from the City are dull—the Commission carefully regulates when they are lit, and to what brightness.

  I snort, wiping my face on my dress. The Commission regulates everything.

  I slowly become aware of a prickling on the back of my neck, similar to the feeling I get when Berg looks at me with the children. The sensation of being watched.

  But Berg isn’t here—I am alone in the darkness.

  Except I’m not.

  The feeling intensifies, and I am suddenly conscious of the silence—above the roar of the Falls, there is no sound. No nightwills singing in the darkness, no screams of the ban-wolf, no hissing from fire-lizards, or flap of leathery dragon wings.

  Nothing but the Falls and the loud beating of my heart.

  I look around, clenching a rock in my fist. It isn’t much—and is probably unneeded, but it makes my heartbeat settle. I feel safer, and very little offers that illusion for long.

  A soft rustle of pine needles jerks my attention to the branches above me, and I bite back a scream as I see him: golden eyes bright, white hair damp and standing in uneven tuffs. His ears swivel toward me, perking at the slight inhalation I make. He makes a low noise—a growl—and I clench the rock tighter.

  I watch him, torn between fear and fascination as he drops from branch to branch, coming closer to me. He moves with liquid grace, his leg muscles bunching and releasing in an arching jump. Long claws hook the branch, and the scent of pine swells above the musk of male and wet fur.

  He pauses on the lowest branch, watching me intently. I stare at him, the rock forgotten in my lap. There is something tragic and fierce in his posture as he looms over me, slightly hunched, ready to spring—away? Or in attack? Golden eyes flick to the city and then back to me, in unmistakable question. I sigh, looking at it. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I say, not bothering to hide my bitterness.

  When I look back, he has dropped from the tree, and stands almost close enough to touch. I gasp, and his golden eyes dart to me, and he steps back. “Don’t,” I say, before I can stop myself. “Stay.”

  His eyes are cold. How can eyes the color of molten gold be so very cold? And aloof. His brief moment of curiosity is over, it seems. I can’t help but remember the way his eyes filled my mind that night, with Berg. I blush, and look away. “I just wanted to thank you. For saving me,” I add, as if he does not know.

  He is looking at me, his ears perked up. A ghostly scream comes from the darkness, imperious and commanding, and he steps away, looking past me. I bite back the protest, unsure of why I want him to stay. Then he steps closer, a whine building in his throat. His eyes go the Manor and back to me, and he whines again.

  Belatedly, I understand. He rises as I stand, picking my way toward the Manor. I can feel him following me at a slight distance.

  When I reach the door, he makes a soft noise, and then he bounds away, his scream filling the night. It’s almost musical. I smile, a tiny private smile, as I slide inside and lock the door against the terrors of the night.

  Chapter 7

  “Lilith, after you clean the kitchen, take the children to the garden and start the weeds,” I order as we finish first meal. “Guin, go with Cedric and Spiro to check the fish lines and collect eggs.”

  I can feel all of them watching me, but there is nothing more to say. We risk starvation if we don’t keep the Manor running—and with Mistress absorbed in her study, it falls to me to make sure we do.

  I swallow the last of my tea and stand, carrying my cup to the large washbasin before I retreat from the too crowded kitchen.

  Berg finds me an hour later, cleaning the boys’ bedroom. I fold one of Spiro’s tunics, drop it into the chest at the end of his bed, and stare at Berg. I refuse to explain my recent actions, even as I perversely want him to demand an explanation.

  He doesn’t. “I spoke to the Mistress. When can you le
ave?”

  My mouth falls open. I had not expected him to capitulate so easily. It takes me a moment to answer. “I need to speak to Gwen. And change into my City suit.” I glance down at my gray homespun shirt and pants.

  He nods. “An hour, and we’ll leave. Mistress has arranged a testing for me, so don’t dawdle.”

  I watch him stride away, his shoulders stiff. There is no warmth in his voice, no light touch that tells me all is forgiven. He is doing this, but he is still angry. And it is for the Mistress as much as Kaida.

  I don’t know what to do with an angry Berg. I don’t know how to assure him that my irrational mood will pass—and don’t know if I can. I want to find a dark corner of the Manor where I can think, without the children and Cook and Berg and all the rest of the responsibilities I find thrust upon me.

  I want to go outside and wait. Wait until I see golden eyes gleaming in the darkness as they watch me, silence wrapping around us as we sit in silence. Something in me twists, strangely longing.

  Instead, I go find Gwen.

  I remember when Gwen first came to the Manor—a young woman, pretty and healthy and—from the swell of her belly—fertile. She’d been stripped of her Quota and Insurance, turned out of the City. A med-tech, she had informed us. She had been called to operate on the young daughter of the Prince of the City—a child of privilege and Quota.

  The little girl had died on the table, Gwen explained, shock in her pretty gray eyes. An aneurism, something the genetic testing at birth had missed—something that would have killed her eventually. The stress of simple surgery to repair a bone break had been too much for the child.

  Enraged, the Prince had used his considerable sway with the Commission to have her status stripped. They pulled a Gutterling from the streets of the City, and gave her Gwen’s Quota and Insurance. Within two days of the child’s death, Gwen was turned out of the city. No one spoke in her defense.

  She had found the Mistress, following the whispered rumors that filled the streets of the Exiled lady who cared for Gutterlings.