Edge of the Falls (After the Fall) Read online

  It is easy, and effortless, in a way that being with Berg is not. Not anymore.

  I shake my head, and feel Arjun's eyes on me, curious. I hate that it is so natural to compare the two of them. Berg is the one who held my hand in the darkness, who rescued me. But... does my loyalty to him extend even when he chooses another?

  "You’re upset," he says softly, drawing me back to here, now. "Why?"

  I look at him, finally, straight on, my hair pushed back. My eyes travel the unfamiliar planes of his face--the hard lines of his jaw, the unnatural jut of his teeth. The nose that has healed crooked from a break. The golden eyes that have softened somehow. Long white hair that hides and reveals his eyes and makes me wonder—is it as soft as it appears?

  He whispers something, so quietly I can't hear it. Only his lips shaping my name tell me what he says.

  I shiver, and he makes a noise of distress. "Tell me," he orders.

  I sigh, "I don’t know what to do. Berg wants me to go with him—even if he hasn’t come out and said it. The Mistress wants me to stay with her. Hawke wants me in his tribe."

  His eyes narrow. "What do you want, Sabah?”

  I blink at him, startled. What kind of question is that? “I always thought I’d be with Berg. I never really thought beyond that.”

  "He smells like the Mistress," he comments. The words hit me like a fist, and his eyes flit to me. "And some days," he says thoughtfully, "he smells of you."

  I watch the thoughts shifting in his eyes, watch as they click into place. He growls, a baring of teeth that shakes me. It reminds me, violently, that he is dangerous. Wild. Unknown.

  He beat Berg, and I still don’t know why, or why he stopped.

  "He warms both your beds?" he snarls.

  Anger at Berg fills me so quickly I cannot see. I lash out, "If he warms my bed, it is none of your damn business."

  It is the wrong thing to say. Arjun jerks away, moving so quickly and gracefully, I am not sure how he is on his feet. I reach for him, and brush his hair—soft—before it is gone. "You’re right," he says, “it’s not.” The words pierce me as I watch him vanishing into the night.

  **

  I don't want to return to the Manor. I am not strong enough yet to face Berg or the Mistress. I retreat to the outbuilding, and curl in my blanket and cloak. It smells faintly like Arjun, like wild air. I sniff it, and my eyes burn with tears that want to fall. I blink them back, stubbornly.

  Why did I argue with him? I want answers, and now--how long will he stay away, this time? Will he be too angry to return? Will he think I don't want him to?

  Panic covers me for a moment, blinding. He has to know I want him to come back. I jerk to my feet, and stumble out of the outbuilding. I flounder in the snow, but I know where I am going, and the cold shocks me out of my blind panic. Determination fills me, and I turn back.

  If I’m going hunting, I need gear.

  I shove my blanket into an old game sack, along with my bag of half eaten dinner and heater bottle, add some dried fruit and salted, dehydrated beef and a hololight. Berg keeps a kit—his overnight hunting kit, and I snatch it from the shelf, shoving it deep into my pack. I tie my dark hair back and heft the bag.

  I can follow Arjun. Explain. He deserves that—and I cannot let him leave if he might hate me.

  I find his tracks, barely-there indentions in the snow. They lead south—away from the river, the Manor, the City. I hesitate for a moment—the lights of the City are dim now, as night creeps toward its nadir, but they are familiar. Safe.

  As if on cue, they dim a bit more and my lips tighten. Controlled. Like everything in the City. I settle my bag more securely on my back, and set out into the night.

  I follow the tracks for hours, as darkness deepens around me. When I trip for the third time, I fish my hololight from my bag. Its beam is like a beacon, and I worry what it will draw to me, but floundering about in the darkness is pointless. Once, I hear the leathery wings of a huge creature high above me, and that keeps me hiding, shaking, behind a rock, my hololight off, for over an hour.

  Eventually, I cannot go any further. The lights of the City have long since faded in the distance—I’m utterly alone, Outside in truth for the first time.

  I wrap myself in my blanket, and shivering, terrified, I curl in a small dip of the earth and eventually fall into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter 12

  I wake lost, in a world unfamiliar. There are no sweet sleepy bodies around me, no quiet voices and rustle of blankets. No muttered curses from the kitchen below us as Cook prepares first meal—nothing but the quiet wind rustling through the wild grass, the gray dusk of morning, and something—hard—digging into my back.

  Last night rushes back to me, all of the revelations, the emotion, fleeing into the darkness of Outside.

  I sit up, assessing my surroundings. The dip in the earth is a slight shield from the wind; the snow packed around me is oddly insulating. What strikes me is the silence. Aside from the soft wind rustling the snow and my hair, it is quiet. And dry—no roar of water filling the background, no mist dampening everything.

  I dig out some dried beef, alternating gnawing on it and sucking on snow. It’s risky to drink snow before it is purified, but after sleeping in it, I have been exposed to any toxins it contains—drinking it will hardly make a difference at this point. And I doubt it could make me any colder than I already am.

  In the gloom I can see the smoothness of the snow around me—there are no footprints, nothing for me to follow. Panic grips me. “Arjun?” I call, frantic.

  Only silence answers me.

  **

  I pause on a low hill, looking around at the vast expanse of snow, smoothed by the wind, and stifle a sigh. The only footprints are mine, a messy shuffle up the hill behind me. There is no sign of Arjun—no sign of anything but me. I push my hair back from my face impatiently, wondering which way to go. I’ve tried backtracking and couldn’t find any signs from the night before. My feet are numb, my boots soaked through.

  Distantly, I can hear the river. It rushes along like it always has, familiar and comforting. Without really thinking, I start toward it.

  Following Arjun into the night has proven to be a bad choice, I’ll admit. But now that I am here, the idea of returning to the Manor—and the City—is repellant. I don’t want to see the mix of exasperation and relief in Berg’s eyes. Or his anger—and even though it’s cooled in the past few weeks, he would be furious if he knew I’d chased Arjun into the night.

  Even if it is inevitable, I’m not ready to face that. And I am not willing to chase the wind.

  I sigh as I reach the river, and drop down to sit in silence. I take stock of my supplies—there is not much food left in my pack. Enough cold stew for my dinner, and maybe enough fruit and beef for a light lunch. I fish out Berg’s kit, and open it for the first time.

  Hooks. Thin wire for bait lines. Collapsed traps. A lightweight solar blanket. Meds. A small store of food. Two sharp knives. A firestarter. A collapsible water-pure. The scrap of white photopaper is so out of place that it catches my attention, and I withdraw it and open it.

  I smile back from the image, my gray eyes bright with some amusement, my dark hair covered in mist and blowing behind me. The sky provides a dark backdrop, lights gleaming from the Manor.

  My breath slips from me. Too easily, I can picture Berg sitting alone on a hunting trip, wrapped in a blanket, a rabbit roasting, staring at my picture—his only token of home to ward off loneliness.

  I bite my lip, and snap the kit shut.

  **

  A thick stand of trees is a black smudge in the graylight. I remember a story Berg once read to me about wolves in which woods seemed to feature prominently—they seem as likely a place to find Arjun as any.

  Encouraged by my new sense of direction, I repack my bag, hooking one of the knives to my belt. I heft the bag onto my back and begin trudging toward the woods. It is odd, to be alone Outside. The silence is daunting in
its completeness, the wind whistling through the dead grass eerily, and I feel strangely exposed until I finally reach the woods.

  The trees are stunted—the way most trees grew after the Cataclysm. The ground is covered in dead branches and bright poison plants—I pause to fish one of the rags from my pack and tie it around my nose and mouth to keep the fumes out.

  Birds are chirping here, and a crow caws at me indignantly when I step on a fallen branch and it snaps underfoot. I shoot the bird an irritated glare, and continue on. Aside from the crow, the birds and the soft sounds of life in the forest are comforting. I explore the forest, and once, find a footprint that makes my heart leap. “Arjun?” I call, standing. Silence greets me.

  I cock my head—in the intentness of my search, I had not realized that the forest had gone still. I glance around, and see the crow, still and silent high above me. I freeze, chills racing down my spine.

  I hear it a split second before I see it. A soft snort and rustle of leaves makes the crow caw and take off. I can smell the bear, the musk of dead meat, and deep dank places. Why is it awake? I think as it breaks into the small clearing where I stand.

  A black bear, especially one as large as this, should be in deep hibernation this late in the year. It snorts at me curiously, and I grip my knife harder, preparing to defend myself if it chooses to attack. It looks sleepy, and begins to turn away when its nostrils flare, large head swinging back to me. Pain radiates up my arm as it sniffs.

  Blood—my blood. I have cut my hand in my concentration.

  The bear roars, and I shriek, swinging my arm up as it charges. The knife catches in coarse greasy hair, and pain—blinding, deafening, consuming—slams into me, so hard and unexpected that I scream. The bear roars again, in triumph.

  I brace myself for tearing teeth, for impending blackness, and am absurdly grateful that there will be no need to choose between Berg and freedom, when I hear a distant scream.

  A ban-wolf. The bear pauses, a growl rolling up from its depths, and then another scream, different but closer. A third.

  The fourth I recognize, and my heart leaps. Musical and haunting. Arjun.

  There is a breathless moment of stillness, and then a scramble of noise, screams and growls and whimpers all blending together in a terrifying symphony. I’m knocked violently aside, and feel something in my wrist snap when I try to stop myself. The ban-wolves are fighting, the bear roaring its challenge, a hellish harmony above me, but I’ve been forgotten.

  Almost.

  There is a harsh inhalation above me, and bolts of pain along the fire that is consuming my side. I pry my eyes open, smile weakly into Arjun’s worried golden gaze. “I found you,” I force out before I plunge into darkness.

  Chapter 13

  The world is swimming around me when I come to. Flashes of movement make me dizzy and I throw up, heaving what little I have eaten onto the chest that cradles me. I can hear sounds: screams—distant—and a heartbeat, so close, feet running, someone moaning. And the wind, teasing and light, brushing over me.

  I wonder, surprisingly lucid, if I will die here, without the sound of the falls to carry me away.

  It is a depressing thought.

  For a moment, it feels like we are flying—there is no rhythmic thud of feet, and I realize he jumped a heartbeat before we land and pain slams through me and I scream, shrill and loud. It is eerily similar to that of a ban-wolf. A guttural voice curses above me, and I slip back into darkness.

  **

  I dream. Of light—lying in a field of flowers I have seen only in pictures. I sit up, and sunlight drenches me. It turns my skin to the color of milk, my hair a warm wood brown. Looking at it, I see colors I have never seen in my hair before—reds and golds and browns and blacks, mixing together in a river of beauty. The girls are with me, Kaida and Alba giggling and making a crown of grass and lilies. I stand, trying to go to them---

  And fall. I’m running, running through a forest. Someone is holding my hand, and I follow the familiar grip up to find Berg’s sky-blue eyes. He mouths a word—run—and we are careening down the path, the branches snatching at my hair, my dress. I feel something tickle my leg, and look down, and I’m startled to see a trail of starrbriars marking where we have come from. We jerk to a stop, and I peer around him—

  And see the Manor. It’s burning, and I’m screaming, my voice raw with panic and grief. Arms are holding me back—Cook—and I watch, helpless, as Mistress vanishes into the inferno. An enraged cry follows, and Berg crashes in after her. It occurs to me to wonder why the eternal mist from the falls is not affecting the fire, and then the door collapses and I see a pair of gleaming golden eyes from the window of my garret—

  The heat vanishes. I’m being smothered. Rocks are closing in on me, and I’m soaked. The slither of snakes and fire-lizards, the familiar sting of acid. My hands are full of starrbriars, the sap making my fingers sticky. I can feel the tick of time, the whisper of the Mistress, like a drumbeat, a heartbeat: more, more, more, MORE.

  I scream, and stone different from the dream appears around me, curving, arching walls, jagged and smooth and rough all at once. There is a flurry of noise, and for a disoriented moment, I am lost in confusion—is this another dream? I am so hot. Someone touches me and I whimper at the shocking cold.

  “She needs antibiotics,” the voice is rough and insistent. It is unfamiliar. I have never heard it, and that, more than anything, convinces me I am awake.

  I remember, in disoriented flashes—the bear, Outside, Arjun, Berg, an irritable crow—and gasp, my hand going to my side, to the screaming pain there.

  My skin—where are my clothes?—is hot, puffy, tight.

  Relief floods me—infection. I have blood infection, and am in the wilds of Outside. Berg will never be able to track me, not past the fight with the ban-wolves and the bear. I will never have to face his anger. I will die, and the choice will be made. I smile and collapse backwards.

  A ban-wolf appears above me, a pale brown wolf with stern eyes.

  I try to speak and my voice chokes in my throat. I swallow convulsively, and finally force out, “Will I die?”

  His eyes hold mine and he seems to shrug. “We shall see.”

  Somewhat displeased with this answer, I frown, and it teases a smile from him. There is nothing to say now, and no way to argue, and I surrender to the oblivion tugging me down.

  **

  I lose track of how many times I wake in the grip of dreams and fever, how many ban-wolves I see before they vanish to fetch one with brilliant green eyes.

  Sometimes, she tries to get me to eat. Sometimes, I cooperate. She insists on burning incense, and it makes me sneeze, sending a white-hot blade of pain through me.

  “Where is Arjun?” I ask, when I can breathe again.

  The ban-wolf turns to me, amused. “Staying away until I tell him otherwise. You need rest, child.”

  I shiver, and she clucks, tottering unsteadily to my side. “I need to change this. The infection is clearing up nicely, though.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “And you will. When you’re ready,” she says absently, without looking up from my side.

  I quit asking—the worry makes me hurt. I want her to leave me alone, want to let the fever consume me—it would not be hard. So simple to lie back and let it race through my blood. She forces tea down my throat; an herbal tea that makes me gag at the taste, at once foreign and familiar. A smoky fire burns near me, and sometimes, the smoke makes me feel better—but it makes the dreams worse.

  I miss Arjun. I miss Berg.

  I want, desperately, to die.

  **

  Something has changed when I next wake up. The air is charged with tension. Several ban-wolves are around me, watching. The stern one—do any of them have names?—is not watching me. He’s looking at something he is holding near my side.

  I scream as he moves, a quick slashing. Something stabs me. The ban-wolves are holding me down, and I scream again, fur
ious in my betrayal. Something hot and thick is oozing from my side, from where the stern one stands. The infection: my easy answer, my slow death, is oozing from me in searing trickles, urged by gentle hands on my skin.

  I feel the prick of a needle in my arm, so slight I would dismiss it—but the touch is familiar, and the golden eyes. “Arjun,” I whisper, amazed to see him.

  His eyes skip down—where pain still sears—and back up to my face. Then icy heat floods my arm, and he turns away.

  **

  “Her fever broke.”

  “Then why won’t she wake up?”

  The voices are familiar and taunt me from the darkness. I am surprised by them and the realization that I have slept, not chased by dreams and fear, but real sleep. It is enough for me to force my eyes open. They feel gritty and I wonder how long I have slept.

  I see two ban-wolves standing at my feet: the pale brown one and Arjun, arguing over me. There is something tight about Arjun’s eyes—fear? Is he afraid? The stern one flicks a glance at me, and his expression lightens, enough to alert Arjun. His golden gaze finds mine, emotion flickering in his gaze before he seems to shake himself and move toward me.

  He sinks to crouch near my head, and I study him—his golden eyes are dull, and his hair is matted, filthy. “Where?” I croak, my voice breaking before I can finish the question.

  “Shh. You’re safe,” he murmurs, and the other man seems to fade away, stepping into the shadows. Arjun shakes his head, a rueful smile on his oddly shaped mouth. “Why did you follow me?”

  I am well enough to feel embarrassment, and look down. “I don’t know,” I say, tracing a pattern on the rough blanket covering me.

  The pressure of his gaze on me is too heavy, and I need something to alleviate it. I reach for the rough cup next to my bed. Laughter fills Arjun’s eyes as I swallow boiling herbal tea. I choke, and the brown one with stern eyes reappears, plucks it from my hand and sets it aside, muttering.