Free Taken (Erin Bowman) by Erin Bowman

preparing for this moment my entire life. I am calm, free of nerves. I feel nothing—nothing but the warm rain that pings against my skin as I leave my house, a torch in hand.
    The trailhead lies quiet and somber before me. As I stand in its mouth, lightning snakes through the sky, illuminating the town I leave behind. I admire it for the last time, holding the torch overhead. It sizzles in the lightly falling rain. And then, without looking back, I shoulder my pack and head north.

TEN
    I’VE NEVER BEEN ANXIOUS IN the woods before, but tonight nerves find me. It’s not because of the dark or the constantly rumbling thunder or even the reality that I am trekking toward what for all before me has been death. It’s the answers, calling to me from beyond the Wall. Blaine would say I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have. Maybe it takes going crazy to face the truth.
    When I reach the Wall, it is more ominous than I remember. I press a hand against it. The stone is cold, and the surface smooth, like rocks in a riverbed. I look up, past the rain that drips from my eyelashes, to the top of the towering structure. A flash of lightning brightens the sky; for a split second, I can make out the figure of a lone crow. He is perched on the Wall, his feathers slick and glistening in the rain.
    Something moves behind me, bolting through the brush. I squint through the rain, but my torch reveals only flickering raindrops. I turn my attention to the tree, a massive oak whose limbs grow close enough to the Wall to serve as bridges, and begin the climb.
    It’s slow going with the torch, but I need it. I climb higher than I ever have before, past the point I’d clambered to as a child in hopes of glimpsing what lay beyond the Wall. I reach a branch that stretches out toward the top of the stone shelf, and shinny across it, my legs doing most of the work. Soon I am crouched atop the Wall, staring into the black void that fills the space on the other side.
    There is nothing to make out beyond the structure, not even with the torch. It is a thick black fog, a nothing so dense and heavy that if you awoke within that murky space you might think yourself dead. I sit there for a few moments, breathing heavily. My heart pounds stubbornly against my ribs. I try to calm it but can’t.
    For a moment, I consider climbing down the tree and returning to town. I must be crazy, thinking I can do this. No one survives the Wall. No one. But then again, just days ago I believed no boy survived the Heist. And the answers are waiting, on the other side. All I have to do is climb over.
    The crow beside me ruffles his feathers, annoyed by my panting and indecision. He cocks his head, caws at me with a shrill screech, and then, as if to show me how simple it is, soars effortlessly into the dark void. His black feathers blend seamlessly with the empty air. I stare for quite some time at the space into which he vanished.
    I follow the crow’s example in the end. I wedge the torch in my bag so that my hands are free and shift my body over the edge of the Wall. The opposing side is as smooth as ours. There are no crannies or footholds to aid in my descent. I hang from my arms, lowering myself as far as possible, before dropping to the ground.
    My knees buckle when I land, pain jolting through my ankles and back. I retrieve the torch and straighten up.
    I can smell smoke in the distance. I hold the torch before me, hoping to see something, anything. Slowly, the darkness begins to fade. It’s melting away, changing, as if setting foot on this side of the Wall has made the space visible. It is still nighttime, but I can finally see, the flames from my torch lighting the world around me when just on the other side of the Wall this space was forever dark. There is indeed grass beneath my feet. Pebbles and brush. It’s another forest, much like the one I’ve just left, but there are no trees growing near the Wall; they have all been cut down. I shudder at the sight of