Borderlands

by Skye Melki-Wegner

  The Magnetic Valley.

  The emotion hits me so hard I can barely breathe.

  This isn’t how I always thought I’d react when I finally reached the Valley. I thought I’d stand there looking stoic, and stare down the barrel of our route to freedom. Maybe give an inspiring speech, or something like that. But instead, I double over. I clutch my knees. My head is awash with memories – memories I thought I’d buried long ago.

  My father sits at my bedside, telling me a story. Lantern-light winks upon the rims of his glasses. ‘The Magnetic Valley,’ he says, ‘is a place where the king’s bombs do not fall. It’s a place where –’

  I’m cold and alone, curling in a doorway in the snow. The air stinks of garbage and dying flame. Somewhere out there, my home is burning – and all I can do is rock back and forth, singing through the sobs. ‘Chasing those distant deserts of green . . .’

  I stand in the Rourton sewer, as a young crew plans to flee Taladia.

  And then I place my hand upon the city wall, and steel myself to climb. I can do this. I can find the Valley . . .

  The memories are hot and sharp and cold. It’s like a house of cards is collapsing, and I’m just a crumpled figure in the middle. I’ve dreamed of the Valley my entire life: a song, a hope, a promise. And here it is. Its top rises behind the dam, a V-shaped cleft of evening sky.

  Maisy places a hesitant hand on my shoulder. ‘Danika, are you all right?’

  I don’t know whether to be ashamed and try to hide my reaction, or just stand up straight and admit to the moment of weakness. I manage to wipe my eyes on my cloak, then pull myself back upwards. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

  Maisy slips the hand back down and nods, looking thoughtful. ‘It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I guess it just . . . I never thought this is how I’d react when I actually got here.’

  ‘You’re not the only one,’ Maisy says quietly.

  I glance to the side, and see that Clementine’s face is streaked with tears. She stands upright, as stark as a statue, but makes no effort to hide the moisture on her cheeks. All she seems to notice is the Valley.

  And beside her, one hand on her shoulder, is Teddy. He’s angled away slightly, so I can’t see if he’s teary too, but I’ve never seen him stand so still before.

  ‘See that?’ Radnor says, standing stiffly to our right. ‘That’s a symbol of hope for every soul in Taladia. And the king wants to invade it and destroy it. Are we going to let him?’

  I wonder if he’s been practising this speech in his head, or if it just came out when he saw our reactions. Either way, it doesn’t have the inspirational effect Radnor was hoping for. It cracks our moment of silent awe, and we all return to ourselves.

  Clementine wipes her eyes. Teddy snorts and says, ‘We’re not a street-ball crew, mate. We don’t need corny pre-game speeches.’

  Radnor looks slightly deflated, but rallies himself. ‘Well, come on then. The guards are down by the lake.’

  The lake ripples insistently, rubbing against the dam wall like a stray cat. All that holds it back is that wall. The dam rises high above the current waterline, as dark as the mountains that frame it. If those stones were to topple, the Valley would flood again in minutes.

  But as the clouds shift, something catches my eye. A ray of sunset spills across the wall, and its stonework no longer looks blank. Strange writing covers its surface: a trio of enormous symbols, painted in crimson. They loom high above the lake, as vast as the wall itself – and in the evening light, they wink with an unnatural shine.

  Maisy lets out a little gasp. ‘Kindred runes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They must be supporting the wall! Kindred runes are one of the oldest forms of magic – they’ve been illegal for hundreds of years. But some of the oldest families still keep their symbols hidden away, like an heirloom . . .’

  She turns to Clementine. ‘Uncle Augustus had some, remember? He showed them to me once – they were hidden in the back of his great-­grandfather’s notebook. You have to paint the runes in a family member’s blood.’

  I stare up at the eerie symbols. ‘If they’re holding up the wall,’ I say slowly, ‘does that mean if we destroyed them, it would collapse?’

  Teddy’s eyes widen. ‘Hey, that’d flood the Valley again, right? I bet that’d put a crimp in the king’s plans.’

  We stare at each other, alight with excitement. Until now, our only hope was to sabotage the catacombs. But perhaps there’s another option. If we destroy the dam wall and send water rushing back into the Valley . . .

  Maisy shakes her head. ‘It won’t work. The whole point of kindred runes is that only your kin can erase them.’

  ‘Meaning . . .?’

  ‘The runes can only be undone by someone of the same bloodline,’ Maisy says. ‘A descendant of whoever painted those runes, back when they built the dam wall.’

  ‘The royal family,’ I say. ‘Lukas . . . this is what he saw! When he looked through that eagle’s eyes, he saw the wall with his family’s runes painted all over it and –’

  ‘He came here to undo them,’ Teddy finishes.

  I turn to Maisy. ‘How do you undo the runes?’

  She bites her lip, avoiding my eyes.

  ‘Maisy, how do you –?’

  ‘Self-sacrifice,’ she says.

  A sharp pain stabs the back of my throat. I think of Lukas’s final note, with his silver star charm wrapped inside. A note to say sorry. A note to say goodbye.

  ‘But he’s been gone for days.’ My voice cracks. ‘He’d have to be here by now – he can’t have . . . he can’t be . . .’

  Radnor scoffs. ‘If a Morrigan’s decided to off himself, I say good riddance.’

  ‘He’s not dead,’ Maisy says quietly. ‘The kindred runes are intact. If a Morrigan had slain himself near here, I don’t think the wall could still be standing.’

  ‘But if Lukas came here to undo the runes, and he hasn’t done it . . .’ I shake my head. ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘Who cares?’ Radnor says. ‘The coward probably ran off and wet himself in the woods. Look, if we can’t destroy this dam then we’ll just have to trash the tunnels.’

  ‘Won’t those runes stop us doing it?’ Clementine says. ‘We don’t have any royal blood.’

  Maisy shakes her head. ‘I don’t think it matters. The kindred runes are painted on the dam, but we’re not attacking the dam – we’re attacking the tunnels underneath it.’

  Radnor nods. ‘Then let’s get on with it.’

  A fleet of rowboats waits by the shore, with guards nearby. Compared to the smugglers’ houseboats, these vessels look tiny: each is barely large enough for five or six people.

  ‘They’ll row us across to the army base,’ Radnor whispers, as we hide near the edge of the trees.

  Clementine peers at the soldiers. ‘Couldn’t we just walk around the lake?’

  Radnor shakes his head. ‘Our story is that we’re coming from the north. It’d look dodgy to turn up on the wrong side of the camp.’

  We adjust our uniforms and check our identity cards. Our necks must remain bare, of course, since we’re supposed to be adults – but this creates a new problem. Our cards read Earth, Water, Stone, Dirt and Mud: useful proclivities for reconstructing the catacombs. Unfortunately, our own tattoos include Fire, Beast and Night.

  ‘Take out your hair,’ Radnor advises the twins. When they untie their buns, blonde curls spill across their backs. It detracts a little from their soldier disguise, but at least it hides their necks.

  I can’t resist one last peek at Clementine’s neck before her hair covers it. I’m half-hoping she’s developed a tattoo without anyone noticing. Clementine’s proclivity is late to emerge, and there’s no guarantee that it will be Flame like Maisy’s. Even among identi
cal twins, proclivities can differ. I’m hoping Clementine will get Water or Stone. Something useful. But there’s still no tattoo on her neck – just unblemished skin.

  Too much to hope for, I suppose.

  ‘What about us?’ I glance at Teddy. My own auburn hair only reaches my chin; there’s no hope of it covering my Night tattoo. And as for Teddy, with the messy short hair of a scruffer boy . . .

  ‘Could cover ourselves in mud,’ Teddy says, brightening. ‘Say we fell in a swamp or something. I don’t reckon they’d want to look too closely.’

  ‘Won’t work,’ Radnor says. ‘They’d make you wash yourselves off in the lake before you set foot in an army boat.’

  ‘What if you just disguised your tattoos?’ Maisy says. ‘You could dab a bit of mud around to make them less clear. If we wait until it’s really dark, and don’t give anyone a look at your necks, they might not notice.’

  It’s risky, but it’s the best plan we’ve got. The others set to work disguising our tattoos. Carlita Jones’s proclivity was Earth, and it’s not hard to dapple my upper spine with dirt. Teddy is a little harder, since the soldier who owned his uniform had a Stone proclivity, but Clementine smears some mud into rocks and mountains on his skin.

  ‘It’s not too hard,’ she says, when we stand back to admire her efforts. ‘It’s a bit like makeup, isn’t it?’

  The evening fades, and the sky grows darker. Soon the Valley is just a ‘V’ of starlit sky framed by sloping bulks of black. We glance at each other as we wait, then drop our gazes again. My stomach is tight with anxiety. We’re about to infiltrate King Morrigan’s army. The odds of us all surviving the night aren’t great. If this were a back-alley marbles game, I’d bet my coins on the other side.

  Finally, Radnor clambers to his feet. ‘All right,’ he says. ‘It’s not going to get any darker.’

  We venture towards the lake. My instincts say to duck and hide, to slither on my belly and crawl beneath the bushes. But the time for hiding is over. We have to look confident now: a line of soldiers reporting for duty. Radnor leads our group and the twins bring up the rear. Teddy carries the supply pack that I rescued from the Firebird. It doesn’t cover his neck, unfortunately, but at least it might distract from the smudge of his markings.

  The guards watch us approach, faces lit by alchemy lamps. They look more bored than worried, even at this time of night. I suppose they must see patrols coming and going all the time – especially if these rowboats are the easiest route to the camp.

  ‘Names?’ says the first guard. He’s a bald man in his thirties, as knobbly and thin as a praying mantis. ‘Cards?’

  ‘We’re new recruits, sir,’ Radnor says. ‘From Castenith, up in the nor–’

  ‘Didn’t ask for your life story.’ The man’s voice is unpleasant and nasal, like he’s got a needle threaded through his nostrils. ‘I asked for names and cards.’

  We recite our false names and offer our identity cards. I hold my breath at first, afraid that the guard might check our proclivity tattoos. But he doesn’t even seem to think of it. He just glances at our cards, nods, then waves us onto a waiting rowboat. In fact, it’s not until he reaches the twins that we have a problem.

  ‘Says here your surname’s Godram,’ he says to Clementine, holding up her card. Then he holds up Maisy’s card, and squints from one twin to the other. ‘But yours is Jessup.’

  The twins freeze. I do the same, halfway into the boat and halfway out. I almost overbalance, but manage to get a grip on myself and slip onto my seat beside Radnor and Teddy. My heart pounds. I knew we’d overlooked something. I knew we’d made a mistake somehow, that it couldn’t be this easy . . .

  ‘You look like sisters to me,’ says the guard. ‘Sisters with different surnames.’

  The twins are pale now. It’s noticeable even in the moonlight: the wideness of their eyes, the slight opening of their lips. Clementine looks ready to bolt.

  Finally, Maisy opens her mouth. ‘We are sisters, sir. But I’m married, you see. That’s why I changed my surname.’

  The guard frowns at her. ‘You look a bit young to be –’

  ‘It’s the custom up north, sir,’ Maisy says. ‘And I wanted to marry my sweetheart before I was sent away . . . I mean, before I joined the army. If something should happen, you see, and we’d never had a chance to –’

  The guard softens a little, and nods his understanding. ‘I see.’ He glances between the twins one more time, then gestures for them to scurry aboard.

  A minute later, we’re pulling away from the shore. My palms sting like crazy, gouged by my own fingernails. I still feel like my heart will explode out of my chest. That was close. That was too close. If Maisy hadn’t been so quick at dreaming up a lie . . .

  ‘We need to start planning better,’ I whisper, leaning close to Teddy. ‘That could’ve been it.’

  He nods, but doesn’t respond. We can’t speak freely here – not with a guard at the helm of our boat. The boats here don’t work through alchemical juices; I guess we’re too close to the Valley to risk it. So we have to rely on the guard and his oar, which looms rhythmically above our heads in the dark.

  ‘Quiet bunch, aren’t you? Most new recruits are damn near wetting their pants by now. Heading down into those tunnels . . . Don’t envy you, I’ll tell you that.’

  The guard plunges his oar into a deep stroke.

  ‘Bloody big lake, this one,’ he adds. ‘My sergeant reckons it’s as deep as a sea.’

  I glance at him. This guard is a burly man: short and thick, with biceps the size of my calves. Is this what he does all day? Row soldiers back and forth across the lake, from the borderlands to the army base? The idea makes me uncomfortable. He must be an expert on his fellow soldiers by now – how they talk, how they react, how they behave. But we’re not acting like a troop of fresh soldiers. We’re scared fugitives: silent and skulking in the dark.

  ‘It’s all very new, sir,’ I venture. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  The man chuckles. ‘Ah, you’ll get used to it. A few days of digging them tunnels and you’ll be cursing your head off like the rest of ’em.’

  As our boat moves forward, the dam wall grows closer. Its kindred runes gleam beneath the stars. My lungs constrict. This is why Lukas left. He left to sacrifice himself for the sake of some stupid markings on the wall. Did we mean so little to him that he was willing to throw us away, throw his life away . . .?

  I know I’m being selfish. But the resentment ferments in my gut, and I find myself kneading my fingers to keep my anger under control. Anger, yes, but also hurt. Hurt that Lukas didn’t tell us what he’d seen. Hurt that he left only a note to say goodbye.

  And another kind of hurt. A worse kind of hurt. The kind of hurt I haven’t felt since the night my parents died. He’s not dead, I tell myself. He’s not dead, Danika. If Lukas had killed himself, the runes would already be broken.

  But if he’s not dead, then where is he?

  Teddy nudges me. ‘Hey, look at that.’

  I follow his gaze back across the lake. I frown. Another boat is coming up behind us: a shade upon the water. There’s just enough moonlight to see that it contains only two passengers. Two women, I think, although I can’t make out their faces in the dark.

  ‘That’s a small platoon, isn’t it?’ I ask our oarsman.

  He shrugs, glancing back at the second boat. ‘Might be a couple of scouts returning from patrol. Sometimes an officer sends ’em back to report if they find something.’

  I nod, but there’s an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  The army base fills a rough expanse of land, largely hidden by a ridged shoreline. All I can see of its lower section is the smoke and light that rises, drifting, behind the ridge. Further back, the camp spills up the slope of a nearby foothill.

  From a distance, the higher camp looks pockmarked
, like the artisanal cheeses I’d see in Rourton deli windows. But as we approach, moonlight sneaks out from behind the clouds and I can’t quite hold back a gasp. The pockmarks are holes: tunnels of darkness falling back into the hillside.

  ‘The catacombs,’ Maisy says.

  ‘That’s right,’ says our guard. ‘You’ll be spending a fair whack of time down those holes.’

  Around the tunnel entrances, the hillside is dotted with activity. Camp fires blaze like pinpricks of light. There are huge tents of heavy canvas, but also wooden shacks, which I guess must be for the officers. The closer we get the more detail I spot: shadows moving in front of the fires, the sound of raucous laughter, the clink of bottles and crackle of flames.

  After weeks in silent wilderness, all I can do is gawk. It’s like an entire city has sprung up on this site. It reminds me of the night market in Gunning – but instead of criminals and smugglers, it’s home to soldiers. They’re armed, and they’re trained to kill.

  If they find out who we are . . .

  Our guard pulls the boat up close to shore. ‘This is it,’ he says.

  We clamber into shallow water. I angle myself carefully as I leave the boat, keen to hide the smudge of my proclivity tattoo.

  ‘Report to the Registry Building,’ the guard says, pointing up the slope behind the ridge. ‘At the top of the hill. They’ll sort you out with a tent and work roster.’

  Radnor nods. ‘Thank you.’

  The guard pushes out with his oar. A moment later he’s gone – just a shadow passing back across the lake.

  I turn to my friends. They stare at me, stiff with anxiety. All our plans involved getting into the army camp. Now that we’re here, the task before us seems almost impossible. This isn’t a tiny target like the airbase. This is a huge, sprawling mass of people, and until we know their protocols, we’ll stick out like scruffers on High Street.

  ‘Well, we can’t go and register,’ I say. ‘That’s way too risky – what if they look at our necks?’

  ‘What’s the plan?’ Clementine turns upon Radnor. ‘You’re the one who was so keen on wrecking these tunnels. Don’t you have an idea how to do it?’