Edgeland

by Jake Halpern

  Wren walked over to the vine where the soldiers were perched. She turned back toward Alec. “Come on,” said Wren. “Even if they don’t help us, it’ll make it harder for the graylings to attack. The more people awake, the more confusion in the room.”

  “Fine,” said Alec. He joined Wren beneath the vines where the soldiers lay. Together, they began climbing the vines and breathing on the face of each soldier. Then came the screams—a cacophony of bloodcurdling cries. By the time Alec and Wren had climbed back down to the floor, a dozen soldiers were in different stages of consciousness.

  “What’s happening?” demanded one of the soldiers. He had been hanging in a vine close to the floor, and was in the process of disentangling himself.

  Alinka stepped toward him. “Do you remember me?”

  The man paused for a few seconds. He had short-cropped hair and a nose that looked like it had been broken several times.

  “We came in together,” he replied. “At the harbor.”

  “My name is Alinka.”

  “I’m Simon,” said the soldier with the busted nose. “Desert Landers—Twelfth Regiment. So, tell me … what’s going on here?” Other woken soldiers climbed down and joined him.

  Alinka pointed to Wren and to Alec. “That’s my daughter, Wren, and her friend Alec. They’re alive. That’s how they were able to wake you. And they need your help.”

  The soldiers were paying close attention now. Wren stepped forward. All eyes were on her.

  “Simon—you’ve been dead for four years,” said Wren, looking Simon square in the eyes. “For four years you’ve been hanging on these vines. Not only that. You’ve been lied to—”

  “Lied to,” said Simon. “What you mean, lied to?”

  “I’ll tell you,” said Wren. “You were told to wait and wait and wait for heaven to open its gates. You were told that you’d be in a state of bliss. But look around you. What do you see? Worst part is, there might just be a way out of here—a way out of purgatory—and no one bothered to tell you or any of these other folks about it. There’s a door—up on the Meadow. And we have the key.”

  Alec then held up the golden serpent key for everyone to see.

  The soldiers all started to talk at once, but Simon talked over them.

  “So you got a key,” said Simon, with a jerk of his head. “So what? How do we know it opens the door out of purgatory? Why should we believe your story?”

  Wren swallowed hard. She was about to speak when an agonizingly long creak reverberated through the glade.

  The door.

  Someone opened it.

  “The graylings are here,” whispered Alec.

  “Simon, they’ll kill us,” said Wren, pleading. “Then they’ll take the key and send everyone back into bliss—you and your men.”

  Simon looked uncertain. He peered at the door and took a few steps in that direction. A whirring sound sliced through the air. Simon shuddered, then grabbed his left shoulder. The handle of a dagger was sticking out of it. Simon grimaced, pulled out the dagger, and wiped the blade along his pants. “Well, lads, it doesn’t hurt when you’re dead,” said Simon. “That’s somethin’, I suppose.”

  One of his men, a giant, bearded fellow with a barrel chest, let out a throaty laugh. He had a bronze shield in his hand, which he had apparently managed to take with him down the Drain. He handed the shield to Simon. “Use this,” said the man. “Pain or no pain, it’s no fun being a pincushion.”

  Simon nodded and took the shield.

  There was a sudden rustling—like the wind stirring leaves on a gusty autumn day—and then Wren caught a glimpse of several small figures darting through the surrounding clusters of vines.

  “Diamond phalanx!” yelled Simon. The soldiers obeyed instantaneously. They fell into a diamond formation—surrounding Wren, Alec, and Alinka—with Simon standing at the head. Another knife whizzed past, but it missed its target and clattered off the wall of the glade. Simon raised his shield. “Double-time,” he shouted. “Don’t stop until we’re out of this stinkin’ tomb!” He paused for a split second. “One, two, three.”

  All that Alec could see were the bodies of the large, beefy men who surrounded him. They formed a wall of flesh, muscle, and bone, protecting him from a storm of daggers that rained down as they charged toward the door.

  They entered the stairwell where they’d last seen Flower and Sebastian. Several gleaming shards of metal whizzed overhead. The graylings seemed to be in front of them, farther up the stairs. They were throwing their knives downward and then retreating. Some of the knives missed, while others hit their mark. The soldier next to Alec grunted, then pulled a dagger from his thigh. Alec winced, but the soldier didn’t even flinch.

  “Keep going, lads,” called Simon.

  The soldiers pressed forward, surging up several flights of stairs and out into the middle of a street, at which point they came to a sudden halt.

  For a minute, none of the soldiers moved, leaving Alec, Wren, and Alinka trapped within their formation.

  “All right,” called Simon. “Looks like they turned tail and ran. Go on, we can break ranks.”

  The men stepped aside.

  Wren and Alec looked around cautiously. They were on a broad street, flanked by bliss houses. There were no graylings in sight. In fact, the street was empty.

  “If those little devils are around, they aren’t showing themselves,” said Simon. He turned to look at Alec and Wren. “But I’m sure they’ll be back. And in bigger numbers. So where’s this doorway you told us about?”

  Alec and Wren were both gawking at a deep gash on Simon’s shoulder. He followed their gaze, then shrugged dismissively.

  Alec stepped out into the middle of street to get his bearings. He could see the Meadow in the distance—and the stairs that led to it. “There,” said Alec, pointing. Briefly, he explained about the fountain and the secret room hidden below.

  Simon nodded. “We run,” he announced. “Hold formation, and move quickly. If anyone falls, we pick ’em up and keep running. Dead or not, we leave no one behind. Understood?”

  The soldiers nodded and set off with a shout.

  The pace they set was brutal, particularly for Alec and Wren, who were exhausted. Their mouths were sticky and dry. Their heads ached. And the muscles in their legs were cramping terribly.

  After ten minutes, at Simon’s punishing pace, they made it to the base of the staircase.

  “What’s up there exactly?” Simon asked, pointing at the Meadow.

  Alec described the Meadow and the Blind who guarded its entranceways.

  “Sounds like a death trap,” said Simon. “Not that it matters—seeing as though we’re already dead men.”

  “What happens when they chop off your head, Captain?” asked the big, bearded man who had given Simon his shield.

  “Guess we’ll have to find out, now won’t we, lads?” said Simon.

  This brought a cheer from the men.

  “I’d just as soon keep my head,” said Alinka, recoiling slightly.

  “And you will,” said Simon. “As long as we go fast. Now come on—up we go.”

  Simon started climbing the stairs. He was in the front, followed by two of his men. Then came Alec, Wren, and Alinka. The remainder of the soldiers brought up the rear.

  Several minutes later, they made it to the terrace where Alec and Wren had caught their first glimpse of the Sun side of the island. Beyond that was the stone gateway and the tunnel that led to the Meadow.

  “Stay here,” Simon ordered. He left everyone at the top of the staircase and crept to the tunnel’s entrance. He approached from the side and, ever so cautiously, leaned in to have a look.

  Alec glanced back down the staircase and saw a swarm of graylings climbing up, heading toward them.

  It was just as Simon had guessed: They had come back—in bigger numbers.

  Simon returned.

  “The graylings are back,” said Alec.

  Simon nodded cooll
y. “Right,” he said. “Now here’s the deal with the Blind. They’re standing in the alcoves—just like Alec said they’d be. I reckon they don’t know we’re here yet.”

  “They won’t let us stroll through,” said Wren.

  “You’re probably right,” said Simon with a dismissive shake of his head. “So here’s what we’ll do. Me and the boys are going to run in first. We’ll muscle the Blind back against the walls. Hit ’em hard and quick. There aren’t more than ten of ’em. We’ll form a gauntlet. Then Alec, Wren, and Alinka—you can run right through. We’ll try to find a way to defend the gateway so no one else gets through.”

  Alec and Wren were still panting, trying to catch their breath.

  “How long will it take for you to find that secret room of yours?” asked Simon.

  Wren glanced at Alec.

  “No idea,” said Alec.

  “You’ll have to move fast,” said Simon. “We won’t be able to hold the Meadow for long.”

  Wren turned toward the stone gateway. From this angle, she couldn’t see the Meadow, but she knew it was a stone’s throw away—provided they made it through the gauntlet.

  Her mother placed a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “Give me the key. Tell me where to find the stairwell. You could run. Maybe there’s another way down from here.”

  Wren shook her head.

  “I’m doing this,” she said, eyes fixed on the tunnel ahead.

  “It’s time,” Simon said suddenly in a brusque manner. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” said Wren.

  “I’ll run through with Wren,” said Alinka. “But then I’ll come back and help Simon. He’s going to need it.”

  “As you like,” said Simon. “Give us thirty seconds—then follow.”

  Simon and his men rushed into the gateway. The seconds ticked by. Shouts came from the tunnel. Then a loud clattering, like falling stones.

  “Now,” said Wren, as she exhaled and broke into a run. She, Alec, and Alinka rushed into the passageway, eyes ahead, searching for the light in the distance that would guide them into the Meadow. All around them, they could hear the dull thuds of bodies colliding. At one point, a hand reached out and grabbed Wren by the shoulder, but someone batted the hand away.

  “Keep going!” yelled Simon.

  Wren had just began to see the light of the Meadow in the distance when a huge man stepped in front of her, filling the passageway. Wren twirled to her left and spun past him. Alec wasn’t as lucky.

  The man grabbed Alec and held him high in the air. Alec got a quick glimpse at his face—ghostly pale skin, bald head, threads dangling from his partially sealed eyelids.

  “Help!” cried Alec while kicking at the man’s torso.

  Alinka flung herself at the man’s legs, as did Simon and two of his soldiers. Everyone crumpled to the ground. In the scrum, the man released Alec, who popped back up and scrambled onward through the tunnel. He ran as fast as he could, burning through his last reserves of energy, ducking and dodging as he went. At last, he staggered onto the Meadow, where Wren waited for him.

  “My mom’s still in there,” said Wren, who was struggling to catch a glimpse of the battle that was raging inside the tunnel.

  “What do you want to do?” gasped Alec. “We don’t have much time.”

  Wren swallowed hard, then grabbed Alec’s hand roughly, and pulled him onward—toward the fountain at the center of the meadow.

  The great expanse of green moss was empty. The only human figures besides them were made of stone, but these statues seemed so lifelike that Alec and Wren couldn’t help but feel that they were being watched. They passed a statue of a little girl hopping on one foot, a look of pure joy on her face. For a moment, Alec swore he saw the statue move.

  I’m delirious, he thought.

  Wren looked back, still hoping to catch a glimpse of her mother, but saw only the entranceway to the tunnel, with Sun banners hanging limply over it. A minute or so later, they reached the fountain. It was gurgling pleasantly. The water was a murky gray-blue—nearly opaque. Alec knelt down next to the lower basin and pushed the sleeve of his robe far up his left arm. He then dipped his arm into the basin and began groping around the bottom, searching for the round button that Sebastian had described.

  “Did you find it?” Wren asked, looking back at the Sun entrance. No one was running toward them—a good sign—but she could hear muffled shouts coming from the gateway.

  “Don’t feel anything,” Alec muttered.

  He kept probing. The bottom of the basin was uniformly smooth. He explored it thoroughly, and then did it again. A full minute went by.

  “Alec?”

  “Not yet!” he replied.

  Suddenly, his fingers grazed a slight bump in the fountain. He froze. This has to be it. He pressed down as hard as he could. A loud click echoed from below the fountain.

  “That sounded promising,” said Wren.

  Alec sat back on his heels. “I guess so,” he said. “Strange—it didn’t feel like a button at all.”

  Wren circled the fountain quickly, looking for the slot with the keyhole. She recalled Sebastian’s words: It’s very hard to see, because it’s right at ground level. It took Wren another minute or so to find the slot. It was tiny—just two inches long and half an inch wide. She quickly slid the serpent key inside and turned it.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  Together, Alec and Wren pushed on the fountain. It moved, just like Sebastian said it would. The fountain and pedestal slid sideways, as if on rollers, revealing a narrow ramp underneath. Bluish mist billowed out.

  Alec and Wren hesitated only for a moment.

  “I’ll go first,” said Wren. She hurried down the ramp, with Alec right behind her. Within seconds, mist and darkness had enveloped them.

  At first it was too dark to see anything, but soon their eyes adjusted. The ramp spiraled downward, along a smooth, corkscrew-like passageway. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the stone walls. The air was so moist that droplets of water ran along the walls and dripped from the ceiling, stinging their skin like icy pinpricks.

  They arrived in a circular room. The ground was carpeted with mist, making it impossible to see the floor. A dozen people were already standing around the room’s perimeter, hands pushing against the wall. One tense moment later, Alec and Wren realized these were statues, not actual people. Their mouths were all open, as if screaming or singing—just like the statues on the Meadow.

  Wren dipped a foot into the mist. To her relief, she discovered that it was only a foot deep, and the floor beneath was solid.

  Alec glanced back up the ramp, half expecting to see a grayling there. They’ll find us soon enough. He walked over to the nearest of the statues. It was a likeness of a young boy leaning forward, muscled and tense, heaving all of his weight against the wall. The boy wore a robe emblazoned with the words of various Shadow prayers. The statue next to the boy was of a young man in a Sun robe, but in the same pose.

  On the ceiling, just as Sebastian had described, they saw an elaborate mosaic with two images. One showed the statues with currents of air blowing from their mouths; the other showed a crumbling wall.

  “Sebastian said we had to push the nearby statues—make them move—any idea how we’re going to do that?” asked Alec.

  “Here,” said Wren, gesturing to the statue of an old woman. This was the only statue in the room that wasn’t facing the wall. Instead, she had her back to the wall, and was facing the center of the room. She was holding out her hands, as if offering some invisible gift.

  Wren took hold of the old woman’s cold stone hands. She pushed on them, as if she were trying to topple the statue onto its side. Nothing. She pressed harder. Suddenly, the statue of the old woman—and all the statues—slid clockwise by a foot. There was a hissing sound, and white steam trickled from their stone mouths.

  “Wait,” said Alec. He crouched down by the old woman’s feet and felt two paralle
l grooves carved into the ground. He followed them with his fingers, crawling forward as he did. The grooves ran around the room’s perimeter. It was as he suspected: The statues were attached to a stone track, allowing them to move like the horses on a hand-pushed carousel.

  “Try again,” he told Wren.

  Wren heaved, and the statues slid forward another foot. Hissing filled the room, and more steam seeped out from the statues’ mouths. Alec noticed that several cracks had appeared near the bottom of the wall.

  “Did you see the steam?” asked Wren excitedly. “It’s like your breath on a cold day.”

  “The breath of life,” whispered Alec.

  Together they pushed on the statue of the old woman, even harder this time. All the statues moved several feet more. Their hands scraped loudly against the walls, causing hairline cracks to race their way up the stonework.

  “This is it!” Wren exclaimed. She ran the palm of her hand against the wall, and then looked at Alec. “Should we … I mean … should we really do this? We’re going to tear down the wall—and wake the whole island up. It’s going to be …” She shuddered.

  “I know,” said Alec. His legs and arms hurt; his throat was painfully dry. “I’m scared too,” he said. “But we gotta do it.”

  Wren’s head jerked suddenly. She looked back at the ramp.

  “What is it?” asked Alec.

  “They’re here,” said Wren quietly.

  “Huh?” said Alec. “How do you know?”

  “I just do,” whispered Wren. “It’s like in the descenders … You just know.”

  As if on cue, the mist on the floor began to churn. It was as if something—a great many things, perhaps—were moving beneath the mist, like eels squirming beneath the murky waters of a swamp.

  Something grazed Alec’s leg. He looked down, and a small pale hand emerged from the mist.

  A grayling rose from the floor. Clouds of vapor rolled off his shoulders and twirled around him. He was about eight—very skinny, with light brown skin stretched tightly around sinew and bone. He was so thin and gangly that he looked like a marionette without the strings. The boy glared at Alec with such intensity that Alec flinched.