The Borderkind v-2

by Christopher Golden

  “Apparently, I’m the last to arrive.”

  Frost looked up from the gathering. Several dark wooden tables had been pushed together to make one long enough to rival the conference room at Bascombe amp; Cox. Blue Jay was beside him, dressed almost identically to Oliver, though his jeans were blue and he still wore feathers in his hair. Kitsune was next to him, her hood back, her fur cloak gleaming luxuriously in the fading afternoon light. Her raven-black hair framed her face severely, and when she glanced at him he expected a smile but found only a grimness of purpose.

  It was the time for plans to be laid and companionship to be abandoned. Oliver felt strangely cold and isolated. This gathering had so very little to do with him now that he wondered if he ought to have been there at all. But there was food to be had-barbecued beef and poultry and boiled potatoes and vegetables, from what he could see-and he knew that he would need at least advice from this assemblage before they parted ways.

  “Please, Oliver, come in. Sit down,” said Coyote, standing up from the darkest corner of the table. He wore his thief’s grin, as Oliver’s father would have called it. Oliver would not have disagreed.

  There were others there, of course. Coyote had gathered a group that seemed just as odd as Oliver’s traveling companions. More so, in fact, given that one of them was an enormous frog-thing that sat on the ground instead of a chair, legs up beside it as though it might leap at any moment. Its bulbous eyes were a putrid yellow, its skin a pale greenish-brown, ridged, mottled, and slick.

  “Oliver?” Frost said sharply.

  The frog-thing muttered something in a guttural language he could not understand.

  “Excuse me?” Oliver said.

  Coyote leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Tlatecuhtli says it’s not polite to stare.”

  “Ah, yeah. Right. I’m sorry about that,” he said sheepishly, going over to take the empty seat beside Blue Jay. “Just takes some getting used to. All of this.”

  The frog spoke again, its voice vaguely disgusting, like a series of belches. Oliver looked to Coyote for help.

  “He forgives you,” Coyote said. “You’re an outsider. You don’t know any better.”

  Oliver smiled at the frog, whose name he could not even begin to pronounce. Cuhtli-something. “Thank you.”

  All of the Borderkind at the table were staring at him. Oliver wondered what would happen were he to remind them that it was not polite. He glanced at Kitsune, then at Frost.

  The winter man raised his chin and shifted in his chair. His sharp, icy fingers scratched the table as he moved. This alone was enough to draw all of the attention in the room. Oliver was grateful. It was also clear that all of those gathered were willing to defer to Frost.

  Mist steamed from his eyes. The afternoon light played a myriad of colors off of the angles of his frigid features. Frost gestured toward Coyote.

  “Oliver, you already know Coyote.”

  “Yes. Thank you for the clothes.”

  Coyote touched two fingers to his forehead, almost as though he were tipping a hat, though he wasn’t wearing one.

  “You have just met Tlatecuhtli. He hails from Yucatazca, where he is still worshipped by some of the descendants of the original Aztec people.”

  The frog-thing let out a long, low noise and blinked once at Oliver.

  The introductions continued. At the far end of the table, opposite Frost, was a monstrous, savage-looking creature from whom Oliver would have run screaming once upon a time. But his time in the world of the legendary had taught him not to judge so quickly.

  The thing-called Chorti-was covered in shaggy gray-and-black hair. Though it was seated, Oliver figured it must have been nine feet tall at least, and it was twice as broad across as the table. Its hands were crossed over its chest as though it might be sleeping, and the long claws that jutted from its fingers were made of metal. Oliver had to look twice to confirm that.

  Chorti smiled a mouthful of razors and offered him a little wave of greeting. A creature as frightening and imposing as this would make one hell of an ally in a fight. Oliver nodded to the beast and silently wished that it could come along with him to rescue Collette.

  Beside Chorti, seated close enough to indicate that they were together, sat a coldly imperious woman with hair so white it looked almost silver. She wore a white dress, cotton and lace, and other than her hair she seemed entirely too proper and ordinary to be one of the Borderkind. Frost introduced her as Cheval Bayard, and Oliver took it from the accent in her quiet hello that she was of French origin.

  Cheval leaned over to whisper something to Chorti and the beast-man grunted in amusement, a soft, chuffing laughter coming from his chest. She stroked the thick fur at the back of his head. Apparently, she was not nearly as cold as he had imagined. He liked her better for her easy way with the beast-man.

  Oliver studied them a moment out of the corner of his eye. The way Cheval had whispered to Chorti gave the pair the air of lovers, but as she stroked him, it was almost as though he were her pet. Yet, when he saw the way they looked at one another-the knowing humor there-neither of those theories seemed correct, and he was left wondering about the relationship between the strange pair.

  The last of the gathering was a seven-foot, broad-shouldered man with a gray-streaked, rust-colored beard. When the man looked up from beneath a wide-brimmed hat with stone-gray eyes, Oliver knew he’d met him before.

  “And this is-” Frost began when he came to the man, the last introduction.

  “Wayland Smith,” Oliver interrupted. “I remember you from Amelia’s.”

  “Yes,” Smith replied. “That was…regrettable.”

  The man was a weaponsmaster and forger, as well as a magician. And as far as Oliver was concerned, he could not be trusted. Smith toyed briefly with the fox-head of his cane, then rested it against the table.

  After the introductions, that odd convocation began to eat. The beef had been marinated in some exotic spice, and Oliver thought it was among the most delicious things he had ever tasted. The boiled potatoes likewise surprised him. They had clearly been boiled as part of some other recipe, simmering with herbs and spices, and the flavor was rich, the potatoes creamy.

  Several minutes passed in relative silence as the travelers began to sate their hunger. Low conversation went on amongst the local Borderkind. Frost was deep in thought and whispered several times to Blue Jay. Kitsune watched them, and Oliver thought she was irked to be left out of whatever scheme they were hatching.

  His attention returned every few moments to Cheval Bayard and Chorti. The pair were such an unlikely duo-this beautiful, distant woman and her hirsute companion with his metal fangs and claws-that Oliver found himself unable to stop puzzling over them.

  “Do you find her beautiful?” Kitsune whispered to him as the others continued their meal.

  Oliver frowned and glanced at her, startled by the intensity of her eyes as she searched his own for the answer to that question.

  “I suppose she is,” he admitted, “but I was just curious. They make a strange pair.”

  Kitsune’s expression softened. “Sometimes the most opposite people make the closest friends. That’s true on both sides of the Veil.”

  Oliver nodded, unconvinced.

  She leaned in and lowered her voice further. “Cheval and her husband were traveling in Yucatazca. They were set upon in the jungle by bandits. Chorti came to their aid. He saved Cheval’s life but was too late to stop her husband from being murdered. The two of them fought the bandits together. None of the bandits survived. Cheval and Chorti have been inseparable since. Neither ever goes anywhere without the other.”

  Oliver glanced around the room as Kitsune told this story, not wishing to be caught staring at the beast-man and the silver-haired woman as they ate. The tragic story touched him, but it also reinforced the melancholy he was feeling at the prospect of setting off on his own to find Collette. Loyalty like that which Cheval Bayard and Chorti shared was precious.


  “All right, my friends,” Kitsune said when much of the meal had been consumed and the sharpest edge of their hunger blunted. She met Oliver’s gaze across the table, then opened her hands to include them all. “Shall we get on with this? We are all, each of us at this table, in danger. But the stakes are much higher than our own lives.”

  She glared at Coyote, who only raised an eyebrow.

  Frost tapped his fingers on the table again to get their attention. “Someone has set the Hunters after the Borderkind. All the Borderkind. Or nearly all. We have learned firsthand that some are collaborating with the Hunters, presumably to spare their own lives. Jenny Greenteeth was a traitor. She helped the Hunters track us, and for that, she died with them.”

  “Not Jenny,” said Cheval Bayard. A tear slid down her cheek and she turned from them as she wiped it away.

  “The bitch,” Coyote said, his voice flat.

  Oliver studied him, wondering if any of this was news. Coyote seemed to know much more than someone who had been in hiding ought to be privy to. Either that, or it was simply the arrogant air about him.

  “We prevailed, but not without losses. Gong Gong is dead.”

  Chorti growled deep in his chest and his upper lip curled back from those razor-blade teeth. The frog-thing muttered something in his guttural tongue.

  “He will be missed,” Wayland Smith said. The old man reached up to tip his hat back, golden afternoon sunshine lighting his face. There was a kindness there that Oliver had not seen before. And now a sadness as well.

  “This conspiracy against us must have been brewing for some time. First quietly, with a few killings scattered around the Two Kingdoms, and then more, until they had us all on guard or on the run,” Frost continued. “If we had acted more swiftly, gathered together, we would have had a better chance of fighting back. But we are too solitary, all of us. Those who learned of the threat looked to their own safety without considering the danger to their kin.”

  At this, Frost glanced pointedly at Coyote.

  Kitsune and Blue Jay nodded slowly.

  Coyote slapped the table, sneering. His eyes were still crazy, twitchy, but now there was a bestial cast to his features that had not been there before.

  “You’ll watch your tone and insinuations, Frost. What could I have done to save Gong Gong and the others who’ve died? Me alone? The Hunters would have roasted me on a spit.”

  “Perhaps it’s not too late,” Kitsune snarled.

  “Enough,” Blue Jay said. His tone was quiet, but with an edge that calmed them all. “We are all kin, and there are many more of us who are in danger. The river flows, and we cannot concern ourselves with what is already past, only with what comes next.”

  Wayland Smith smoothed his unruly beard. “I expect Frost has a plan.”

  The winter man cocked his head slightly as though searching for some insult hidden in Smith’s words. After a moment, he nodded.

  “I do, though it isn’t much of one, I’m afraid. The Falconer died by my hand. Before he did, he revealed the name of the one who had set the Hunters after the Borderkind. Our enemy is Ty’Lis, an Atlantean sorcerer who advises in the court of Yucatazca’s king.”

  Chorti sat up abruptly and shook his shaggy head.

  “I’m sorry, Chorti, but I speak truth. It would be dangerous to presume that Ty’Lis is acting on instructions from the king, but we must at least consider the possibility. The probability, really.”

  “He must be taking orders from the king,” Coyote sniffed. “Atlanteans have been neutral since the creation of the Veil. That is why both kingdoms use them as advisors. Hell, it’s the Atlanteans who created the truce to begin with. Without them, there’d be no Two Kingdoms at all.”

  Blue Jay glanced at Frost and Kitsune. “He’s right, you know.”

  “I only mean that we must consider both possibilities,” Frost replied.

  Kitsune pushed a curtain of silken black hair away from her face and scanned the Borderkind around the table. She barely seemed to notice Oliver at all, and he wondered if he had somehow upset her.

  “Whoever it is, they are powerful. The Hunters have used Doors through the Veil with unrestrained freedom. The sentries at the Doors have either been disposed of and replaced, paid for their cooperation, or are following orders. Influence is the key here. We could question the sentries, trace the influence back to the snake giving orders.

  “But, really, king or sorcerer, what does it matter?” the fox-woman asked. “What we need to discover is what our enemy hopes to gain by destroying the Borderkind.”

  Cheval Bayard raised her chin. She inclined her head respectfully toward Kitsune. “I would like the answer to that question as well. But is it really vital? The enemy must be stopped. It would be difficult to combat the Hunters, but if we directly attack the one who commands them, surely that will end the threat?”

  “I agree,” Frost said. “With time against us, and more of our number dying by the day, the swiftest course is our only choice. We must travel back through Euphrasia and into Yucatazca, gathering as many Borderkind as we can along the way, find Ty’Lis, and force the truth from him. When he is dead, the Hunters will stop.”

  “You hope,” Oliver said, surprised at the sound of his own voice.

  All of the Borderkind turned to look at him.

  “What do you mean?” Blue Jay asked.

  Oliver shrugged. “Just that you’d better be sure he’s the only one giving orders before you kill him. And even with him dead, if the Hunters have agreed to do the job, who’s to say if they’ll be willing to quit?”

  Wayland Smith waved a hand. “Regardless, the task is the same. The only sensible course is to reach Ty’Lis, find the truth, and if he is our enemy, destroy him. But I won’t be coming with you, I’m afraid.”

  Frost frowned, icy brow crinkling. “Why not?”

  “You will gather only a handful of Borderkind on your journey. Someone must try to get the word out to others, bring them together, so better to defend ourselves.”

  “Where will you bring them?” asked Cheval.

  “Why, here, of course,” Smith said. He lowered his gaze and the brim of his hat cast his face in shadow. “The people of the Gorge may not like it, but this is the safest place. The Hunters will come eventually, as has already been stated, but if ever there was a place to stand and fight, this is it.”

  Coyote uttered a dry laugh. “In that case, I’ll be leaving.”

  Kitsune sniffed. “Coward.”

  “I prefer the term ‘survivor,’ if you don’t mind.”

  “But I do mind,” she said.

  “Nevertheless, I’ll be taking my leave. My path is not with you. With any of you.”

  For a moment they all looked at him. Even Blue Jay seemed disgusted by Coyote’s cowardice, and he had been quick to embrace his cousin before.

  “So be it,” Frost said, glancing around. “What of the rest of you? Will you join us?”

  Chorti sat up straighter, his spine popping loudly. He glanced at Cheval Bayard, who nodded, and then both of them faced the winter man again. Chorti’s black eyes gleamed as he uncrossed his arms and placed his massive hands on the table, knife-claws clicking on the wood.

  “I stand with you, Frost,” he said, his voice a slow rumble.

  Oliver flinched. He hadn’t thought the beast-man capable of speech.

  “As do I,” Cheval agreed. She touched two fingers to her forehead, dipping her chin. “The bond is forged, my friends. The Borderkind will live or die, but we are with you until fate decides.”

  Tlatecuhtli shifted wetly and a loud croak issued from his mouth. It sounded nothing like either English or the tongue he’d spoken before, but Frost only nodded his head in understanding.

  “Your aid would be most welcome,” the winter man told him, before surveying the others gathered round the table again. “It will be the six of us, then.”

  A tremor went through Oliver. Here it was, the end of things.

/>   Kitsune raised an eyebrow. “Five, actually.”

  Frost turned to her, his confusion evident.

  “What are you saying, Kit?” Blue Jay asked.

  “I’m going with Oliver.”

  They all stared at her, none more so than Oliver. All through the conversation, Kitsune had worn a grave expression. She had barely looked at him. Now she smiled at him across the table and gave a tiny shrug, as if she had no real explanation for her actions. He felt absurdly grateful.

  Coyote laughed. “You mean you’re committing suicide.”

  With surprising speed, Cheval Bayard slipped from her chair and kicked Coyote with such force that he spilled from his seat onto the ground, his bastard’s grin gone.

  “You embarrass us all with your infantile behavior,” Cheval said, the softness gone from her voice and face, a terrible wrath in their place. “Keep quiet, now, or you may find yourself bait for the Hunters.”

  Coyote rose, staring at Cheval with death in his eyes.

  Blue Jay sighed at his cousin’s behavior and then turned to Kitsune, his wild eyes warm with affection. “You’re certain?”

  “I can’t let him go alone.”

  Oliver put his palm against his forehead. “Listen, Kit, you’ve done enough. I appreciate it, really, but Frost said he’d get me to Professor Koenig. You guys did that. I know you’ve got more important things to worry about now…”

  Kitsune gave a gentle laugh. “If you go back to the Sandman’s castle alone, you’ll die.”

  “Don’t have a lot of faith in me, do you?” he said, the jest in his voice strained. What are you doing, trying to talk her out of coming along? he thought. Don’t be an idiot.

  Her expression turned uncertain. “I don’t want you to die, Oliver.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  In the moment of silence that followed, he realized it had been decided. Kitsune would stay with him. He glanced at Cheval and Chorti, feeling as though he now understood them perfectly well.

  Wayland Smith cleared his throat. “Still suicide. Coyote’s a fool and a coward, but that doesn’t make him wrong. The two of you haven’t a chance of defeating the Sandman on your own. You’re going to need help.”