Edge of the Falls (After the Fall) (31 page)

Selent pulls me into a dim alley, and I see the tunnel opening. The sewers. I close my eyes, and can hear the phantom voices of all my children through the years, their small voices counting, calming. I chant with my memories, and my breathing evens out.

“Go,” Selent says and pushes me lightly toward the tunnel. I want to say something, thank her, but I don’t know what to say—there isn’t anything I can say that is adequate. “Sabah,” she says, her voice cracking, and I look back. “Tell them I love them?”

“Come with me,” I say impulsively and she laughs, a little wild and bitter.

“I can’t,” she says, lifting her hand, wrist out. The scar is so small it’s almost invisible, but I know the biochip is there, nestled beneath her skin. I nod, and she straightens her shoulders. “Go. Be happy with him.”

I hear something below me, soft feet splashing and a small voice calling to me, and I slip down, into the darkness. Above me, the metal covering is shoved into place, and I can hear Selent’s footsteps hurrying away.

A boy—he appears between the age of ten and fifteen—stands a few feet away, warily. He’s holding a bag, the bag all of my hope hinges on. Everything I need to survive. Everything but the map, which I have committed to memory.

And burned.

“You’re Selent’s friend?” the boy asks, and I nod. He tosses the bag at me, and I pluck it neatly from the darkness. It’s uncanny how easily I can slip back into the shadows, after my time in the lights of Mlena. “Come on, then.”

He doesn’t talk—never even bothers to tell me his name. But he’s a good guide, and we never get lost. The tunnels stretch on forever. “Are we still under the City?” I ask, after almost three hours of walking.

He shakes his head. “Almost out of the tunnels. About six miles east of the City.”

My heart sinks a little—east means even farther away from my destination than I had anticipated. “Why so far?” I ask.

“Cause you can’t cross the river anywhere else,” he answers logically before falling silent.

Twenty minutes later, the tunnel ends abruptly in water. I look at it and then at the boy. “What is this?” I demand, my voice shrill.

“The only way around the quarantine. You’d have to swim the river anyway.”

“I’ll freeze. And I’m sure you’ve noticed this, but there’s a
waterfall.
”

He snorts. “It’s miles away. Get to the safe side of the river and make a fire. I’ve done what Selent asked—do you want to leave or not?”

I do—going back isn’t an option. Gritting my teeth, I secure my bags, thankful I’d thought to use waterproof satchels. Then I plunge into the water. I hear the boy’s whistle of surprise, hear him shout something, but the water is dragging me under and away.

It’s not as strong as being in the waterfall, but it’s just as cold, and there is nothing holding me to safety—and that’s terrifying. The entire swim is terrifying. It takes a small eternity—even though, looking back, it was probably not long at all. But when I finally pull myself to shore on the far side of the river, the graylight is beginning to fade, I can’t feel my feet, and I’m completely exposed.

I stand there, shivering in the darkness and quiet.

For the first time, I’m completely alone.

I shiver as an icy wind whips over the ledge. The tiny flame I’ve coaxed to life gutters in the wind, and I curve my body around it, trying to keep it alive. Tears sting my eyes as the fire sputters and dies. My last meal, a puny squirrel, is nowhere near cooked enough for me to eat.

It’s good, I tell myself, that the fire is out. It won’t attract the tigercat that is stalking me. Or anything else.

But eating would have been nice.

I glance down the mountain, hoping to see something: any pinprick of light. Even the caravan lights from one of the roving tribes would be welcome, after five weeks of isolation Outside.

I should have approached the band I saw last week. By then, my supplies had been dangerously low, but I could have traded for something—a fresh cell for my tablet, or food, or even an extra blanket.

Caution had kept me hidden until they were long past me, though. The simple fact was that Exiles relied on the scraps from Cities. If asked about a single girl wandering alone Outside, they wouldn’t hesitate to offer me up on a platter to the Commission. Nothing was worth that risk.

I kick the ashes of my fire over the ledge, listening to it spiral down into the black night. When the sticks finally clatter against the rocks, I hear a hiss, and then soft footfalls as the tigercat goes to investigate the noise. I wrap myself in my blankets as quietly as I can and curl into a ball, my back against the rocks.

Maybe tomorrow, I will reach the City.

**

I wait until graylight smudges the darkness to haul myself up the mountainside, off my ledge. The rope burns against my hands, but I feel better for having been able to sleep securely—the tigercat couldn’t chase me down the side of a mountain.

I follow my tracks back to the river, stopping to forage winterberries from a small bush. I leave a few for the birds, tossing my squirrel aside—there will be no time to cook it before the meat turns rancid.

I’ve been following this new river for the past week—ever since leaving the rubble of The Island behind. A small voice inside says it’s been too long, that I should have found the pack by now. I ignore it, as best I can. It’s not helpful.

When I reach the river, I switch on my maptable. The cell is dying—I have maybe a week left before it will be gone completely. If I don’t find the City soon, I never will.

The Point is ahead. If I follow the river all day, I should reach it by night. I can camp there, in the relative safety of the battlements. I hum softly to myself, pick up my walking stick and begin trudging along the riverbank.

**

I reach The Point later than I expect, but there is no missing it once I do arrive. The crumbling remains remind me of Berg, of the ancient castles in his stories. I grin, knowing how much he’d love them.

I scramble up the steep hillside, using trees and small bushes to pull myself up. Poison plants thrive here, and I have to skirt huge clumps of them on my climb, but eventually I reach a plateau. Below me, the river pulses on its path, massive and serene.

For the first time since crawling into Mlena’s sewers five weeks ago, I feel safe. There is something very secure about the rubble of this ancient place. Before, this was a fortress, a mountaintop school. And despite its decay and disrepair, I know it will be hard to approach.

I hunt through the stones for high ground, gathering dry wood as I go. The river rat I killed early in the day hangs skinned from my belt, a comforting heavy weight.

A circular stone tower seems the safest place to camp, and I climb the rickety stairs. It’s windy on the top, but I can see from all sides except the mountain that looms over me. I shrug that thought away, and settle to making my camp.

All day, I have felt eyes, watching me, assessing me in the darkness. Waiting, on something. I can feel them now, as I strike a matchstick and feed it into the twigs. I wonder if it is the tigercat, although by now I should be well out of its territory.

The pressure of the unknown gaze recedes as I spit the rat and lay it in the coals of the fire. I shuffle through my pack and pull my water bottle out.

In the darkness, I hear a sharp crack, like a branch being snapped. I clutch my knife as I stand slowly, watching the darkness.

The feeling of being observed, hunted, is back. But nothing emerges. I can
feel
the eyes watching me, and I bare my teeth in a feral smile. A growl rolls out of the night, and my fist tightens around my knife hilt.

Eventually the feeling fades. By slow degrees, I relax. The outside of my rat is burned, and I use my knife to scrape off the black char. My belly full of greasy, hot meat, I fall asleep, wrapped in the cold and clutching my knife.

**

A bird is singing when I wake up. I’m not sure if that’s what wakes me or the pressure of someone’s gaze.

Lazy, sky-dark eyes watch me from where he sits on the battlements.

The change in him is shocking, and yet, Merc is painfully familiar as I stare at him. “You sleep like the dead, Sabah,” he says lazily.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, scrambling to my feet.

“A pair of ban-wolves on recon came back to the City with stories of a girl who eluded a tiger cat, and slept in a deserted castle with a knife. A girl idiotic enough to bait ban-wolves, and who seemed to know where the hell she was headed.” He grins. “I took a wild guess that it might be you.”

“Where is Arjun?”

His face shutters, and my heart stops, my blood freezing. “He’s in the City,” he says, at last, his voice empty.

“He doesn’t want me?” I ask, so soft my voice is almost lost in the wind.

Merc’s eyes widen. “Why would you think that?”

I laugh, bitter. “Because he’s not here? Because of the look on your face? Because he sent me away in the first place.”

Merc makes an impatient, disgusted noise. “He doesn’t
know
, Sabah. I wasn’t going to tell him that you
might
be here—it would have crushed him when it turned out to be some lost Exiled waif.”

“Can you take me to him?” I ask, and my voice is pleading, begging. I’m so tired, so bone-weary, I stumble as I reach for him. Merc’s eyes are gentle when he catches me, his grip as steady and sure as it had been when he was a ban-wolf.

“Of course, Sabah,” he says.

**

It is not what I expect. Maybe because the only City I have known is Mlena, I expect that. But this—it is so much less. And at the same time, more.

Dogs are running through the streets—packed dirt streets that are muddy. “We’ve had rain,” Merc says by way of explanation, slogging through the muck heedlessly.

I am far too tired and dirty to care about mud, and follow readily.

The buildings—there are so many—are wood, rough-hewn, cobbled together quickly. I can see stone being dragged through another street, and Merc points, saying, “Rook wants to convert the community buildings to stone, but it’s going to take a while.”

It’s huge—sprawling. There is a large plot that is marked off, the ground a deep rich brown. In the spring, he tells me as we pass, it will be a garden large enough to feed the entire pack. Fresh meat, he grins, is not a problem.

I don’t recognize all the ban-wolves. And that, in itself, is shocking. There are just as many ban-wolves roaming the streets at there are humans. I look at them, and then Merc, questioning.

“Some of them didn’t want to change back,” he says simply. “Some we needed for patrol and hunting—and there are those whose body rejected the change.”

My heart seizes, and I look closer at those around us. Surely, I will recognize him, in whatever form he takes.

Once, I see a pale brown ban-wolf, talking to a small woman with silvery blonde hair. I almost stop, go to them—Gali sees me, her mouth falling open—but Merc pulls me along insistently.

He comes to a stop, finally, in front of a small wooden house. It’s quiet inside, but my heart is pounding, and I can barely breathe. I look at Merc, and he meets my gaze. “If you want this—he’s in there. But if you have any doubts, don’t walk in. I’ll take you back to Mlena, and he’ll never know.”

Am I sure? Do I have any doubts?

Five weeks Outside is enough to answer that question, and I push open the door.

It’s dark. I feel my way along the darkness in silence. A harsh growl comes from my left, and I jerk. “Arjun?”

There’s a noise, a choked broken sob. “
Sabah?”

He strikes a firestick, and I see him. He stares at me from across the tiny room. He is so still, he does not even seem to breathe. I trace his features with my eyes—the long, shaggy hair is dirty and rough. His ears swivel a little, toward me, as if picking up every minute sound, my every heartbeat. I linger over his lips, the familiar planes of his face. But what truly captivates me are his eyes, brilliant gold. Every inch of him seems tarnished and almost broken, but his eyes—they gleam bright and fierce in the darkness of his hut.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice harsh and guttural, and so heartbreakingly familiar I stifle a gasp. He hears it, though, and moves. I have forgotten how quickly he can move. His claws grip my arms as I sway, supporting me. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” The question is almost desperate, and it breaks through the paralysis that grips me. I shake my head, and reach up. He flinches, pulling away before my fingers brush against him and releases me. “Why are you here, Sabah?” he asks, tiredly.

I have had weeks to ponder this question. Weeks to wonder why, now, after all this time, I was willing to face the terrible fear that he would reject me after all I had gone through, all I had left behind. Berg flickers in my mind for a moment, and is gone—he has no place in this room, in this City.

I take a deep breath, and say, “What is the worst thing the Cataclysm took from us?”

Arjun blinks. I have startled him, and that is perversely pleasing. So few things are able to. “Sunlight?” he asks, glancing at the window.

“Choice,” I answer. “After Longest Night, the world didn’t have choices. We accepted the Commission because we had to survive. We accepted their rules because to be Exiled was a death sentence. We threw away our children because they said we would starve. We gave up all our choice until there was no freedom at all. And now, it is so normal to accept their choices for us, no one considers it.”

He’s looking at me strangely. I see something flicker in his eyes that I recognize—fear. How can I not, when I have lived with it for so long?

“I’ve always let them make choices for me. My mother, to put me out of the City. The Mistress, risking our lives. Even Berg. And then—you.” Anger threads my voice, surprising both of us.

“Sabah, I wasn’t trying to…” he slows to a halt, and the air between us thickens. There is so much between us that is unspoken—fear has choked back so much. I wonder if things will ever be the same, after all we have been through.