Welcome to Bordertown

by Holly Black

  “I’ve got to motor,” he says the third time he’s unsuccessfully tried to get me to buy him something. “I’ll catch you around.”

  “Thanks for the tour,” I tell him.

  He waves a hand, then disappears into the crowd, skateboard under his arm.

  I spend the rest of the day getting the lay of the land, staying out of the areas River warned me about. I still get a kick out of seeing the Truebloods, though I can’t pretend that what they stand for doesn’t irritate me.

  As the sun goes down, I sit on a low wall by the Mad River, whittling an acorn and considering what I’ve been told about the water flowing by below. I know the river has its source in the Realm. After everything I’ve seen, I’m more and more tempted to sneak onto one of the boats that ply their trade between here and the Realm. I had a good look at Elfhaeme Gate in the north end of the city earlier this afternoon. The damn thing’s huge and there’s no way I’m getting through it—not with how well it’s guarded. I also followed the Border wall out into the Nevernever, the wild lands outside the city limits. I hadn’t gotten very far when I thought I was having an acid flashback. Seriously. The landscape seemed to change underfoot whenever I turned in a new direction. Pastoral woodlands became a wasteland more barren than anything in my home turf, which in turn became wheat fields, arctic tundra, redwoods, you name it. It felt like it was going to snow, then it was sunny, then it rained.

  It gave me vertigo but I trudged on, following the shimmering curtain that divides the Realm from the World, wondering if there was some way through it. I stared at the Border for a long time. It was beautiful, but it made the vertigo so bad that I could barely stay upright. Trying to make my way through that shimmer is going to be a last resort. Especially when these boats seem like such an easy option.

  The problem is, none of them appear to be going anywhere right now. The barges are all empty, with no place to hide. I have to wait until dockworkers start to load them in the morning.

  With that decided, I stick the finished acorn in my pocket. I close up my jackknife, shoulder my knapsack, and head back to the part of Soho where I first met River. I’ll get some shut-eye in one of the abandoned buildings like I did for a couple of hours last night. Have an early breakfast. Maybe find a place where I can grab a shower or at least wash up.

  Walking down Ho Street feels like Mardi Gras in New Orleans. There are kids everywhere, music spilling out of the clubs, everyone having a good time. I get lots of friendly nods and invitations to join in the fun, but I just smile or say no thanks and walk on. ‘Fun’ is not a word that’s in my vocabulary anymore. It’s been seven months, but it still feels like yesterday when I was sitting in the ICU holding Juliana’s hand as she drifted away.

  I’m not alone in keeping my distance. I see kids in the shadows, skulking in the mouths of alleys or in the doorways of businesses that are closed for the night. They shrink back when they see me looking at them. Street kids. Some of them are younger than River. One pair of girls I’m sure can’t be more than twelve or thirteen. I don’t know their stories, but I’m guessing that actually being here in Bordertown turned out to be a whole lot different from what they thought it would be—and maybe not so different from whatever they were trying to escape in the World.

  I turn off the party street and find a quieter avenue that’s heading in the same direction. The buzz from Ho Street still reaches me here, so I almost don’t hear the whimper in the alley as I pass its mouth. It’s followed by the sound of rough laughter. I pause, and take a few steps back to peer down its length.

  The light’s not good, but I can make out three guys clustered around a body on the ground. They’re taking turns kicking it. I reach into my pocket and pull out my jackknife. Then I step into the alley.

  As I get closer, I see they’re tormenting a dog. It’s a midsized animal, short-haired, with a long face, big shoulders, and trim hips. There’s blood on its yellow fur. It keeps trying to crawl away but whenever it does, one of the guys gives it another kick.

  Except they aren’t guys—they’re Truebloods. Tall and handsome, maybe, but with a cruel light in their eyes and knives in their hands. Now I know why the dog’s bleeding.

  “The big thing to remember,” River told me this morning, “is you won’t get in over your head if you mind your own business. You especially don’t want to get on the wrong side of the Truebloods.”

  Screw that.

  I open my jackknife and snatch up the metal lid from a garbage can.

  “Get away from the dog!” I call to them.

  They start to turn in my direction, and I can see them smiling at the thought of some new entertainment. But I learned a long time ago that if there’s going to be trouble, you don’t stand around and talk about it, working up your courage. You just go for it.

  I’m already in motion when I call out to them. By the time they turn around, I’m close enough to hit the front guy in the face with the garbage-can lid. I’m not ready to cut yet, but I aim the hilt of my knife at the head of the guy on my right. It never connects. He’s fast. They’re all fast. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.

  The guy on my left moves in and his blade punches me in the side, going in up to its hilt before he rips it out. The guy I missed ducks under my swing and he stabs me in the chest. The one I hit slaps aside the lid. I have the momentary satisfaction of seeing the blood spilling from his broken nose before he knifes me as well.

  Fast.

  So fast.

  The jackknife drops from my fingers to clatter on the cobblestones. My mouth fills with the taste of copper.

  They each get a couple more stabs in before I’m falling to the ground beside the dog. The one with the broken nose drops down, sleek as a panther. His face is inches from my own.

  “You think this was a game, human?”

  He spits the words into my face. I’m trying to focus on him but my gaze is swimming. I know I should be in a world of pain, but I can’t seem to feel my body. I think he’s licking my blood from the blade of his knife, but that doesn’t make any sense.

  “No one interferes with us. Too bad you had to die to learn that.”

  He doesn’t look sorry at all. Then he’s standing again—so fast I don’t see him move. They kick me a few more times before I hear them leaving the alley.

  I drag myself to a nearby wall. I’m bleeding out, but there’s nothing I can do. I’ve been cut too many times. I still don’t feel the pain. I pull the dog’s head onto my lap and stroke his bloody fur.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I tell him. “I wish I’d gotten here sooner, but it probably would have ended just the same. Though maybe you could have had time to run off.”

  I would have had your back, a voice says in my head.

  “The hell …?”

  I look down into the dog’s face. His big brown eyes are looking up into mine. I know it’s ridiculous, but it’s like the dog was talking to me.

  Their generosity is legendary, the voice goes on, but so is their cruelty.

  I look around. My vision’s been fading in and out, but there doesn’t seem to be anybody else here but the dog and me. I look back at him.

  “Are you—are you talking to me?”

  I think it’s just the two of us here, so I must be talking to you.

  “Yeah, but dogs can’t—”

  What makes you think dogs can’t talk?

  “I didn’t—I mean, it never occurred to me one way or the other.”

  Maybe the ones you knew didn’t have anything to say. Or maybe you just didn’t know how to hear them.

  “I never thought about it. They were just always around on the rez.”

  And yet without stopping to consider the consequences, you gave your life for me.

  That brings me right back down to earth.

  “So we’re dying …?”

  I’m afraid so.

  “I don’t feel any pain.”

  Some of the Bloods coat their blades with poison to guarantee the
death of their foe. But it has the side effect of numbing the pain.

  “I can’t die. I mean, I’m not supposed to die. Not yet. I was supposed to rescue her first.”

  Why don’t you tell me who she is and what you were rescuing her from?

  “I wasn’t there for her when she fell,” I say.

  Time is crawling by in slow motion. I don’t know if it’s from shock or something in the poison. But somehow I manage to tell him about Juliana and how she died.

  What makes you think she wants to be rescued? he says when I’m done.

  I remember Seamus asking me the same thing, but I still say, “What do you mean?”

  Death is only a passage to another world. We leave this place and go to what you call the Summer Country, but eventually we leave it as well and go somewhere else. That is how it is forever. Your mate has finished the journey she had in this world. Why would she want to return to travel the same road again?

  “She said we’d be together forever,” I say. “She said whichever one of us went first would be waiting for the other.”

  And you doubt it?

  “I—I don’t know what to think. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does now.”

  I will tell you what always matters, the dog says. Shining a light into the darkness. Standing up to injustice. Just as you did this evening. There aren’t so many willing to offer help as selflessly as you have.

  “Except we’re both dying.”

  It doesn’t have to be that way.

  “I don’t get it. And Juliana …”

  No matter how long you live, she will always be waiting for you. You do believe her, don’t you?

  “I still don’t get what you’re saying.”

  Just as your friend pushed you from the train into Bordertown, I can push you back from death. Choose life and see what happens.

  “But without her—”

  She will be waiting for you. She promised. But go only when your work is finished.

  “What work?”

  The work of living, and showing others how to survive. They come here to this city because they have nothing left in the World to comfort them, but they don’t always find comfort here, either. You saw it yourself this evening. Bordertown can be a harsh mistress to the unwary. You can stay and be a strength for others, or give up and go to her. But ask yourself, will you be proud of your choice? Will she?

  “So how do you push me back?” I ask.

  There’s no reply for a long moment, and then I realize that the dog’s gone. He passed away between one breath and the next. I stroke his fur.

  “Thanks for the company, buddy,” I say.

  Either it’s gotten completely dark now or my vision’s gone. It’s really quiet, too. My tongue feels thick in my mouth. I’m falling. I’m in the alley, propped up against a wall, but at the same time I’m falling.

  I try to find something to hold on to, but I can’t feel my fingers anymore.

  Falling …

  Something the dog told me …

  Will you be proud of your choice? Will she?

  And as soon as I remember, I think I hear it. I hear her. That familiar bell-like laugh. Delicate and intoxicating.

  I reach for her with hands I can’t feel, stretching farther and farther until I can almost imagine her fingers closing around my own.

  The soft laughter is all around me now, just like my Juliana, sweet and happy.

  Choose life and see what happens.

  I want to be with her so badly.

  I remember walking down that party street. Everybody having fun, laughing and dancing and filled up with the music. But I also remember those kids I saw standing just beyond the noise and light. Came all this way but they’re still just as much on the outside as they were before they got here.

  I think of the Truebloods, and the gangs River told me about, pushing their weight around.

  If the dog hadn’t died, if I could still make the choice, I know what I’d choose.

  I’d do what I could to make things right. That’s what would make Juliana proud. That’s the guy I’d want to be.

  But it’s too late.

  The sweet laughter grows softer and I hear something else.

  I can push you back from death.

  I shift my position a little and something digs into my back. My jacket got twisted around when I pulled myself up to lean against the wall. What I’m feeling is the acorn I carved while watching the Mad River.

  Choose, the dog told me.

  I clutch the acorn tight and lift my free hand to my chest.

  I open my eyes. My shirt’s still all cut up and it’s soaked with blood. But the wounds are gone.

  I get up, cradle the dog’s body in my arms, and go looking for a place to lay it in the ground.

  I know that Juliana’s waiting for me, but that’s not going to be for a while.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen next.

  The start of something, I guess.

  A new turn of the wheel, Uncle Herbert would say.

  The promise of hope, Tom Hill would probably say.

  Maybe I’ll see if they have any Green Men in this place.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  We are deeply grateful to so many people for making this book possible, and for believing it was important to get everyone back to the Border—beginning with our agents, Barry Goldblatt and Christopher Schelling, and our editor at Random House, Mallory Loehr, a true believer, along with her invaluable colleagues Ellice Lee and Chelsea Eberly. Special thanks to Howard Gayton for convincing Terri it was time to head back to the Border!

  Every Bordertown author, old and new, helped us to get here, and we got extra-good directions from Midori Snyder, who remembers the way so very well. Els Kushner is among the many authors who generously shared the characters they first created in previous volumes. The longtime fans of Bordertown kept us on track with their websites and enthusiasm, especially the folks at The Yellow Brick Road: A Borderlands Fan Site, Chris over at Hard Luck Café, and Tara O’Shea.

  Patrick Nielsen Hayden of Tor Books and Teresa Nielsen Hayden provided generous support, including a yellowing road map that made all the difference.

  From Virginia Lee, Marja Lee, and Alan Lee, we got crash space and a studio in Devon, and were well fed by Victoria Gayton there. Theo Black, Delia Sherman, and Howard Gayton were invaluable companions on the road.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  CHRISTOPHER BARZAK grew up in rural Ohio, went to university in the city of Youngstown, Ohio, and has lived in a Southern California beach town, the capital of Michigan, and the suburbs of Tokyo, where he taught English in junior high and elementary schools. His stories have appeared in many venues, including The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror, Salon Fantastique, Interfictions, and Asimov’s Science Fiction. His first novel, One for Sorrow, won the Crawford Award for Best First Fantasy. His second book, The Love We Share Without Knowing, was selected for the James Tiptree Jr. Award Honor List and was a Nebula Award finalist for Best Novel. He is also the coeditor (with Delia Sherman) of Interfictions 2. His first trip to Bordertown was as a late teen in a dusty used-book store in a little village marketplace. When he went back the next day to look for more, the bookstore had disappeared. No kidding. He lives in Youngstown, Ohio, where he teaches creative writing at Youngstown State University.

  HOLLY BLACK is the author of bestselling contemporary fantasy books for kids and teens. Her titles include The Spiderwick Chronicles (with Tony DiTerlizzi), The Modern Faerie Tale series, The Good Neighbors graphic novel trilogy (with Ted Naifeh), and her new Curse Workers series, which begins with White Cat. She has been a finalist for the Mythopoeic Award, a finalist for an Eisner Award, and the recipient of the Andre Norton Award. She currently lives in New England with her husband, Theo, in a house with a secret door.

  STEVEN BRUST was born in 1955 and has been writing full-time since 1986. He has been reading about Bordertown since the stories first appeared, and has always wanted to play wi
th the cool kids. His Bordertown story “When the Bow Breaks” (published in The Essential Bordertown) was chosen as a finalist for the Nebula Award. With Emma Bull, he wrote Freedom & Necessity. Brust is the author of eighteen books set in Dragaera and several other stand-alone volumes. His Vlad Taltos series began with Jhereg and eleven books later gets to Iorich, with more to come.

  EMMA BULL has lived in one of the World’s access points to Bordertown (Bisbee, Arizona). She contributed to the anthologies Bordertown and Life on the Border, and her novel, Finder, is set in B-town as well. She’s happily married, has two cats, and hangs out online at coffeeem.livejournal.com.

  CASSANDRA CLARE (cassandraclare.com) is the author of the bestselling Mortal Instruments and Infernal Devices series. Her first book, City of Bones, was a finalist for the Locus Award for Best First Novel. She was born to American parents in Tehran, Iran, and spent much of her childhood traveling the world with her family, including one trek through the Himalayas as a toddler when she spent a month living in her father’s backpack. Since her family moved around so much, she found familiarity in books and went everywhere with a book under her arm. She used to say the characters in books were her friends (thus causing other, real people to edge away). Getting to write a Bordertown story was like being reunited with childhood friends. Fantastic!

  CHARLES de LINT is a full-time writer and musician who presently makes his home in Ottawa, Canada, with his wife, MaryAnn Harris. His most recent books are The Painted Boy and The Very Best of Charles de Lint. He has had stories in three previous Bordertown anthologies and couldn’t be happier to have been able to visit the city again. For more information about his work, visit his website at charlesdelint.com. He’s also on Facebook, Twitter, and MySpace.

  CORY DOCTOROW (craphound.com) is a science fiction novelist, blogger, and technology activist, and coeditor of the popular weblog BoingBoing (boingboing.net). He cofounded the open-source peer-to-peer software company OpenCola. His novels are published by Tor Books and HarperCollins UK and simultaneously released on the Internet under Creative Commons licenses that encourage their reuse and sharing. They include the New York Times bestseller Little Brother, and For the Win, a young adult novel about macroeconomics, video games, and the labor movement. On February 3, 2008, he became a father. The little girl is called Poesy Emmeline Fibonacci Nautilus Taylor Doctorow, and she is a marvel that puts all the works of technology and artifice to shame.