Edge of the Falls (After the Fall) Page 7

  A life of danger and winds and scavenging. A life of killing and fighting, of constant change, without anything to promise safety. The freedom is alluring, despite the danger. I watch Hawke as he spars with another boy, graceful in his brutality. I struggle not to shudder. “It’s not what I want.”

  Berg pulls away from me, looking into my eyes. “Does that mean you want the City?”

  I know what the answer should be. I know what he wants me to say—what he has expected, even if he won’t demand my answer.

  Instead of answering, I go up on tiptoes, kiss him quick and soft, almost a promise. It’s enough, for now. Berg settles me against his side, arms around me comforting and warm.

  Chapter 10

  I slip into the silent snowstorm. The children are exhausted from the excitement of the tribes, the older ones are a bit drunk. All of them are sleeping it off.

  The night is eerie, darkness illuminated by the brilliance of the snow and the lights from Mlena. It makes everything different, a world apart from what I know. And fitting.

  I dart through the night, to the outbuilding. He is never there, but I know the ban-wolf still comes. He leaves gifts: berries in a nest of grass, eggs stolen from a wren, wild mushrooms, tiny pots of dyes. One time it was a rabbit, skinned and roasted.

  As much as I treasure the ban-wolf’s small offerings, I miss him. I have so many questions that still have no answers.

  After he spoke to me, fought with Berg, and vanished into the night, I spent days waiting on him. Waiting and hoping he’d answer questions. When he did not return after a week, I researched, poring over the rumors that floated on the interwebs network. Like everything, it is controlled by the Commission and that limits the conspiracy theories and accusations. But there is no mention of a ban-wolf speaking.

  Ever. And it does not explain his aggression, his sudden stop when I called to him. It doesn’t explain him saving Berg from his pack.

  It leaves me with more questions than answers. All I have are gifts and lost sleep, and a mounting frustration at his continued absence.

  The outbuilding is quiet. Snow lines the exterior, pristine in its beauty and conspicuously absent of footprints—none of the rovers have come near it, laws of hospitality keep our meager storage shed safe from their theft.

  My heart sinks a bit, even though I have told myself not to hope.

  I go in anyway, ignoring the whispering voice that tells me I am being an idiot. I shush it and seek the solitude I crave.

  There is a spare blanket, and I wrap myself in it, lighting one small candle.

  In three weeks I will be Majority. Mistress has been increasingly closed off and distant, and watchful. I am worried. In the silence of the snow and solitude, I can admit this—I’m scared.

  Of being put out of the Manor. Of being Exiled from the only home I’ve known. Of plans she and Berg make for me, of being sent to the Commission. Of being wed into the tribes.

  Berg refuses to speak of it. He holds his silence with a stubbornness that is grating. This is my choice and the Mistress has ordered him not to attempt to sway me. And he hasn’t, even when I wish he had. His loyalty to her is unshakable, and even his love for me will not question it.

  A soft thud warns me of someone—something—approaching, and I curl deeper into my blanket, extinguish my candle with a slight breath. The tribe camps away from the water and the Manor, far enough away that I can’t make out the caravan in the blackness. Would any of them wander this far, and if they have—why?

  There is a soft hiss, and my heart stops. A paw presses against the small crack between the door and the ground, and I can see bristling fur, yellow spotted with black.

  A tigercat.

  I shiver, and it hisses again, an enraged yowl building in its throat. I can picture—too well—the gleam of slitted yellow eyes. The heavy, musky scent of it reaches me, and I can smell blood and death. I gag.

  There is another thud, a heavy body landing on the roof of the outbuilding. My eyes jerk up, searching. Are there two? Tigercats never hunt in packs—they are solitary and viciously territorial.

  The hiss from the door is furious. A rumbling growl from the roof meets it, and the paws vanish. Whatever is out there in the darkness, the tigercat does not want to fight it.

  There's a soft footfall—the sound is almost absorbed by the falling snow and the beat of my heart. Then a low, guttural voice says, "It’s not safe outside. Go home."

  "Wait," I almost shout, and he growls. Quieter, I insist, "I have questions. I deserve answers."

  He makes a noise that is harsh and choked, and after a moment, I realize, it is a laugh. "We deserve many things we don't get, little girl."

  I bristle at the name, and the disparaging tone. There is a shift, and I wish the wall was gone, so I could see him—I understand him better when I can see the hesitations, the torn desires in his golden eyes.

  "If you did not want my questions, why bring me gifts? Why spare Berg?" I ask in challenge.

  There is a silence, so long and profound that I decide he has left. I sigh, and begin to fold my blanket. His voice, when it comes, is so desperate it is piercing, "Come tomorrow, after last meal. I'll answer what I can."

  "Here?" I ask, softly.

  "The tree. Now, go inside. The cat may return." The emotion is gone, leaving his voice empty and harsh. I want to push at him until he relents and allows me that glimpse of humanity and strange caring that he seems so desperate to hide.

  Instead, I tidy the little outbuilding, and go to the door. I pull a length of badly knitted dark green wool from my pocket as I open the door.

  I can feel his eyes on me as I tie it to the handle of the outbuilding, feel his confusion and mounting tension.

  "Thank you," I murmur, and he inhales, a sharp noise that I cannot think about, not now. I turn and walk, as steadily as I can, feeling the warm golden gaze flickering from me to the forest green scarf I have given him.

  **

  I can’t find Berg. I sigh in frustration as I trudge through the muddy snow, following the river away from the Manor and the Rovers, away from the noise and excitement—Berg is not the sort to enjoy it, and I’m hoping he’s in the darkness somewhere.

  Hawke is watching me. I feel the heavy warmth of his gaze even as I ignore him. I wonder if he knows what the Mistress has offered me. I risk a peek at him, brushing hair from my eyes. He’s smiling at something, a rover girl flitting about him. There is something familiar in the way he slaps her butt as she turns, something knowing in his gaze as she giggles.

  The wind picks up, blowing my cloak back, carrying the scent of food and refuse and wildness. I wonder where the tigercat is, if it will attack with the tribe camped so close to the Manor.

  Berg isn’t here. Disgusted, I turn to begin the long walk back to the Manor. Hawke falls in beside me, and we trudge through the new snow in silence.

  “You look tired,” he says at last, almost conversationally.

  I look at him sharply, frowning. “I suppose I am. We aren’t used to so many guests.”

  “We won’t be here long,” he says. “The winds are changing—the Rover will want to follow them.”

  I pause, looking up at Hawke. “Do you ever wish you didn’t?” I blurt. He looks at me, confused. “Didn’t chase the winds—do you ever think about what it’d be like to be settled?”

  A look of minor panic crosses his face and I laugh. “No, then.” I can’t help but be relieved.

  “I don’t know any other life, Sabah. But this one—” he shrugs, smiles, “no. I wouldn’t give up the wind for anything.”

  I hear voices as I stomp the snow off my feet in the kitchen. Laughter and a smooth, deep voice—the Rover is with the Mistress. I feel a wave of dread, and slip as quietly as I can through the kitchen, retreating to the stairs.

  I am halfway up them when Mistress calls to me from the parlor.

  “Sabah? May I see you, dear?”

  I bite down on my lip, but there is only on
e answer. “Of course.”

  We seldom use the parlor—only when the Mistress entertains guests. I walk in slowly, and feel the absurd urge to laugh at the Rover in such a domestic setting. He wears a patchwork cloak over threadbare trousers and a dirty shirt. His hair is wild and sparse on the top, his face leathery from years of chasing the winds. He looks nothing like his son—except his eyes, hard and bright and shrewd.

  I swallow, eyeing our wild guest nervously.

  “This is my Sabah,” the Mistress says behind me, her voice proud.

  He’s studying me, assessing, and he grunts. “Thin little thing. She looks soft.”

  Anger flares and I feel heat flood my cheeks. “I’m not a pack animal—you can speak to me.”

  The Rover smiles, tight and feral. “But you have some fire—that’s good. Hawke needs that. Do you think you’d make a good rover, girl?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

  “Do you want to wed into the tribe?” he asks.

  I hesitate and he shakes his head, shifting to stand. “She’s not for Hawke. “

  “I think your life is insane,” I say quietly, and I can feel the Mistress go still and tense at my side. But my focus is on the Rover, the leader of a wild tribe that I am beginning to understand. “I think your people walk a fine line that tips into crazy more than it doesn’t. But I think I understand the allure—there is something very tempting about no obligations, no ties, nothing but the freedom of the wind.”

  The Rover grins. His eyes soften a fraction and I can see Hawke in him. He nods, more to himself than me or the Mistress. “She’ll do,” he murmurs. To me, he says gruffly, “Choose wisely and soon.”

  Then he pushes past me, out of the tiny parlor in a rustle of clothes that smell like Outside.

  “Insulting his people might not be the best way to start a relationship, dear one,” the Mistress says dryly. I grin at her, and drop into the chair the Rover just vacated.

  “Where is Berg?” I ask.

  Her eyes go soft and warm. A cold hand squeezes my heart and I almost miss her answer. “He was contacted by the University.”

  “About his testing?” I force out, shoving my suspicions aside.

  Something like regret flickers on her face for a heartbeat before she nods. “Yes. Sabah, you need to make a choice—here or the tribe. You’re running out of time.”

  “Do you want him to go to the University?” I ask, curious.

  “Of course,” she answers, and I can almost dismiss the hesitation in her voice. Almost.

  I force a smile, and nod. “I’ll choose soon. I promise.”

  **

  I want Berg to find me. I want it as much as I want to be alone. I have been in the garret for almost an hour when I hear his footsteps. The snow is falling again, and I can see the caravan beginning to move, the protectors riding shaggy ponies alongside them. I wonder, if I choose them, how the Mistress will contact the Rover.

  Another secret, I realize bitterly. I stare out the window as Berg approaches me, his steps slow and cautious.

  “What’s wrong, Sabah?” he asks

  I laugh. It startles him so much that he jumps. “What isn’t wrong, Berg?” I demand, fear and hurt bubbling up in me.

  He watches me with dark eyes, and I love that they are so unusual and yet so painfully familiar. Looking at him like this—and maybe, my shock—gives me the courage to ask, “Do you want to go to the City?”

  His expression tightens for a split second, before it turns questioning, and that is answer all the answer I need. “You do,” I say, disbelieving. “They turned us out. They didn’t want us!”

  He sighs, an aggravated noise. “What choice do we have, Sabah? Life Outside, with the tribes—what is there, really? The City is better than the tribes.”

  “The Mistress offered me a place here. Raising her children for their deaths.” I offer him a sick smile. “And she won’t turn you out, will she, Berg? Not when you warm her bed so well.”

  I watch the words fall, watch them hit like an acidstorm, watch the devastation playing across his face. Was I wrong?

  His eyes find mine, and despite the sadness, there is honesty there, something that has been missing for too long. “She is the Mistress,” he says simply, as if that is defense enough. “Would you have me refuse her?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut at his admission. Even though I have suspected it, hearing him admit his betrayal hits me hard. Was I wrong, to think we were more than convenience? And even if we are only that—it hurts.

  “She thinks you are unhappy, Sabah,” he says. I look up, glaring, and a bitter smile twists his lips. “I suppose you have a right to be.”

  “When were you going to tell me?” I ask, suddenly.

  He frowns, real confusion on his face, and I smile sickly. “You were going to let me choose her, without telling me about this. You’d leave—and what? When you come to visit, you’d sleep with us both? Is that the idea?”

  “Sabah,” he starts, weakly.

  I search his face. There is pain there, but all the lies and hidden secrets are gone—the Berg I have always known watches me with big solemn eyes, looking relieved. How hard, I wonder, must it be to love two and to live a lie?

  I shake my head, shake the thought, and force myself to stand. It hurts to see him reach out for me, hurts to even look at him. My heart feels like it is shattering, and my breath hitches, catching as I try to speak. I stop, falling back on an old skill—counting. To ten. Again. Twenty. Again.

  When my breathing is even, I open my eyes; I’d been unaware they were closed. He watches me, curious and cautious and hopeful. “I need to be alone,” I whisper, and see the flash of hurt in his eyes before they shutter, closing him off from me. He nods, stepping away, and doesn’t stop me when I brush past him.

  Chapter 11

  Cook looks up as I enter the kitchen, and her eyes soften. “Rough day, girlie?”

  I shrug, but my red eyes and nose are a dead giveaway. I have never been able to hide it when I cry.

  She doesn’t press for details, merely hands me a small bag and my cloak. The quiet kindness is enough to make my eyes burn, tears threatening again. I blink hard, kiss her quickly and slip into the black night.

  I look at the tree, and then back to the outbuilding—the building offers safety, but he promised to be under the tree, and after weeks of no contact, I don’t want to risk not seeing him. Dismissing thoughts of the tigercat, I settle under the tree, wrapping my cloak around me like a blanket, my back pressed against the tree trunk, sheltered from the wind.

  I sniff the contents of the heater bottle—herbal tea. I smile and take a cautious sip. It’s hot, too hot to drink, so I cap it and set it aside—he will be here soon, and might be hungry.

  With nothing to do but wait, my thoughts wander. I have lived all my life Outside—and wondered about life within the Cities. Is it fair to resent Berg for wanting that? Can I live with the tribes, look the other way when Hawke’s eyes and hands wander—and I know they will. Can I live like that? I have known about Berg and the Mistress for less than a day, and hate it—can I live a lifetime of this?

  I don’t realize I’m crying until the tears splash on my hands, sending shudders of cold through me as I sob silently.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. I look at him from behind my hair. He is crouched close enough to touch. It does not even surprise me that he is so near without my having heard him—he always seems to move that way. I wonder if all ban-wolves move so soundlessly.

  He watches me, and it is the most relaxed I have ever seen him. “Mistress,” I nod at the house behind me, “wants to send Berg to the City.”

  His eyes flare and he stiffens, anger seeming to radiate from him. “And you? What will you do?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer.

  He’s silent, staring into nothing for a long time. Finally, grudgingly, “The City provides for its Citizens.”

  I snort, and feel his eyes come back to m
e. I’m not ready to look at him, so I reach for dinner. Cook has filled the bag with warm meats wrapped in clean rags, a large covered bowl of vegetable stew over rice, still steaming with heat, a chunk of sharp cheese, a crusty heel of bread.

  He sniffs at the food and I hide my smile behind my hair.

  “You have questions,” he says.

  I nod, and hand him the meat, taking the vegetable rice stew. He hesitates, and I stare at him. He growls a little, but begins to eat.

  “You can speak. Nothing says ban-wolves can speak,” I say, and even though it’s a statement, I can see him thinking through, sorting out how best to answer.

  “The Commission controls what Citizens read,” he says, his voice bitter. He twists, staring at me. “Are you going to live in the City?”

  My chin lifts, and I glare at him. I cannot face his disappointment, not with my emotions so unstable. “Does it matter? I’m just a silly girl who needs to be protected from herself,” I snap. “Why did you attack Berg?”

  He laughs. It infuriates me, but he laughs. I begin to stand, but he catches my hand, stopping me. I freeze at the touch—it’s like the pulsing electricity of the Gate, starting at my hand and emanating outward, washing over me.

  “Sabah,” he whispers. It is the first time he has said my name, and it is soft where his voice is always guttural. It lingers and caresses, an intimacy I am not ready for. Yet it makes me drop down next to him. He releases me, and we sit in silence, unsure what to say.

  Something occurs to me, and I steal a glance at him. “I don’t know your name.”

  He starts, and grimaces, his eyes drawn to the City. “Arjun,” he says at last, and I relax.

  We are quiet for a long time, and I marvel at the silence. It's comfortable—I want to question him, but sitting in the silence is almost easy. There is no tension, no worry, no children or chores to discuss, no secrets that threaten to choke us.