The Borderlands (Book One): Journey

by Aderyn Wood

  He stood by the riverbank and asked an odd question. “How tall do you wish you were?”

  He was a stranger. But kindness shone in his eyes. His clothes were tattered; a stained vest with two holes and old plaid pants. He looked like the homeless man he was, but there was none of the usual smell of the homeless. Rather, he smelled like the salt of the ocean; he always did.

  She told him she wanted to shrink, so she could hide in a shoe and no one would bother her again.

  He rubbed his grey beard and nodded. “That’d be a perfect size.”

  “Why?” she couldn’t help asking.

  He smiled and gestured for her to walk over to the riverbank. He had a shopping trolley like all homeless people seemed to have and in it was a bunch of odds and ends – an old kettle, a length of faded canvas full of holes, a piece of foam, an old paint brush. He rummaged around in the trolley, pulling things out and swearing under his breath when he cut his hand on an old knife. Finally he pulled out a small model boat, and put it next to his foot. It matched the size of his shoe. It was beautiful, delicately carved from wood. She could see then what he had meant and agreed. It would be good to be that size and sail away on the boat. He smiled and nodded, and told her to return the next day. He would show her something she might like.

  She wasn’t going to return. He was a stranger, and kids shouldn’t talk to strangers. But the following day brought another argument with her mother and so she left the house again to seek the old man.

  This time he took her to the little clearing in the woodland along the river and pulled back a large canvas to reveal his most prized possession – a real wooden sailing boat. It needed a lot of repair and he asked her if she would help him. She spent the day sandpapering the entire hull of the boat, inside and out. The next day she returned to continue the job. She visited that little clearing every day and spent the entire summer with Gareth, fixing the boat – Joy.

  That’s how she had started the friendship with Old Man Gareth. Her only friend in the world, and now he was gone.

  She tacked the boat and wiped the tears as she swapped sides. Not that they mattered, her face was wet with sea spray anyway. She yanked on the main and the boat took off again.

  The afternoon was hard. The winds grew stronger. Dale was hungry and drenched. She hadn’t eaten since the banana sandwich at breakfast Every so often she shivered. The sunshine held heat still, but the breeze was cool. As the boat skirted Holy Island she spotted a grove of trees amongst the hard rock. It looked inviting and protected from the wind.

  “Ready to tack,” she said to Cat, and pulled the tiller. Joy came about and headed toward the island. Within a few minutes the wind dropped as the high cliffs cut them off. The remaining sunlight was blocked, too, and Dale’s shiver returned. She had to get warm.

  The closer she got to the spot, the happier she felt with her choice. A rocky outcrop provided extra shelter from the wind, but also from prying eyes. Not that there was likely to be any. Still, it meant she could anchor Joy in the shallows and the wall of rock would hide her from any boats that happened to pass by. It might even hide the light from a fire.

  As soon as she anchored, she lifted Cat off and plopped him on the shore. He did swim on occasion, but rarely. He darted off again and Dale went back to the boat to get supplies.

  The fire crackled and produced a warm light that reflected off the wet rock and the water. Dale had changed into dry clothes and hung her wet ones on the trees around the fire. She cooked a warm meal of packet pasta and sat with a cup of tea, watching the flames.

  She thought about her mother. Would she have believed the note she left? Probably. She conjured her mother’s face in the flames. Victoria, smiling and talking, and fluttering her fingernails the way she always did when she spoke about fashion, or gossiped about friends. Her mother leaned forward and air kissed someone. A woman with blond hair – Mrs Feathertop.

  Dale blinked and sat up, and the vision disappeared. She shook her head. That was weird. It was like she’d actually seen her mother. I must be tired.

  The day slowly darkened but there would be another hour of twilight. Dale wished she’d thought to bring her book. She needed something to keep her mind from drifting to Gareth, or Prudence – or Rhys. She lay down on her make-do mattress and closed her eyes.

  Stormy golden waves rose up like mountains in an angry sea. She swung her arms and kicked her legs but the water proved too strong. She tried to tread for a minute – to rest. Then she saw it – a towering wall. It loomed impossibly high, and pulled her in. She gulped in sea water when her mouth opened in fear. A shadow fell across the wall of water, giving the impression of an eye – looking, scanning, searching. The water tugged; she was trapped and pulled up, up, up. Something bit her under the water. She kicked her legs up. What was it? A shark? The small bites came again, on her legs, then her arms. She stopped swimming and started slapping. What is that?

  Her eyes snapped open and still she felt the bites, like a pinch on her skin. She sat up to see the sprite pinch her thigh again. Her delicate little fingers caused a lot of pain.

  “Ow! What are you doing?” Dale snapped and the little sprite looked up and smiled, before shaking a finger at her and pouting her lips. It reminded her of something Mrs Struthers would do in English.

  Wait – is this another dream?

  The sprite ran off to Dale’s left. Night had descended. The moon hid behind a dark cloud, but the sprite emanated a soft light, as she had in Dale’s previous dreams.

  I must be having one of those dreams where you go from one then to another and all the time you know it’s a dream. Dale shook her head, marvelling. She looked to the sprite. The little creature now stood by the shore. She jumped and waved her hand, gesturing for Dale to follow.

  Dale creased her brow. What does she want? May as well find out. See where this dream leads me. I like it better than the other one.

  She got up and followed the sprite as it skipped ahead. Dale wondered where Cat was and stopped to look around. But he was not showing his face at the moment. She felt a tug on her arm and looked down to see the sprite, another scowl on her face. She pointed further down the beach, and shook her head.

  “Okay, I’m coming.” Dale followed.

  The sprite bounded ahead a fair distance, then she stopped and looked back at Dale. She glanced at the sky and a panicked expression took hold. She flung her hands in the air and stomped her feet – earnest gestures that seemed designed to try to make Dale hurry.

  What is it? Dale wondered. She looked to the sky as the sprite had. The moon would come out from behind the clouds soon. She looked back at the sprite as it frantically jumped up and down, using both hands to gesture her forward. What could be so wrong? Dale shrugged her shoulders and picked up her pace.

  As she got closer she saw a dark shadow on the wall of the rock face, beyond where the sprite now stood. Is it a cave? Dale continued walking and the sprite pointed toward it with one hand and did a sweeping motion with the other. She thrust her hand in sharp movements and started jumping again.

  It was a cave.

  “You want me to go in?” Dale asked the sprite. The little creature nodded vigorously and then wiped her brow. Dale chuckled at the dramatic gesture.

  The light around them brightened and a loud squawk pierced the night air. She turned to look up to the sky again but almost tumbled as she was pushed by the sprite who had her little hands on Dale’s backside trying to manhandle her into the cave.

  “Okay,” Dale laughed. “I’ll go in.”

  She crouched down a fraction as it was too short to stand but proved wide enough. Dale wondered how deep it was. She crouched in further, but darkness enfolded her.

  By the entrance, the little sprite huddled at the wall of the cave and watched the sky.

  “Is it an owl?” Dale asked.

  The sprite turned and put her finger to her lips, and gave Dale a scowl. She was reminded again of Ms Struthers.

  W
hat is it? she wondered. She crept forward, leaned on the wall and squinted at the sky.

  A loud screech filled the night. That’s not an owl, Dale thought.

  The dark cloud had moved enough so that now the silvery moonlight spilled out over the ocean. It sparkled like a carpet of tiny mirrors.

  The squawk came again, louder. The sprite turned and ran to the back of the cave. She spun around and stomped her feet and clamped down on a finger with her teeth.

  “Are you frightened?”

  The sprite nodded.

  “It’s only a night bird.” Dale tried to appease her, but she shook her head.

  Then Dale returned her gaze to the sky and saw it. Her eyes widened. It was a bird – a black hawk – but it was huge; almost the size of a small horse, or a human. “My god,” Dale whispered. “What is it?”

  The bird squawked again and beat huge, black wings that shone in the moonlight. Its head scanned all before it, looking from right to left and back again.

  Within two wing beats it was gone.

  Dale breathed and looked at the sprite. Her hands covered her eyes. “It’s alright; it’s gone now.”

  The sprite peeked through her fingers.

  “It’s true. It’s gone. Look.”

  The sprite tiptoed over to the mouth and peered up at the sky. She wiped her forehead again in that dramatic gesture.

  “What was that?” Dale asked. “That was no ordinary bird.”

  The sprite started talking. Dale could see the many words forming from her little mouth but she had no voice. At least not one that Dale could hear.

  “I’m sorry; I can’t hear you.”

  The sprite sighed and shrugged her shoulders, then started pantomiming, trying to communicate through movement. She threw her arms in the air and splayed her fingers, and put a fearsome scowl on her face. She drew back her lips and her little fangs looked almost scary. She opened her mouth and Dale imagined a menacing roar.

  “An evil creature?”

  The sprite nodded then clapped her hands. She pointed to the sky again and then to Dale. The sky, then Dale.

  “Wait – is it looking for me?”

  The sprite nodded. She seemed calmer now and moved over to where Dale was crouched on the floor. Then she climbed up on Dale’s lap and went to sleep.

  10

  Dale woke early, her neck and back sore from sleeping upright. The wall of the cave had proved an uncomfortable bed. She stood up and stretched to remove the kinks in her spine. Then she ambled out onto the shore. The waves were calm. There was no breeze as yet but the sun had only just risen, its rosy light reflected on the water.

  Scanning the sky, she remembered the hawk. Had it been a dream too? And was the sprite real or not? Dale looked all around, but there was no sign of her.

  She stepped into the sea. Gooseflesh ran up her legs at the touch of the cold, but she bent and threw some water on her face.

  Hunger growled in her stomach.

  Back at her little camp she was comforted to see that Joy remained safely moored, still protected by the outcrop. She suddenly realised her risk if anything happened to Joy; she would be truly alone, isolated. Would it be any different from the isolation I’ve always felt? But she could starve – even die – if she lost the boat.

  Cat was still curled up in a tight ball on the make-do mattress. He stirred when she approached and did his typical, lazy stretch – one paw, then the other, before mewing loudly for his breakfast.

  “Just a minute.” Dale knelt to rummage through her pack for the cat food. She found it and poured her feline friend a meal on a corner of the sail.

  Cat purred as he ate, making Dale smile.

  “Cat, did you see a sprite last night?”

  He stood up from his meal to look at Dale as he crunched on a mouthful.

  “A little thing, dressed in purple, about this high?” Dale put her hand to the top of her knee. “Spiky hair?”

  Cat gulped his mouthful and returned to his breakfast.

  “Guess that’s a ‘no’.”

  The winds that day were kinder and more efficient for sailing. Dale covered a lot of ground and managed to get as far as Macharioch. She set up camp just outside the village, in a small wooded area, and hoped she would go unnoticed.

  At the village she bought instant noodles and more cat food. The old woman behind the counter took her money and asked no questions. Dale appreciated her evident lack of interest in strangers.

  The sky was darkening when she noticed a cafe on the main street. A warm light came from within and the tables had red and white checked tablecloths. Apart from the sign on the window that read, ‘Internet Cafe’, it reminded her of some old movies she liked to watch. Her stomach growled. It’d been a while since she’d had a nourishing meal. I could kill two birds with one stone, she thought.

  She ordered the lasagne with a side of salad. It was nowhere near as good as her mother’s cooking, but it was a marked improvement on anything she’d eaten over the last few days.

  She thought about her mother then. Would she be missing her? Dale doubted it.

  A television in the front corner of the cafe showed the news. Dale watched it absently as she ate. She wondered why cafes and restaurants had tellies in them. She thought it was strange, going out to eat only to watch the telly anyway. But Dale was glad for the distraction. She watched the news, half expecting her face to be blazoned across the screen with the headline ‘Strange girl, who claims to see auras: missing!’

  But there was no such item. She wanted to keep it that way too.

  After she ate she ordered a cup of tea and some Internet time.

  She logged on to the sole computer in the cafe, and sipped her tea, waiting for the machine to boot. It sat in a back corner on a dusty and, Dale guessed, largely unused table. The computer probably belonged in a museum. It was a relic, but it worked.

  She logged into her email account and typed.

  Hi Mum,

  I’m here at Dad’s. I’m feeling much better. I need to think a few things through so I won’t be contacting you for the rest of the summer.

  Take care of Benny.

  Dale.

  It was short and curt, but it would do.

  The email had taken her ten minutes to write, delete, rewrite and send. She still had fifty minutes left. She had a look at Google Earth, and located the place where she thought Ness lived. It was still a long way off. She took her sketch pad from her bag and noted down landmarks to help her navigation. She probably had two more days of sailing yet.

  Next, she looked at the weather forecast. The winds were predicted to hover between southwest to northwester-lies. No surprises there. But some rain was likely, which could slow her down, if she got cold.

  She still had thirty-five minutes left of Internet time.

  She couldn’t help herself. She went to YouTube and searched for Prudence’s username – ‘FeatherGal’, and for the video. She found it but when she clicked, it read, ‘This video has been removed’.

  At least they made her delete it.

  Dale remembered that night.

  Why had Rhys done it? He’d seemed so much better than that! She shook her head and logged off the machine.

  The following day was her hardest yet.

  The morning was fine, even though there was a strong headwind. But by noon, grey clouds arrived, and by mid afternoon it was raining. The day grew darker and, with every minute, the winds whipped at her cropped hair. Dale furled the jib, and let the main go slack. By the time she banked Joy, in some obscure location, the rain was teeming.

  She tried to make a camp amongst a grove of gorse but it was difficult. The winds tore the canvas from her hand as she attempted to tie it to a tree, and the rain pierced her skin like cold needles.

  Even Cat looked perturbed. He sat under a fern, watching the sea and the sky with an expression that read, ‘not happy’.

  The sail and canvas she used as her mattress were wet, but they’d have to d
o. She made her bed under the lean-to and climbed in to look in her pack for something to eat. A brown banana and some crumpled bread rested at the bottom of the backpack. She munched on a stale, squishy banana sandwich as she watched fat drops of rain run down the canvas and splatter on the ground. Fine spray sprinkled her skin. Wishing for a fire, she drew the canvas up around her. Cat jumped on her lap and pawed at the canvas. Then he set to cleaning himself, and his routine grooming calmed her.

  When he’d finished, he gave her a look of satisfaction with eyes half shut that told her he was ready for sleep now. Dale felt his warmth through the canvas. His sleepy eyes made her feel tired too.

  Dale woke with an odd feeling she was being watched. When her eyes focused she saw a gull standing inches from her head. Its dark blue eyes stared at her through the rain. She sat up and the abrupt movement seemed to startle the bird. It jumped back.

  Dale held out her hands. “I don’t have any food.”

  The bird cocked its head.

  “You better go before Cat gets back.” Although, on second thoughts, the bird looked bigger than Cat. Maybe it was an albatross. I hope not, they’re meant to be bad luck. She remembered asking Gareth about them once, but he just laughed. “No such thing as bad luck, lass. It’s just another word for disappointment,” he’d said. Dale wasn’t sure she agreed.

  “Are you an albatross?” she asked the gull. It cocked its head again.

  She sighed. “I seem to be a bird-magnet. Owls and black hawks – now you!”

  The bird squawked and Dale jumped. It had a loud call. Then it took flight and headed in a north-easterly direction through the grey twilight.

  “That’s the way I’m to go,” she muttered.

  11

  The winds came from the north and brought razor cold with them. Dale tacked into the gale all day. It rained every so often. Cat, wet through, twitched his tail and flattened his ears as the spray continued to pound them.