Rivers of Fire (Atherton, Book 2) (7 page)

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needed him to do it. Without Edgar, their journey was over. It was he alone who could save the grove, the other villages,
everything.

Edgar drew in a deep breath and Vincent let him go. The moment Edgar had all his limbs on the wall he felt fully alive. There was a comfort in climbing that he couldn't explain, as if he were doing the one thing he was put on Atherton to do.

And yet, there was also a new sensation against his hands and feet that worried him. This wall was not like the others he had climbed. All of the other walls had been dry, but this one was damp and slippery, with bits of mud and mossy green patches between the rocks. The way down to the Highlands felt, and even smelled, soggy. It made Edgar think he could lick the stones before his face to quench his growing thirst.

"This won't be a problem at all," said Edgar, trying to encourage himself as well as his companions. He could already see the route he would take and that it would not be difficult for him to make it to the bottom as long as he didn't slip on the moist surface.

As he went, it crossed his mind to take a longer way so that he could keep climbing for the sheer joy of it, but the wall began to shake in his hands and the slippery hold of one hand almost came loose. If the wall leading down to the Highlands were to continue shaking or become more violent, he could imagine his hand with the missing pinky letting go. That would be the start of problems he wasn't sure he could handle.

Edgar focused more precisely on the task at hand, feeling the Highlands slowly grinding beneath him as they sank

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farther He found to his surprise that he was taking not the fastest but the safest route he could find, and yet it was a daunting challenge. Still twenty feet from the bottom, both feet slipped free and he dangled from only his hands. He struggled against the slippery mud to hold his grip and managed to regain control, but his heart raced at the thought of such an unexpected, close call.

There were no more problems the rest of the way down as Edgar adjusted to the new feel of the rock face. Once he was standing at the bottom, he sighed with an uncharacteristic relief, gazing up at his two companions.

"This place will need to be renamed," yelled Dr. Kincaid from above. "It's feeling rather odd to keep calling it the Highlands, don't you think?" He was trying to keep the mood light, easing his own worry that the boy wouldn't make it back with the rope.

The tree trunks and mechanisms that had once held the ropes and lowered the baskets had been torn apart by the falling world, and the end of the rope lay frayed and loose on the ground. Much of the rope had been wound onto an enormous wooden core and ripped free, but Edgar thought there was enough rope attached to the basket to reach the top. He took the frayed end and tied it in a knot around his waist, then tried his best to untangle the mess at his feet.

When he was satisfied there was enough to make the climb all the way to the top, he began working his way up the wall of stone. He was a startlingly fast study, and this time he seemed to better understand how to overcome the slick surface.

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As Edgar rose higher, the rope caught in the pile and he had to turn and hold on with one hand, yanking the rope back and forth until it was untangled. Soon he was a few feet from the top and the rope began to tighten around his middle. Looking down, he saw that he'd reached the end of the rope. The other end was tied firmly to the large, heavy basket on the ground below.

He was so close to his goal, and yet the wall kept moving down. It occurred to Edgar that if the Highlands were to really start falling, crashing into the center of Atherton with some speed, he would be pulled off the wall by the rope, the basket acting like an anchor yanking him into the open air.

"Can you untie the rope from around your waist?" asked Vincent. He was just out of Edgar's reach, lying on his stomach with one arm hanging over the edge.

Edgar held on with his injured hand, feeling the sting of rock against the scabbed bump where his pinky was missing. With his other hand he frantically began untying the two knots he'd put there. The wall was moving down inch by inch, slowly but steadily, and every moment counted.

Just as he was getting the first knot undone the Highlands lurched violently and the rope tightened, very nearly pulling Edgar free from the cliff. After the cliff dropped the length of Edgar's forearm in the space of a split second, the tremor halted as quickly as it had begun. Both Dr. Kincaid and Vincent were on their bellies, frantically calling and reaching out to the boy beneath them.

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Edgar was such a calm climber that it seemed more like he was moving in water than air. He had shifted two steps down and was already through the second knot. He held the rope at his side, glad to be free of it.

"On the count of three," said Edgar. He held the frayed end of the rope beneath his knees and counted, heaving it up over his head. Vincent caught the flying rope without trouble, but he hadn't thought of how to secure it. His eyes darted around in search of some way to hold the few feet of rope he had to work with.

"Use these," cried Edgar. From his pocket he pulled out two sharp wooden stakes. He had found them on the ground below, where they had once been part of the pulley mechanism. As he tossed them up they flew over Vincent's head and Dr. Kincaid retrieved them.

"Such a resourceful boy, don't you think?" asked Dr. Kincaid.

"You'll find the wall is a little wet," said Edgar. "It might be slicker than you expect."

This seemed not to interest Dr. Kincaid and Vincent as the two men found a rock big enough to pound the stakes through the rope and into the ground. They did it quickly, but even as they did, they could see that it wouldn't hold for very long. The Highlands were slowly descending, and the rope was tightening from the weight of the basket.

"Go!" cried Vincent, nearly pushing Dr. Kincaid from the ledge. The old man took the rope, clearly worried that it would not hold his weight, and he threw his legs over the ledge. Soon

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he was shimmying down the side of the wall, the rope growing tight and stretching in his hands. When he was far enough along to make room, Vincent started down. He didn't realize he'd be falling on top of Dr. Kincaid if the rope snapped free.

Edgar had stayed on the wall, working his way down next to Dr. Kincaid, helping him to choose places to put his feet. The two of them were about ten feet from the bottom when the rope began to make a tearing sound from above.

"Hurry!" yelled Vincent. "It's going to snap any second now!"

Edgar looked down. The basket that had been lying on its side was now upright and weighing heavily on the rope. Dr. Kincaid looked at Edgar in a panic. The rope was about to snap in two.

"Let go of the rope and hold on right here," said Edgar, his voice calm but filled with authority. Dr. Kincaid followed Edgar's lead.

"Now here," said Edgar, guiding the old man free of the rope and out from under Vincent. They were only five feet from the bottom, but a fall that far for a man of Dr. Kincaid's age could easily be a bone-breaking event. Vincent was closer to ten feet above the ground, and when the rope snapped in two he fell down the rocky face of the cliff. Dr. Kincaid was just barely out of the way, and he watched the descent of his protector as he flew past, arms and legs flailing, as if in slow motion.

Vincent landed in the basket with a crash. The rope followed, coiling inside on top of the fallen man as the basket

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leaned to one side and toppled over. When Vincent did not emerge right away Edgar feared he'd been injured. Vincent was by far the strongest among the three, and there wasn't much hope of an old man and a young boy traversing the threatening world of the Highlands without Vincent's help.

Edgar looked back at Dr. Kincaid and saw that the old man's grip was beginning to falter.

"How far to the bottom?" asked Dr. Kincaid.

"Only a few more feet," said Edgar. Dr. Kincaid looked down and saw just how close he was to the bottom, a little embarrassed to have been so afraid. He was able to navigate the remaining small distance without any help from Edgar.

The two went directly to the basket and peered inside. Vincent wasn't moving.

"Why's he not moving?" said Edgar.

"I don't know," said Dr. Kincaid, concern rising in his voice. "Maybe he stabbed himself with one of his own spears."

There was movement from under the rope as Vincent came to. He moaned as he lifted his head, and when his face came into view, blood was pouring out of his nose like water.

"What happened?" he said, smearing the blood around his face, not realizing what a mess he was making.

"He's broken his nose," said Dr. Kincaid. When Vincent heard this, he felt the bulging arch of his nose and winced in pain. He rolled out of the basket and onto his feet, then threw his head back and held his nose shut.

"Thith ith going to thwell up really big," said Vincent.

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Edgar felt himself wanting to laugh unexpectedly. Even though it wasn't really funny, he experienced a rush of giddy relief after their harrowing descent to the Highlands.

"It already has," said Dr. Kincaid. "Nothing else feels broken?"

Vincent glanced at Dr. Kincaid and saw that he was unharmed and looking surprisingly well. The old man was always looking surprisingly well. Vincent took his fingers from his nose before answering.

"I'm fine. This will stop bleeding soon enough."

There was a sigh of relief among the three of them, but it lasted only a few seconds. From deep below the Highlands there came a bottomless, gurgling hum that didn't stop for several minutes. The walls lurched out of the ground, slimy with mud. The soggy smell swelled strong and sharp in Edgar's nose, and he couldn't say if it was the smell of Atherton being born or withering away.

Very quickly they went from being thirty feet below Tabletop to a hundred feet, and Edgar wondered how in the world he would ever get his two companions back out again.

The three moved through the trees wordlessly and with great care, expecting to be overtaken or trapped by an enemy at any moment. When they reached the other side of the line of trees and gazed out over the beauty of the Highlands, it was Vincent who spoke first.

"There's no one here," he said. "They've all gone into the House of Power."

"Even the horses are gone," said Edgar. He was looking off

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toward the stable, the place where he'd first seen the giant four-legged animals he thought might try to eat him. It was silent there, too. He couldn't imagine the horses crowded into the courtyard of the House of Power, trampling the flowers and making a terrible mess.

"I don't think we're going to find anyone here," said Dr. Kincaid, stepping out from the shelter of the trees and into the open field that lay before them. "This place has been deserted."

***

Samuel and Isabel were on a remarkably different path from Edgar as he moved beyond the trees and into the realm of the House of Power. Samuel was trying his best to lead the way through the gloomy world of Mead's Hollow in search of the source of water. His father had told him where he must go and had instructed him on the many dangers to be avoided, but it was slow going in the underbelly of Atherton. They moved with a stone wall at their backs, feeling their thirst growing, following a path that would soon bring them face-to-face with Lord Phineus.

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*** CHAPTER 9 AN UNNATURAL QUIET

The people who lived in the Village of Rabbits were farmers who raised rabbits all day long. There was hardly a fighter among them--save Maude--and it had been quite a stretch to get them to stand firm against the recent attack from the Highlands. The fight had given them some courage and vigor, but it had also showed them the bleakness of war. People had died, and the violence had left them wishing they'd never have to defend themselves again.

They had spent a long night doing as Dr. Kincaid and Vincent had instructed, but the effort seemed futile to almost everyone in the village. They had taken what wood they could salvage from the broken-down houses to make what might be called spears by someone with an active imagination. Most felt that if there really were giant creatures on the way to the village

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by the hundreds, makeshift shelters and pointy sticks would not protect them.

When morning came upon them there were three hundred people milling around outside the inn, all of them waiting for word of hope from inside.

But there happened to be on that morning one who didn't stand waiting to hear how the leaders inside the inn would decide her fate. She was a child of seven, and she loved her rabbits more than anything in the world. She especially fond of one particular rabbit, Henrietta, that was about to have babies.

The children were being watched carefully with so much danger afoot, but this particular girl had a way of slipping away unnoticed. She drifted away from the large group, kicking a pebble and pretending to play by herself. There came a moment when no one was watching closely, and she slid behind a house that was leaning unsteadily to one side. She skirted along the row of houses, noticing as she went that almost all of them were falling apart or already in a pile on the ground. The crashing world of Atherton had done its best to level the Village of Rabbits, and it had come very close to doing a perfect job of it.

As she approached the last house on the end of a row her heart leaped. This was her house, and it was still standing. There was a long narrow room that was open on one end and attached to the house, with maybe twenty rabbits in hutches along the walls. It was shaded from the sun toward the back where the rabbits were, just the way Henrietta liked it.

"Henrietta?" the girl sang softly. Just then she heard a strange sound, like two bones clanging together very quickly