Rivers of Fire (Atherton, Book 2) (21 page)

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It was hard work keeping the boat moving out toward the edge. Uprooted trees and debris floated all around Edgar and threatened to careen into the side of the wooden boat. He was rowing with his back to the cliffs, his wounded shoulder burning with every stroke, and he could see that everything that was not connected to the cliffs or the floor of the Highlands was being sucked into the middle, a great jumble of wreckage crashing on the waves. If he were pulled back in it would be the end, and so he rowed feverishly, his wiry arms and legs fueled by a rush of energy to get free of the Highlands. He had to get free!

"Heeeeeeelp!"

Edgar heard the distant voice of Tyler calling from somewhere far off in the waves. He caught sight of him stranded on what looked like the detached side of a wooden house. He was holding on for dear life, careening between objects in the middle of the Highlands. Purely on instinct Edgar turned his vessel and began paddling frantically toward the stranded man. He worked the oar furiously, but as he struggled against the waves two harsh realities began to occur to him: Tyler couldn't climb out of the Highlands, and the boat was too small to hold them both. It was a futile effort that would end badly for both of them.

It was a terrible moment for a boy to endure--to leave a helpless man to die or try in vain to save him--but Edgar was mercifully spared the decision when the limbs of an uprooted tree crashed into Tyler and he disappeared from sight. The rising sea of Atherton had claimed him.

When Edgar came within a hundred feet of the cliffs he

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realized that the water was rising even faster than he could have imagined. It was nearing the halfway point, or so he thought by what he could see looking up at what remained of the stone walls surrounding him, and the waves were growing even fiercer. Edgar could feel that he was at the crest between waves that were pulling him inward and forcing him out to the very edge, and it scared him to think what would happen when he reached the rocks.

The waves crashed with a roar as he plunged the paddle into the water and rowed closer still. The waves began to take the little boat and move it quickly forward without warning. The hundred feet to the cliffs was cut to fifty and then ten as the boat was carried on the rising water with stunning speed.

Edgar stood on the boat, holding the edges with his hands as it swayed and spun in circles, and then he jumped into the air and hoped against all hope that he would find something to grab onto, that his head wouldn't be bashed against the rocks. He hit the cliff hard and began to slide, reaching wildly for anything he could hold. The boat was dashed against the rocks, pulled back on the waves, then smashed into pieces at Edgar's side.

He had found a slippery hold with one hand and without thinking of anything at all he had begun climbing. Like a spider he outpaced the rising water that slammed into the walls beneath him. He never looked down, only up, and he did just as Dr. Harding had told him. He climbed faster than he'd ever climbed before, losing and regaining his grip over and over again on the wet and muddy path upward. More than once his

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feet dangled free from slimy clumps of earth breaking off Atherton, but always he was able to regain control and keep moving higher.

Edgar had no idea how long he'd been climbing when his arms and legs and lungs started to burn so terribly from the effort that he had no choice but to slow down. It was then that he realized he'd overcome the storm in the Highlands. It was still raging beneath him, but it was not rising as it had been. It was, in fact, receding! The water had come to the halfway point and now it was moving down again, the waves every bit as violent as they had been before.

Edgar didn't take this monumental bit of good luck lightly and was soon off again at full speed. He climbed higher and higher along the slippery cliffs, feeling a sense of deep exhilaration as he went. There was a part of him that believed it was the last time he would climb like this, and he made the most of it. He and Atherton were one, both made by the one man, and he felt mysteriously linked to Atherton as he never had before.

When, finally, he came within minutes of his escape to the very top, he heard the waves below increase in intensity and looked down for the second time. The water was rising again, faster and with more force, and the very walls he hung on to shook in his hands. Dr. Harding had been right. If Edgar had been in the water and faced waves like the ones he saw now, he would not have lived.

Edgar scrambled the rest of the way out and tumbled over the edge into Tabletop, where something occurred to him that he hadn't thought of before.
How far is that water going to rise?

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Edgar leaned over the edge and had the harrowing thought that the waves might crest the Highlands and overtake Tabletop, the grove,
everything.
It would have been helpful if he'd stayed awake to hear what Dr. Harding had said about the water, but it was only a dreamy twinkle lodged deep in his mind and he could not get it out.

Edgar turned in the direction of the grove. He had come into Tabletop a good distance from his former home, and though he could see the trees it would take awhile to get there. He began walking, then running toward the grove, hoping to find people--rather than Cleaners--there.

In the distance he saw a horse and rider approaching, and soon the horse came near enough that Edgar could see the rider was someone he didn't know.

"Where have you come from?" asked Gill, surprised to see the wet and weary boy out in the open.

"There," said Edgar, pointing into the giant hole behind him that led into the Highlands. The sound of breaking waves far below could be heard. It was a haunting sound of echoes and booms, and Edgar could tell that Gill wondered what it was as he sniffed the air and looked toward the noise from the Highlands.

"You should go to the edge and look down. It won't take long on that thing," Edgar pointed to the horse.

"Who are you?" asked Gill, enormous curiosity in his voice.

"I'm Edgar."

Gill was aware of the boy from the stories that permeated

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the grove, stories of a young boy who had climbed to every level of Atherton and then mysteriously disappeared.

"Everyone thinks you're dead," said Gill, excited at having found the missing boy. He reached his arm down and motioned for Edgar to take it, but Edgar was unsure.

"It's easy, honestly," said Gill, still holding out his hand. "We'll go to the edge and have a look, then we can ride back to the grove."

Edgar reached his arm up tentatively--the one with the missing pinky--and Gill snatched it, hauling the thin boy up into the air and onto the back of the horse.

"Hold on!" said Gill. He kicked the horse and they were off. Edgar was not prepared for the speed at which the horse could gallop and it took his breath away. He laughed out loud involuntarily despite all of the misery around him. He simply could not help himself.
This,
he thought in disbelief,
is almost as exhilarating as climbing!

When they came to the edge the ground was shaking at their feet, and Gill gasped at the sight of crashing waves. The storm in the Highlands had the effect of drawing the blood from one's face, so stunning was the sight of raging water on the rise.

"How high will it come?" asked Gill, as if he expected Edgar to know.

"I'm not sure, but it doesn't look like it's going to stop anytime soon. It rises and falls, but mostly it seems to be rising."

Gill took one last look at the gargantuan hole filled with waves and thought for a brief moment about the house he had

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lived in, now covered and smashed by the deluge below. Everything the Highlands had been was gone, churned into rubble by the power of water.
Could it really be so?

He kicked the horse and the two were off, speeding across open land, heading for the grove with news of a flooding world.

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***

CHAPTER 26 THE NUBIAN

While Edgar and Gill raced toward the grove, a different group of weary travelers were quietly moving somewhere far beneath Tabletop. They had begun their journey at about the same time Edgar started his escape from the Highlands, working their way down the side of a rock mountain bathed in golden radiance. As they descended to the valley floor, yellow and orange beams of light cut through the darkness. The rising mountains twisted into unscalable precipices on every side.

The call of the Nubian pierced Samuel's ears. He sensed the flying creatures were near, waiting to attack. It felt as if he were trapped in a place of desolation that could not be overcome.

"How far do you think we have to go?" whispered Samuel. He and Isabel were walking side by side between the adults,

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using their spears as walking sticks as they came very near the bottom.

"I think it will be a while," Isabel answered. "How big do you think the Nubian are?"

Samuel held out his spear, examining it. He had read about the birds in books but had always assumed they were fantasy creatures invented by storytellers. "I wonder if their wings are wider than this spear."

"That they are," said Dr. Kincaid, bending down in order to whisper to the two children. "The Nubian is a marvelous creature, and highly necessary to the inner workings of Atherton. Without them--well, to be fair, without a
lot
of strange things down here--Atherton wouldn't work at all." He paused a moment, then added, "You know he hated birds and bugs."

"Who did?" asked Isabel.

"Dr. Harding. I think he feared them more than he hated them, but he needed them, so he put them down here where they couldn't get out. The Nubian move things around, sort of like when you move water through a grove of trees so that they can drink."

"Could they kill a Cleaner?" Samuel imagined a giant winged animal descending on the beasts outside. Dr. Harding seemed not to know what to make of the question. He pulled on his ear and looked off toward the sound of the Nubian.

"It doesn't matter," said Dr. Kincaid. "They can never leave the inside. It would be the end of Atherton."

"Why?" asked Isabel. "Why couldn't we let them go?"

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[Image: A spear: THE NUBIAN.]

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"Because they'd kill a lot more than just Cleaners," said Vincent, who had stopped and heard Isabel's question. They had reached the valley floor within the inside of Atherton. Rock formations of red and yellow towered all around them, layered back like endless, rolling mountains. As in the cavern, sharp spires of stone pointed angrily down from the black ceiling far above, and everywhere the shadows of the Nubian were crossing like dark water through beams of light.

"At least the Cleaners are stupid," continued Vincent, who had turned to look at everyone. With his crossbow in hand and broken nose he had the appearance of a warrior long at battle, unsure when he would return home. "And they were contained. The Cleaners weren't supposed to leave the Flatlands."

"That's not what Dr. Harding said." Dr. Kincaid was forever trying to defend the mad scientist.

Vincent sighed and shook his head, then returned to the matter at hand.

"If the Nubian were to leave the inside of Atherton that would make them"--Vincent searched for the right word --
"uncontained."
A vague sort of concern rose in his voice. "They could fly anywhere they chose, and eat whatever they found."

"How big are they?" asked Isabel, hearing the screeching move even nearer.

Vincent glanced up into shafts of light and shadow. "You're about to see for yourselves."

He told everyone to move back against the rocks where there were crevices in which to hide. It was possible to squeeze into the larger cracks, and they all began working toward this end.

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"All but you, Isabel," said Vincent. She was startled to have been singled out at such a dangerous moment. "We need to show them they should stay away, and I understand you're even better than Edgar with a sling."

Isabel couldn't help smiling as she felt in her pockets for the sling and the black figs.

"Save the figs and use the rocks," said Vincent. "Aim for the first one you see. One shot, then come back into the rocks. Understood?"

Isabel nodded, searching the ground before her and finding a heavy stone the size of her fist. She set the stone in place and waited, watching the harrowing shadows of the Nubian above.

"How many are there?" asked Isabel. Everyone else had moved into the jagged rock openings.

"Only about fifty," said Vincent. He could tell that she expected all fifty to descend on them at any moment. "But the inside of Atherton is big and they're extremely territorial. They usually travel in pairs, so I suspect there will be two. You aim for the first, I'll aim for the second. Remember,
one
shot, no more."

It had been silent for a moment, but now the valley floor was alive with the sound of shrieking and the first of the Nubian dived for the ground. Isabel was instinctive with her sling in the same way that Edgar was when he climbed. She did not think. If she had, she would have run. Instead, the sling was spiraling around her head, fast and perfect, and then there was the familiar
snap!
The heavy rock was gone.

The Nubian came into full view, turning gracefully to the