The Knife of Never Letting Go

“Whoa,” Viola says behind me and I just know she’s looking up.

The tunnel opens up abruptly and the ledge widens at the same time to become a cavern made of water, the rocks stretching up way over our heads, the falls slamming down past them in a wall curving way out like a moving, living sail, enclosing the wall and the shelf under our feet.

But that’s not the whoa.

“It’s a church,” I say.

It’s a church. Someone has moved or carved rocks into four rows of simple pews with an aisle down the middle, all facing a taller rock, a pulpit, a pulpit with a flat surface which a preacher could stand on and preach with a blazing white wall of water crashing down behind him, the morning sun lighting it up like a sheet of stars, filling the room with shimmering sparkles on every shiny wet surface, all the way back to a carved circle in the stone with two smaller carved circles orbiting it to one side, New World and its moons, the settler’s new home of hope and God’s promise somehow painted a waterproof white and practically glowing on the rock wall, looking down and lighting up the church.

The church underneath a waterfall.

“It’s beautiful,” Viola says.

“It’s abandoned,” I say, cuz after the first shock of finding a church I see where a few of the pews have been knocked from their places and not replaced and there’s writing all over the walls, some of it carved in with tools, some of it written in the same waterproof paint as the New World carving, most of it nonsense. P.M. +M.A. and Willz & Chillz 4Ever and Abandon All Hope Ye Who something something.

“It’s kids,” Viola says. “Sneaking in here, making it their own place.”

“Yeah? Do kids do that?”

“Back on the ship we had an unused venting duct that we snuck into,” she says, looking around. “Marked it up worse than this.”

We wander in, looking round us, mouths open. The point of the roof where the water leaves the cliff must be a good ten metres above us and the ledge five metres wide easy.

“It musta been a natural cavern,” I say. “They musta found it and thought it was some kinda miracle.”

Viola crosses her arms against herself. “And then they found it wasn’t very practical as a church.”

“Too wet,” I say. “Too cold.”

“I’ll bet it was when they first landed,” she says, looking up at the white New World. “I’ll bet it was in the first year. Everything hopeful and new.” She turns round, taking it all in. “Before reality set in.” I turn slowly, too. I can see exactly what they were thinking. The way the sun hits the falls, turning everything bright white, and it’s so loud and so silent at the same time that even without the pulpit and the pews it would have felt like we’d somehow walked into a church anyway, like it’d be holy even if no man had ever seen it.

And then I notice that at the end of the pews, there’s nothing beyond. It stops and it’s a fifty-metre drop to the rocks below.

So this is where we’re gonna have to wait.

This is where we’re gonna have to hope.

In the church under water.

“Todd Hewitt!” barely drifts in down the tunnel to us.

Viola visibly shivers. “What do we do now?”

“We wait till nightfall,” I say. “Sneak out and hope he don’t see us.”

I sit down on one of the stone benches. Viola sits down next to me. She lifts the bag over her head and sets it on the stone floor.

“What if he finds the trail?” she asks.

“We hope he don’t.”

“But what if he does?”

I reach behind me and take out the knife.

The knife.

Both of us look at it, the white water reflecting off of it, droplets of spray already catching and pooling on its blade, making it shine like a little torch.

The knife.

We don’t say nothing about it, just watch it gleam in the middle of the church.

“Todd Hewitt!”

Viola looks up to the entrance and puts her hands to her face and I can see her clench her teeth. “What does he even want?” she suddenly rages. “If the army’s all about you, what does he want with me? Why was he shooting at me? I don’t understand it.” “Crazy people don’t need an explanayshun for nothing,” I say.

But my Noise is remembering the sacrifice that I saw him making of her way back in the swamp.

The sign, he called her.

A gift from God.

I don’t know if Viola hears this or if she remembers it herself cuz she says, “I don’t think I’m the sacrifice.”

“What?”

She turns to me, her face perplexed. “I don’t think it’s me,” she says. “He kept me asleep almost the entire time I was with him and when I did wake up, I kept seeing confusing things in his Noise, things that didn’t make sense.” “He’s mad,” I say. “Madder than most.”

She don’t say nothing more, just looks out into the waterfall.

And reaches over and takes my hand.

“TODD HEWITT!”

I feel her hand jump right as my heart leaps.

“That’s closer,” she says. “He’s getting closer.”

“He won’t find us.”

“He will.”

“Then we’ll deal with it.”

We both look at the knife.

“TODD HEWITT!”

“He’s found it,” she says, grabbing my arm and squeezing into me.

“Not yet.”

“We were almost there,” she says, her voice high and breaking a little. “Almost there.”

“We’ll get there.”

“TODD HEWITT!”

And it’s definitely louder.

He’s found the tunnel.

I grip my knife and I look over to Viola, her face looking straight back up the tunnel, so much fear on it my chest begins to hurt.

I grip the knife harder.

If he touches her–

And my Noise reels back to the start of our journey, to Viola before she said anything, to Viola when she told me her name, to Viola when she talked to Hildy and Tam, to when she took on Wilf’s accent, to when Aaron grabbed her and stole her away, to waking up to her in Doctor Snow’s house, to her promise to Ben, to when she took on my ma’s voice and made the whole world change, just for a little while.

All the things we’ve been thru.

How she cried when we left Manchee behind.

Telling me I was all she had.

When I found out I could read her, silence or not.

When I thought Aaron had shot her on the road.

How I felt in those few terrible seconds.