Cascade

by Lisa T. Bergren

  She turned around, and her eyes widened. “We’re near the old river ruins,” she said.

  “Right,” I said with a smile, trudging forward. “Where Mom and Dad brought us when we were little.” The site, in our time, was overrun with tourists, since Etruscan tombs lined the limestone cliff for miles. The River Necropolis, I remembered. Some had elaborate carvings, noblewomen sanded away by time to blobs that resembled mermaids. Lions, lounging on their sides. Elsewhere, there were fluted columns. Tombs, square and tidy, but with not nearly the decoration necessary to hold my parents’ attention for long. Besides, they had forever been looking for the undiscovered ruins, not those that were in the public domain.

  Striding through the fallen leaves, I flashed back to that day with them. Laughing. Dad had played with us, hiding and making us find him, behind trees, inside the caves. He’d paid attention to us that rare day, calling us his “Etruscan Princesses.” I rubbed my arms, feeling the chill of the tunnel pool all over again, even though my gown was rapidly drying. I looked up, around.

  “I remember too,” Lia said.

  She waited until I reluctantly met her gaze. “It was one of the best days ever,” I said simply.

  She nodded, grief edging her baby blues like I knew it edged my own eyes. “What if…Gabi, what if we could go back in time and pull off before the present? What if we could pull off, get a message to Dad? Even see him? Save him?”

  I sighed. She was voicing thoughts I hadn’t dared to think through myself. I shook my head. “You’re talking about massive confusion. Some possible rift in the time continuum. If we save Dad, what other things will it change? If that farmer didn’t run him off the road, will he hit someone else? Will it just be another family mourning, instead of us?” I swallowed hard. “And if we save him, does all of this disappear? Maybe he would’ve convinced Mom to look elsewhere for the tumuli. Maybe they would not have discovered them at all. Which means—”

  “No Luca,” she said lowly, pulling to a stop. “No Marcello. But Dad…Gabi, Dad would be alive.”

  “Right.” I looked her in the eye. “I mean, maybe.” I trudged forward, suddenly aware that we’d been still for far too long. But my head swirled with thoughts of Dad, of saving him, of righting that horrible wrong. It sent my heart soaring. And yet the thought of never meeting Marcello, this all fading away like a brief dream…that made my heart sink. Even now, what was happening to him and Luca? Had they convinced the Fiorentini they were on their side? Was Luca being cared for by camp medics?

  Lia paused suddenly and raised her hand. “Horses,” she mouthed.

  Despite the thunder of hoofbeats, we remained as still as deer as the troops passed by us, probably a quarter mile distant. There had to be a hundred or more.

  “If they turn their attention to finding us, we’re dead,” she said. “But I’m betting they don’t know how vast the necropolis is.” She looked away and ducked under a branch. “I bet these trees cover most of it still, and superstition keeps them out.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said, following behind her.

  The wind blew, sending a cascade of leaves to the ground, and we both shivered. “The caves, Lia. Let’s get to the caves. And pray Marcello and Luca can find us.” We hurried forward. In the distance, the battle continued on, and the sun was growing low in the sky. Would they fight all night? I knew no man cared to fight by the light of a quarter moon. It was too easy to take out your own men.

  “There,” she said after a few more minutes, nodding upward. Just barely visible above the crest of the trees was an old tomb carved out of the rock.

  Narrow, disintegrating steps zigzagged downward beneath it, mostly hidden by the oaks that lined the cliff. We could see them clearly only as we drew nearer. “Think they’ll hold?” I asked.

  “It’s worth a try,” she said. “At least from above, we’ll have a bit more sun for warmth, as well as a view to see what’s going on. Maybe we can spot the guys coming our way.”

  “Or the enemy coming to get us.”

  “Don’t be so negative,” she said. She slipped her bow across her shoulder and climbed to the base of the stairs. Tentatively, she tried one and then the next. On the third, it crumbled, but not all the way.

  “I’d hate it if one gave way up there,” I said, looking twenty feet above us.

  “Positive thoughts, Gabs,” she hissed, continuing her trek. But I noticed she had a grip on a stair three above her toehold with each one. Just in case.

  At the tree line, she paused and peeked outward. “It’s perfect,” she said, looking down at me. “Come.”

  Yeah, I thought. Perfect for you. I wasn’t just a few inches taller than my sister; I also had a good twenty pounds on her. What she had crossed easily might give way under me.

  “Gabs, come on.”

  “All right.” I sighed and began to climb. Only one stair gave way in the first fifteen. With fifteen more to go, I glanced up and saw Lia’s wide, frightened eyes above me. She gestured with them to my lower right. She reminded me of a cartoon character, with large blue arrows pointing out her alarm.

  Carefully, I turned my head. I was hidden, mostly, by the canopy of the tree. But in a slight gap among the trees, I could see the head of a horse. My eyes scanned forward, searching for another peephole.

  There. The man was squatting, his fingers running through the leaves.

  A tracker.

  “Over here, m’lord. They came through here,” he called over his shoulder.

  Two more came up behind the tracker, walking their horses. I caught sight of dark, black hair, and then he was gone. Lord Greco? Then a third man.

  A gust of wind came up and a hundred leaves went with it. I felt as exposed as if I was watching my skirt unravel, thread by thread.

  “This way?” Greco said below me, ahead of the tracker now, clearly identifiable now by his voice. “Be they witches, capable of disappearing into the cliff itself?”

  I closed my eyes as they neared the base, wishing I were capable of sinking into the limestone behind me. Another few feet and they’d see the stairs, and atop them…me.

  I forced my eyes open. I had to be ready. I dared to let go of the stair and pull a dagger from the back of my waistband. I knew that above me, Lia was already drawing an arrow across her bow. But for her to shoot, she’d have to expose herself.

  Lord Rodolfo Greco’s mouth dropped open as he spied me there.

  I had no choice; I scurried up the stairs and, in my rush, tore away two steps.

  Lord Greco’s laughter was a low, melodic sound. Pleasant, almost, if I didn’t know that it came from a man who wanted to see us dead.

  Lia showed herself then, swiftly shooting the man beside Lord Greco, who had stupidly edged forward. Lord Greco stepped back beneath the tree canopy, well aware of the lethal nature of Lia’s aim. I heard the sickening strike of her second arrow as I reached the top, my fingernails filling with dirt as I clawed my way up and over the edge.

  Below me, a man gasped and belatedly cried out, like a baby just winding up for a good cry. A fourth man.

  Lord Greco seemed to ignore his friends, he was so focused on us. “What will you do up there?” he called. “It is just as well. Perhaps I’ll leave you there until I’m certain you don’t have the plague that shielded you from me before.”

  We remained silent, simply staring at each other, trying to figure out our options.

  What options? We’re treed. Raccoons with a hound dog below us.

  He waited a minute before calling out again. “Rest assured, you shall not escape that cave, ladies. At some point, you shall be mine.” He turned and said something to another man.

  He was sending for help. Eventually, they’d have enough troops and resources to bring ladders. Or come from above and rappel down on ropes. I eyed Lia’s quiver. Twenty-two arrows left.

  “We have to get out of here,” I said.

  She nodded, clearly already thinking the same thing. We had minutes, at most
.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she returned.

  I edged to the stairs. “Lord Greco, we surrender,” I said. I took a step and then another, expecting a dagger or arrow to come winging my way. Or were we worth more alive than dead? Marcello’s warning rang through my head like an alarm bell—Fight. To the death, if you must.

  “Do you show any symptoms of plague?” he called, still hiding beneath the branches of the trees.

  “None, as yet.”

  Lia was behind me, already on the stairs.

  “Throw down your weapons!” he demanded. “At once.”

  “But—”

  “Disarm!” he demanded, edging into view, an arrow across his bow. He was pointing it at Lia.

  I didn’t think. From fifteen steps up, I leaped to the trees, knowing it would distract him. I heard Lia’s arrow race past me just before I hit the branches. Three small limbs cushioned the brunt of my fall, thankfully, but then gave way. A large one beneath them slowed my descent. I folded around it, swung with my momentum and fell feetfirst now. I reached out, grasping for a branch, anything, feeling the tug of my hair as a clump pulled out of my scalp, then deep scratches at my leg, face, arm.

  At the very last, my fingers found a branch, and I held tight. I was hanging there, face to face with Lord Greco five feet away, his arrow pointing in my direction. “A gift from the heavens,” he said with a low laugh, “my prize to claim.” He pulled back on the bowstring and adjusted his aim.

  I dropped from the branch, turning as I fell, and rolled away through the leaves. His arrow hit the ground, inches behind my leg—he was obviously trying to wing me—then another near my shoulder. But then I had the trunk of the tree to shield me.

  I grabbed one of the daggers from my waistband, so glad they’d stayed put, and aimed at him. Lia was down the stairs now, taking her shot. It narrowly missed him.

  He was good. His intuition uncanny. I let out a growl of frustration. He should’ve been dead five times over, facing Lia.

  I threw the dagger, and it stuck in the tree, not three inches from his head.

  I groaned. “Come on, Lia!” I cried, realizing, too late, that I spoke in English.

  She came tearing through the wood, still uphill from me, and I turned and ran with her. We were decent runners, going for jogs most mornings from Mom’s archaeological site. Hopefully Lord Fancypants always has his running done for him, I thought. He had the advantage of running straight after us. We were weaving, conscious that he might still try to wing us with his own arrow. And, oh yeah, we had long, damp skirts on. Totally unfair.

  But we have the advantage of sheer terror, I thought, a grim smile spreading across my face as I panted.

  Lia shot me a look, wondering how on earth I could be smiling.

  Hey, I’m thinking positively, I thought back at her.

  She just looked confused, for some reason. Our sister telepathy had never been particularly good.

  We ran over a mile, losing sight of Lord Greco somewhere afterward. He must have dropped back for reinforcements.

  At last she pulled me to a stop, leaning down on her knees, panting. We could hear them. Horses.

  “They don’t have dogs,” I said, gasping for breath. “At least there’s that.”

  “Yeah, but a hundred men, combing these hills for us?” she said. “It’ll still do the trick.”

  The sun was casting the last of its warm orange light on the cliffs above us. I stared at them, then down below, trying to get a sense of where we were. “Aren’t those passageways around here? The ones the Etruscans cut into the cliff?”

  “Yes!” she said, her eyes widening in excitement.

  “Come on,” I said, grabbing her hand and resuming our run.

  Fifty yards farther, we came across the tomb that we remembered from our childhood visit. Massive fluted columns. Statues, not quite as ravaged by time as I remembered, their features more distinct. We could hear the horses churning down the road below us. They passed us, obviously aiming to cut us off, circle around, close in on all sides.

  At last, we came across it. Up top, we could see the break in the stone. But down below, it was totally choked by brush.

  “Well, hello there,” I said, “you big, beautiful overgrown passageway.” I looked over to Lia. “Let’s confuse ’em a little.”

  She knew what I meant. We ran forward, as if we were still on our path, making sure we disturbed lots of leaves. Then, thirty yards ahead, we carefully climbed atop the stones of the tombs and leap-frogged back to the passageway. I pressed inward, ignoring the branches scratching my cheeks, pulling at my hair. Lia made her own way in from the edge.

  “Don’t leave any footprints,” I said.

  “Or disturb the leaves,” she returned.

  We turned, periodically, to pat branches back into place, or cover our trail with rocks.

  We were through the dense foliage, between the moss-covered, curving banks of the ancient walls, when we heard them. It was dark in the twenty-foot tall chasm, giving us hope. If they were forced to search via torchlight, it might be even harder to find trace of us. They’d go beyond, thinking that we were faster than they thought, confident that we were on the front side of the cliff, perhaps hidden away in another cave.

  “This is good,” I said to Lia, taking her hand. “Really good.”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “Except for one thing.”

  “What?” I asked as we hurried forward, careful to not kick a stone that might send a telltale alarm back to the Creep-Fest back yonder.

  “We’re going deeper.” She gestured ahead.

  She didn’t mean deeper into the passageway. We both knew it would emerge up top, on the ancient site of an Etruscan city.

  She meant deeper into Firenze’s territory.

  “We’re just taking the scenic route,” I said to her lightly. But I was certain she heard my voice break oddly. I was having a hard time catching my breath, my heart was pounding so hard.

  I was going away from Marcello. From Mom. And closer to the enemy than ever.

  “They won’t expect us to do this,” Lia whispered, squeezing my hand. I realized we’d been holding hands for several minutes now, like two little girls trying to draw comfort from each other. But I didn’t let go.

  “No, they won’t,” I said lowly, as we reached the top of the passageway and the vast flat of the ruined city. Here and there, the indentation of roads and the slight rise of foundations could still be seen. “The Ladies Betarrini have a few tricks left.” I turned to face her and pulled her into my arms. “I love you, Lia. If anything happens—”

  “Don’t say it,” she said, clinging to me, then repeated, “Don’t say it,” anger edging her tone. She stepped away and shook a finger at me. “You promised me, Gabi. Remember? I didn’t want to come back here. I was too afraid because of what happened last time—”

  “And look,” I said, pulling her forward and to the edge of the trees. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have found out what love was like.” We had to keep moving. Just in case…

  She blew out a dismissive breath, and I sighed in relief. I’d distracted her. “Love? Serious like, maybe, but I barely know him.”

  I raised a brow. “What’s not to like? He’s funny. You love funny guys. And handsome, in that California-dude look you’re into. And loyal. Not to mention clever and strong. He’s way better than that guy in Boulder who always texts you.”

  “Well, yeah…but you can hardly compare them. Their lives are so different—”

  “So are ours, with these guys. Marcello. Luca. They’re men, Lia. Not boys. It takes guys at home another ten years to have the maturity that these guys have.”

  She pulled her hand from mine. “Yeah. They have to grow up fast here. People want to kill you all the time.”

  I nodded. She had me there.

  “Besides, Luca…”

  She was thinking about
him—how sick he was when we left them. Battling a foe far fiercer than another soldier. The Black Plague. “Luca will beat it.” I patted her shoulder. “He’s strong, Lia, really strong.”

  She paused and pulled me to a stop again. I turned to face her. “What?”

  “Marcello and Luca will not find us among the caves, down below.”

  “No,” I said slowly. “They’ll see Lord Greco’s men combing the face of those cliffs and know two things: one, that they’ve lost our trail; and two, that we’re making our way to Castello Forelli as planned.”

  “Via the scenic route,” she said with a small smile.

  “Via the scenic route,” I agreed, slipping my arm through the crook of hers.

  We slept on the floor of a shallow cave for several hours, then resumed our trek before daybreak, searching for a main road. I wished we’d paid more attention when Mom had pointed out the old Roman roads over the years. Chances were, there was one around here somewhere, most likely still in use. The Romans had been as good at crafting roads as the Etruscans had been at tombs, setting their massive stones at the right angle to make them endure the long-term effects of weather and traffic. I remembered that much—the perfect, angled lines, the ruts in the stones where wheel after wheel had worn them down.

  We emerged on a mountain ridge and, shielding our eyes, looked to the valley below us.

  “The road,” she said.

  “Not like we can hop on that one,” I returned. Hundreds of troops were moving toward Siena in uniform lines. Peasants went the other way, on either side of the road, fleeing the carnage behind them, heading toward the sanctuary of Firenze. “Guess the battle is still raging.”

  “How’d the two of us set all of that in motion?” she asked, looking at me, really looking at me. She reached up and pulled a leaf from my hair, then another. “You’re not looking so hot, Gabi.”

  “Neither are you,” I said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  We both bent and broke twigs from a nearby bush and attempted to gather our hair into a bun. We shoved the twigs through and they held—for the moment, anyway. “Better?” I asked.