Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2 (21 page)

The leather sack floated above me. I pictured the book lifting from the fire. Holding out my hand, I tried to draw the rubrics to me. Feet sloshed through the mud toward me. A rat crawled over my foot. I kicked it away. When I looked up, the leather sack was gone. Pulling an old cart, Ballard lumbered behind Yesler and Mazol drawing toward me. I pushed the shovel between the lid and the gravebox and threw my weight on the handle. Two nails popped loose with a snap.

"What's going on here?" Yesler said.

I gaped up. The crate rattled. Pearl screamed. Ballard appeared, plucked me up by my shirt, threw me at Mazol's feet. I rose. His eyes drifted to something behind me. Yesler and Ballard's necks craned back as they gawked, higher and higher.
 

I spun around. Pearl's gravebox hovered above us. She thrashed inside, beating the wooden planks. With a crack, the gravebox exploded. She screamed. Debris fell around us. And where the gravebox once lay—a body, wrapped in a white sheet and straight as a pole. But why didn't she fall?

It's me.

I destroyed the gravebox. I'm holding her in the air.
 

She wobbled. Her body dropped. Taking one painful step, I leaped over the grave hole, catching her in my outstretched arms. We crashed to the ground on the far side. My back thudded against the balizia tree.

The world continued to roll. I crawled to Pearl. Ballard's hands clasped around our arms, dragged us through the mud, threw us both into the cage. Iron bars slammed down. A dozen giant birds took to the air, cawing and crashing through the branches above us. I pulled Pearl into my arms. Her chest heaved, her eyes flickered but didn't open.
 

I wrapped my fingers around the thick cell bars and pulled at them. Dizziness struck me. Henri stood in the shadows, rubrics in hand. She fumbled with the leather satchel at her side. My mind fell deeper into a fog. I felt my shoulder, the wound Pearl left me with, and now we were locked in a cage together.

My eyes drooped. I shook my head to stay awake. The villain was fighting for control of me. If Pearl attacked again, I'd have no choice. I'd be forced to kill her.

My head fell forward. I jerked it back, slapping my face.
 

Could I use sapience to become someone else? Anyone but me. Anywhere but here. I thought about the letter from Claire. My sister.

Where are you Claire? Will you trade lives with me?

And as I gave in to the dreams, I became someone else. I became my sister.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Claire

Orange, dragon-tongue flames licked up to the ceiling, racing from the bed to the far side of the room. The door swung open. Someone had been in the room while our backs were turned.
 

And in my mind, I saw Ani unlock the door.
 

Something in the hall exploded, throwing me backward. I hit my head; my ears rang. Hot fog rolled along the floor in slow moving stream. I didn't see Anastasia. I felt for her in the bed of smoke. Shards of glass from the broken mirror scattered as I swept my hands along the floor. I thought I felt a dagger. The ebony blade. But it was just a splinter of wood. I heard laughing in the hall, my sister's voice. I crawled to the door. Flames walled me in.
 

"Ani!"

"I'm here," she said, sobbing behind me by the window.

I ran to her, leaned out into the cold night air. "Help!"

Hundreds of heads turned to us. Someone screamed. The whole courtyard burst into a sea of motion. Papa dashed to the nearest door, pushing anyone aside who didn't get out of his way.

From our window, I could see the other wings of our house. Sparks flickered in some of the windows. How could it have spread so fast? Unless someone had planned this? I saw my reflection in a bay of windows across the courtyard. Above me, flames crept up the roof. Anastasia screamed again and again. I might have slapped her if it wasn't for Terisma. She might push me out the window.
 

Billows of opaque fog and heat forced us to crawl onto a ledge. Cool to the touch but growing warm, plastered stone walls now stood between us and the flames. Inches from my face, a red beetle scrambled out onto the wall. Tiny wings appeared, carrying the bug away into the night.
 

Swirling pillars of smoke poured from the room next to us, but then changed directions and began to draw back inside. Anastasia edged further down the ledge, ebbing into a cloud of smoke. I thought I saw wings unfurl from her back. Huge raven wings. I tried to follow her, but the ledge was too broken for me to find footing.
 

"Hey!" I called. "Come back."

She didn't answer. My gut wrenched.
 

"Ani!"
 

Could she have fallen? Or flown away? "Where are you?" I yelled.

I stared back into the room and thought I caught a glimpse of the black knife laying on the floor. Smoke enveloped the room and poured out the window. I coughed. A breeze blew past. Anastasia appeared, edging along the ledge back to me. No wings on her back.

"You unlocked the door," I yelled, "didn't you?"

Below us, two men leaned a ladder against the wall. One of the men scrambled up the ladder, but the top was still a full ten feet below us. "More help is coming," he yelled.

"Get a longer ladder idiot!" Anastasia yelled. But the ladders—I had a horrible feeling they were gone. This was planned. Someone had taken them away. Burned them all days ago. I saw an image of the ladders burning. And the shadow watching.
 

"The ladders are missing—" The man was cut short by a ball of embers exploding from the room below us. He blew backward; flames licked up with scorching heat, singeing the hem of my dress. The man streaked through the air like one of Papa's fireworks. My foot slipped, and I fought to keep my grip on the crumbling wall. The man's body hit the ground on the far side of the courtyard, colliding with three others. Fire engulfed all four. Unnatural charring heat. They rolled on the ground, yelling as other men and women beat them with wet sacks. This pyre seemed unstoppable.

The flames that fed on the dying men leapt to another victim. She too fell to the ground screaming. Those who had been trying to beat out the fire jumped back, forming a ring. Safely distant. I watched two men hold a woman back from helping. After the victims had turned to motionless lumps, the flames continued to burn, feasting on the bodies until nothing remained but ash. I spotted a few people running down the hill away from the house. Others looked to follow. A breeze blew through the courtyard, carrying away our hope of survival. Those who stayed stared up at us, quiet and still as the perishing.

"Let me go!" Mother yelled. Her voice cut across the silent courtyard. "My family's in there!"

"You'll kill yourself."

"They need me!"

Smoke stung my eyes. It smelled sweet and sickening like too much sugar. Through slits, I watched her strain against three men. Thrashing and wriggling, she broke free, disappeared into the house. Would Mother find the shiv before the shadow? I imagined my hand wrapped around the blade. I should have taken it. But I couldn't. I couldn't do what Papa told me to do.
 

He should have found us by now; he might already be dead.

Or maybe Papa wasn't coming. What if he set the blaze himself, to create a distraction? He might have scorched the ladders too. I was the only one who knew about Evan Burl. If I died, there would be no one left to stop Papa.
 

"Do something!" Anastasia yelled to the crowd through desperate sobs. "Why aren't you trying to save us?" The people shook their heads, wiped their eyes, and stuffed their hands in their pockets.

An explosion rumbled through the building. The north wing toppled in a cloud of dust. The wall I clung to was starting to burn my hands. I began to wonder which was the worse way to die: roasting alive or falling.

I thought of the dream. Is this how it begins? Is it real this time?
 

The building shook again. My knees gave out. I slipped, clutched a ledge of rock, banged my knee, but was able to crawl back onto the ledge. I watched a wall to my right turn to pudding. A moment later, it was gone.

I gazed into Anastasia's eyes. "What do you think happens when we die?"

She didn't answer.
 

I wanted to say sorry for fighting with her. I pictured the wedding I'd always imagined. Having children. Two boys; I was sure boys would be easier than girls to raise—all of that was gone now... unless I learned to fly. The dream repeated again and again in my mind. The falling.
 

"Let's jump," I said.

"It's too far."

"Hold my hand."
 

She pulled away, out of reach. "Don't touch me."

"We'll burn alive if we don't do something."

"I can't jump."

"But what if—" It was useless, she didn't believe.
But should I try without her? The wall I clung too began to shake. Plaster broke off in my hand and crumbled into salt. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. Learn to fly.

A crack shuddered through the house, into my bones. The narrow ledge I stood on disintegrated. I peered down. For the moment it took to breathe a single gasp, I stood on nothing but air. Just as my body sank into the fall, something seized my hand. "Papa!"

He hoisted me like I weighed no more than a fire-lantern. My toes found solid footing. Balancing, I clung to the wall as he adjusted his grip on my hands. The cuts on my hands stung.

"Save me first!" Anastasia screamed. She pushed me, causing my hand to slip from Papa's. I fell backward. My fingers slipped into a crack in the wall, saving me from tumbling into the smoke below. Screams from the onlookers.
 

"Careful," Papa said.
 

He reached for me again. My knees shook. I couldn't bring myself to pull my fingers from the crack.

"Everything's going to be alright," Papa said. "I promise."

"What about the fire?"

He glanced behind him. "A little tinder like this? I've survived worse." He smiled.
 

"But what about the knife? I didn't touch it. I swear. I left it on the desk. The shadow must have taken it."
 

"Calm down child."

But Ani unlocked the door. She let the shadow in. I pictured Sophia as Ani and I ran down the stairs this morning. "We've been waiting a long time for this," she said. "Don't forget what I told you." She whispered in my ear, like I knew what she meant. But I didn't. How could I have known what she meant? She must have been talking to Ani. They were planning something. I wanted to scream at Ani.
What did Sophia mean? What are you planning with her?
But I said nothing. I willed myself to pull one hand from the crack, stretching up as Papa reached for me. His eyes flashed to my belt, then back to my face. The book. Or did he look at my hand? My empty hand?

His eyes narrowed at me. "What are you doing?"

"I didn't mean to take it."

He wanted the book, maybe more than me. Maybe more than his life. He was going to let me fall, once he had the book in his hands.
 

"What are you waiting for?" Ani screamed.

Flames and smoke rolled from the window; I imagined a fireshark thrashing inside Ani's room. Papa's forehead was dry, not a drop of sweat. I jumped for his hand. My fingertips grasped his, but my skin was too wet and I slipped. I slid back until my feet found the ledge again.

The wall shuddered. I gazed into Papa's eyes. My stomach turned inside out. I wanted to hurt him. No, just to tell him to leave Evan Burl alone; to curse at him for hurting me; to say goodbye.
 

"Something came over the wall," I shouted. "It's in the house. A shadow. I think it got your dagger—"
 

"If you won't go," Anastasia said, "I will." She tried to step around me. I slipped.
 

Papa pointed to a metal bar that jutted out from the wall. "Grab that!"
 

I barely caught hold of it. Finding my balance, I said, "What about Ani? Save her first."

"Not now Claire. Just do as you're told."

Ani's eyes burned. Terisma wanted to play. I gazed down at the sea of faces below, for a moment, I felt like we were acting in a play. They would cry soon, shed a tear when I fell to my death. Then they would go home talking about what a wonderful performance it was. I could play three characters all at once.

"Jump," Papa said. "I'll catch you."

I reached on my toes, but he was too far away. "I can't."

"Trust me. Jump."

I closed my eyes. My body grew airy, ghostly. Maybe I was dead. My feet had nothing but air below them, but I wasn't falling. I was flying. Papa lifted me with magic. Putting my hand in his, I rose. I saw over the ledge. A glimpse of the ebony blade, laying on the window ledge. I had never touched it. Not once. I remembered how it stuck out of the desk; its tip jabbed into the ebony wood. How did it get in here? The shadow? I was almost through the window when Papa's face changed.
 

I felt my weight return to me in a rush. "I'm slipping!"
 

My hand slid from his and I fell. My arms were just able to wrap around the window sill as my body slammed into the wall. Papa's face drained of blood, his eyes rolled backward. Staggering back, he turned away from me. When he faced me again, a pulsing blade stuck from the center of his chest, eyeless and midnight. The knife.

Smoke filled the room. I couldn't see who was behind him.

"You?" he said. "Why..."

"Papa!" I yelled. Blood soaked his torn shirt.
 

His eyes found mine. "The book," he said through gasps, "You must..."

He coughed. Blood dripped from his lips. Sparks and flame engulfed him. "Make sure Mazol..." He coughed blood again. "If he fails... you must..."

"What?" I said. "What should I do?"

"Trust me, Claire."

"I do," I said.

"I love you... little Bell. No matter what you've done. Even after this."