Chasing the Valley

by Skye Melki-Wegner

  ‘But now we’re lost,’ Clementine says. ‘Radnor was the only one who knew the way.’

  ‘I don’t reckon Radnor even knew the way, really,’ Teddy says. ‘He was just going by what Hackel told him.’

  ‘Hackel!’ I blurt. ‘We’re supposed to meet him in Gunning, right? He’ll know the way to the Valley.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ says Teddy, ‘but that’s not gonna do us a lot of good if we can’t find Gunning in the first place.’

  I turn to Lukas. ‘Any luck summoning the birds?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Nothing yet. I don’t think there are any birds out here. It’s all so . . . well . . .’ He gestures across the endless marbles. ‘So dead, I guess. Maybe down there in the fields I’ll have more luck.’

  I gaze over the edge of the cliff, thinking of Radnor. His body is somewhere below, beyond our reach. We can’t even give him a proper burial.

  ‘Come on,’ I say, when it becomes obvious that no one else is ready to speak. ‘We’ve got to keep moving.’

  For the rest of the day, we traipse along the edge of the cliff, searching for a route down to the plains below. My body throbs and my mind aches. But there’s no way down, nowhere safe to climb: just steep, crumbling cliff face.

  We set up camp about twenty metres from the edge, inside a protective cluster of boulders. Our surviving foxary carries three packs – two large ones and a smaller one – but the rest of our supplies went over the fall. Mercifully, our magnets have survived the ordeal, but we’ve lost all the food and half the sleeping sacks. Teddy gives a bitter snort as he fishes through our supplies.

  ‘Of all the packs to survive . . .’ he mutters, holding up a sparkly evening gown. Clementine, at least, has the good grace to look as disappointed as the rest of us.

  I use a knife to slice open the remaining sleeping sacks. It’s a bit like gutting fish down the side, and bits of fleece spill across our campsite. But this way, each sack becomes a large blanket for two people.

  Teddy slips beneath a sack and forces a grin. ‘Just like those fancy mansions on High Street.’

  ‘We’ll need to find some food tomorrow,’ I say.

  Lukas crosses to a pile of boulders, arranged higgledy-piggledy in the shadows of a rock ledge. He squats and bends to peer underneath, as though he’s dropped something.

  I frown in confusion. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Looking for seeds.’

  ‘Oh!’ says Maisy. ‘Of course – there must be rock-fig seeds under some of these boulders.’

  ‘What?’ says Teddy.

  Maisy rises to join Lukas by the pile of rocks. ‘In springtime, the Marbles are covered with rock-figs. The plants spread their vines and flowers everywhere. I saw a picture in a book once; it was beautiful.’

  ‘So what? It’s winter, not spring.’

  ‘So rock-figs grow from seeds,’ says Lukas. ‘The seeds from last year’s crop are scattered all over the place, waiting for spring. Most of them probably blew away months ago, but there are plenty under the rocks. That’s all I’ve been eating for days.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem to have done you much good,’ says Clementine, eying Lukas’s underweight frame.

  ‘Better than nothing,’ I say, and join the others at the rock pile.

  After twenty minutes of careful picking, we’ve amassed a handful of seeds. They’re tiny and hard – half of mine get stuck between my teeth – and by the time I’ve finished, I’m hungrier than I was before. It’s funny how that happens. If you don’t eat anything for a day or so, sometimes you’re lucky and your stomach will stop bothering you for a while. But if you sneak in a little snack, you’ve suddenly got a full-scale stomach uprising to deal with.

  My belly gurgles impatiently, awaiting more food, but all I can do is scavenge for a few more seeds around the campsite. ‘How did you know to look for seeds, anyway?’ I say to Lukas.

  He shrugs. For the first time, I notice the colour of his eyes: a vivid twist of green. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time looking at the world through birds’ eyes,’ he says. ‘You get a good idea of where seeds and stuff might be hidden.’

  The evening passes in a haze of hunger and grief. I wish someone would start talking again. Even mindless chatter would be fine – anything to break this silence. I keep hearing the scream of the waterfall, and feeling the touch of Radnor’s ankle as he slips between my fingers. A flash of crimson in the water. I hug my knees and scrunch up my eyes, shielding my body against the night.

  I’ve seen death before, of course. Back in Rourton, the winter took dozens of scruffers’ lives. People froze in alleyways, or starved in the gutters. Sometimes I found their bodies: curled up and broken, like withered tree-limbs in the frost. A couple were people I knew. The old man who taught me which alleyways to scour. The girl who once traded me an apple for a stale chunk of bread.

  And, of course, my family.

  After all these years, I know how to push aside my grief. Tomorrow I will lock away these emotions, deep inside me, to deal with later. It’s the only option, when you grow up on the streets. The only way to survive. But for now, it’s all I can do to fight off the shake in my limbs and the ache in my bones.

  No one has the energy to keep watch except for Lukas, who volunteers to take the whole night. Teddy gives him a distrustful look, until I sigh and offer to stay up with him.

  ‘I’m not too tired, honestly,’ I lie.

  Teddy doesn’t look like he believes me, but the twins are already asleep – or passed out – and he clearly can’t fight his body’s cry for rest.

  About halfway through our watch, I turn to Lukas. I still can’t shake the tingle from my fingers and I need a distraction. Anything to break the silence. ‘How did you fight those hunters?’

  Lukas pulls a chain from beneath his shirt. Half a dozen silver charms dangle from the end. I suddenly remember the hunter Hackel burned to death, and the necklace of charms that Hackel pilfered from his body. Alchemy charms. Portable spells, baked into the silver. My breath catches.

  ‘Are they . . .?’

  Lukas nods. He pulls the chain from his neck and shows me the charms. ‘This one is dizziness,’ he says, pointing to a tiny silver goblet. ‘And this horseshoe means luck, and the padlock is for unlocking things. The rose can hide my scent from animals, which is why your foxaries never sensed me following you.’

  ‘But they must have been so expensive!’

  ‘My grandparents collected them, and they were passed down to me,’ says Lukas. ‘Just like the kite. My family used to be rich.’

  ‘So, if you’ve got all these family heirlooms, why haven’t you sold them off by now? You could buy a lifetime of food with those charms.’

  Lukas shrugs. ‘They were gifts from my family.’

  ‘Sentimental value?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  I hesitate, then pull up my sleeve to expose my mother’s silver bracelet. It slips down from my elbow to my wrist, and the metal seems to wink beneath the moon. ‘I know what you mean.’

  He smiles. And despite everything, I smile back. I think I’m starting to get a better idea of Lukas. He grew up a scruffer, just like me. Most scruffer kids would sell a fistful of silver in seconds for a bite to eat. But Lukas couldn’t let go of this memory of his family . . . and neither could I.

  I touch the nearest charm on his chain: a tiny silver star. ‘What’s this one for?’

  Lukas smiles again. ‘My grandma gave me that one personally. It doesn’t have any powers – it’s just a trinket.’

  We sit in silence for a while, staring at the stars. Now that it’s dark, the edge of the cliff looks like the edge of the world. I can’t see down to the fields beyond, or the line of earth that marks our distant horizon. There’s just twenty metres of rock, then blackness.

  After a while, Lukas starts to fiddle with
the clasp of his necklace. He opens it gently, then slips a charm off the chain.

  ‘Here.’ He hands me the tiny silver rose. ‘I want you to have this, Danika.’

  I frown. ‘Isn’t this what hides your scent from foxaries?’

  ‘That’s why I want you to take it,’ Lukas says. ‘If I’m going to join this crew, I want . . . well . . . I don’t think I deserve your trust until I’ve earned it. And this is a first step in that direction.’

  I roll the rose between my fingers. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Without that charm I can’t abandon the crew or sneak away to betray you, can I? It wouldn’t take long to track me down with the foxary – not out here.’

  I hesitate. It feels wrong to take the charm, which is probably worth more than anything I’ve owned. And besides, it was a gift from Lukas’s family.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I say, feeling a little awkward. ‘You fought off a pair of hunters to save our lives. I don’t need this to trust you.’

  He gives me a quiet smile. ‘Thank you, Danika. I’m not used to . . .’ His voice trails away, and he shakes his head as though to clear it. ‘Look, if you don’t need it to trust me, then consider it a gift.’

  ‘A gift for what?’

  ‘Just a thankyou gift,’ he says.

  There is a pause.

  ‘All right,’ I say. ‘Thank you. It’s beautiful.’

  I hold out my wrist to reveal my mother’s bracelet. Lukas smiles gently, takes the silver rose, and twists its metal loop through the bracelet. I pull my wrist back to examine it. ‘How do I use it?’

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  I hesitate. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s how you bond with an alchemy charm for the first time. Don’t worry, it only takes a minute.’

  There’s nothing fishy in his expression, so I shut my eyelids.

  Lukas takes my hand and places it against the silver rose. ‘Now just focus on hiding yourself,’ he says. ‘Pretend you’re far away, where the beasts can’t find you.’

  I try to concentrate, but Lukas’s fingers are warm against my wrist and it’s hard to focus. I take a deep breath and tell myself that this is just like casting an illusion. I focus upon my desired result: hiding away, beyond a foxary’s senses . . .

  There is a sharp twang in the air. The silver rose heats up in my fingers, so hot that I almost drop it. ‘Ow!’ I open my eyes to see Lukas smiling at me. ‘Did I do it?’

  He nods. ‘You’ve bonded with the charm now. The spell will be ready when you need it.’

  There’s a pause. I finger the rose, feeling a little awkward. I wish I had something to give him in return. ‘Thanks, Lukas.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  I can’t think of anything else to say, so I turn back to face the edge of the cliff. The moon is rising higher now; it casts just enough light to make out the world below. In the distance, I can see the horizon. And tomorrow, I hope, we might find a way to reach it.

  The next day, we travel parallel to the edge of the cliff. I feel oddly conflicted, torn between grief and a strange sort of lightness. The landscape makes me think of Radnor, which sends an ache through my gut. Boulders, cliff, sky . . . everything here seems to signal death. But at the same time, I find myself fingering the silver rose upon my bracelet. I’m not sure why – maybe I’m subconsciously afraid I’ll lose it – but it’s reassuring to roll its solid shape between my fingertips.

  After a while, I realise that I’m wearing the bracelet around my wrist instead of my elbow. I automatically move to shove it back out of sight – but then I stop myself. I don’t think my crewmates would steal from me. Not even Teddy.

  It isn’t until noon that Maisy spots a possible route down the cliff. We’re rounding a large bend in the plateau, so we’ve got a decent view of the cliff face ahead. She gives a shy little cough to get our attention, then points towards a rough ledge of rocks that trails down the cliff.

  ‘I think we found our ladder,’ she says.

  It’s tempting to rush down into the fields, to escape from the Marbles’ endless grey. There might be grain down there, or edible flowers. Even a pot of boiled thistles would be welcome at this point. But we force ourselves to travel slowly, to assess each footfall before we take the plunge.

  ‘If we fall,’ Teddy points out, ‘then a field full of thistles won’t do us much good.’

  I know what he’s thinking, of course. What we’re all thinking. Radnor fell down into this place. Somewhere down below, in the swampland perhaps, his body lies alone.

  It’s hard to get the foxary to cooperate; it doesn’t seem keen on descending such a narrow strip of boulders. I don’t blame it, either; I’m having enough trouble with two legs, let alone four. But Teddy manages to coax it down with a little whisper, and a rub behind the ears. I can’t help smiling at how they trust each other: the thief and the beast.

  I sometimes hope my proclivity will be Beast too. It must be nice to have a guaranteed friend out here – although it would’ve been terrible for Teddy when the other foxaries died. That’s the price of relationships, though. I learned that when I was just a kid, the night I watched my family burn. You get the benefits of companionship, of love and trust, maybe. But I’m not sure it’s worth the pain that you get when they’re gone.

  About halfway down, Lukas stiffens.

  ‘What is it?’ I say, suddenly alert.

  ‘I think I can sense . . .’ He swivels around and breaks into a grin. ‘Look, I knew it!’

  In the distance, a flock of birds circle above the fields. They dive and swoop in perfect formation: a better crew than we’ll ever be. Their dance is almost hypnotic. In other circumstances, it might seem nice to watch them for a while. But since I’m dangling halfway down a cliff – not the best time for bird-watching – I just turn back to the slope and look for somewhere safe to place my feet.

  At the bottom, we stop for a rest. Our bodies still ache from the abuse of the river, and this trek down the cliff-side has hardly comforted our muscles.

  ‘I think we should head back towards the swamps,’ says Clementine. ‘Where the river disappeared, I mean. Perhaps there’ll be a clue about where to go next.’

  ‘What, like a big sign saying “This way to Gunning”?’ says Teddy. ‘We’ll be backtracking our whole trip since the waterfall. That’s another day’s travel wasted.’

  There’s a pause.

  ‘Does anyone have another idea?’ I say. ‘Can you remember anything Radnor said about how to find Gunning?’

  Everyone shakes their head.

  ‘All right then,’ I say. ‘Clementine’s plan is the best we’ve got.’

  The grass in the fields is tall and thick, about the height of our chests. It’s dotted with boulder formations and occasional groves of scraggly trees. The trees don’t bear any fruit in winter, but we’re so hungry that we settle for chewing the bark. At least it keeps our teeth busy.

  The further we walk, the taller the grass becomes. Soon it’s at my eye-level, and then even higher. I feel like I’m back in the forest, unable to see any sign of a horizon. There’s only foliage, all around me, and I’ve never felt so lost.

  ‘If that woman finds us now, we’re dead,’ says Clementine, looking gloomy.

  Lukas stiffens. ‘Woman?’

  ‘Yeah, there’s some horrible woman leading the hunters,’ I say. ‘We think she’s royalty, because the others kept calling her “Your Highness”.’

  Lukas looks uncomfortable. Almost self-consciously, he raises a hand to his charm necklace. ‘That’s Sharr Morrigan. The king’s niece. She’s got a reputation for being cruel.’

  ‘How’d you know about her?’ Teddy frowns. ‘You’re just a scruffer from Norville. The royals don’t spend much time in the dodgy cities, do they?’

  Lukas shakes his head. ‘Everyone in my city know
s about Sharr. She leads a platoon of hunters near Norville, and uses the city as her base.’ He swallows. ‘You wouldn’t believe the things she does to people. Even to children, if they get in her way.’

  We all fall silent, because we can believe it. We saw what Sharr did to her fellow hunter when he dared to question her plan. Blasting aside a few worthless scruffer kids would probably seem perfectly acceptable to someone like Sharr Morrigan.

  By the time evening rolls around, we’re still as lost as ever. The entire world seems a sea of grass. It whips my face with every gust of wind and blots out the sky.

  The only relief comes when we find a grove of scrappy trees. I set up the magnetic circle and cast my illusion, then we wriggle our gutted sleeping sacks into uncomfortable positions among the roots. There’s no real space to lie comfortably – the rocks and roots dig into our backs – but it’s better than the grass. At least we can see the stars, since the trees’ branches are so sparse in winter.

  ‘That’s the Warrior of the Northlands,’ says Maisy, pointing out a constellation above our heads. ‘And that one’s called the Wolf.’

  I squint at the stars, but all I can make out are dots. I’ve never seen much sense in constellations, but my mother used to like them. She always pointed out a particular formation through our uppermost window. Something called the Gun, I think, or perhaps the Pistol.

  ‘Which one’s the Pistol?’ I say.

  Maisy points to a formation. It’s not directly overhead, so grass and branches conceal half the shape. But I recognise it now, the L-shaped cluster of stars.

  ‘My mother always said to remember the Pistol,’ I say. ‘Said it was a good luck constellation.’

  Teddy snorts. ‘Yeah, because shooting people is really lucky.’

  I think back to those evenings with my parents, clustered in our cheap apartment in Rourton. Before my father brought home the radio, we would pass the nights by singing songs and telling stories.

  ‘My mother used to sing an old folk song – that one about the star-shine,’ I say. ‘Oh mighty yo, how the star-shine must go . . .’