Edge of the Falls (After the Fall) Page 6

  The slip of paper crinkles as I pull it from my pocket and smooth it before offering it to her. “My sister,” I say, “she’s sick—Gwenyth Awan of Luenear City sent me here.”

  Her face goes pale, and she grips the counter so hard her knuckles whiten. “Gwen? You know her?”

  I nod, and she sinks limply back into her chair. “How is she?”

  What, I wonder, did Gwen do, that she matters so much to this woman, after so many years?

  “She’s well. And safe—she cares for all of us at the Manor.”

  A smile turns the woman’s lips. “Gwen would find someone to nurse, even Outside. She was always taking in strays.” She shakes her head, and focuses on me. “But you need meds. Let me see your list.”

  I slide it to her, and she taps her fingers. “We have all of this—give me a few moments, and I’ll get it together.”

  **

  “Why are you here?” I ask Wrenfel as I count out Commission marks.

  He glances at me, setting the strawberry back into the basket. “I owed Kathleen a favor.”

  I glance at him, confused. “Your Mistress,” he says, cheerfully. “What is all of this for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Survival,” I answer, shortly. The fruit is the last item on the list. The streets are beginning to empty, Citizens retreating to their homes as night begins to claim the day. I glance at the maptable—we’re close to the Gate, but until I see Berg, until we’re safely on a hovertransport headed home, I’m not going to relax.

  “I can get back to the Gate by myself,” I say, pointedly. I tug lightly at the handle of the transport my supplies are loaded on, and it hums, gliding along behind me.

  “Oh, no bother, my dear. I couldn’t possibly send you off on your own.”

  Suppressing a sigh, I force myself to ignore him, following the maptable back to the Gate.

  Berg is waiting, slouched against a hovertransport with a book open in his hands. He glances up as I cross the large plaza, a smiling brightening his face. “Did you find everything?” he asks, shoving his book into a bag at his feet and reaching for the first crate of supplies.

  “Everything on the list,” I answer, acutely aware of Wrenfel listening at my side.

  “And Kaida’s meds?”

  I nod, not telling him that I got so much more than that—immunizations and meds, bandages and antibodics, needles and sutures. Far more than Gwen ever asked for—and that all of my Commission marks had been refused. Again, I wonder what Gwen did to earn such loyalty.

  “How was your testing, my boy?” Wrenfel asks, and Berg pauses for a moment. He arches an eyebrow at me, and I shake my head.

  “Wrenfel,” I say, turning to him, “we really do need to go. Thanks for all your help today.”

  He smiles, and for the first time, the amusement seems to reach his eyes. “Anything, my dear, for the Mistress. Give her my best. I’ll see you soon.” He kisses my hand, and nods at Berg before stepping back.

  Ignoring the pang of fear that goes through me, I climb onto the hovertransport. Berg drops into the seat next to me, pulling me close with a sigh. As the hovertransport glides smoothly forward, I lean into him and let my eyes close in relief.

  We’re going home.

  Chapter 8

  I drop the last package of rice into the overstuffed crate and stare around, exhausted. Cook pushes me aside and heaves the crate up. I can hear her joints popping, see the strain in her eyes.

  “Berg will move these to the outbuilding,” Cook grunts, dropping the box heavily by the door.

  I shake my head. “He went hunting. Won’t be back until last meal.”

  Cook bites her lip, looking at the boxes doubtfully. “I could call Spiro?” she offers.

  I laugh, and shake my head. “I’ll use the trolley—it’ll be fine.”

  The trolley is in the outbuilding, and I slip my cloak on as I leave the Manor. There is a slight break in the weather, the unusual warmth thawing the ice enough that my feet are quickly soaked from the muddy slush.

  I can’t help but glance around as I near the outbuilding. I have not seen the white ban-wolf since we sat under the pine tree before I went to the City. I find myself missing him. Even his musical screams have been absent.

  The wind has picked up by the time Cook and I finish loading the boxes onto the trolley. I shiver as I drag it through the deepening darkness, the cold wind turning my sweat to ice and promising snow.

  A whisper of noise is my only herald to his presence. He is closer than he was before—and blocking my path. I pause, wipe my sweat away and scrub it on my cloak. I am uncomfortably aware of how I must look—dusty and windblown and tired.

  He sniffs at me and shakes his head, violently.

  “You were at the bridge,” I say, not a question. His eyes dart away, toward the City, his lips peeling back to bare his teeth. I follow the gaze, and sigh, “I hate going to the City—but my sister. She was dying.”

  It is a weak excuse. I know nothing about the ban-wolf, but I have picked up on his distaste for the City.

  He steps toward me and I fall back, stumbling in my surprise. His lip curls a little. Guilt pierces me—I have offended him. His claws close around the trolley handle and he jerks it forward. Silently, I follow him to the outbuilding.

  He is sniffing at the packages, his ears pricked curiously. I reach for one and he growls, picks it up. I wait, watching—if he wants a box full of rice in payment for his protection, I figure it is more than a fair trade. Although it does seem an odd choice.

  He surprises me—again—when he carries the box into the outbuilding, stacking it neatly with the other boxes of beans and dried goods.

  He carries them all in, quickly and gracefully. I watch, too surprised to intervene—and something tells me he wouldn’t appreciate it. When he is finished, we both stand in the darkness, staring at each other. The silence stretches between us and I finally fidget. “I don’t understand you,” I say quietly. His ears prick at my words, and despite how softly I am speaking, I know he can hear me. “You’re a ban-wolf. You ought to be killing me, not risking your life by following me to the bridge. The Keepers…” My voice trails off, and I look away. The thought of the Keepers firing upon my ban-wolf shakes me. It’s unthinkable.

  “They’d never shoot me.”

  The voice is guttural, a sound of teeth and growls. It jerks my eyes up, and I gape at him. In all our stories of ban-wolves, I have never heard of one who could communicate in anything more than a scream. His lips twist around sharp teeth and he tosses his head, throwing his hair from his eyes. “Too many of them trained with me,” he says, and I stumble. He catches me, steadies me easily.

  “Why?” I whisper, “Why are you doing this?”

  I don’t specify what—protecting me, helping me, following me, watching me. I can see from the flicker in his golden eyes he knows what.

  An eerie scream, so close that it makes my ears hurt fills the night. He growls, low in his throat, a sound that sends chills down my spine. But he steps toward me, pulls me closer to the protection of his body. His claws are so gentle they don’t even snag the rough fabric of my shirt. I can feel the heat of him, he’s so close. “I don’t understand,” I whisper, peering up at him.

  His golden eyes are gentle and frustrated, but he smiles a little, dipping down so his breath warms the shell of my ear as he murmurs, “Neither do I.”

  “Sabah!”

  The ban-wolf tenses as Berg throws himself at me, pulling me away. I cry out, reaching for—something? What?

  Berg’s eyes scan me quickly, and some of his panic eases as he turns away, back to the ban-wolf.

  The man-beast is furious, and as Berg faces him, I feel my heart sinking.

  “Go inside, Sabah,” Berg says, his voice low.

  “He wasn’t hurting me,” I protest, and Berg stiffens.

  The wolf’s golden eyes skip to me, and Berg snarls, “Don’t you dare look at her, you filthy animal.” He reaches for
me, jerking me close to him.

  The ban-wolf attacks. Faster than I think is possible, he’s on Berg, bearing him down to the icy mud, his sharp teeth snapping at Berg’s face. Berg wrestles him off, and I see a knife gleaming in his hand.

  “No!” I shriek without thinking, kicking wildly at his blade. Berg’s eyes—both their eyes—come up to me for a moment, united in their surprise. Then Berg slams his elbow in the ban-wolf’s chest, throwing him off and scrambling to his feet. The ban-wolf charges him, ramming his shoulders into Berg’s chest and slamming him into the wall of the outbuilding. It shudders ominously and Berg swings out, slamming his closed fist into the ban-wolf’s ear. The wolf stumbles back, shaking his head and snorting. Berg crashes back to the ground and the wolf is on him in seconds, pounding at his face. Blood sprays from Berg’s nose, and the ban-wolf throws his head back and screams. It’s primal and chilling, and I clamp my hands over my ears, my eyes clenched tight.

  When he drops his head back down and snarls, the noise is so vicious, his expression so savage, I honestly think he’ll kill Berg—he’ll rip his throat out and vanish into the graylight and leave me with a corpse.

  “Stop,” I shout.

  It’s stunning, how fast he reacts. He snarls once more, but he’s standing next to me, staring at me, anger still smoldering in his eyes. His chest heaves, but he reaches for me, his long claws curving around my face. “Because you ask it—I’ll spare his life,” he growls. His eyes flick away into the darkness and I’m suddenly aware of the screams filling the night, calling to him. “But I can’t promise any of my pack will do the same. Take your boy and get out of the night, little one.” His hand—a white claw streaked with Berg’s blood, smooths down my hair, and I nod, once, as his eyes gentle. “Go,” he whispers. “I’ll take care of my pack.”

  Then he’s bounding away from me, screaming into the night. I stumble to Berg. He’s watching me, his eyes wide and wild and hurt. Bruises are already forming on his face, and I have no idea what we’re going to tell the Mistress.

  And for a moment, I can’t care—all that matters is that he stopped. I said to stop, and the ban-wolf had.

  And I have no idea why.

  Part 2.

  Outside.

  Chapter 9

  I lie in the darkness, listening. Shrieks and shouts come to me from beyond the Manor, muffled by thick walls and weathershields. The girls cluster around the window, and I roll over, propping myself up on my elbows to stare at them. Alba glances at me, a smug smile on her face.

  “The Rovers are back.”

  I smile, tight and amused. “Pity you’re busy with Longest Night preparations, isn’t it? I’m sure the boys will be quite disappointed.”

  Anger darkens her eyes and for a heartbeat I feel guilty. When she opens her mouth to protest, I rise from my bed, arching an eyebrow.

  Whatever she sees in my gaze silences her, and she stalks from the room. Lilith sends me a reproachful glare as she hurries out after Alba.

  Kaida looks up as I approach the window, a mix of fascination and fear filling her eyes.

  “Why are they here?” she asks, leaning into me.

  I shrug, studying the untidy column of metal carts and animals. The carts are pitted and scarred and new and shiny—a mixture of vehicles that speak eloquently of the brevity of the Rovers.

  But every cart bears the same tribe standard, a wide black swatch with a white tree standing over a bloody wolf. A smile curves my lips, and I find myself searching for him in the graylight.

  “Sabah?” Spiro is standing in the doorway, nervous and fidgety. “The Mistress wants you.”

  Her words, that night in the garret, whisper through me and for the first time I feel uneasy, hesitant. Am I the reason for the Rovers on our front step? Are those boys, racing the rapids and darkness, racing for any reason other than the adrenaline rush? Are they hoping to catch my eye? Is Hawke foolish enough to think it would work?

  I nod at Spiro and turn to my trunk. Kaida is already rummaging through it, her hair poking out in uneven tufts. I run a hand over it absently as she pulls out a cream dress and thrusts it at me. “Wear this,” she says.

  I arch an eyebrow at her, and she grins. “It’s your best outfit, Sabah—and you want to look good for Hawke.”

  “You are far too young to know about that,” I say primly, taking the dress from her. Her chiming laughter fills the room as she scampers away.

  The cream does look good on me, I reflect, brushing my hair back from my face and securing it in a loose knot. A few tendrils escape, curling around my face, and I hook them behind my ears, snatching the girls’ dirty clothes from the floor and hurrying downstairs. Gwen rushes past me, muttering under her breath. A small stack of cups wobbles and I reach out to steady it. “Mistress is waiting. Better hurry—she’s in a mood,” she says. “Here, take these cups. She’s in the kitchen.”

  Mistress is standing, pacing in front of the hearth, when I almost run into the kitchen. She glances up and frowns. “You took long enough.”

  “The Manor needs work—why didn’t you warn me they were coming?” I ask, dropping the cups into the washbasin.

  “Because I didn’t know,” she snaps. ”You know how the tribes are—they move with the winds.”

  I pause, taking a deep breath, my back still to her. “Do I have to make a decision?”

  Behind me, there is a soft sigh and I turn. She’s holding out a cup of tea to me, and I take it, sitting down.

  “Of course not. I will talk to the Rover, gauge his interest. You might spend some time with Hawke, consider that possibility. But no decision, not today.” A tiny smile curves her lips. “Unless you can’t live without Hawke for another day.”

  I pause, my tea halfway to my mouth, to give her a dirty look.

  She laughs, somehow mocking and self-disparaging all at once.

  **

  When I step outside, I’m startled by the noise. The tribes are a loud people, full of laughter and screaming and the shrill cries of the orphan children, yelling back and forth in an elaborate game of catch and find. A little girl falls, tucking and rolling through the snow until she comes to a halt by my feet. I smile down at her, dirty matted hair, sharp gray eyes, crooked teeth in a mischievous smirk.

  “Sorry, Miss,” she says, popping to her feet. She grins once more before scrambling away, absorbed into the laughing mass of children and dogs.

  Rovers always travel with massive packs of dogs, silent shadows ghosting along the caravan until something unfamiliar approaches. Hawke told me, before kissing me, that they were the best defense the tribes had ever found.

  A wild shriek pierces the air and my heart spasms as I see a boy racing past the pine, running headlong into the air and water.

  Everything freezes as he launches himself off the rocks, into nothing, and then I scream, running, knowing that nothing can be done. He’s gone, battered to death by rock and water.

  An unfamiliar, strong hand snatches mine, jerking me around to collide with his hard chest. Hawke grins down at me, amusement flickering in his hard eyes. “Wait, little one,” he says.

  From the Falls comes another wild cry, and then a round of laughter. I shake my head, jerking away from Hawke to see the other young men, lining the gorge, a few pulling on a rope, hauling something up the side of the Falls.

  I sway, dizzy, and Hawke smirks. “It’s a game?” I mumble, looking at him.

  He laughs. “Everything is a game, little one.”

  I’m suddenly conscious of his hands on my hips, hard and proprietary. I step away, as casually as possible. Hawke hasn’t changed since I last saw him. He stands easily next to me, a bow rising from behind his shoulder. Bloodred strips of cloth wrap around his wrists—the mark of a protector, one of the few Rovers dedicated to nothing but guiding and protecting the tribe.

  “What brings the tribe to Mlena?” I ask, refusing to acknowledge the boy they are still pulling back to safety.

  “The winds,” he answe
rs with a shrug. “The winds bring curious news and we bring curious treasures.” He grins, his eyes glittering in the darkness.

  I stare at him, really look. He’s still handsome yet a casual danger surrounds him that makes me uneasy. Is it that he is not Berg? But the ban-wolf doesn’t affect me this way—doesn’t make me nervous and edgy.

  Hawke goes still, his eyes coming back to me. “Sabah?” he asks, reaching for me.

  I stumble back, my heart pounding. “I have to go,” I say, twisting to look at the Manor, at anything other than the wild people in front of me.

  He steps in front of me, blocking my way, and anger roils in me. I narrow my eyes and Hawke tilts his head. “Something is different about you, little one. What is it?”

  I shrug. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

  A grin, a flash of teeth in the graylight, and his hands fist in my hair, pulling me close for a harsh, thorough kiss that makes my knees weaken. When he releases me, I stumble again, and he laughs. His voice is a sexy whisper as he slips past me. “Know you enough to know you’ve missed that.”

  I glare at the Manor, hating the way his laugh floats around me, hating the unrelenting darkness. And the very few choices that I have.

  “Making friends, love?” Berg wraps an arm around my waist, hugging me close. I look up at him. His bruises have faded, almost vanishing completely in the past two weeks. But he’s still tense and distant. This is the most he’s touched me since he fought with the ban-wolf. I follow his gaze to where Hawke is being surrounded by the other protectors. Even in the midst of his peers, most of them older and more experienced than him, he seems aloof, apart.

  It occurs to me that being the Rover’s son must be a very lonely life.

  “Where is the Rover?” I ask, leaning into Berg, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

  “With the Mistress. Talking barters and,” I feel his gaze on me, “the future.”

  I squirm in his embrace, twisting to bury my head. He rests his chin on my hair, staring at the tribe. “Do you think it would be a bad life, Sabah?”