Boundary

by Heather Terrell

  Even with his injury, my father is able to drive Laurence and Ian to the edge of the dais. I breathe a little, thinking that he’s about to push them into the throng, when Laurence circles back around my father and places a blade across his neck.

  Ian turns toward the people. As he signals Laurence to sever my father’s neck, he yells, “This is for New North!”

  I will not allow this. I cannot allow this.

  I simultaneously unsheathe my sword and run toward the men. Without aforethought or hesitation, as if I’d been born to fight, I slide my blade into Laurence’s back, pushing against bone and gristle and organs. Rather than disgust, I feel elation. As if I have excised the rot and decay from this particular garden, so that it can regrow with healthy roots and leaves yearning for the sun.

  Perhaps I am the Angakkuq after all.

  XXXXVII.

  Augustus 16

  Year 242, A.H.

  “Eva … Eva … Eva … Eva.”

  The people chant their verdict. They will be silent no more.

  The Guards finally come to life and take Ian into custody. I reach out to my father to check on his wounds. We embrace, and he whispers, “I’m so sorry, Eva.” I don’t have to ask what he is sorry for; I know he is apologizing for all of New North.

  I look up at the Ring. I want to see if Lukas is appeased, if my words and my actions and my father’s deeds and the Aerie’s response will stave him off. If I’ve sacrificed enough of myself to pacify him and the people of the Boundary, before I sacrifice him for killing Eamon.

  Placing my hand over my brow for shade, I squint into the light. Standing alongside the unmistakable outline of Lukas is a sight I thought I’d never see again. A sight I can’t even be seeing now. The square shoulders, the angled hair, the jutting chin, and the very particular stance of a singular person in this world. My brother.

  No. I shake my head. It’s the slap across the face and the fall, or the fact that I just took another human life. Perhaps it’s the enormity of this moment. They’re causing visions. How else can I can be seeing my dead brother standing on the edge of the Ring?

  I dare to look up again, expecting to see Lukas flanked only by his men and not my beloved Eamon. But still Eamon remains at Lukas’s side. I even see Lukas lean over to speak to him.

  Eamon is real. My brother is alive.

  In a tick that seems like eternity, I finally understand everything. Lukas and Eamon needed me to believe in Eamon’s death so I could rise up and claim my destiny, a step I could have never taken while Eamon was alive. They knew somehow that Eamon could never have garnered the people’s faith, affection, and trust as I have. By claiming my own destiny, they knew that I could help New North claim its own destiny as well.

  I should be furious with Lukas and Eamon for deceiving me, for making me suffer and grieve. But I’m not angry at Eamon. My brother is back from the dead; how can I be anything but elated?

  And when I think about Lukas—and look over at Jasper, who stands alongside my father on the dais, any anger or confusion I feel is replaced by admiration and appreciation. They have both sacrificed so much for me and for the truth. I’ve spent so much time debating my feelings for both of them and the right path for myself in New North—Maiden or Boundary, Archon or Lady—but I now understand that I needn’t have. I can carve my own path into the snow of New North. Alone if I so choose.

  Because together, we’ve set New North free. Its people are free to break down the walls between Aerie and Boundary and fashion whatever society they agree upon. They are free to select their own roles beyond those to which they are born. And I’m free, too.

  I smile up at that spot on the Ring where I see Eamon standing. And even though I know it’s impossible, that he’s too far away for us to see each other clearly, I swear I see him smile back at me. The time and distance and boundary between us closes, and we are together again as we have always been.

  EPILOGUE

  November 24

  Year 242, A.H.

  Little time exists for writing in my journal during these siniks. And many, many siniks have passed since I’ve had even a tick to write. The light grows short as winter approaches, and we have much to do. The rebuilding of New North on steady and solid ground requires the whole of our selves, together and as individuals.

  The people of New North—all the people, Aerie and Boundary alike—did indeed choose freedom. In their quest for a new society built upon a bedrock of freedom without artificial boundaries between people, they chose me as their leader. A Maiden and Archon, young and inexperienced, it’s true, but truthful above all. That is all I have, the truth. Perhaps it is enough. But they know I want to earn their leadership, and perhaps in the end, that is the quality that is indispensable for this new role, one not borne by the elders of the Aerie. It is truth, but it is also humility in the face of truth.

  My siniks in the Hall of Archons spent combing through the archives have served me well. Life in the Aerie was not all bad before we learned the truth, not as difficult and inequitable as the lives of those in the days before the flood. The New North did provide for everyone. Nobody went hungry or cold, and nobody will. I wish I could undo the unjust deaths, but we will learn from them as we learn from everything else. I am learning that truth, like food, is best served when needed. With regularity. With even portions.

  I am not alone as I lead. Always at my side are my beloved brother Eamon and my trusted advisors Lukas and Jasper. The return of my brother continues to be an unwavering source of delight; I’d gotten so accustomed to his absence that to turn to him for advice never fails to comfort and surprise. It has allowed me to forgive Lukas. For now I know what happened: Lukas and Eamon, and the whole of the Boundary in truth, contrived to feign Eamon’s death by using a body laid out in the former Boundary lands for naasiiviik, a five-day period of mourning in which a frozen body awaits burial. It was that false body over which my parents wept. They have had a harder time forgiving Lukas—and Eamon, for that matter—but they no longer hold power. And in some ways, like Theo, I think they were relieved to let it go.

  So desperate Lukas and his people were to put me in motion! So desperate that they knew the truth I could not see myself: were Eamon alive, I would not have fought. So perhaps they were right. Not that I am the Angakuuq. But perhaps they were right to believe that I alone could change New North. Me without Eamon. Apparently Eamon took more convincing, but he came around.

  Lukas and Jasper advise me well, too; each helps ensure that the needs and rights of all New Northerners are met. True, they jostle for position beside me as lead counsel. And yes, they still vie for role as future husband, no matter how often I tell them that I intend to enter no Union other than that with the people of New North.

  But I rely on both.

  Still, leadership is a lonely business. When I feel overwhelmed and no other counsel aids me, I walk through the Passage, as is every New Northerners’ right now, and step out onto our land. There amidst the beautiful, blinding whiteness, I might chance upon an uqalurait. Lukas’s people tell us that these pointed snowdrifts formed by blizzards and resembling a tongue can tell us which direction to go. I will try to follow their guidance.

  Although I know too well now to call one text consecrated over any other, if there must be a sacred text for the New Northerners and the people that follow us, perhaps these journals can be a start. Perhaps these may stand as a testament to truth and humility. These are the Books of Eva.

  Acknowledgments

  THE BOOKS OF EVA never would have emerged from its icy state without the support and encouragement of so many people. I want to start by thanking Laura Dail, who is much, much more than a brilliant, indefatigable agent and a sounding board on all things publishing; she is a true friend. Beginning with my phenomenal editor Dan Ehrenhaft—with whom I shared a mind-meld from the moment we met in the ’burgh—I am so grateful for the amazing Soho Teen team: Soho Teen’s tremendous publisher, Bronwen Hruska; my wonderful
publicist, Meredith Barnes; as well as the ever-helpful Rachel Kowal and Amara Hoshijo.

  Another enormous thanks to all the marvelous educators, librarians, and students who helped make The Books of Eva part of their schools and reading programs—especially my amazing mother-in-law, Catherine Terrell, and her insightful book club members who were so helpful with my Educators’ Guide. Other family and friends gave life to The Books of Eva, including my parents; my brothers, sisters, and their spouses; my sister-in-law; Ponny Conomos Jahn; Illana Raia; Mary Zeleny; and our Sewickley network. And a debt of gratitude goes to my beloved Aunt Terry, who started it all.

  But the lion’s share of the thanks goes to Jim, Jack, and Ben. Without their unwavering love, support, and understanding, I could have never written The Books of Eva. Thank you, boys. For everything.