Edge of the Falls (After the Fall) (3 page)

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

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 edge 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.”

I manage to shrug. “He was a pleasant enough distraction.”

“Pleasant enough that you would live your life with the tribes?”

Fear clenches my gut, makes it hard to gasp a full breath. I hate that my voice shakes when I say, “You said there were two options. What is the other?”

She tilts her head. “There is always my home. You are good with the children. You don’t
have
to leave.” Her eyes harden. “But you can never question me or my methods again.”

For a moment, we stare at each other, her eyes earnest. I don’t know if she can see my shock and revulsion, but she stands after a few minutes of silence, and leaves wordlessly.

Could I do that? Live a life, preparing children to die?

“Where were you?” Alba asks, her voice accusing. The other girls pause in preparing for bed, looking between the two of us, waiting for my answer.

I glance at her, and shrug. “I wanted to be alone.” Her blue eyes narrow but Kaida calls my name and I turn away. She’s sitting cross-legged on my bed, and as I lie down, she curls around me, her baby fine hair tickling my nose. I inhale, memorizing the smell of her—the rich scent of dirt from the garden, the reek of sweat and ink, the ashy smell of the kitchen, and under it, the utterly innocent smell of a small body. I hug her tight and sigh.

She looks at me. “What is it like?”

I used to wonder why they always asked me. It has been almost four years since I’ve been over the Falls. Berg tells me that it’s a way to reassure themselves, hearing it from me, because I was the first, and survived so many trips. I suppose that is as true as anything else.

Pulling my blanket around both of us, I think back. Despite the time that has passed, the feeling of suspension and icy terror rush back and I shiver. “It’s cold. Dark. Suffocating. You can hear the fire-lizards on the rocks, and feel the Falls soaking you. It makes things slippery.”

She shudders against me, and I tilt her head up, peer into her bright eyes. She’s so tiny. “Berg has been manning the Lift since I first went over. He knows what he’s doing—trust him,” I whisper fiercely, and she forces a nod.

The room is silent, but there is a tenseness to it that makes me itch to escape again. She moves, almost reluctantly pulling away, and I tighten my grip, just enough to stop her. Kaida snuggles into my pillow, a small arm thrown over my neck as she falls into her uneasy dreams.

I stay awake, wondering at the events of the day and dreading the morning. The Mistress’ words tumble in my mind, taunting and teasing. What would life be like with Hawke, wild and free?

The idea is too foreign to form fully—I cannot picture it. I cannot even see Hawke clearly; his memory is bits and pieces, parts of a whole. I sigh, shifting. Berg is familiar and safe. But that is
here.
And he won’t even be here, not if the Mistress has her way. Can I stay here without my best friend?

Why would she send him without me?

I hear a soft scratch at the door, and my eyes close instinctively.
Berg.

Despite my misgivings, I cannot stop myself from slipping free from Kaida’s clutch and rising. Lilith slides into my still-warm bed without a word, and the sleeping child wraps around her. She nods at me, and I turn, leaving the bedroom.

He catches my hand as I reach the stairs, and tugs me down the familiar darkness until we reach the warm haven of the library. Cook always leaves the fire burning in the hearth, aware that more often than not, Berg falls asleep in the overstuffed chair, a book open in his lap.