The Borderlands (Book One): Journey

by Aderyn Wood

  The footsteps of an approaching jogger made her turn. The path was secluded at that section of the river, thanks to the half-mile square of dense woodland that had escaped the clutch of development. The river path was popular with walkers and joggers, and Gareth and Dale were always on their guard. If the police or the council learned Gareth stored a boat there they would lose Joy. Worse, Gareth’s illegal residence at the old hospital could be revealed and he’d be forced to share a gutter somewhere in the city, with all the other homeless people.

  Dale watched the jogger approach. He wore a grey hoodie that hid his face. He seemed fit, his jog well-paced. Suddenly he looked up and flashed a smile. Her eyes widened. Rhys!

  He waved and gave her another dazzling smile, but continued jogging past as she stood, her mouth hanging open.

  “Friend of yours?”

  She shook her head, realising what an idiot she must have looked. She looked at Gareth; he was staring at her with a comic glint in his eye.

  “No,” she said, still shaking her head. “Are we going for a sail or what?”

  As soon as they got in the boat, Cat darted out from the woodland and joined them. The southerly breeze was perfect. Not only was it warm, it meant they could simply reach back and forth along the river. Dale loved reaching; the sense of speed was a rush. Gareth held the tiller while she adjusted the main. They worked well as a team, communicating rarely. She could lose herself on the river, and her problems.

  She thought about Rhys. He must live close. Why would he attend St Nino’s? It was all the way over the other side of town. She remembered how he had smiled at her and her stomach started flip-flopping. God, why didn’t I just smile back? I’m such an idiot sometimes!

  “Ready to tack,” Gareth instructed.

  She pulled the main in and crossed to the other side of the boat. They sped up and she laughed as the wind and spray flew through her hair, all thoughts of Rhys forgotten.

  3

  The final few weeks of the school term seemed to pass in slow motion.

  Dale spent all her free time at the library. There was little homework yet; that would come the following term. She spent the time dreaming and planning her trip with Gareth.

  She tried to convince the old man to do the work on the boat before the term break. That way they had the entire two months for sailing. But he stubbornly refused, stating they needed a week, at least, to do the repairs. He claimed he had a busy life, people to see and things to arrange, before they left. Who and what, was a mystery. Was it even true?

  She opened a map of the Clyde and went over their route. Everything would depend on the wind and the weather, of course. But Dale wanted to make it to the protective banks of Loch Striven. She had a dream of making a little camp there, in amongst the pines, catching fresh fish; away from civilisation, away from her mother and St Nino’s.

  “Finally, I find you.”

  Dale looked up from her maps to see the perfect smile of Rhys. She glanced around, looking for some distraction, some excuse to flee.

  “Oh no, you’re not going to escape.” He smiled again and squinted. “Have you been avoiding me?”

  “Ah …” Dale was speechless. Even worse, her dreaded blush was at it again. Her heart raced; it was difficult to swallow, let alone talk. There was no escape. He sat down opposite. Could it get any worse? His friendly smile morphed into a smirk.

  “I think you’re shy.”

  “I am not!” The words escaped her mouth. She hated it when people called her shy. She clamped her lips together and put her head in her hands. This was awkward, very awkward.

  He laughed. He had a free, beautiful laugh. Everything about him was beautiful. It was so – disconcerting.

  “So, you promised to help me with history, remember?” He picked up the map she had been studying and looked at it.

  Dale snatched it back, and put it under a textbook. “I can give you some of my history notes and assignments. I’m sure you can Google the rest. Anyway, it will be new material next term. You don’t really have to know everything we studied this year.” She searched through her bag for her history folder before remembering it was in her locker.

  “Mr Nugent said it would help.” Rhys was no longer smiling. “If this is too much of a burden then I won’t bother you.” He stood.

  Dale almost let him leave; she could do without the flutter in her stomach. But he looked hurt, and a pang of sympathy made her speak. “It’s not a burden. I’m just letting you know that you don’t have to know it all.” She wondered what she looked like. Her face and neck felt like fire. When her face turned red her eyes looked even greener. His constant stare wasn’t making it any easier.

  “Look,” she said finally. “I don’t have my history stuff with me at the moment. You can find me here in the library every lunch hour. I’ll bring it with me. If you want some help, you can meet me here.”

  His smile returned. Her blush deepened.

  “See you then.” He left without another word.

  Dale tilted her head to the ceiling, closing her eyes. Why didn’t she just let him go?

  “Where dips the rocky highland, of Sleuth Wood in the lake, there lies a leafy island, where flapping herons wake.” Ms Struthers, in her element, recited poetry with dramatic gestures and pregnant pauses.

  Dale lost herself in the poem, one of her favourites.

  “Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild …”

  Yes, to the waters and the wild. She wished she could be the child in the poem. She wouldn’t hesitate to go with the faeries.

  “The world’s more full of weeping than you can understand …” Dale understood alright. The world’s full of weeping. How true!

  The door opened abruptly and Prudence Feathertop entered the classroom, chewing gum.

  “Hey, Advanced English, right?”

  Dale held her breath. Please no!

  Ms Struthers looked at Prudence over the rim of her tortoise-shell glasses and sniffed. “Yes, take a seat and be quick about it. You’ve interrupted a masterpiece.”

  Prudence arched one manicured brow and tilted her head as if she was the Queen of Fucking Everything. Problem was, there were no other plastics in this class. Probably one of the reasons Dale liked it so much.

  There were only nine students in total – the cream of St Nino’s literary contingent. Brittany Mort and Jessica Primrose sat together – St Nino’s sole emos. The weegie trio – Sean, Alec and Bryce – tattered away in their Glaswegian talk. Most of the international students had trouble understanding them, and that’s just how the weegies liked it. Jill Singer, another of St Nino’s pariahs on account of her obesity, sat by herself at the back. That only left Mary O’Reilly and Jennifer Donavan, both renowned for their love of Harry Potter, which they considered the epitome of great literature.

  Dale could see the indecision on Prudence’s painted face: sit with a loser, or sit alone? She seemed about to make up her mind when the door opened again.

  OH NO! Dale buried her face in the poetry book. He walked in, smiling and confident – as usual.

  “I’m sorry about the interruption.” Rhys was polite.

  “Yes, yes,” Ms Struthers waved her hand. “This is Advanced English. You two sit here and let me get on with the lesson.”

  Prudence almost skipped to the desk and pulled a chair out for Rhys. Dale eased her book down and watched the back of his head. He smiled at something Prudence whispered.

  Ms Struthers cleared her throat and resumed.

  “Where the wave of moonlight glosses, the dim grey sands with light, far off by furthest Rosses, we foot it all the night …”

  Dale found it hard to concentrate. Why had he joined this class? Did he like literature? Her stomach did its usual flip-flopping but at least the blushing was under control – for the moment. What a shame Prudence had joined; that must be a mistake. Why would she be interested in Advanced English? Was she even capable?

  “For he comes the human chil
d, to the waters and the wild, with a faery, hand in hand, from a world more full of weeping than he can understand.” Ms Struthers closed her eyes as she finished the poem. She took a deep breath and shook her shoulders slightly.

  “Now, before we go on I want you to discuss your interpretation with someone else in the class. In pairs, or trios,” she said, looking at the weegies.

  Typical Ms Struthers; discuss with someone else then share your ideas with the class. Dale acted quickly and moved her seat behind Mary and Jennifer. They’d relate the whole thing to Harry Potter, but they also hid her from Rhys’s sight. She sat close enough to keep half an ear on his conversation. What enlightened insights would Prudence proffer?

  “You know, this reminds me of HP. The world more full of weeping than he can understand. That’s like the muggles and the faery world is like the wizarding world …” Mary had jumped to Harry Potter in her first breath. No surprises there.

  Dale nodded absently as the two of them exchanged further ‘HP’ comparisons. She leaned to the right a little and focused her ear on the conversation in front of her.

  “So what do you think?” His voice, so mellifluous – that accent was still a mystery though.

  “I think I’m so lucky. I mean I thought I’d be all on my lonesome with all of these losers. Until you turned up.” Prudence laid on the sugar. Dale risked a glance and saw a flirty grin all over her plastic face.

  I wonder what her aura looks like? Dale relaxed her eyes and opened her second sight. A scarlet red surrounded her. Red again. What did it mean?

  Rhys cleared his throat. “I see.” He was smiling at Prudence. Dale’s stomach dropped to her feet.

  “Dale?” Jennifer and Mary were looking at her and seemed to be waiting for an answer.

  “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  Thankfully, Ms Struthers interrupted. “Alright, that should be enough time. Let’s see.” The teacher scanned the class, Dale slid down a little so that Mary blocked her view.

  “Jill Singer, what do you think?” The class turned to face the fat girl sitting at the back. Her face turned red. Dale sympathised.

  “Ah, I don’t really know,” Jill stuttered.

  Ms Struthers pursed her lips. “Come, come, class. We need to ensure we share ideas when we talk in groups, not discuss what we plan for the summer! Now, what about you?” She pointed her finger at Prudence.

  “Who – me?”

  “Mm hmm.” Ms Struthers nodded and squinted over her glasses.

  “Well, I guess it’s about a bunch of fairies.” Prudence chewed her gum and looked around as if to see who she’d impressed, but she had no audience here. The weegies started laughing, clearly at her. Dale joined in.

  “Why do you laugh, Dale? Can you elaborate?” Ms Struthers, unaware of the social nuances at play, remained determined to get a serious discussion going. Dale stopped laughing and clamped her mouth shut. Great, now he knew she was there. He turned to face her, his stare tangible once again.

  “Well, summing it up as being about a bunch of fairies is overly simplistic. Childish, even.” Dale heard the words come out but she couldn’t believe she’d said them. What was she thinking?

  “Excuse me? Are you insulting me?” Prudence shot daggers with her eyes.

  “I mean, it’s metaphorical, it has a deeper meaning.”

  “Meta-what?”

  The class laughed again.

  “You sure you meant to be in this class?” It was Bryce, one of the weegies. He spoke clearly for once, his words easy to understand, even for Prudence’s Texan ear.

  Prudence gave Dale a look that was hatred personified. She grabbed her bag and stormed out. The normally complacent class broke into hysterics. They’d had a little win over the Queen of the Plastics and it was sweet. Dale smiled too. Until she met his eyes; two black circles staring, not laughing, not smiling, just looking – at her.

  Dale replayed the literature class in her head all the way home. Had she really said that to Prudence Feathertop? She partly felt proud of herself and smiled as the bus lumbered its usual route. But a different feeling fought the happy moment. Like an icy hand that touched the back of her skull. Something was trying to warn her. Yes, she thought, Prudence will want revenge now.

  Dale went straight home rather than stopping in to see Gareth. She felt stirred up and needed to paint. Her mother stood in the living room, dusting some of her old portraits and couldn’t be avoided.

  “Hi, Mum,” she sighed.

  “Good, you’re home.” Her mother looked her over, her hands on her hips.

  Dale bit her lip. Oh, great, what is she evaluating now? Hair still too red? Skin too pale? Boobs too small?

  “Come sit down, darling. Let’s have a talk.”

  Dale threw her school bag at the foot of the stairs and sat next to her mother. Victoria smiled that way when she wanted to manipulate Dale into doing something.

  “Darling, I want you to consider something. I don’t need an answer straight away; I just need you to think about it.”

  “What?” Dale was cautious.

  Her mother brushed her hair with perfectly manicured nails.

  “Well, you know how important our faith is.”

  Dale sighed. Oh god, what does she want!

  “I’ve arranged for the whole family to take part in the immersion ceremony next month.”

  Dale’s jaw dropped. “You want me to be baptised?”

  Victoria smiled. “Yes! All the newbies will be. I’ve set it up with Pastor Richard. Such a lovely man.”

  Dale’s heart raced. The idea of being baptised didn’t appeal to her at all. And having Richard Jones touch her?

  “Jeez, Mum, you’ve been part of this religion for five minutes and you’ve already gone all fundamental! You change faith more than you do your nails.” The anger spilled out. She couldn’t control it.

  Victoria’s reaction was swift. One clawed hand slapped her daughter’s cheek. Hard.

  Dale stood, holding the side of her face with both hands. A dull buzzing rang in her ear. She turned and faced her mother.

  “See what you do to me?” Victoria screamed.

  Dale shook her head and stepped back. “I will never be baptised into your stupid church! As soon as I’m old enough to leave I’ll never even go to a church again!”

  Her mother put her hands on her hips. “While you live under this roof you will do as you are told!”

  “Yeah? How about I see how my father feels about it?”

  That shut her up. Victoria stormed out. Her mother hated any mention of her father. He had left their life years ago for the love of another woman. Dale wasn’t sure whether it had broken her mother’s heart or her pride. In truth, Dale rarely spoke to her father, but she mentioned him in times of emergencies, like this. The thought of being baptised by Pastor Richard made her want to vomit.

  Rubbing her cheek she walked over and picked up her school bag. Her art called.

  Sunday came around again, and Dale went with her family to Christian Central. She’d made her point to her mother, and now they had an unspoken understanding: she’d go along to church, but she wouldn’t be baptised.

  The congregation seemed to grow a little every week, mostly because of all the recruiting done by the Feathertops. She found herself scanning the crowd, looking for him – Rhys. He hadn’t met her in the library after all. But she had seen him hanging around Prudence, and her subjects, all week. If Dale was honest she would admit her disappointment, but a part of her was also relieved. No more blushing. She glanced at the people around her, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Pastor Richards was in the middle of his sermon, but Dale hadn’t been listening. She considered the Sunday service a good time for daydreaming. But every so often she looked at the man at his pulpit. His black garb seemed to highlight his angular features and the golden colour of his eyes. Even from where she sat, she observed their intensity as they swept over the congregation. Once more he seemed to pause, ever s
o slightly, to probe every soul there. She shivered and did her usual trick of averting her gaze.

  After the service she stood around in the foyer with everyone else, waiting for her parents to stop their after-service networking and take them home. When, finally, they were all back in the car, Victoria dropped a bomb.

  “We’ve been invited to their party after all. Such a relief. I was beginning to worry.”

  Antonio smiled at his wife.

  Dale groaned inside. Her mother was always trying to leap up one society ladder or another. The crowd her parents mixed with were what Dale considered ‘B list’ celebrities, always trying to get their faces in the social pages. Dale bit her lip. Surely she wouldn’t have to go?

  “Well, you can go; I’ll stay at home and look after Benny.” She slouched, arms folded.

  “You should come along too, Dale. They’re going to have a nanny at the party for the little ones. You should have some fun.” Her stepfather was trying to smooth things over. The air had been a little tense since Victoria slapped Dale.

  “Where is this party anyway?” Dale asked.

  “The Feathertops.” Victoria beamed.

  The world shifted. Did she hear right? “Did you say the Feathertops?” Dale asked uneasily.

  “Isn’t it too exciting? I was so disappointed not to be invited last year ...”

  Dale put her earphones in and turned up the volume, drowning out her mother’s gushing. She’d rather go to hell than Prudence Feathertop’s party.

  4

  It was the second last week of school and time had stopped. Dale wanted the school break now – the feeling of the sun on her skin; the taste of salt water. The wait for freedom was frustrating.

  She sat in the library and alternated between studying her maps, rereading The Hobbit and dreaming about sailing the Clyde. The Clyde River was renowned for its industrial shipping, but a few yachts and dinghies also sailed its waters. Dale had never heard of anyone else sailing the length of the great river in a small boat – no one but Gareth. Last winter he’d come up with the idea that they should sail it together. Dale agreed immediately. An adventure! And she got to escape her family for the summer. She’d miss her art, of course, but she could sketch on the boat when the winds were calm.