If I Fall (16 page)

A man knocks against her arm, making the little boy drop his toy. His high pitched screams fill the night and the woman hurriedly bends down to retrieve the plaything. The man reaches for the toy, as well, but he suddenly pauses.

I take a step closer, not sure as to why they both stopped. A sudden fear gleams in the mother’s eyes. I move nearer and follow the man’s gaze. He is fixated on the woman’s wrist where her glove, far too big for her thin arms, has gathered at the top of her wrist. Her whole body becomes rigid as her gaze rises to meet his, but he is too busy staring at her arm, at
the Mark.
Brown, almost black, against her skin, it is impossible to miss.

Please.
I see the word form on her lips. Her eyes plead with the man, but with an apology weighing down his gaze, he snaps back up to his full height and yells, “Here! A Marked! Seize her!”

With only a few words, the deck breaks into sheer chaos. A horde closes in around the woman and small boy. Caught in the middle, I fight to keep standing as angry men bang against me. They push closer, collapsing in on the small parcel of deck where the family just stood. I cannot see them anymore.

Fear and fury rip through my core, fueling my mind and heart. My adrenaline rushes with these mixed emotions and before I know it, I am squirming my way to the center of it all. The people around me swivel their heads, craning their necks to see even as they walk away. But some are not even capable of walking away. They remind me of moths flitting around the flickering flame of a candlestick in the blackest night. Unable to turn away, they crowd around the very thing they should avoid. The rush, the excitement, the risk of dancing near the burning flames only draws them closer.

I trip over someone lying on the ground and a hand clasps around my leg as the person tries to claw his way back to his feet. Fingernails rake against my skin. I kick ferociously until my foot connects with something solid. I try not to think about it as I shove by two more men, spit flying from their mouths as they cry for murder and
justice
—two words I did not believe could go together.

At last, I make it towards the heaviest concentration of people. They stand in a circle, creating a barrier around the events unfolding in the center. I hear the little boy shrieking, and although it is like icicles tearing into my heart, a small joy accompanies the fear. Like a newborn baby, crying means life, and for that I am happy.

With shoulders butting up against shoulders, the circle is like a concrete wall, separating me from the little boy. I punch at their backs, try to squeeze by, but they are too engrossed in the scene to notice. Infuriated by my incompetence to make it through, I back up. Squeezing my eyes shut, I lunge for the spot where the men’s shoulders meet. The hard blockade breaks and suddenly, I am falling, my eyes still clamped shut. I crash against the deck, groaning as sharp needles rip through my shoulder.

I open my eyes. Obscured at first by its proximity, I cannot process what I am seeing until I move my head back. The realization slams into my stomach with full force. Brown eyes, filmed over with death, stare vacantly back at me. Blood spittle trails from parted lips, trickling down over the neck and staining the deck in red.

They killed her. I was too late and they killed her.

The now-mother-less boy’s cries create a constant background of anguish and sorrow. He stands over his mother’s body, screaming and staring. His hands clasp together, shaking as his body racks with sobs. I peer up at him, my sympathy not making either of us feel any better.

Too focused on these figures, I do not notice the three Radicals standing around me and the crowd just beyond them. That is, until a warm liquid falls onto my cheek.
Rain?
I brush a hand over it and bring my hand down in front of my face. A red smear paints my palm. Confused, I glance up.

In the hand of a Radical gleams the silver edge of a knife, already slick with blood. As if in slow motion, I watch as another red bead falls onto my brow. I blink, wiping above my eye in disgust. My gut wrenches.
This is her blood.

The man with the knife glares down at me in repulsion. “You better leave, girl. Or else my blade will find its way into your gut next.”

I shiver. With unbelievable speed, his fingers suddenly wind into my hair, lifting me to my feet. I cry out, but the cheering of the crowd overcomes my sole voice. He thrusts me to the edge of the circle and I fall back against the men standing there. They push me away. I stumble, still standing on the periphery of the circle.

The knife-wielding man steps towards the little boy, but another Radical grabs his arm. His eyes flaring with ire, the man glowers at the hand gripping his forearm.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

The younger Radical holding his arm shifts with nervousness, but his blue eyes glint with self-assurance. “He is only a child, Father. He is harmless.”

An all-knowing snicker rises in the father’s throat. “And what do you think happens to harmless children like him, son? I’ll tell you. The bastards grow up to be just like their leech parents! I let him live and he is one more Marked defiling the human race with his black blood. We must spill that blood now!”

As he yells this last statement, he breaks out of his son’s grip, charging for the still sobbing boy. Without a single thought, my feet are moving beneath me, carrying me forward. The knife rises in the air, ready to strike, but as it lowers, my hand clamps around the little boy’s wrist, jerking him towards me. The Radical lashes at empty air, befuddled for only a slight moment before his wild gaze settles on me.

“You!” he spits. “I warned you, girl!”

The seed of terror that was implanted with my first step forward begins to blossom. The vines slither out like snakes, first into my heart, twining around until it must pump faster and faster just to keep working. They make their way into my hands, causing them to quiver. They grow down into my feet, incapacitating them where they stand, rendering me incapable of movement. They coil around my vocal cords, my ability to speak lost. The vines gag me. Bile rises, sour against my tongue.

The fear that was planted from the very beginning grows until my whole body feels the effects of its thriving vines. Somehow my trembling hands manage to push the child behind me.

“Hand him over and maybe I’ll let you live,” the Radical says.

Still unable to find my voice, I shake my head. I feel the crowd’s intake of breath, their cheers suddenly gone and replaced with silence.

He smirks. “Wrong answer, my dear.”

He pulls the knife back, readying for the blow. I close my eyes and stand erect, tensing for the pain …

This is it. I am going to die.

… But it never comes. A flurry of movement to my left raises a gust of air. My eyes snap open just in time to see a man plowing into the Radical. They both collapse to the deck, but with no delay are back on their feet. The Radical faces me, but the other man blocks his path. Yelling incoherently, the Radical lunges for the man. Just barely escaping the sharp point of the knife, the other man jerks to his left. The Radical’s back is now to me, but he does not want me anymore. He wants the man who tried to stop him. He wants the man who now faces me, blazing green eyes burning with intensity.

He wants Adam.

Pure, cold panic floods through me, freezing the vines of fear where they stand. I cannot breathe, only watch in horror. My grip around the boy’s hand tightens and he cries, trying to squirm out of my grasp.

“I hope she’s worth it, boy,” the Radical says. “Oh, I hope she’s worth it.”

Adam’s brow furrows together in fury, his light eyes terrifying in the dark. The corner of his mouth lifts in a subtle smirk. His lips move, but I cannot hear his response. A prick of curiosity bites at the back of my mind.
What did he say?

“Foolish lovesick boy,” the Radical laughs. “So blinded by the heart.”

Blinded by the heart? Lovesick?
The need to know what he said burns all the brighter.

A broad smile stretches across Adam’s face. His mouth flashes black as though he has no teeth. My mind whirls with confusion. It is not until he steps closer that I see it is not black, but blood. Adam continues forward until he is only inches away from the man. “And yet I can still see your hideous face.”

Inwardly, I groan.
This is not a time for your snarky remarks, Adam!
I want to yell at him. The Radical swings, but Adam is ready for it. He jerks his elbow back into the Radical’s stomach as he twists his wrist until the knife clatters to the floor. Both scramble for the glittering blade. Their movement is so fast, a tornado of action I cannot even begin to make sense of.

Hands reach out. Feet kick. Bodies crawl over one another. And the occasional flashing of the blade. The acidic taste of copper fills my mouth and I unclench my jaw, stopping myself from biting my tongue. I am so terribly afraid. Even more afraid than when I thought I was going to die.

The Radical’s deep voice cries out and I see him slump to the side. Adam, dark bruising already forming under his left eye and blood trickling down the side of his face, slowly begins to stand. He raises his head, those eyes automatically settling on me. And my heart soars with the smallest glimpse of a smile on his bleeding lips.

The crowd quiets, the whole ship seeming to sail into a silent sphere where only Adam and I exist. We both move forward, as though pulled by some indefinite force towards one another. I stare up at him, tears welling in my eyes and sliding down my cheeks. Abruptly, his hands snap up, cupping my chin. His severe gaze travels over my face before connecting with my own. “Are you hurt?”

I fumble for a reply. His hands clamp around my shoulders, shaking me. “Are you hurt, Elvira!” he yells. I shake my head, afraid of his sudden fervor.

“Wh-what did you do to him?” I whisper.

He glances back at the Radical. “I didn’t kill him.”

Something pulls at my dress. I glance down to see the young boy staring up at me. Tears still line his cheeks, but his lips are utterly silent. Shame overpowers me. How could I have forgotten so easily about the child? I bend down and lift him into my arms.

“Shhh …” I comfort him. “It is all right now. No one will hurt you. It’s all right.”

Adam reaches out a hand to the little boy, but my eyes are peering over his shoulder. Suddenly, the Radical is behind him. Knifeless, the man slams against him and they fall back, the crowd parting as they struggle.

“
Adam!”
I shriek. The boy begins to cry again. “
Adam!”

They inch closer and closer to the rail, a moving mass of kicks and punches. The Radical pins Adam against the three parallel bars, holding him by the neck as he connects a punch with his jaw. I scream and close my eyes, willing it to be over.

I hear them grunting as they fight. I feel the crowd watching in awe behind me.

A mix of shrieks and yelps suddenly form on the lips of those around me and I know something has happened.

Unable to hide away behind closed lids forever, I open my eyes …

… Just in time to see Adam hurtling over the rail.

19
FALLING

I know what pain feels like. I know what sorrow and shame and guilt feel like, too. I know anguish. And I know fear.

But I have never known them all at once … until now. Watching Adam’s body fall over the rail, each second dragged out for an eternity, I feel the pain, the sorrow, the guilt, the fear. The emotions layer on top of one another, jumbling together into a solid mass at the pit of my stomach. They escape my mouth in a piercing scream and ring in my ears. Not his name. Not a plea for help. Just tortured noise.

Unmindfully, I whip out my left hand as though reaching towards him. My heart contracts and a strange sensation like cold water rushing through my bloodstream causes me to shudder. Eyes burning and arms shaking, I grow afraid. My left wrist begins to burn like fire, the Mark seeming to glow violet even through my glove. What is happening to me?

All of a sudden, my lone scream is the only sound. Everything stills. My voice falters, allowing the silence to envelop it in its cloak. I turn to see the crowd behind me. A woman’s eyes are bright with shock, ever-staring. Another has her hand raised to her mouth, frozen over her lips. A man has one foot planted on the deck, the other poised in the air as though preparing to run.

All are silent. All are frozen. Except for me and the little boy grasped in my arms.

My mind whirls for an explanation.
No. My Mark is not the Mark of a … I cannot stop time … I have no powers! I have no powers! I have no powers!

I cannot think straight. The world spins around me, frozen eyes and frozen lips churning in a tornado of accusations. The colors are too bright. They blend together and blur until my eyes begin aching with the strain. Deafening quiet spills over, crashing against me with the force of a thousand orchestras. I don’t understand. It seems as though the whole world is tilting, preparing to dump me off the planet alongside every lie I once believed. The biggest lie weighs me down, pulling me over the edge of the world, taking me down with it.