I turn to Lukas. ‘This is our chance.’
We dash towards the silo. For a couple of terrifying seconds we’re in the middle of the cobblestones with no biplane to shield us from the troops’ view. But they’re so focused on loading the Curiefer vats, so obsessed with ensuring this flammable material remains safe, that no one spots our movement across the yard.
Inside the silo, the first thing I notice is the cold. The air is wet and damp, as though I’ve stepped into a winter waterfall. Then I spot the sprinklers on the ceiling, which pour mist into the air. The silo is about twenty metres in diameter, and over half the space is stacked high with crimson vats.
I hurry around the side of a huge stack of vats, which hide the back of the silo from view. And there they are: Teddy, Clementine and Maisy, chained to the wall with what must be magnetic wire. The twins’ eyes widen when they see us. Even behind his gag, Teddy’s face twists visibly into a grin.
But this is no time for soppy reunions. At any second, the troops will return with another round of trolleys to unload. I scurry around to a dark corner behind the largest stack of vats, and squish myself into the gap. Lukas chooses a similar hiding place on the far side of the silo.
There is a clamour as troops wheel their trolleys into the silo. My line of sight is obscured by the vats, so I can only judge people’s positions by the sounds of their voices and movement. They seem to be unloading these vats near the front of the silo; no one ventures around the back where we are hiding.
The footsteps patter away, the voices fade, and there is a noisy clang as the door slams shut. ‘Will they come back?’
‘No,’ says Lukas, standing up. ‘The train only holds enough vats for two trolley trips. We should be safe for now.’
I set to work on untangling the others’ bonds. Someone has knotted magnetic wires around their wrists and ankles, then used padlocks to secure them to the silo wall. I examine the locks; they look like normal brass padlocks, clapped onto the wires as an afterthought.
‘Are the locks magnetic?’ says Lukas.
I shake my head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Good.’ Lukas fumbles for the lock-shaped charm on his necklace. ‘This should do it, then.’
I step aside as he engages the charm’s alchemy spell. There is a snap of power in the air, a loud click, and the padlocks spring open. Within moments we have yanked the gags from our crewmates’ mouths, and Teddy is spluttering like a child whose birthday candles refuse to blow out.
‘What the hell is he doing here?’
‘Lukas is on our side, Teddy.’ I untangle the wire around his wrists. ‘He’s not like the rest of the Morrigans.’
As soon as his ankles are free, Teddy jumps to his feet and glares at Lukas. ‘You’re a filthy traitor. You lied to us, you nicked off in Gunning, you –’
‘– surrendered himself to Sharr to save the rest of us,’ I cut in with an urgent whisper. ‘It makes sense, Teddy. You heard Sharr talking on the plateau – she hates Lukas! She wants to steal the throne.’
‘But –’
‘If Lukas wanted to betray us, all he would have to do is shout. There are dozens of troops out there, just waiting to grab us. Even Sharr’s out there.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Lukas doesn’t want us to get caught, Teddy. Just like back at the waterfall, when he fought off those hunters to save us. Or when he gave me the charm that hid us from the foxaries.’
Silence.
‘But he’s a pilot,’ Teddy says. ‘A killer.’
To my surprise, it’s Maisy who speaks up. Her voice is quiet, but firm. ‘He didn’t drop any bombs. We found his biplane in the forest, remember? He didn’t drop a single one.’
Teddy shakes his head, conflicted. ‘You can’t trust a royal.’
‘A couple of weeks ago, I’d have said you can’t trust a richie,’ I say. ‘Or a pickpocket, for that matter. But we’ve survived this far as a crew, and we’ll survive again tonight . . . but only if we work together.’
There is a pause. And at long last, Teddy nods.
‘That’s all very well,’ Clementine says, ‘but how are we supposed to get out of here?’
‘I can use this to open the door.’ Lukas holds up his padlock charm. ‘The silo isn’t magnetised; they never expected any enemies to cross the wastelands and get inside the fortress wall.’
‘Then what? We’ll still be trapped in the yard.’
I try to think of how we might sneak away. We have only one pair of climbing picks, and I doubt the twins could scale a wall anyway. The hunters will catch us before we’re even free of the yard. ‘The yard!’
‘What?’
I turn to the others, suddenly excited. ‘The yard is full of biplanes. What if we forget about being sneaky and just steal a plane? We could fly off into the mountains – we’d have the element of surprise, and –’
Lukas shakes his head. ‘Danika, it won’t work.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m the only one who can fly a biplane, and there’s no room for passengers. They’re designed to carry one pilot and that’s it.’
We’re silent for a moment.
‘What about the foxaries?’ says Maisy. ‘Does anyone know where Sharr is keeping them?’
Lukas and I nod. ‘They’re tied to a post in the yard,’ I say.
‘Well, what if we rode off on the foxaries? If we could just get through the gate, we might make it . . . foxaries travel a lot faster than we can on foot.’
Teddy shakes his head. ‘They’d shoot us down before we made it five metres, I reckon.’
‘Not if they’re busy shooting at someone else,’ says Lukas.
We all turn to look at him. There is a sudden strength in his voice, a buzz of determination that commands our attention.
‘What are you thinking?’ I say.
Lukas gives a tight smile. ‘I’ll steal a plane, fly it up and distract them. While they’re shooting at me, the rest of you take the foxaries.’
‘What? No! They’ll kill you.’
‘I’m the best pilot in the force, Danika. I’ve watched the world through birds’ eyes since I was thirteen. I need you to trust me.’ Lukas catches my cheek in his hands, and looks straight into my eyes. ‘I can do this.’
I swallow hard, trying to fight down my fear. ‘I know.’
‘But the rest of you will need to run hard,’ Lukas says. ‘You need to put as much distance between yourselves and this fortress as you can. No matter what, Teddy, keep those foxaries moving. Don’t worry about the wastelands, or saving energy, or the hunters . . . just run.’
Teddy gives him a strange look. ‘Are you gonna –’
‘Yes.’ Lukas takes a deep breath. ‘I’m going to drop an alchemy bomb.’
The silo door opens with a quiet creak. I poke my head out into the night, but the hordes of troops have clearly re-entered the tower. A pair of guards stands ready at the main gate but there are no other humans outside.
‘All right,’ I whisper. ‘We’re clear.’
Lukas prepares to pull away from the group. On a sudden impulse, I grab his sleeve.
‘What?’ he says.
‘I . . . Nothing.’ I tighten my grip for a moment, then release him. ‘Just don’t get shot out of a plane again, all right?’
He smiles. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
Then he is gone: a shadow flitting between the biplanes. The rest of us wait for a moment, giving him a chance to select his plane, before we set off towards the foxaries. We duck beneath the metal wings, avoiding the guards’ line of sight.
Teddy closes his eyes every few strides, and a low growl escapes his lips. He must be connecting with the foxaries, because the beasts remain silent as we approach. They stare at us, fur bristling a little, but still do not make a sound.
An engine rattles into life behin
d us. Lukas.
The guards shout and rush back into the yard, but it’s too late. Lukas steers a pathway between the other biplanes. He is fast, unnaturally fast, propelled by clouds of smoke and silver. For a terrifying moment he seems about to crash into the wall at the end of the runway . . . but then the biplane’s alchemy kicks into force. With a scream of raw power, faster and faster, his biplane blasts into the dark.
We run forward to grab the foxaries. Clementine unchains them from their post and we clamber aboard. There is no need to double-up; each of us chooses a separate animal. I can see Teddy’s face straining. Most of these beasts are strangers to him, and he is clearly fighting to earn their trust.
People are screaming now, shouting and pouring from the tower like termites. Hunters flicker into place upon the wind, or rise up through the cobblestones, but they are too late. Lukas is soaring above the fortress, beyond the reach of their guns. The guards fling the gates open and charge into the wastelands, firing wildly at the sky.
‘Go!’ shouts Teddy.
The foxary bucks beneath me. Momentum slams me forward into his neck, and my face fills with that familiar stink of alley-cat musk. I choke, spitting fur and dirt from my lips, and barely lift my eyes in time to see the gate. It’s still wide open, so we charge through in a torrent of shouts and screams.
Teddy urges his foxary ahead. ‘Faster!’
My own animal bucks again and I almost slip forward across its head. I have a sudden wild recollection of the crew’s escape from Rourton, as I watched from the guard turret. My friends are riding out again, in a frenzy of fur and foxary snarls. But this time, I am one of them.
Sharr Morrigan’s voice rises above the others, screeching for the hunters to stop us. I find myself laughing, almost hysterical, as I recognise her fury. Sharr is powerless here. She can’t use her Flame proclivity so close to the Curiefer, that terribly flammable material.
Our foxaries charge across the plains. Perhaps it’s animal instinct that guides them to avoid the sand – or else it’s just Teddy, tangled into their minds. Either way, they leap across the rocky plateaus and keep their claws free from the mire. All I know is that my face is full of fur, and muscles are bunching and releasing beneath my legs, and if I dare loosen my grip I will die. So I dig in deeper, burying myself in the creature’s fur, and refuse to let go.
Shots blast towards us, but they can never catch the foxaries. Not out here, on the emptiness of the rocks. I have never felt such speed before; there are no trees, no Marbles, no river . . . nothing to slow the beasts’ charge into the night. Hunters scream behind us, yelling and shooting wildly as they charge from the fortress into wasteland. My foxary leaps up onto the edge of another plateau, claws scrambling on rock, and I almost slip backwards. But then we’re up, charging forward across the endless stretch of stone . . .
The world explodes.
Pain. Smashes, crashes, blood – one limb aches after another. Everything speeds into chaos, and then it slows. I lie in silence, staring at the stars. It takes me a minute to realise I have been thrown from my foxary. My body lies upon the plateau’s hard rocks. Am I dead? I don’t think so . . . Surely if I were dead, my limbs would not ache in such a blinding way.
I force myself up into a crouch. My legs shake, threatening to collapse, but I twist my neck to view the fortress behind us. It’s gone. There are flames, smoke, screams. In the light of the fire I see the hunters who pursued us, lying stunned or unconscious or dead upon the wastelands. Flowers burst from the ruins: flowers and birds and lights that dance like ribbons across the sky. The alchemy bombs, I realise, dazed. The alchemy bombs from all those biplanes . . .
There is another explosion. The earth shakes. Through blurry eyes I see huge trees burst from the wreckage; their branches twist into vines and then shatter as chunks of stone fly up from the ruins. Fireworks erupt to paint the smoke with coloured light. Broken stones twist and churn on the wind, cracking open into shooting stars – then, with a scream, the site of the fortress comes alive with lightning. Water gushes up into unnatural fountains, higher than buildings, before everything is consumed by flame.
Someone grabs me. ‘Get on!’
I obey, clambering upon the back of a foxary. It’s one of the twins – Clementine, I think, but I’m too dazed to interpret much beyond the cascade of blonde in my face. Then we are running again, barrelling across the plateau. And above us, a biplane shoots towards the mountains like a flare.
All night, we keep running. The only pause is to collect our packs from the edge of the plateau and knot some rags around our various wounds, before we charge onward to meet the dawn.
We ride up into the Central Mountains: a sweep of rocks and snow. The foxaries slow a little as we move into the forest, but there is no sign of pursuit. That will come, I know. It’s only a matter of time. But for now, the surviving hunters are probably fleeing for their own lives, charging into the wilderness before the king hears of this disaster . . .
Before he hears that we have ruined his war.
The day is cold but crisp. We wind ever upwards through the trees, through snow that often reaches the foxaries’ thighs. My crewmates are battered; their faces are bruised, and one of Clementine’s eyes is swollen shut. Blood trickles down Maisy’s cheek, and Teddy’s hair is matted with crimson clumps.
I probably look the same. My body throbs, and every upward leap of the foxary threatens to spill me backwards into the snow. But I’m alive. And with that realisation, every detail I notice takes my breath away. The snap of the wind. The rustle of leaves. The throbbing of my head, the taste of blood and mucus in my throat . . .
‘Look!’ says Maisy.
At first I think she’s pointing at Midnight Crest, silhouetted against the sky. I glance at the ruined fortress for a moment, then gaze back down towards the airbase. Its ruins are still smouldering, a distant smear upon the wastelands.
Two burnt buildings. Two kings’ ruined schemes. It seems like justice, in a way, and I nod to show my understanding.
Then I realise Maisy’s pointing at the crest of the slope, where a figure waits upon the rocks. And there he is. My stomach tightens.
Lukas smiles. ‘Took you long enough.’
And I know we are going to make it.
When night falls, we stumble across an overgrown ditch. It isn’t the same one that we fled from when the hunters pursued us, but it looks similar. Foliage and snow arch across the ditch to form a natural roof. The foxaries slow to a halt, pawing at half-submerged roots in the snow. I stare at the ditch and can’t help longing for the safe little burrow inside.
‘You know,’ says Teddy, ‘I reckon we deserve a rest, don’t you?’
He settles the foxaries into a nearby thicket, before we wriggle our bodies into the ditch. We tend each other’s wounds with ice from the foliage, then bandage them with strips of a gaudy purple blouse.
‘Our mother never liked this one much, anyway,’ says Clementine, as I wrap a strip of satin across her eye. ‘She’d be happy to see it going to good use.’
We feast on whatever is left in the packs: raw oats mixed with spices, skerricks of dried fruit, and a few stray nuts that Maisy finds in a side pocket. We tell each other stories, explain what we went through while separated. And then we nestle under our sleeping sacks, full and warm.
The twins are the first to fall asleep. It isn’t dramatic; they simply drop out of the conversation, lulled into heavy breaths by the warmth of our hideaway. Teddy follows soon after them. His words turn into quiet breaths, and finally to snores.
I turn to Lukas. He turns to me. For a while, we stare at each other. Then Lukas fishes the chain from beneath his shirt, rifles through the charms, and selects the tiny silver star. ‘Remember this, Danika? This is my favourite charm.’
‘I thought your grandmother gave you that one,’ I say. ‘You said it doesn’t have any alchemy
spells attached.’
‘No. Just memories.’ Lukas presses the star between his fingers. ‘My grandmother’s proclivity was Night, you know. She was the only half-decent person in my family. Do you know what she told me, when I asked about her proclivity?’
I shake my head, my mouth dry.
‘She told me you can’t have light without the dark. And you can’t have stars without the night.’
I fish my own hand out from the sleeping sack. Our fingers lock. Then we smile, close our eyes, and drift into sleep.
We wake up late, only a few hours before noon. We panic a little when we count the wasted hours, but there is still no sign of pursuit. Perhaps the explosion caused even more trouble than we thought. I imagine Sharr Morrigan, if she is even alive, must be fleeing for cover in the remotest depths of the wastelands.
There isn’t much of a campsite to pack up. Lukas and I roll the sleeping sacks, while Teddy tends to the foxaries. After a breakfast of cold porridge, soaked overnight in snow, we clamber back aboard our beasts.
The day is long and quiet. We allow the foxaries to travel at a walk, and keep a close eye on the sky. There are no biplanes. There is no sound of a train on the mountain’s cable system. There is only the rustle of the trees, or an occasional flock of birds across the sky.
By the time we reach the peak above the Knife, it’s dusk. The first stars are just appearing. I stare down into the blade-shaped passageway, which slices its way east through the mountains. Beyond lies our route to the Valley.
I whisper the final lyrics of our folk song. ‘I shan’t waste my good life, I must follow my knife . . .’
Four voices join me to finish the verse: ‘To those deserts of green and beyond.’
We are not safe yet. We will be hunted and we may face death. But the same may be said of every refugee in Taladia. And at least now, because of our actions, the Magnetic Valley has retained its potency. The king cannot launch his invasion. And countless other refugees might stand a chance.
Chasing the Valley Page 26