The Fall - Chapter 16

Fog blankets the ground, pulling shadows from every corner. Withering and pulsing it moves, inviting the dark to dance with a swish of its frilly skirt. 

 My skin prickles, icy fingers trace up my arms, stretching down my back.. I squirm away but they keep coming, no longer gentle. I cry out. It cries back. Who? 

 Screams.

 Screams.

 The fog is screaming. I killed it. 

 Screams.

 The fog turns to flesh. Tendons rips and tear, shrieking, nails to my skull. Pale, rotting branches jut through a red sky like bones through muscle.

 A gutted cry. Mine. 

Mine

 No. Theirs. Not my fault!

Yours

 No!

Ours

 NO!

 The scene is yanked away with a violent rush. My stomach burns, twisting with, almost deliberate cruelty. Throbbing against my skull, a headache rages along with the panicked pulses of my heart, racking against my ribs. 

 I fight to lie still, writhing against the smothering, bitter anxiety that laces my limbs. Heat courses through my body, stifling and blistering as beads of sweat pepper my face. Figures of my fear writhe in the shrouded corners, circling in a groping whirlpool of emotions. 

It’s not real. I have to force my breath, as though I'm demanding myself to inhale the smoke of my own funeral fire. 

 Finally freed from the choking resonance of the dream I claw my way out of the bedding. An unusual icy breeze traces my back. Still shaking, I roll over reaching out, but I'm met with a cold emptiness. Again, my lungs rattle with the stress of an aching breath. 

 The spot in which Icarus would normally lie is vacant. Images of him drowning in bleeding fog clammer loudly. 

He is probably just checking on the injured boy. 

The knowledge that it's not a complete guess numbs a bit of the worry. It is true that Benjamin’s expedition had revealed some aid, and Icarus had recently reported some improvement to the boy’s health. 

 I lie back down, scolding my brain for the persistent unease. As soon as my head graces the pillow, the room rocks with Icarus’s return. Curious, I sit up to watch him enter. His face is shielded in shadows, but with a shift of the clouds, moonlight reveals the panic. I'm at his side in an instant, holding his quivering wing gently.

 “There's someone here,” he hisses. My stomach rolls, knotting sharply. 

Seconds later, the echo of voices choke the air. Icarus brushes past me to softly wake the others. Carrow stirs first, bleary and confused. He opens his mouth in question, but Icarus hushes him quickly. Carrow, realizing the urgency, nods and turns to rouse the others. I watch them, not wanting to leave. Icarus notices my hesitance and steers me away.

 “They'll be fine,” he mouths. I nod stiffly, slipping out into the night, the only noise is the faint unsheathing of my knife.

 I locate the group without an issue. Clumsy and obnoxious, they stumble through brush with no regard for their ruckus. Tiptoeing over fallen leaves, I position myself between the cacophony and our hanging pods. Through golden leaves and creeping fog, I watch their stampedes. Perhaps they are just passing through, unknowing of the settlement in front of them. Fumbling through the last row of trees they enter our clearing. My grip tightens around the hilt of my dagger, adding to the already worn leather. My heart thumps, dangerously loud in the new stillness. Through the canopy, a full moon glares at the intruders. 

 I observe the group cautiously. Unnervingly, they have no identifying features, like the boy and his friend. Betrayal creeps through my chest. Are these his people? Did he lead them here? The five in the group are large men, burly and gruff. It's unlikely I could take them all at once. 

I stalk around them, peering to better analyze the threat. Yet the moon falls behind the clouds, and the group plunges into darkness.

 One of the men barks what sounds like an order and in the center of the rustling sea of dark, two eyes of red flick on. The light scatters through the fog, illuminating the rough movements of the men. Together, the group moves in an unnatural ripple. Too close. Calculated.

They advance towards the one place I prayed they wouldn't go. In the field of greens and blacks, I glimpse a flash of white. They must have seen it too, because one of the men cries out uneasily, but Icarus is nowhere to be seen. I hope that they’ll turn away, and ignore the tangle of roots and those concealed beneath their protection, and for a moment, they do, stopping to survey the brush. Then, eerily, with predatory focus, they face the hidden entrance of the hideaway, peering at the earthly shelter. Chills run down my spine. How much longer should I wait? I have to stop them now.

They will find them.

You know they will.

 “Hey!” 

I jump back, almost expecting the voice from Icarus, but he is still nowhere to be seen. Instead, a slight figure pulls his way through the undergrowth. 

“Are you looking for me!?” Benjamin marches laboriously towards the men with his hands in the air. The men must not understand him, because they back up defensively and hoist their guns. Their guns, sleek silver weaponry, are further advanced than I have ever seen in the finest of markets.

 My heart thrums in my chest, as a member steps forward slowly. He reaches towards Benjamin, seemingly beckoning him closer. Even in the dark, I can see the trembling in his hands, still, he presses onward until he is within arms length of the man. 

 In a swift motion the man snatches the boy's wrist. My breath catches as his hands are bound. 

Idiot.

 Restrained, he is dropped to his knees, the thud of his body hitting the dirt too greatly muffled to mask the fear seizing his breath. Benjamin’s exclamations swallowed into indistinguishable gibberish and the men’s reaction is barely more than slight annoyance as they continue to ignore his frantic yelling. They press onward, each step echoing with growing suspense. 

 Ferociously leaping against my ribs, my heart thrashes within its cage, desperate to break free. Adrenaline angrily licks heat away from my limbs as it floods my veins. 

 Shrouded by the undergrowth, locked away by gnarled roots and earth, the children remain as silent as the dead. Not a breath of sound, nothing to give them away. There is no way these men can know. They cannot be found.

And yet…

 A foot strikes the ground. The crunching beat vibrates through my chest, shattering my lungs like glass. My teeth clamp down on my tongue, the metallic tang of blood lacking registration against the hum of dread. A numb buzzing feeds a snaking panic that winds through my being, sharp knives slicing through muscle, digging paralysis into my body where my mind screams for action.

 He crouches down. Too close. 

 Beep... Beep… Beep…

 The red light gleams wickedly, streaking across scattered fog. Cutting down shadows as it carelessly exposes the hollow. 

 They know. Somehow they know. By some foul trick of the gods, they know. 

 My lungs ache as I hold my breath, every muscle twitching in the icy vise of anticipation. The tension builds, and for a heartbeat, it hangs in the air, time strangled by fate’s noose. All it takes is one move. One step. 

 Then, with not a moment more of contemplation—release.

 The slightest movement—just a flicker—sets me off like a shot. My heart stutters in my chest at the sudden rush. I’m on them before they have a chance to gasp, taking one, crashing into the ground, his body swallowed by dirt. He fails to kick me off and my blade slips across his throat like a deadly kiss. And even as his blood soaks into the ground, the sharp pang of guilt already twists in my chest. The air is quickly filled with the violent shouts of the men.

 I retreat, darting back into cover. Puffs of condensation cloud the air as my breath comes in ragged pants. The trees return to my sides, wet grass turning to loose soil beneath my feet, the earthy scent of the forest clinging to the air as the foliage embraces me in its cradling security. 

 The men scramble, disoriented. With wide eyes, they fumble about. They stare at their comrade, now sprawled motionless in the leaves. Where I pictured palpable shock, they merely gaze in disdain at the corpse. Anxiety flickers across their faces, but there’s something darker, something eager, in the way they peer into the trees.

 In light of the chaos, Benjamin squirms about, yelling at the soldiers. There is a series of clicks as a defensive circle is formed, guns aimed pointedly into the shadows. They hardly appear worried, in fact, they seem almost thrilled by the thought of a fight, unnaturally eager. 

 Thunder rumbles in the distance, an echo of the distant billow of grey clouds. Moments go by and another godly groan shakes through the trees.

 Surely they must be deterred, no one in their right mind would attempt this fight.

Who said they were in their right mind

 Above, a crisscross of lighting juts over the black, illuminating the grinning white of the leader's teeth. 

He wants a fight

 Another bout of thunder and my mind is set. Bitter contempt settles in my chest, as I stalk forward. 

 Benjamin shouts, what I can only assume are wild profanities. Past his head, the flicker of eyes meet mine. Icarus is perched on a low branch of a sturdy redwood, bow drawn tight, an arrow rests waiting to be released. Silent commands pass between us, and the arrow slips with a shallow breath from the string. A soft thud of a body dropping is quickly followed by a flurry of movement. 

 A rain-scented gust kicks up gore-painted leaves before swirling back into the thickening fog. The field is singing with energy but void of a noise. Three men are left. 

 Another arrow. A miss. 

 An earth shattering crack rings out. I drop to the ground in alarm, grasping to cover my ears. Another cacophony of bangs thunder, followed by a shrill scream.

 The soldiers turn towards the noise and two men break away in pursuit of the noise. My head reels, and distracted by the lingering man I realize the meaning of the scream too late. 

 “Icarus.” His name leaves my lips like a prayer. I shoot out after the lingering man. I'm fast, yet he watches me advance, his wicked smile growing. Ducking, I fly out to slice at his thigh but he dances back. On the receiving end of a swift kick to the ribs, I’m forced to double back. Another shout threatens my attention. Stress and adrenaline tug at me and I battle them down, attempting to attend the problem at hand. The man makes use of my spit-second hesitation by snatching my wrist.

 I cry out a string of curses, fighting at his grip, still, his rough hands refuse to budge. In a failed move to drop my knife to my free hand, he kicks my feet from under me. I crash to the dirt, rolling away as his foot smashes in the space my stomach was just moments before. My shoulder pops in a painful reminder of his current control. With gritted teeth I rip my hand back. His grip gives way and I fly back in the momentum. I spin back to my attacker, glimpsing the crimson-laced metal inches in front of his boot. He towers above me, but his attention is past my head. There is an echo of more yelling, and his cruel grin creeps wider. Finally I give into temptation, turning to face the ruckus. 

 My blood turns to ice. Pinned to the ground, lashing wildly against a net of ropes is Icarus. White feathers stained red and brown are littered in the leaves. His wings beat in desperation, panic teetering on insanity. I'm choking on the scene, unable to swallow or breath. I can’t lose him. Not after everything.

 I don't know when I try to run to him, and I barely feel when I can't. There's a thud as the butt of a gun strikes Icarus's head, and with a final shout he collapses under the ropes. Someone shouts my name.

 “Sange!” The voice is strained with hysteria. Benjamin kicks at me, forcing me to face him. The scene comes rushing back to focus in a torrent of lights and sounds. 

 “You have to do something! Get out!” Benjamin is shouting at me, each exclamation punctuated with a reverberating kick.

 I’m slowly able to make sense of the situation. My hands are restrained behind my back, just like Benjamin’s. I feel for a knot, trying to keep my eyes on Icarus as his limp form is dragged away by grunting men. I can’t find a knot, there is nothing to untie. Panic sets in, rattling the oxygen from my lungs. Tears prick in the corners of my vision. Icarus is pulled from my view, and distracted, I search wildly for where he has gone. 

 “Run! Just go!” Benjamin is screaming again. “Sange pl—” His cries are cut short with a crack. He folds in on himself, crumpling away from the fist. His body doesn’t stir, shaking only with the, now steadied, rise and fall of his chest. A blink and the man is swinging for me. Instinct overrides concern and I duck away. He grumbles in annoyance, reaching to grab me. I kick his hands away and push to my feet, teetering only slightly. With my feet under me, I run. The man’s shouts are already at my back, long before I slow. No sooner have I slipped into the brush, do I spin on my heels, racing to reach the tree before they have a chance to remember their original destination. 

 I blow through the concealed doorway, diving into the small space. 

 “Move! We have to—” It’s empty. Panic claws at my throat like a rabid animal. Then a bad situation gets worse, as the bitter familiarity of smoke clogs my senses. Too soon do I see the orange of flames.

Too fast

Not normal

 Chemicals rush down my esophagus, coating the inside of my mouth in a thick burning film. I cough and gag, scrambling for the exit, but fire clings to the gnarled roots. Heat traces my arms, singing the hairs. 

 “Help us!” A scream rings through the torrentental blaze. Nausea shakes my body as I recognize Carrow’s voice. My wooden prison groans and ash spills in plums. I’m going to die in here. 

Your fault

Should have happened sooner

 My thoughts feel fuzzy, as though the smoke is clinging to the inside of my skull. 

 “Sange, please.” I don’t know who’s voice fights through the sludge. The tree lets out another moan. Smoke spirals around my head. I can’t breath… I can’t… No. I can’t let this be the end. Not after everything—not without him. If I die, it will be in his arms. 

  Caging the relentless thrashing of my chest, I set my eyes on the wall of fire. And with a final cough I charge the flames. 

A scream passes my lips, before I clamp my jaw shut. Blisters stretch across my arms, each growing with hypnotizing agony. So what if it hurts? It always hurts. 

 All I see is the searing ignition of my grave as my knees collapse. I expect to be consumed by the gnashing teeth of smoldering embers, and the continued scorching excruciation doesn’t convince me otherwise, but some knowing part of me tells me I am no longer in the blaze.

 Then I hear the men. Carefully, I peel my eyes open. Smoke swirls with fog and in the center of the clearing I see them. In a select row, they sit: Carrow, Estra, Nex and lastly, little Kili. With wet cheeks and white eyes, they look around frantically. Icarus, Jasper and Benjamin are nowhere to be seen. 

 Stepping in front of my view, impervious to my continuance amidst the lightly glowing ashes. The leader man issues a command to the others. There is a set of rhythmic clicks. Realization strikes too late.

Always too late

 Bang.

 A guttural wail.

 Bang.

 The man notices me.

 Bang.

 He smiles and steps aside, clearing my vision. The scene is at the far end of a tunnel. Nothing but distant echoes and pleas.

 Round eyes puffy from tears meet mine, lips parted mid scream.

Bang. 

 Gruff hands grasp blistered arms. 

 I don’t feel a thing. 

 I wait for the gun to find my head.

 The nothing lingers, friend or foe, it stays. My mind slows. On smoke or grief it stills. And I wait for the gun. I wish for the gun. 

 But the nothing lingers. 

 Nothing.

                Nothing.

                                 Nothing.

Nothing.

 The men are leaving. A silent exit. Or the ring in my ears is too loud to know their sound. They’re leaving. Why are they leaving?

 “Don’t leave me,” my voice cracks pathetically. They ignore me. Silent. Silent even as the sobs rock the sizzling leaves. Silent even as the last of the manmade blaze submits to the storm. “Please,” I cry long after they're gone, “why can’t it be me?” 

 I don’t know how many hours I lay, soaked in blood, bathed in ash. I don’t know how long until I drag myself over to the bodies. And I don’t know how long it takes to put them to rest six feet below.

 But I know when I turn away from the ruins of my home. I know the final moment I take to trace their graves. And I know the words of my last goodbye. 

 I know.

 I know. And I run.

 My feet are a sweeping blur, striking the ground in the rhythmic song as I lift my face to the sky. The smells all flood my senses—pollen, snow, and soil—bury the scents of ash and death. I pant through burning lungs, but don’t stop. I can’t stop. I can never stop running. 

 The sun creeps at my back, golden rays feeding fury over grief me once again. Colors spill over the black canvas sky and I soak in the new found warmth, it floods my bones.  

 Towering trees fall behind me, and the threat of tears sting. I don’t slow, pressing on to the stretching plains. The tall grass rushes by and rolling hills flow like ocean waves, cradling me in their gentle valleys, sweet coffins of poignance. 

Too late

Too late

 Not again. Never again.

 The honey-sweet taste of the morning dew lingers on each blade that strikes my face. Each, a brushstroke of a mural, sweeping me into a blanket of cruel beauty. I am deaf to the grass and twigs whipping at soldered flesh, eyes trained on the path in front of me. Shattered images of a hopeful life, fall behind me. In tired hands, I hold only myself, and I will not allow anyone to take it from me again. They left their mark. Just another scar to carry. Another scar, but this one is mine; my struggle, my pain. They remind me that I survived. For some goddamn reason, I survived. 

 And they won’t forget that.