Borderlands

by Skye Melki-Wegner

  The hunters shake their heads.

  ‘Then I suggest you get looking,’ Sharr says. ‘These brats are our ticket back into the king’s good graces – and if we don’t find them before the cavalry arrives, I’ll deem you responsible for the failure. Got it?’

  The female hunter takes a shaky breath. ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  ‘Good. Now get moving.’

  I crook my head a tiny bit towards the others. They meet my gaze silently. This is bad. Lukas is as tightly coiled as a radio wire, and even Teddy looks more queasy than confident. Those are palace hunters: the most elite tracking force in Taladia. They’ll find our trail, even in the dark. We weren’t exactly subtle about it – wringing water from our clothes, breaking twigs, crashing through the undergrowth. If they had daylight on their side, they would already be upon us.

  I whip my head back to face the hunters. They’ve split up, fanning out into the undergrowth nearby. I rack my brain for a plan. Anything will do, no matter how crazy. At this point, crazy sounds a hell of a lot better than dead.

  I could cast an illusion to hide us. But we’ve used that trick before and I’m pretty sure Sharr knows about my illusionist powers by now. Anyway, without my circle of magnets, I can only make an illusion that lasts a few seconds – not long enough to keep the hunters off our backs. The magnets are stuffed into one of our packs, and I can’t find them without making a ruckus.

  I think back to the start of the hunters’ conversation. Sharr isn’t sure we’re actually down here; it was just a lucky guess. In the wind and the storm, she didn’t see our plummet through the dark. For all she knows, we might still be up on the ledge, tracking our way along the edge of the Knife . . .

  And suddenly, I know what to do.

  I crane my neck skywards. High above the tangled foliage, I make out the arch of dark stone where our ledge must be. If I can fool Sharr into thinking we’re still up there . . .

  I’ve never cast a good distance illusion, but I know it’s possible. I heard tales of it back in Rourton: a trick that only the most talented illusionists can sustain. It’s much harder than a personal illusion, of course, and the best I’ve ever managed is a useless flicker. I doubt I can make it last more than a second. But tonight, a second is all I need. So long as the hunters see it, catch a glimpse from the corner of their eyes . . .

  I conjure up that familiar feeling of magic – a fizz inside my veins, a lick of illusionary paint across my fingertips – and summon the image I want to create. A burst of fire upon the lip of the Knife, a clue we’re still high upon the ledge. I push the image higher, sending my mind out to focus on that patch of darkness. There, I think. There, there. I imagine a fire, a spark of flame, a burst of –

  And that’s when it all goes wrong.

  My first clue is the lurch in my gut. I’ve felt it once before – when I melted into Night in the airbase tower. It feels like falling forward, diving into a pool of black water, except my body’s made of water too and the pool intends to swallow me. There’s another jolt, and the air around me ripples. The darkness caresses me, sucks me out into its touch. And suddenly my body feels loose, as if my skin, my eyes, my fingers are peeling back, separating. I feel like I’m breaking apart, dispersing, drifting into Night . . .

  No! This isn’t right. I don’t want to travel through my proclivity to the ledge; I just want to build an illusion there . . .

  I hurtle backwards into myself. The world feels sharp. Disjointed. At first I have no idea what’s happening: just darkness, pain, a whirl of leaves and thorns across my skin. A distant part of me spots a flare in the darkness – fire upon the ledge – and I know my illusion has worked. It vanishes immediately, but Sharr gives a shout of alarm and soon the hunters are running, dashing away from us. They charge back towards the ledge in a swarm of shouts and fury.

  I lie, stunned, in the undergrowth.

  ‘Danika?’ Lukas grabs my shoulders. ‘Danika, are you all right? What happened?’

  It takes me a minute to compose myself. A face swims before me, then a pair, and then a trio of Lukas faces stares down at me. A small part of me thinks that this isn’t so bad, before I shake my head to force the image away.

  ‘Illusion,’ I manage. ‘Thought I could trick them.’

  Teddy looks impressed. ‘Well, I reckon it worked. Didn’t know you could cast illusions from so far off.’

  ‘Neither did I.’ I struggle up onto my elbows. ‘Seemed worth a try, though.’

  ‘But what happened to you?’ Lukas says. ‘You sort of . . . flickered . . . and then you were suddenly lying instead of sitting. I thought . . .’ He runs a hand across his chin. ‘I thought you’d been shot or something.’

  I shake my head. The world swims. ‘I’m fine. I think it just took a bit out of me – you know, making the illusion so far away.’

  ‘But Danika, you flickered. I’m sure that’s not normal for –’

  ‘I said I’m fine.’

  It’s a lie, of course, because I feel like a dozen alehouse dancers have taken up residence in my skull. Every movement throbs, and a little hiss of pain escapes through my teeth. Whatever just happened, it wasn’t a matter of casting that illusion. I was almost sucked into my proclivity power. Into the night.

  But that doesn’t make sense. My illusionist power is just a freak genetic ability. It’s like eye colour or intelligence or sporting talent – just something I happened to be born with. Nothing to do with my proclivity. There’s no logical reason why my Night powers should get entangled with it. Not unless I’ve got even less control over my proclivity than I realised I did . . . and that’s not a happy thought.

  I push myself into a sitting position. The pain is a little gentler this time – more like a slap than a wallop – and I force myself to grin. ‘Hey, it worked, didn’t it?’

  ‘Did it ever.’ Teddy breaks into a matching grin. ‘Did you hear Sharr’s screech when she realised we were back up on that ledge?’ He gives an exaggerated gasp, throws up his hands in a theatrical gesture of surprise, and adopts a squeaky voice that’s apparently supposed to be female. ‘Oh no, I’ve miscalculated in my maniacal plan!’

  I offer an amused snort before struggling to my feet. Lukas moves to help me, but I don’t want to look like a weakling. Not after I’ve practically fainted in the undergrowth, which is enough embarrassment for one night.

  ‘All right.’ I try to sound as if I’m in control. ‘What do you say we find the twins and get out of here?’

  And that’s when we hear Clementine’s scream.

  We’re chasing the sound before we’ve even fully processed it. We leap aboard our foxaries and urge them into a dash between night-choked trees.

  My brain fills with images of the twins dead or dying in the undergrowth. Clementine with a bullet in her skull, Maisy falling at a hunter’s feet. No, no, no . . . My stomach heaves and I double over, only for my nausea to triple when I suck down a whiff of wet foxary fur.

  ‘They’re tough,’ Teddy gasps, as we careen between tree trunks. ‘They might be richies, but I reckon they can take care of themselves. This hunter won’t know what hit him.’

  Hunters, I think. Plural. Five figures stood on the ridge earlier, but Sharr’s most recent group contained only three. That leaves two hunters out there, prowling the dark.

  My foxary slams between two close trunks, thwacking my legs against the wood. Lukas emits a grunt of pain behind me, and I know we’ll have bruises tomorrow. I grit my teeth, ignore the pain, and force myself to keep my eyes open. Faster, faster, faster . . .

  A lurch to the side, and we hurtle towards a canyon wall. Teddy throws out his arms, as though to better smash his message into the foxaries’ skulls, before we skid to a sudden stop.

  It takes my brain a moment to process the scene before us. Four figures, half-concealed in the shadow of the cliff. I can see the barest outlin
es of their features, brushed by a sneaky ray of moonlight from the sky above.

  Two twins. Two hunters.

  They stand in a deadlock, weapons aimed at each other. One hunter’s pack lies open at his feet, contents spilled across the mulch and stone. Maisy holds a match, ready to strike it. The hunters must know her proclivity is Flame, because they’re smart enough to retreat a step. But they’ve got weapons of their own, and one points a pistol at Clementine’s head. The richie girl glares at him, her eyes bright in the moonlight.

  ‘Stay there!’ the man snaps.

  Clementine freezes.

  The second hunter’s proclivity is Reptile. I’ve seen him before, I think, in the days just after we fled Rourton. Snakes slither around his arms, his neck, his torso. A spiny lizard curls upon his shoulder, and I can just make out tiny flecks of movement on his neck. Geckos, perhaps, or something toxic. Whatever it is, it’s bad. He could send one of these creatures slithering through the grass towards the twins, and they wouldn’t even know until the venom filled their veins.

  No one moves. The four figures glare at each other, barely breathing. One hunter shifts his weight to the opposite foot, and Maisy almost strikes the match.

  Silence.

  Teddy, Lukas and I lurk in the trees. The hunters haven’t seen us yet, but I know Clementine has. She meets my eyes for a brief second and her breath hitches. She forces herself to look away.

  ‘Now,’ says the Reptile man, ‘here’s how this will work.’

  I fancy that his voice sounds like a hiss, but it’s probably just my imagination getting carried way.

  ‘First, you’re gonna drop my matchbox,’ he tells Maisy.

  She shakes her head, mouth drawn into a stiff line. ‘No. First, you’re going to point that gun away from my sister.’

  Maisy’s tone is fierce, so unlike her usual self. Half the time she’s practically a mouse: the meek little richie girl who grew up in luxury and never had to fight for a scrap to eat. But I know what she’s been through – and in a moment of danger, Maisy can be as brave as any of us.

  The Reptile man gives a low chuckle. ‘Like that, is it? Ah well, I must say I prefer a fight. But how do you know you’re not already dead?’

  Maisy glances at the man’s limbs, which crawl with reptilian bodies. She must know the danger his snakes present, but she refuses to check the ground at her feet. One glance downwards is what the hunters are waiting for. Just a moment of distraction . . .

  ‘If you shoot me,’ Clementine says, ‘my sister will burn your head off.’

  ‘Maybe,’ the hunter says. ‘Maybe not. But if we let you go, Sharr’ll do a lot worse than that to us. Think I’ll take my chances with the little girl.’

  Maisy brings her match closer to the flint, and the hunter can’t quite hide his flinch. Clementine smiles.

  I glance across at Teddy and Lukas. Neither seems sure what to do. Teddy is frozen, his eyes fixed on Clementine – and the gun that’s aimed at her head. It’s odd to see Clementine smiling while Teddy’s stressing, but I guess you can never predict how people will react to danger.

  Lukas meets my eyes and whispers, ‘Illusion.’

  My breath falters. I know he’s right, but he doesn’t know what happened earlier, how my illusion powers tangled into my proclivity. The thought of casting another illusion now makes my veins run cold.

  But I can’t just stand here and let the twins be killed. Not when I can do something to save them.

  I call up that familiar tingle, and I paint it across my limbs. I’m not here, I tell the magic. Just empty earth. Empty air. My body fades. I feel the illusion settle. For a few seconds, at least, I am invisible.

  And in those seconds, I charge.

  I hit the gunman first. My illusion crumbles at the moment of impact, but it’s too late for him to react. He falls beneath my weight and we roll, a jumble of limbs and grunts. I hear another struggle behind me – a cry, a whoomph, a smash of bodies. Next thing I know, my fingers are against the gunman’s eyes. I press down with a gasp, pushing his head back into the earth. If he tries to rise, he’ll risk me crushing his eyeballs.

  Lukas rushes up beside me, fumbling with his alchemy charms. He selects a tiny silver knot and presses it against the hunter’s throat. Ropes spring from the silver, as cold and coiled as the charm itself. They writhe around the man’s body like snakes.

  I jump back, disorientated. For a wild moment, I’m convinced the other hunter’s reptiles are crawling across my skin. I scramble back into a pile of dead leaves, adrenaline shooting through my body. In my panic, I can’t help but check my arms for bite marks. It takes me a good three seconds to realise the ropes aren’t snakes – and more importantly, that my friends are still in danger.

  By the time I spin back around, it’s over. Both hunters cower under tangled silver ropes. Some of the Reptile man’s snakes are pinned against his body, hissing wildly as they attempt to escape the silver threads. My friends stand a safe distance away, Maisy still brandishing her matchbox.

  Lukas stumbles towards me. ‘I meant an illusion to distract them! Not to go charging in there and –’

  ‘Well, it worked, didn’t it?’

  Lukas runs a hand through his dark curls. I open my mouth to reassure him, but Clementine cuts me off.

  ‘What do we do now?’ she says. ‘We can’t just leave them here.’

  I glance down at the hunters, bound and helpless in the leaves. ‘Why not? Sharr and the others are way up on that ledge. If we leave these two tied up, Sharr might not find them for hours. We could get a good distance away in that time.’

  Teddy looks between the hunters, a strange expression on his face. ‘Radnor would say to kill them.’

  That freezes us all. My mouth closes, and I forget what I was about to say. I don’t know what I’m more shocked by – Teddy’s suggestion, or his mention of Radnor. In the time since our crew’s old leader died, we’ve mostly avoided his name. Now the memory of his death comes back, hot and painful. Blood in the river. A body tumbling over a waterfall . . .

  ‘We’re not murderers,’ Lukas says.

  ‘We blew up the airbase,’ Teddy says. ‘Some of the hunters must have died there.’

  ‘That was different,’ Lukas says. ‘We had to destroy the Curiefer stash to stop a war from starting. This would just be murder.’

  Teddy hesitates, then nods. ‘Good. Didn’t fancy doing it, but I figured someone should point out the option.’

  ‘We’re leaving them tied up, then?’ Maisy says.

  ‘Yeah, I reckon so.’

  We fall silent, each alone with our own thoughts. My brain seems determined to blend memories of Radnor’s death with the airbase exploding, and suddenly my skin feels as cold as the rain.

  I take a deep breath. ‘If we follow the Knife that way, we’ll get back to where we want to be.’ I point in the opposite direction to the Valley. ‘Back towards the west.’

  Clementine opens her mouth, ready to argue, but Maisy gives her a surreptitious little kick. I see the realisation dawn in Clementine’s eyes.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘What a good idea.’

  We steal the hunters’ packs: two bags full of supplies. I want nothing more than to stop and tear the bags open – to hunt down every last morsel of food and shovel it into my belly. But this isn’t the time, and it isn’t the place. My hunger has to wait until we’re safe.

  A minute later, we’re travelling steadily west. We make sure we’re far out of earshot of the hunters and then stop for a real conversation.

  ‘All right,’ I say. ‘Obviously we’ve got to double back and head east towards the Valley, but I wanted the hunters to think we’re going the other way. When Sharr finds them, they’ll point her in the wrong direction.’

  Teddy nods. ‘Plenty of trees down here. I reckon we can sneak back past without the
m spotting us.’

  There are a few mumbles of agreement, and we move to remount our foxaries. I place a hand on Garrum’s back, but Teddy grabs my arm.

  ‘What?’ I say.

  Teddy stares at the foxaries. ‘Your illusion can’t fool Sharr for long, I reckon. She’ll be up to the top of the ledge by now, and when she doesn’t find any signs of us . . .’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘She’ll be looking for people on foxaries. She’ll be hunting for massive paw-prints, bark gnawed off trees, squashed bushes – that sort of thing.’

  ‘You want to dump the foxaries?’

  Teddy flinches at my choice of words. ‘I didn’t say dump. Just . . . set them free.’

  ‘So basically, dump them,’ Clementine says.

  Teddy shakes his head. ‘I could send them off in different directions, get them to trample all over the Knife. Could buy us a few days, I reckon, if the hunters follow their trails instead of ours . . .’

  There’s a quiet pause. Teddy reaches out to touch the foxary’s nose and runs a regretful hand across the fur. The beast meets his eyes.

  Then Teddy shrugs and forces a cocky grin back onto his face. ‘And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s planning a getaway.’

  I glance between the boy and the beast. This foxary, Borrash, has been with us most of the way from Rourton. He bows his head, allowing Teddy to scratch behind his ears. A low grumble crawls from his throat: a foxary’s purr.

  ‘Can we make it without them?’ Clementine says. ‘We don’t know how far it is to the Valley, let alone beyond.’

  She has a point. Apart from an old folk song, we have no clues to guide us – only the knowledge that the Magnetic Valley lies to the east. As the sole gap in the Eastern Boundary Range, it provides our only route from Taladia into the land beyond.

  But Teddy is right. The foxaries’ trail is too obvious – and this might be our only hope of escape. Better to hike to the Valley than to die here, cold and broken at Sharr Morrigan’s feet.