Rivers of Fire (Atherton, Book 2)

by Patrick Carman

  Horace's closest allies, Gill among them, approached him as a group. "What is it?" asked Gill, gazing as Horace did toward the edge of the world. "What do you see?"

  Horace knew what might be coming. They had talked at length in the night of what was to happen next, of how the people would need to be told of the coming danger, and of what each of Horace's men must do. He turned to his men and spoke with fear in his voice, echoing the words he'd heard Maude say in the Village of Rabbits.

  "We must all unite against the one foe. It's our only chance."

  The Cleaners.

  "Get some horses ready," said Horace. "It's time."

  ***

  When morning came to Atherton it felt as if a new world was being lit for the first time. All the changes that had come before seemed to rush into the one charged moment of dawn. From every vantage point, the same message was clear and sharp as a knife.

  Atherton was not the place it had once been.

  Briney and Maude, the keepers of the inn, stood motionless

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  and silent in the Village of Rabbits, staring at the line of trees where cliffs had once risen into the sky. The Highlands lay dark and wide against the rising sun, and it felt like much of what had made this secret place so powerful had fallen away along with its descent. "I miss the cliffs," said Briney, putting an arm around his wife. "It was a place to put my back against where no one could sneak up behind me."

  This feeling was shared by many. Three lands previously separated by tall cliffs were now together as one. It was unsettling for people like Briney and Maude who'd lived in the safety of the middle, in the peaceful round world of groves and pastures that had been Tabletop. Danger seemed to close in from all sides as it never had before, because the world of Atherton was flat.

  Or was it?

  "Those trees don't seem as tall as they did last night, before dark," said Maude, narrowing her eyes toward the Highlands and trying to remember. "I'm sure of it. Those trees are shorter."

  Briney looked at his wife and moved his hand to the small of her back.

  "How long has it been since you slept?" he asked.

  "I'm not seeing things, Briney!" The strain of all of the upheaval was apparent in Maude's trembling voice. Briney had always been the more sensitive of the two, and he didn't like what he was hearing. He was sure she was exhausted, that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Maybe it would calm her down if he looked to the Highlands again and pretended to believe her, so

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  he gazed hard in the direction of the trees, which stood clustered all along the edge of his sight.

  There was a strange sound coming from a long way off, right along the line where the cliffs used to be. Briney and Maude both looked toward a small group of men on horses, the pounding of hooves growing nearer.

  "That will be Horace," said Maude. She could see it was him by the shining bald head atop the lead horse. "I wonder why he didn't come across the middle of the Highlands, as he did before."

  This was Maude's way of telling Briney she had been right. The Highlands had indeed begun to slide down inside of Atherton--why else would Horace take the long way around?

  Maude turned in the direction of the Flatlands, her mind suddenly caught by another idea.

  "I hope he has some good news," she said. "I'm not certain everyone in the Highlands is ready to put the fighting behind us."

  Briney tried to remember how far away the edge of Tabletop leading down to the Flatlands had once been. He replayed in his mind the images of the creatures Maude had described in the night.

  "The Cleaners are coming, aren't they?" he said. There was a long pause in which the two found each other's hands and held tight.

  "They're coming," answered Maude.

  ***

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  Somewhere off in the distance, in the craggy rocks of the Flatlands, a Cleaner caught the scent of horses on the air. It was a new smell for the creature, one it liked. Darkness was on the decline in Atherton and the time for eating had arrived. The beast clicked its sharp, crooked teeth together, calling its horde near, and a pack of evil monsters began moving toward the Village of Horses.

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  *** CHAPTER 8 THE FALLING ROPE

  "It must be thirty feet to the bottom, and it's still moving," said Dr. Kincaid. He had arrived at the edge of the Highlands with Vincent and Edgar. The three companions were astonished to see how far the Highlands had already crashed inside Atherton.

  "This is taking place faster than I'd expected," added Dr. Kincaid.

  "You knew this was going to happen?" asked Edgar. He stared first at Dr. Kincaid and then at Vincent. He could see by the looks on their faces that they'd known all along.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" said Edgar.

  "It would have only confused and frightened you more," said Dr. Kincaid. "I'm trying to tell you things as you need to know them, no sooner. And besides, I'm finding Atherton not

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  always as I expect. Some of my information is turning out to be ... unreliable." He stepped closer to the edge of the cliff. "I imagined we'd walk right in without any problem, but it appears the Highlands are descending quite a bit faster than I'd calculated."

  "It will make everything more difficult," added Vincent.

  Edgar looked over the edge into the Highlands and felt a sudden exhilaration, forgetting for a moment the chaos of the changing world around him.

  "I can climb over this ledge. I can get down there."

  Vincent scanned the line of trees on the other side and wondered who might be waiting within them. Then his eyes settled on the boy. "The longer we wait, the more distance there is to climb down." Vincent looked at Dr. Kincaid, who was mumbling to himself, and then back at Edgar with an expression that asked, Even if we could do it ourselves, how are we going to get Dr. Kincaid down there? He's too old.

  Edgar crouched down and scanned along the floor of the Highlands. "There!" he said, pointing. He had spied one of the giant baskets that used to hang down from the Highlands. The contraption was created for Highlanders to receive food from those in Tabletop, who alone harvested figs and supplied rabbit and lamb meat for the privileged living above them. It was strange to see the basket lying there on its side, discarded and useless, when it had once acted as the only lifeline between the two realms.

  Edgar didn't wait for Vincent or Dr. Kincaid to answer. He wanted to make quick work of the thirty feet, grab the rope

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  attached to the basket, and bring it back. Without further thought he threw his legs over the edge and started sliding down until Vincent caught hold of Edgar's good arm. He gazed long and hard into Edgar's eyes.

  "Are you sure you can do this?" he asked. "It's a long fall to the bottom if you miss a step." Edgar looked down and saw that there were plenty of places to put his feet and hands. He nodded.

  "And are you sure this is a risk worth taking?" asked Vincent, looking now at Dr. Kincaid. "Our way is more treacherous than you anticipated."

  Dr. Kincaid bent down on one knee, ignoring Vincent and placing all of his attention on the boy hanging precariously from the ledge. "Do you think the Cleaners can be overcome?"

  Edgar thought about the question. The Cleaners were giant, ferocious creatures designed to find and kill anything in their paths. They had always been trapped in the Flatlands, but the Flatlands had risen and a thousand Cleaners had been unleashed on the world of Atherton.

  "No," admitted Edgar. "Even with every person on Atherton in the fight, I don't think we can survive against the Cleaners."

  "You're wrong," said Dr. Kincaid, touching Edgar on the shoulders. "They can be overcome. The answer lies in the House of Power." He glanced over the edge. "Only you can take us past an obstacle of this kind."

  Edgar's eyes sparkled beneath raised brows, and a wide smile revealed a gleaming row of teeth. He was about to climb, something he thought he'd never do again, and Dr. Kincaid

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  n
eeded 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.