Boundary

by Heather Terrell

  “I don’t have any other.”

  “Eva, you don’t want the other Archons to think of you as Boundary. They’re already struggling with thinking of a Maiden as Archon—and of the Chief’s daughter. Don’t throw Boundary into the already confusing mix.”

  It’s the first time he’s mentioned this issue. I know he’s trying to be kind, and I know he’s taking a risk by helping me and showing his solidarity. Especially by stating the real issues aloud. But I have to stay firm. “Archon Theo, I appreciate all you’ve done to help me so far, but I must carve out my own place.” I continue working to drive the point home.

  “Archon Eva, you need to think of your reputation.”

  I stand up. “I won’t have much of a reputation if I get this spot wrong, will I? And I won’t have any Archon Laurels, either.”

  Theo stares at me. “I suppose you are right.”

  He waits a tick to see if I’ll waver, and when I don’t, he totters back to the campsite. My spirits sink a little with every step he takes. I’ve just rejected the only ally I’ve got out here. But I remind myself that I’m not really alone. Jasper and Lukas wait for me. And I have the spirits and memories of Eamon and Elizabet and Madeline to spur me on when the bells get bleak, though memories are cold company.

  Even when the Sun finishes Her descent, the Boundary workers’ fire-wielders provide light enough to continue, and they don’t stop working. I can hear the other Archons finishing up with their iglus, eating their evening meal, and readying for rest. I refuse to lay down my pick until the Boundary workers finally stop, too.

  As I follow them back to the camp and survey possible iglu locations, I realize that the only ground left for them—for all of us, actually—to build shelter is an exposed stretch of ice. I can’t help but think that this is part of Laurence’s retribution against me—for being a Maiden, for daring to become an Archon, for standing up to him before the entire team, and worst of all, for being the Chief’s daughter. Even if I weren’t his daughter, my father would be furious at Laurence’s behavior, but he’s not out here. It’s just me, and I won’t yield to Laurence.

  Instead, I pledge to make the sturdiest iglu ever. I will place it right between the Archon and Boundary camps. It will be my silent message to Laurence that I received his little missive and am unshaken. Anyway, building my iglu in no-man’s-land seems appropriate; I really don’t fit into any one world. And I am no man.

  I follow the Boundary workers as we search for igluksaq, the perfect snow for iglu-building. Naneq guiding my way through the dark sinik, I finally locate a large swath of dry, well-packed snow, the product of a single snowfall and therefore not likely to fracture when formed into blocks. I signal the Boundary workers to join me at the snow-mound near the Archons’ side of the camp.

  Side by side we carve out the snow-blocks for our iglus. With the cold of night and the frigid wind whipping off the glacier tops, it’s hard labor. We never speak, but I sense a softening in their attitude toward me the longer we work. I wonder if Lukas has any of them looking out for me, as he’d charged his uncle with doing during the Testing. Lukas’s extended family—his tuqslurausiit—is large and could be anywhere.

  In a few bells, our iglus are finished, our morning meal complete, and our equipment back out. By the time Her first light shines down on the camp and the Archons are beginning to stir, I am already hard at work at the Site.

  I can’t keep from smiling at the surprised look on the Archons’ faces at the camp we’ve built and the hollow we’ve made in the Earth. All while they were sleeping.

  The labor is intense, but I don’t let myself yield. I won’t let Laurence see me falter in any way. It takes bells for my perseverance to reap rewards.

  But then I see it. The tip of the ship. Just like in Madeline’s journal.

  XIV.

  Journal of Madeline

  Aprilus 18 Year 98, A.H.

  “Relic!”

  I hear one of the other Testors call out his discovery. From the slight accent, which no one but a fellow frenchspeaker would detect, I know it’s Pierre.

  I glance up the wall of sheer ice from which I dangle, a perch that would have terrified me before the real terror of the barren and blinding Tundra. Out here, it feels like Mother Sun never sets; she simply curtsies below the horizon. I dig my axe and the toe of my bear-claw boot into the wall and swing left on my sealskin rope. Pierre is several hundred handsbreadth above me. A Boundary Climber scales horizontally along the wall to Pierre’s side.

  “I think it’s a cache of weapons,” I hear Pierre say. Then he whispers, “Incroyable.” Funny, what you can hear in this crevasse. Does he know I’m right below him? I’m not the only one clinging to the frenchspeak of home; it’s really the only comfort we have left. I should be worried. Pre-Healing weaponry is a hugely important find, and Pierre is the fourth to make a Relic call. Every night, the other three Relic-holders scurry to their iglus to study their artifacts and start their Chronicles. The chance of winning the Archon Laurels starts to drift away from me.

  So why am I at peace? Is it faith in the Gods, Mother Sun and Father Earth? Is it the training?

  No. It stems from something else entirely. Somehow I believe that a critical Relic waits beneath the ice I’ve staked as my Claim. In fact, I’ve ignored artifacts much easier to dig out in favor of it. In the wavy grey ice covering my Relic, I see the powerful depth and texture of something massive. I pray to the Gods that this belief does not come from some magical trickery.

  Here is where I steel my mind not to succumb to Vanity and ambition.

  I push off the wall and descend away from Pierre, back down my line into the chasm. I am the Testor with the deepest spot, and though I’m well used to cold, I feel the ice seep into my bones as soon as I take my position. I fire up my lamp, and the heat warms me a little. I watch as water trickles down the sheer side of the wall, though I dare not follow its trail with my eyes. Many chasms have no visible bottom, and Testors are taught to keep their eyes ahead. Those who ignored this advice in past Testings were never seen again.

  I hurl my axe into the ice with all my strength, and a huge chunk flies off. A few more swings, and finally my efforts and patience are rewarded. A gaping hole opens in the wall.

  My lamp in hand, I crawl inside. There’s a gleam in the farthest reaches. I pull my chisel out of my belt and start chipping away at the crystalline sheath that obscures it. Without a scaffold to hold up the frozen ceiling, this work is dangerous, but I am powerless to stop. I must know what lies within this ice. I know that the final horn will sound soon, and that I must surface or spend the black night in this chasm. But how can I rise empty-handed?

  My chisel clangs as I finally hit metal. I worry that the sound might echo through the chasm, alerting Pierre and every other Testor to my find. But I am too deep. I get down on all fours, chisel and pick in hand, furiously scraping away the final frost. In a single tick, a rush like the thunder of a summer storm, I understand what I’ve unearthed. I sit on my haunches and laugh, for this Relic is far more momentous than I ever imagined.

  I am kneeling on the very tip of a ship. Not just any ship. The clang of metal has revealed a plate carved with a single gleaming word: Genesis. The vessel of the Founders. The vessel made holy by The Lex.

  XV.

  Julius 8–11

  Year 242, A.H.

  The grey metallic tip of the hull juts out from the ice.

  The sight sends everyone scrambling. Even the Archons grab picks, shovels, and fire-wielders and race to the gaping hole in the ice we carved out while they stood by and watched. I guess the wall between Archon and Boundary flattens in the wake of a Relic discovery like the Genesis.

  Within a few bells, the outline of the entire deck begins to emerge. Just as Madeline described. Just as I etched in the ice. And just as I told Archon Laurence.

  I try to stay humble. I try to remind myself that my goal isn’t Archon glory but subversion. I am here to fulfill the obje
ctives of my brother and Lukas. Still a subtle, almost indiscernible, shift in the mood occurs. Several of the Archons, ones who’d been patently ignoring me up until now, nod in my direction as we dig. I hear the whispers of two compliments—a “Nice work, Archon Eva,” and one “Good call”—as I pass by one section of the Site to grab another tool. Even Laurence gives me a wide berth. It feels good.

  But the elation of that moment of discovery and whatever fleeting reverence the Archons doled out fades in the three siniks that follow. Even with forty-two trained excavators working in tireless shifts, the ship refuses to reveal itself beyond the deck. It seems that time and ice locked down on the ship just as the rest of the Genesis sank into the Frozen Seas during the Healing.

  “I fear we have no choice but the bonfires,” Laurence announces at the nightly shift-change meeting.

  I hear grumbles from the Archons and the Boundary workers alike. No one likes to use the bonfires; they melt the snow too rapidly. Relics can get destroyed in the rush of water, or worse. The fast melt often makes the Site unstable, leading to injury and death.

  I know how to unlock the Genesis without all that risk. But do I dare to say it?

  Other ideas are offered, ones I know will not yield the Genesis treasure. Ones that may well destroy our access to it forever.

  I decide to enter the fray. “We have another choice,” I say. My voice wavers a little.

  “Oh, really? Based on your vast experience at excavations?” Archon Laurence asks. He pauses dramatically and raises an eyebrow. His exaggerated expression gets the laugh he wanted, but I see the weakness in his sarcasm.

  “The door. We need to dig out the door.” So far I’ve kept quiet about any details I learned from Madeline’s journal; I don’t want to call any undue attention to my unusual knowledge. But if I don’t take this gamble, our only choice will be the bonfires.

  “What in the Gods are you talking about, Archon Eva?” Laurence’s old fury resurfaces. Since I accurately identified the Site, he has been tolerant of me, though hardly respectful, and that’s only because the other Archons voiced their approval. But after three siniks without much progress, he can’t help himself.

  “The ship has been frozen into the ice in a near-vertical position. We were able to loosen the ice around the deck, but then we hit a solid mass. That ice is frozen around the frame of a door. A door connecting the deck to a cabin. I suspect that the cabin itself is not ice-locked.” I hold my breath for a moment, hoping the explanation was sufficient to sidestep the unspoken question of how I know the layout of the ship.

  Laurence laughs again as if my idea is preposterous. But the laugh rings hollow, and the grumbling intensifies. The men want any alternative to the bonfires, and he can’t afford to ignore me. “How do you know that? Did the Gods send you a message?”

  I decide to take seriously his last attempt at a demeaning joke. Nobody likes sacrilege, and I might win a few Boundary Climbers or Archons to my side if I play into it. “Maybe, Archon Laurence. The Lex says that the Gods do work in mysterious ways.”

  What can Laurence say to that? Nothing, if he wants to keep the allegiance of his men. Silence hangs heavy in the frigid air, so I fill the void with my proposal. I describe how we might access the door without rendering the Site unsafe, using Madeline’s approach as my secret model, and how we might divide into four teams to provide Site and Relic support while simultaneously excavating.

  Archons and Boundary alike voice their willingness to try my idea. Laurence has no choice but to sanction my suggestion, though he gives me a cold glare before he begins to form us into teams. When he doesn’t assign Theo to a team immediately—no surprise, as it’s been years since Theo’s excavated a Site, and I’m guessing he’d rather remain a spectator—I pull him to my side. I’ll need an ally in this.

  The gambit works. Laurence places us together on a team with eight others, all Boundary Climbers and workers. We start to suit up for the descent into the Site, when he calls out, “Who will excavate the ice packed around the door?”

  Strange that he is calling for volunteers. Laurence acts more as dictator out here than leader seeking the loyalty and respect and consensus of his team. Perhaps he’s trying to win them back from me. Or perhaps he’s breaking from his usual leadership style because the excavation work around the door is the most dangerous? The most susceptible to an avalanche if the support walls collapse?

  I’m not certain others will volunteer. I should be the one to place myself at risk, given that this dig design is my suggestion. But more important, I have my own reasons for wanting to be first inside the deck cabin. Before anyone else can Claim it, I throw my hand up in the air. “We will,” I call out.

  Theo stares at me, a mixture of terror and anger in his eyes. No doubt he’s furious that I usurped his senior role by volunteering and terrified at the thought of such a risky excavation after all these years, but I have no choice.

  Laurence looks me up and down. His glance holds no mysteries. He’s weighing the delight of placing me in a treacherous position with his wariness over the danger.

  As he deliberates, I hear a whisper of “braggart” among the Archons. They think I’m trying to uncover the best Relic by entering the Genesis first, but they didn’t volunteer, did they? Whatever the reason, however I come by it, I need to be the first one through that door.

  Laurence renders his verdict. “Archons Eva and Theo, you may have the honor.”

  XVI.

  Julius 11

  Year 242, A.H.

  Poor Archon Theo. Even with two harnesses strapped together, he barely fits into the climbing apparatus. Although a pair of Boundary workers hold the bulk of his weight by securing his sealskin rope as we lower ourselves into the Site, he’s sweating. Out of fear or effort, I don’t know.

  Side by side, he and I descend into the deep ice hollow. Two Boundary Climbers flank us on ropes, along with another two Climbers in front, scouting out the Site’s safety and carrying the heavy load of equipment. There are two more attendants on the ice ledge, awaiting our instructions, in addition to those two holding Theo’s line.

  I study them carefully, wishing for a glimpse of Lukas’s uncle, the white-haired Climber who helped me in the Testing, or another friend of Lukas’s I might recognize. When I last saw him, Lukas promised that his people would be helping my work as the Angakkuq—if they could. I’d like to have a true ally down here, one who knows what I’m really doing. But I don’t recognize anyone. I’m surrounded, but alone.

  When we reach the bottom of the hollow, I motion for some slack in my line. Once I find my footing, I walk around the icy pit, orienting myself. Closing my eyes, I envision Madeline’s sketch of the Site. Then I kneel down and run my hands along the surface. Remembering Lukas’s teachings about all the different sorts of ice, I notice a few qopuk, frozen ice bubbles, trapped in a line deep in the ice floor. I’m guessing it’s the line of the door, the one that slammed behind Madeline as the Genesis slipped into the ice beneath her and sank into the frozen waters.

  I signal to the four Boundary Climbers who accompanied us and etch an outline of the door with my pick. “Here is where we should start.”

  The door is probably several feet beneath the surface, so it might take the Climbers a few bells—maybe into tomorrow—to reach it. I grab a shovel to start digging, but a Boundary Climber puts his hand on my arm. “We will use the fire, Archon Eva.”

  I back away as the Climbers pull out fire-wielders from the packs. I watch as their concentrated fire melts the outline of the door I inscribed into the ice. When I step back to give them space, something sharp slices into my calf. I fall to the ground.

  What in the Gods cut me? I wince and look around, spying a jagged section of the hull. It juts out of a patch of melting ice. But it seems too low to the ground to have cut my leg. Could someone have done this to me?

  The pain grows, and I have to stifle a cry. I can’t afford to appear weak; Laurence is looking for any excuse
to remove me from this excavation. I sink down and reach over toward a pick lying on a snow mound—as if that explains why I’m on the ground. I surreptitiously lift up my pant leg.

  Blood pours down my calf, freezing the tick it hits the air. The wound is several inches long and deep, so deep I can make out the whiteness of bone. I feel like retching. As I stare at the bloody icicles forming on my skin, I realize that I better get some kind of tourniquet on it, the way Lukas showed me.

  I slide my hand into a Boundary Climber pack nearby and pull out a length of sealskin rope. Unsheathing my ulu, I cut off a small piece of the rope.

  Theo approaches me just as I tie off the tourniquet knot and roll down my pant leg. “Don’t you want to watch as the Climbers melt the ice?” he asks.

  “Of course. Just needed to grab something from my bag,” I say, trying to convince myself as much as him. I stand, but I’m unsteady on my feet. My leg feels weak.

  “What’s wrong, Archon Eva?”

  “Nothing. Just a scratch.”

  “Let me see.”

  “No, Archon Theo. I appreciate your offer, but I’m fine.”

  He takes hold of my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. “We need your strength for this dig, Archon Eva. You see that I’m too old and weak to be of much physical help. Without you, we will lose the chance to be first inside the door of the Genesis. Don’t you want to have that honor?”

  He certainly knows how to get to me. “Yes.”

  “Then let me look at that leg.”

  There is no choice. I sit down and roll up my pant leg for him. No matter how many siniks I serve as an Archon, I will always feel like a Maiden when a man looks at my bare skin.

  Panting from the exertion, he lowers himself to the ground to examine it more closely. “By the Gods, how did this happen?”

  I shrug, then motion toward the metallic piece of the hull sticking out from a snow mound, because I can’t actually speak, or I’ll risk throwing up. Now that the blood has stopped dripping from the wound, I glimpse my leg bone once more. I feel nauseated again.