Hedge leverages me onto a hard surface; I’m guessing the wooden deck next to the wall. I strain my ears as he does the same for Tsam, then continues to load on sacks until the deck is full. Eventually, he says, “Here we go,” and the deck shudders. It is suspended beside the wall by a system of thick metal ropes and pulleys that grate viciously as our ascent begins.
The higher we rise, the more the deck sways and then, suddenly, the movement stops. From below, the burst of a Cadet’s whistle cuts through the scratchy webbing that encases me. I’m certain I can hear a commotion breaking out. I start to claw at the lining of the sack, trying to find its neck and loosen Hedge’s knot from the inside but my fingers are clumsy and the lack of air is making me dizzy.
I start fumbling through the rubbish, trying to find something sharp that I can use to cut through the cloth, but there is nothing other than oozing, nauseating sludge. I scratch at the fabric with my fingernails, hoping to weaken it, but my nails are blunt and useless. Panic is rising in my throat when, from nowhere, a sliver of light appears above my right shoulder. I inch sideways and the sliver widens. A knife plunges in beside me, scraping my collarbone but letting in a whoosh of fresh, breathable air.
“Émi, get out!” Tsam is shouting. I shove my arm through the hole and Tsam grabs hold of me. He pulls at me and the sack splits open. I tumble onto the floor of the deck and look down. Even though I’m on my hands and knees, I feel as if my legs might fall out from under me; we are two thirds of the way up the wall, at least one hundred metres above the ground.
“We need to get off here before Hedge is forced to bring it down,” Tsam says.
I gesture to his pocket. “You’ll have to bring your wings back, there’s no other way…”
Tsam looks at me solemnly and shakes his head. “Afraid not,” he says, opening his palm to show me the remains of a broken glass bottle – the bottle that contained his magickal wing-conjuring liquid. “We’ll have to climb it.”
I look up. The top of the wall seems completely unreachable but we have no choice; down below, the Cadets are multiplying. I search for a piece of flint that sticks out far enough for me to use it as leverage. I find one and take hold of it with my right hand. I tuck my left foot into a space just big enough for my toes, then raise my right foot higher. Beside me, Tsam is doing the same. We have only just begun to haul ourselves up when the pulleys start to grind and the deck clangs against the wall.
“They’re winding it back down!” I call.
“Don’t look!” Tsam shouts back. But, of course, I do.
The deck disappears from beneath our feet, descending at breakneck speed. A swarm of black uniforms have engulfed the floor of the Tipping Point. Scrappies and their carts are being herded towards the far end and I can’t tell whether Hedge is among them or if he has already been arrested. My hands begin to tremble.
“Émi,” Tsam calls. “Look up. If we can reach the top...” A gust of wind steals the rest of his words and sends a violent shiver down my spine.
We climb, and climb, and I try to ignore what’s happening on the ground – the shouting, the whistles. Time has lost its momentum and we’re still at least ten metres from the top of the wall when a low, angry grumble rolls through the clouds. A drop of water lands on my forearm, then another. I try to climb quicker but the storm matches my pace and the flint becomes slick beneath my touch. I can hear the scraping of the ropes as the deck creeps its way back up the wall, and I don’t need to look back over my shoulder to know the Cadets are catching up with us.
I reach above my head and find a large, protruding piece of stone. I use it to heave myself up, but I haven’t made sure that it can take my weight and it comes loose from the wall, tumbling down towards the Cadets. As the stone falls, I grapple for another handhold but the surface is too slippery and I’m left hanging by one hand, the toe of a foot gripping the wall. My weight-bearing arm burns with the effort of holding on. The rain is getting faster and heavier and another crack of thunder causes the wall to shudder.
I can hear Tsam telling me to calm down but I’m struggling to catch my breath. He’s trying to move sideways so he can help me but I tell him, “No, keep going!”
I close my eyes and count to ten, then snake my fingers across the surface of the wall until I find a piece that’s sturdy enough to grab hold of.
I look down. Hedge’s rubbish deck is halfway back up the wall, carrying a seething cluster of Silver and Green Cadets. They have stopped blowing their whistles and are staring up at us. Rain lashes across their faces but they don’t flinch or try to shield themselves.
Tsam is a little way ahead of me now. When he reaches the top he lays flat on his stomach and stretches his arms out towards me. I keep climbing. As soon as I’m close enough, I take his hands and scramble up beside him.
We are here! On top of the wall – but there is nowhere to go. The side that isn’t Nhatu calls to me. It is so close… closer than I ever dreamed possible. I want to pause, to see what my father gambled his life to see, but the storm has swallowed up the landscape.
Tsam takes a wooden pipe from his pocket. The pipe splits into two and he strikes the pieces against one another. On the second strike, they produce a cloud of bright blue smoke that somehow manages to twirl its way upwards, despite the rain. Tsam peers at the horizon, then turns and looks down at the Cadets, who are now struggling to keep their balance on the slippery, swaying platform.
“Come on, Lyss,” he mumbles.
He’s about to strike the pieces again when a fast-moving whiteish blur appears against the clouds. It’s coming closer, gathering momentum. Eventually, it takes shape and I realise it’s a girl. With wings just like Tsam’s. She streaks towards us; then, with only seconds to spare, she slows down and stops, treading the air before gently planting her feet on top of the wall.
“Trouble?” she asks.
Tsam waves his broken vial at her. “Lucky I brought a spare,” she says, reaching into a pouch that’s slung across her chest. She gives Tsam a bottle, similar to the one he broke, and he hurriedly drinks down its contents.
“This isn’t where we were supposed…” she says, but Tsam cuts her off.
“Long story.”
The girl tips her head and pulses her wings. “Shall I wait?”
“Better had,” Tsam replies, motioning to our pursuers.
The girl moves forward, just a little, not so close that she would be seen by the Cadets. She peers over the edge. “Things didn’t go to plan, then?”
Tsam doesn’t answer because, finally, his wings burst out of his skin and he releases a sound that’s halfway between a yawn and a scream. Tsam and the girl nod at one another. She’s beating her wings, ready to take flight, when a whip of lightening cracks across the sky. “Not ideal,” she murmurs.
Tsam turns to me. “I’m going to have to hold on to you for this bit,” he says.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that we’re about to leave. I take one last look over the edge of the wall. The Cadets are no more than six metres from the top now. A little closer and they will spot Tsam and the girl and their wings. Through the rain, I see Falk standing at the front of the group, eyes like steel.
“Émi Fae,” he barks, “we are giving you the opportunity to hand yourself in.”
Tsam tries to tug me away from the edge but I shrug him off. Falk’s eyes are fixed on mine. Even from here, I can see the scarlet burns on his cheeks where I branded him with my magick hands. He stands to one side. The Cadets behind him part and my stomach lurches up into my throat as my mother’s waif-like figure is shoved to the centre of the deck. She stumbles, then looks up. For not even a second, I think she’s going to be brave – tell me to go, run, save myself. But as soon as she sees me, she calls my name and her tremulous voice makes me fall to my knees.
“If you come with us peacefully, we will not harm her,” Falk shouts.
Ma is shaking her head. The rain plasters her hair slick against her skull. Her sodden tunic cli
ngs to her bony hips. She is crying.
I turn to Tsam. “They have my mother! Tsam, what do we do?”
“I’m sorry, Émi, there’s nothing…”
I can’t speak. The Cadets are almost level with us. I look down at my fingers. I close my eyes and try to summon the powerful flames of energy that scalded Falk’s face and dragged his keys from his belt. I know it’s there, but it doesn’t come.
“Émi.” I hate that this girl knows my name but hasn’t given me hers. “You’re more important than your mother. She’s dispensable. You’re not. We have to go.”
Tsam softens his voice but speaks quickly. “Émi, please. They won’t let her go, not even if you stay. If you come with me, the Elders will help your mother.”
Again, Falk’s voice rises up above the rain. “This is your last chance, Miss Fae.”
The deck’s gears are grinding slowly to a halt. It’s almost upon us.
“Émi…” Tsam implores me.
“Émi!” my mother screams. Her eyes are frantic and I can’t do anything to help her. My powers, my great magickal powers, have deserted me. Ma stretches out her arms, straining as though she could pull me back to her.
“Ma!” I drive my voice above the wind and the rain. “I’m sorry! I’ll come back for you, I promise.”
If my mother replies, I don’t hear her. Tsam wraps one arm around my waist and the other across my chest. Then he tears me away.
Eight
Plunging over the wall, Tsam launches us into a nosedive that rattles every bone in my body. We hurtle towards the ground and I wonder if he’s lost control, if he’s injured, if we’re going to crash into the festering waste that the Scrappies toss over the Tipping Point. Then, suddenly, he slows down and turns so we’re flying parallel with the ground. He is beating his wings hard and fast against the storm, hugging the Western Wall and staying low so that we remain out of sight.
Stinging columns of rain force me to screw my eyes shut. With nothing but darkness to focus on, Ma’s face starts to plague my thoughts. I can’t pry her loose; I see her again and again, reaching out, calling my name – her paper heart tearing into a million pieces. I squeeze tight onto Tsam’s arms. Émi, I say, using my father’s voice because it is the one I always use when I am being stern with myself. You’re allowed one last cry. Let it all out, here in the sky where no one can see you. Then you must be strong. I listen, I absorb the words, and then I let the tears come. They fall and fall and bleed onto my cheeks until I can no longer tell whether they’re teardrops or rain. Then, as abruptly as it began, the storm stops and the clouds dissipate.
Tsam takes us higher. Flashes of green are appearing on the horizon and I’m certain we must have passed the very last corner of the wall; I try to look back but Tsam’s wings shield my view. Up ahead, a forest shimmers into focus. Destroyed, the Council told us; the land beyond the wall is nothing but wasteland – dirt and weeds and grit. But, oh, how they lied. The trees are hypnotically green, more green than anything in Nhatu; deep, sumptuous green that sings of life. So far removed from the ravaged desolation I drew in my posters that they seem as if they can’t possibly be real.
Now the rain has stopped, Tsam’s flying has reached a more gentle, lilting rhythm and he carries me effortlessly over the crowns of the trees. I can almost feel the leaves brushing against my legs as we fly; the sensation makes my skin hum. Soon we come to a break in the canopy, where Tsam ducks down and weaves us through a maze of branches and tree trunks. Down and down we go, descending into a pocket of muted light.
The girl from the wall is waiting for us. Tsam releases me down to the ground and hurries towards her. Instead of embracing, they push their palms together as though they’re about to dance. My legs don’t feel like my own. The need to vomit surges into my throat. I stagger away from Tsam and the girl, into the shrubbery, where I allow my stomach to evacuate its contents. Tsam is calling me but I can’t reply.
I bend over, place my hands on my knees, and stay that way until my breath returns to normal. When I turn around, Tsam has his back to me – his wings are folded neatly, their tips resting just below his knees. The girl is beside him, gesticulating wildly. Now that the rain has subsided, I can see that her hair is the same silvery-blonde as Tsam’s and delicately braided into rows that hang down between her wings.
I stare at them. They are real. Their wings, their skin, their hair, just as my father said they would be: effervescent against the dark green backdrop of the forest. I am surrounded by details that were never mentioned in the Council’s textbooks, or our history lessons at school. Details that were, somehow, etched in the back of my mind and channelled into my secret sketches. Trees so tall they must have been here for a thousand years, splashes of colour, flowers peeking out from behind billowing leaves. It’s as if the drawings I burned in the Red Quarter have come to life.
I touch the skin of the tree nearest to me and the life that pulses through it almost takes my breath away. There are trees in Nhatu, of course there are. But even the ones in the Green Quarter are grey, bereft and sickly in comparison to these trees. A knot catches in my throat. It’s not just people that Nhatu’s wall keeps hostage; it’s everything.
I never saw it before. I was like everyone else. I accepted my fate. But now I see that the things they told us weren’t true. I know there don’t have to be Quarters, or inspections, or Cadets. And I know I am the only one who can help them. Not just Ma – everyone. I have to set them free. But first, I need to find Ava.
The heat of this knowledge sears through my veins, and I step forward clumsily. A twig cracks beneath me. The girl whips her head around, looking at me with a frown.
Tsam hurries over and brushes a stray curl from my forehead. “Are you alright?”
Before I have chance to answer him, the girl clears her throat. “I’m Alyssa.” She bows at me and presses her fingertips together to make a triangle.
“Émi,” I say.
“I know,” she replies, smiling. Then, “We should get moving, the others are waiting at the clearing.”
Alyssa strides ahead, hacking at the undergrowth and carving a ragged path between the trees and vines that surround us. She’s wearing a long-sleeved wrap that criss-crosses over her stomach and up between her wings. Occasionally, she looks back at Tsam and I, or stops to check a compass that’s strapped to her belt. But she doesn’t speak.
Tsam is quiet too. He is trying to slow his pace to match mine but, where he and Alyssa are protected in calf-high leather boots, my sandalled feet are exposed to spiky leaves and broken twigs and he is forced to keep pulling ahead of me.
On a brief navigational stop, Alyssa notices my bleeding toes.
“The others have some boots for you,” she tells me. “Clothes too,” she adds, assessing my damp mud-coloured tunic.
In Nhatu, after a storm, the heat immediately rallies and sucks the moisture out of everything. Here, the sun struggles to break its way through the canopy, leaving our skin clammy. The few plumes of light that make it through bounce gleefully off the leaves, creating little wisps of steam that rise in swirls. All around us, the forest pulses with the chatter of unseen creatures.
Eventually, I ask Tsam where we are. He looks at me the way he did back in the Red Quarter, when I said we’d run out of water – as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. But he quickly rearranges his expression and tells me, “The Alder Woods. They stretch from Nhatu’s border out towards Abilene. I’ll show you on the map when we stop.”
I try to remember whether my father told me any stories about these woods. I replay visions of him sketching wildly into the night. I loop back through the tales he would share with me as he drew, but before I can find what I’m looking for Tsam interrupts my thoughts.
“Ém, your Ma will be alright,” he whispers.
I don’t reply. What is there to say?
It takes us almost two hours to reach the meeting point Alyssa spoke of. My limbs are covered in scratches and my hair
is matted with leafy debris. The clearing is empty, just a small circle of grass mottled with light from a gap in the canopy above. Alyssa stands in the centre and makes a low clicking sound with her tongue. A higher click replies from somewhere to our right.
We wait.
Leaves rustle.
I notice Tsam and Alyssa tense and I step to one side to shelter beneath Tsam’s wings. The rustling grows nearer and nearer until, suddenly, the branches part. A tall boy with scruffy hair and unkempt wings emerges from the undergrowth, grinning and waving at us.
“Émi,” says the boy, “it’s so good to meet you. I’m very glad you’re safe.” His smile is warm and welcoming. “I’m Garrett, Alyssa’s big brother.”
Alyssa rolls her eyes and snarks, “Only ten months bigger. Where’s Kole?”
“He’s setting up camp at the stream.”
Alyssa’s feathers bristle. “If we stop, we’ll be behind schedule.”
Garrett replies, in a tone that is soothing and measured. “Everyone’s tired, Lyss. Especially these two.” He gestures with his left wing at Tsam and I. “If we get some rest now, we might cover double the distance tomorrow.”
Alyssa looks as though she is going to challenge him, but Garrett turns away before she has chance.
“You look like you’ve had a rough journey,” he tells me.
I glance down at my bedraggled state. When I look back up Garrett is taking a flask from around his neck and offering it to me. I thank him and gulp down a few deep swigs of cool clean water, while he and Tsam exchange a brotherly embrace and a look I can’t interpret.
Fire Lines Page 8
