Above me, the sky burned blue and bright. Squinting into the sunlight, I laughed out loud. I’d never climbed this high. I was well above everyone I knew, all the climbers, the entire world. Mangrove was quivering in fear many feet below me.
I could push off this branch now, dive into the abyss, crash into the earth and disappear forever. But no, I’d rather float above the canopy with my arms spread wide, catching the updrafts, soaring among the eagles, eyes scanning the horizon. And what would I see? All the busy workers below, building bridges, weaving cedar bark, tying on bandages, growing vegetables. Working, working, working until the day their pathetic lives ended. And then feeding the Great Ones, the trees that jailed generations to come.
Better for me to climb the trees like the squirrels who jumped from branch to branch, gathering what was edible and moving on. Or to perch on the branches and rest for a while before being spirited away again on a breeze, like the crows. Far above the other climbers, and yet still belonging to them, I was burdened with responsibilities not of my choosing, weighed down by the expectations of countless others. I belonged to everyone but myself. My lungs could barely take in the oxygen required to push the weight of others off my chest.
I clung to the branch with my feet, curling my toes around the living wood, and released my hand grip. Balancing carefully, I raised my body high, spread my arms wide, and closed my eyes. A warm breeze caressed my face and blew the loose hair around my head. I imagined wings ruffling my biceps and triceps, lightening my load. I opened my eyes slowly and descended again, gripping the limb with my powerful fingers.
I glimpsed the tops of the conifers to the west. Several feet below me, limbs thrust out across the abyss reaching toward the Great One that cradled me. If I descended and crept toward the west, I might be able to catch a limb from the neighboring tree, pull it over the scorched gap, and tie it off to create a treacherous crossing. It would not be a crossing approved by the Council of Maestros or the builders. Not even Mangrove would dare use it. But it was the only way I would be able to return to my special place, my gingko forest. And I needed that putrid air before I suffocated in the clear air of the canopy.
I made my way back down several feet, the distance I’d estimated from above. Now I could hear Mangrove’s voice, shrill and worried, carried on a breeze. He sounded farther away than I’d thought he was. I ignored him and climbed sideways, pushing low-hanging needles from my face and peering through the dense growth. I glimpsed the gaping drop to the forest floor and directly across from me, the tip of the neighboring tree. Crawling forward as far as I dared, I wrapped my legs around the limb for balance and reached for my satchel. The satchel swung forward and the front pouch opened, weighed down by my stethoscope. Before I knew what was happening, the stethoscope tumbled from the bag. I reached for it, thought better of it, and watched it gather speed as it raced through the trees for the ground.
So, that happened.
The two stethoscopes were antiques, heirlooms from the First Climbers. There had been only two, protected and cherished by the doctor and assistant since the very beginning. And now, thanks to me, only one remained. Michelia would never let me forget this.
I squeezed my eyes tightly, trying to put the loss out of my head. I wouldn’t think about what a disappointment I was, breaking everything I touched ever since I was a little girl, ever since the day I climbed too high, killing that little boy. I killed both of those little boys. The stinging behind my eyelids couldn’t have come at a worse time. I was dangling above everything, barely balanced on the limb. I could end it all now, let go and follow the stethoscope through the air. I’d probably pass by it on my descent; I could wave at it as I sailed past it, down, down, down.
It was morbidly funny—me sailing past my stethoscope, I could practically see it—and I knew I was being ridiculous, melodramatic again. I’d never feed the Great Ones, at least not by choice. They’d been nourished for far too long and by far too many recently, and they wouldn’t be digesting my carcass anytime soon.
The rope was still in my satchel. I pulled it out, unraveled it, and quickly tied one end around my torso so I wouldn’t lose it. Next, I wrapped a lasso in the other end and tossed it toward a distant tree limb. It fell short, dropped down, and I hauled it back up. I tossed harder, still too short, tried again. The fifth attempt snagged the soft end and the rope dropped off. This would have been easier with Mangrove’s arrow as I’d initially planned, but he wasn’t here and neither was his arrow. Besides, now I wanted to do it alone. Prove to myself that I wasn’t useless. I might be a bad doctor, but I could climb. How I could climb! And it was my gingko forest. I didn’t want to share that with anyone. Not even Mangrove.
I clenched my jaw, determined, and threw the lasso as hard and far as I could. The power of the shot from my right arm pushed my body to the left, and I felt my precarious balance on the limb shift. I grappled frantically with my right leg, but this propelled me even farther to the left. Bark tore at the skin on my legs as I struggled to regain my balance, and I felt a sharp tearing when my torso slid off the limb.
Joshua. A memory of his small pink mouth opening and closing. The rush of blood in my ears was deafening and my body dropped, and then I bounced and was yanked upward. I hung from a tree limb, retching and choking as the rope cut into my chest, the weight of my body squeezing my lungs. A steady ache pinched my chest, and I knew I was alive, alive and dangling in the air from Mangrove’s hunting rope. My body swayed, bouncing slightly, buoyed by the tree limb above me. Good thing I’d thought to tie the rope around my torso. I hadn’t wanted to lose the rope, and as it turned out, the rope had prevented me from losing myself.
I grabbed the rope with both hands and pulled my body slightly upward to relieve the pressure where the rope cut beneath my breasts. My chest ached with every indrawn breath, but a dead drop from several feet would do that to you, I supposed. I looked across the abyss and down. Far below I glimpsed a knot of debris, tree limbs and scorched structures, bits of shanties and bridge mounts. I tipped my head back and looked up. It would be quite a climb up the rope to reach the tree limb above me, not my best skill. I’d have to swing closer to the tree.
I wriggled my body to get some movement going. A wriggle to the left, a wriggle to the right, and I was swinging over the gap and toward the tree branches, over the abyss, and then safety, certain death and then not so certain life, and finally, my toes scratched against bark. One more swing out and back, and I had looped one leg around a limb, and then both legs. I tightened my core muscles and pulled my body up, grabbed the limb with my hands, and then I was crawling into the shelter of the trees, away from the clear sky as far as the rope allowed.
I dug my fingernails, short and dirty from clinging to cedar and fir, into the knot to try to extricate myself from the rope that had saved me and was now preventing my movement. It was no use; the force of the drop had tightened the knot past loosening. I pulled the rope up as high as I could, thinking I’d pull it off over my head, but I couldn’t get it past my breasts.
It figured. My own small chest was going to trap me here.
I tried to push the rope down the other way over my hips, but I knew that was bound to fail. I was a classic pear shape, hips wider than breasts. The rope would never pass over my bottom half. Attached to my body like this, I couldn’t reach the rope with my mouth to bite it loose. How was I going to get free?
I’d have to call for Mangrove’s help. It looked like I needed him after all. Was he above me now? Or below? I took a deep breath of air and yelled. Again and again I yelled, but I heard nothing. He should have heard me. I’d heard his voice before I fell. How far would I have had to drop beneath his location for my voice to be inaudible to him? And if I were down that low, wouldn’t I have seen shanties or other climbers?
I tried again, yelling in a constant stream until my throat burned with the effort. Where was he? Where was everyone else? Someone should have heard me and come to free me from the rope by now.
And then it hit me: I’d been tied to the rope while climbing above the community. Had my lasso caught on a tree in the west before I slipped? Had the rope swung me over the abyss when I fell and left me dangling from a tree limb on the west side?
The more I considered the possibility, the more I realized that was exactly what had happened. No one had come to my rescue because—
—no one was here. No Mangrove, no community, only me. I’d done it! I’d crossed over! Hurray!
But now I was a prisoner bound by rope with a knot that couldn’t be loosened. And no one was here to help me get out of the rope. I couldn’t climb back up while attached to this thing.
I had my satchel, still looped miraculously across my body. I must have something squirreled away that could help.
I rummaged inside and released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding when my fingers grazed my flint. Careful not to drop it, I pulled it from the satchel and kissed it. I nicked it again and again, sparking it against the rope, charring fiber after fiber, until finally I was able to snap the frayed rope. The knot was still tied to my body—I’d need a knife to cut myself free—but the knot was no longer attached to the rope and I was no longer attached to the tree limb far above. I was free.
My head brushed against thick needles as I crawled along the limb. After a few yards, the limbs parted and I was able to stand. I stretched my aching neck and shoulders before walking to the center of the Great One. Vast empty branches stretched ahead of me. The west lay untouched, the planting beds choked with weeds and flowering and fruiting raspberry bushes. Salivating like a rabid raccoon, I ran to the bushes and, as fast as my fingers could pluck them, I crammed ripe, unripe, and rotting berries into my face. Berry juice dripped down my arms, and it occurred to me that I should pick some for Mangrove, too. I picked as many berries off the bushes as I could, dropping them into my satchel.
The gardeners should be in these tree limbs, picking raspberries for the community, training the vines and clearing the brush to allow sun to penetrate and grow the community’s food. But here I was, alone. I’d gotten here only by climbing to the very heights of the trees. Not even Mangrove had managed it. The gardeners would never be able to cross that way.
I had to figure out how to return to the canopy. I’d crossed over the abyss once—well, fallen across, more like. I needed to climb back up and cross over again before Mangrove raised the alarm. This time, I couldn’t fall.
Traversing the aerial pathways I hadn’t climbed for three months, I reached the treetops and found the rope looped and tightened around a narrow but sturdy limb. I hauled the frayed end up, hand over hand, looped another lasso, and tossed it across the abyss. My past trial and error method had taught me how hard to throw, and I snagged a limb on the other side after a mere three tries. I leaned back, pulling against the loop with my full body weight, ensuring the knot was tight. I tugged at the limb and dragged it down across the wide gap, tightening the slack on my side. When I dragged the opposite limb down as far as I could, bowing it to a 150-degree angle, as near to horizontal as it would bend without breaking, I gathered courage into my lungs and the rope in my hands. I dropped off the branch and hung from the rope. I couldn’t help myself; I glanced down. My dirty, bare feet dangled impotently in the empty air. The only thing preventing my immediate death was the strength of my handgrip and the tensile strength of the braided rope fibers.
My heart pounded in my fingertips, my toes, and my ears. I moved my body in rhythm with my hands, throwing my hips forward as I crept hand over hand. I didn’t stop until my fingers felt needles, and then bark. I grabbed the limb with both of my hands, curled my body up, and looped my feet around the limb. Gathering all my strength, I pulled my body up, over, and onto the limb, and crawled slowly backward. Once I cleared the gap, I collapsed to the security of the branch and listened to my heart pound.
After I calmed down and caught my breath, I anchored my toes to the tree limb and stretched my prone body outward again, toward the rope. Taking it in both hands, I scooched my body back to the relative safety of the inner branch and leaned my weight against the rope as I had on the west side and pulled, pulled, pulled the western-growing limb mostly horizontal before tightening and tying off the rope. The two slight limbs lay on top of one another, entwined yet shyly aloof.
I stood and looked across the abyss at the bridge I had built, my own precarious pathway to my private ginkgo forest, my solitude and escape. I began my descent toward Mangrove, eager to share my bounty of berries.