Rise

eighteen

I HEARD HER LOW, BROKEN CRIES AND THE SOUND OF THE ROCK giving way, hundreds of tiny pebbles careening down into the ravine, toward the valley floor. A few of the girls knelt, trying to reach her, but she was already too far below. Her body fell farther down the jagged cliff. There was the horrible, skidding sound of her hands dragging against the stone, trying to find something to hold on to.

"Stay back from the ledge," I called, motioning for Bette and Sarah to move away. As I reached them I studied their faces, afraid to look over the cliff, into the valley. There was a thudding sound a few meters below, then quiet. As I ushered them back, farther onto the road, I peered over the edge, careful to keep both feet on the pavement. Helene was thirty feet down, maybe more, lying on an outcropping of rocks. She was holding her shin with both hands. Her knuckles were scraped to the bone. A gash had opened at the front of her head, the blood running into her eyes.

"My leg," she called. Her face was contorted in pain.

"How far did she fall?" Clara asked. "How badly is she hurt?" She pushed the girls back, farther away from the ledge.

Bette's eyes filled with tears. She kept running her hand over her blond ponytail, pulling at it. "I told you," she said, her voice uneven. "This is what-"

"That's not what we need right now," I said. "She's hurt." I went to the sled and riffled through it, trying to find the plastic rope. I loosened it, threading one end around my waist, through the belt loops at my hips.

"What are you doing?" Clara asked. She glanced sideways at Beatrice, trying to gauge her reaction.

"There's enough," I said, showing her the other end of the rope. There was at least forty feet, possibly more. I searched the edge of the road, looking for something-anything-to anchor it. "Someone has to go down and get her."

Clara peered over the cliff. Only the top of Helene's head was visible now. She'd pushed back against the front of the rock, trying to stay as far away from the edge as possible. "Why does it have to be you?" Clara held open her hand, gesturing for me to give her the rope. "You shouldn't."

Bette and Sarah inched forward, trying to get a glimpse of Helene on the ledge below. "Hurry," Bette said. "She could fall."

Clara took the rope, yanking the end from my waist. "You can't," she said. "You're the only one who knows where we're going." Her eyes held mine for a moment too long, and I knew what she wouldn't add-that I was pregnant. That there was more risk for me than there was for her.

Beatrice grabbed my arm. "Let Clara go," she said. "We'll hold the rope for her. We can anchor it back there." She pointed to the low railing on the other side of the road. It was corroded from the sun, the metal now covered in a bumpy white film that looked like barnacles. It seemed flimsy, but the bottoms of the metal poles were still rooted to the ground, buried in a few feet of solid concrete.

I examined the railing, kicking the bottom pole to make sure it wouldn't give. Then I lashed the plastic rope around it, using the same knot I'd used months before as we secured Quinn's houseboat to the dock in Califia. I leaned back, letting it hold my full weight, the plastic threads tightening under my grip.

Standing there, looking at the valley below, I remembered the unmistakable pull I felt in the Palace whenever I was just inches from the tower windows. A dizziness set in. I felt like at any moment I could tumble forward, the great expanse capable of swallowing me whole. "You have to show me how to tie it," Clara said from somewhere behind me. She handed the rope to me, and I noticed then that her hands were shaking, her fingers bloodless and pale.

"Let me go," I said. But Clara just pressed the rope into my hands.

Bette and Sarah stood on the pavement beside us, Sarah holding Bette's arm. Bette wiped at her face, trying to dry it. "You have to do something," she said. "She's in pain."