Borderlands (25 page)

‘Yes,' I say, ‘but the dam's protected by those kindred runes, so that leaves –'

‘The engine room.' Radnor nods. ‘Exactly.'

‘But they'll just restart the machinery, won't they?' Maisy says. ‘They'll send down someone with a Water proclivity to start up the machines and drain the tunnels again.'

‘At least it'd be a setback,' Teddy says. ‘Better than nothing, I reckon.'

‘It will be more than a setback,' Radnor says. ‘We're not just going to switch off the machinery. We're going to destroy it.'

I stare at him. ‘How?'

‘Fire,' Radnor says. ‘The machines are based on alchemy, right? Even if it's running in a loop, there has to be something there to start it – a source of the original magic.'

‘Alchemy juice,' I say, nodding.

‘Could be anything,' Teddy says. ‘Acids, gun­powder, chemicals . . . If we set that on fire, I reckon the whole contraption'll go
kaboom
.'

We all sink into silence. It's not hard to imagine it. A cavern of dark, clanking machinery. A scream of sound through the tunnels. Then fire, and a roar, and the water rushing through . . .

‘What about the workers?' I say suddenly. ‘We can't do this while there are people in there – they'll drown!'

‘So what?' Radnor says. ‘They're working for the king. They deserve it.'

I whip my head around. ‘Just because you had a chance to run away before you turned eighteen, Radnor, doesn't mean everybody did. You think Mitcham deserves to die? Or Riley? Or all the other people who are stuck down there in the dark?'

Radnor raises an eyebrow. ‘What about all the hunters in the airbase? Or the biplane pilots?'

I open my mouth to respond, then close it.

‘Not so high and mighty now, are you?' Radnor says with a sneer. ‘Don't pretend you're better than me, Danika Glynn. I'm not the one who leaves her friends behind to die.'

‘It's not the same thing,' Teddy says. ‘Those people in the airbase – they were hunters and pilots. They volunteered to kill innocent people.'

‘Oh yeah?' Radnor says. ‘Well, if it helps you sleep better at night, you keep thinking that, but this is my crew and you play by my rules. And I say we're going to –'

‘
Your
crew?' Clementine interrupts. ‘You might've been our leader when we left Rourton, scruffer boy, but we've been through a lot since then. I don't see what gives you the right to waltz back in and –'

Maisy interrupts with a nervous cough. She looks pale and strained, as though frightened by the idea of butting into our argument.

‘Yeah, Maisy?' Teddy says. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Nobody has to die,' she says quietly. ‘I mean . . . all these soldiers have Earth or Water proclivities. Even if the catacombs flood, can't they can just melt into the water or the tunnel walls to escape?'

We all stare at each other.

Teddy gives a little laugh. ‘Well, I reckon that simplifies things.'

In our moment of relief, no one seems keen to point out the obvious. Melting into proclivities is easiest with lifeless forces: Air and Darkness, Stone and Water. Yes, the soldiers might survive a deluge – but if we don't escape in time, our crew will not be so lucky.

With a power like Beast, the trick is almost impossible to master – the result of years, maybe decades, of training. In my entire life, I've only met one or two scruffers who could melt into the body of an animal.

Theoretically, Night should allow me to survive – except that I can't control it. And as for Flame . . . well, it's simply too dangerous. If an amateur like Maisy tried it, her heart or lungs could explode into fire. She would die in a pyre of burning flesh.

‘Good,' Radnor says. ‘It's settled then. We'll send someone to sneak down into the engine room, set fire to the place, and –' he snaps his fingers – ‘that's the end of the king's invasion.'

‘It won't be that easy,' Clementine says, still looking miffed. ‘Surely the machinery would be guarded? I don't see how five of us can possibly sneak down there without being spotted.'

‘Five of us won't sneak down there,' Radnor says. ‘Just one. One person will be enough to start the fire. The rest of us will create a diversion.'

We all fall silent.

One person, alone in the dark. One person to set fire to a vat of unknown alchemy juice. One person to somehow make it out alive . . .

No one looks at me. But I know what they're thinking, and the knowledge makes my stomach twist like tissue paper. In our crew, there's only one person who can sneak past the guards. One person who can cast an illusion and make herself temporarily invisible.

I take a deep breath. ‘I'll do it.'

The others start to argue, but I cut them off with a wave. ‘You know it has to be me. No one else can get past the guards.'

They fall silent. They know it's true. I clench my fists behind my back, and try to distract myself. I can't let myself think about it – about what I've just agreed to. The fire, the water, the dark . . .

Maisy bites her lip. ‘But one little spark won't be enough, Danika. We'll need a big fire, something to cause major damage. I'm the one with a Flame proclivity; I should be the one who goes.'

Radnor points at Maisy. ‘You go with her. Danika, you can make an illusion to cover two people, right?'

‘What?' Clementine says, startled. ‘No, Maisy isn't going to –'

‘It has to be me, Clem,' Maisy says. ‘No one else can –'

‘I'm not letting you go down there! I'll do it, I'll go in your place.'

‘No offence, richie, but you don't even know your proclivity yet,' Radnor says. ‘You won't be much use.'

‘Well then, we'll all go,' Clementine says. ‘Maisy can start the fire, and I'll help her –'

Radnor shakes his head. ‘You'll just be putting her in more danger. We don't know how crowded it might be down there. It'll be hard enough sneaking two people in, let alone five.'

‘But how will they get out again?' Teddy says, looking worried. ‘I don't like this, Radnor. I don't reckon they'll have time to –'

‘They'll have time,' Radnor cuts in. ‘Haven't you ever filled a bucket from a water-pipe? It doesn't happen in seconds. All those tunnels . . . it'll take a few hours, at least, to fill up again.'

‘You don't know that for sure.'

‘No,' Radnor says. ‘But it's the best chance we've got.'

‘Easy for you to say!' Clementine says. ‘It's not you risking your neck.'

Radnor raises an eyebrow. ‘Not you either, last time I checked. I'd say it's up to Danika and Maisy.'

‘She's my sister! I'm not letting her go off and –'

Maisy places a hand on her shoulder. ‘Clem, I'm coming back. I swear it.'

‘I don't care what you promise, Maisy, I won't let you –'

And that's when the tent flap swings open. A woman is silhouetted against the moonlight.

‘Well, well,' she says. ‘All that shouting . . . doesn't sound like a united crew of heroes, does it?'

And with that, Sharr Morrigan steps into the tent.

Sharr holds her pistol with both hands, its barrel staring down into my face. Even so, my gaze is drawn to the woman behind it. Dark hair. Red lips. Cold eyes.

‘It's taken me a while to find you,' Sharr says. ‘But you must have known I would eventually. I'm a hunter, Glynn. I always get my mark.'

She wears an army uniform – no doubt stolen from a dead soldier, just like our own cloaks. And too late, I remember the second rowboat. The rowboat that seemed to follow us across the lake. The boat with only two passengers: female soldiers whose faces were obscured by darkness . . .

The tent flap moves again, and another woman steps into view. She also wears an army uniform, and it takes me a moment to recognise her. Then I see the braided black hair, the raccoon makeup.

Laverna.

Beside me, Maisy sucks down a sharp breath. The shock is bad enough for the rest of us, but it must be a double blow for her. Laverna is the one who nursed her back to health and cared for her throughout the storm.

‘What are you doing here?' Maisy whispers. ‘Where's Quirin?'

‘That old fool?' Laverna says. ‘Oh, I reckon he's back on his boat. Gave up looking for you lot when we found Silver's body.' She grins. ‘I would've given up too, if I hadn't run into my old friend Sharr.'

‘But you're a smuggler!' I say. ‘You can't be working with Sharr, that doesn't make sense . . .'

‘I'm no smuggler, dearie,' Laverna says. ‘Only been with that clan for a few years. Didn't you know? Latest in a long line of Quirin's gals, from what I can gather.'

My skin tingles. ‘You're a spy. You've been working for the hunters all along.'

Laverna laughs. ‘Quirin's always blustering on about how his people don't concern themselves with no kings. But the king still keeps an eye on things, you know. Wouldn't want the smugglers getting too uppity. And that damn fool Quirin lets a spy like me walk into his clan.' She spits, then wipes her lips across the back of her hand. ‘Into his heart.'

With a jolt, I think of Quirin during the storm: panicking, terrified for his family on the
Forgotten
. Afraid for his wife. For his son. But to Laverna, the entire family – even her child – was just a charade. Just a ploy to worm her way into Quirin's inner circle. The memory of that little boy, splashing and laughing in the lagoon, leaves a sharp tang in my throat.

Sharr Morrigan takes a step towards us. ‘And when I found my dear old friend Laverna tramping through the wilderness on the trail of a group of teenagers . . .' She gives a mocking click of her tongue. ‘Well, I knew at once who she was tracking. And I let her know how important it was that I find you – fast.'

Her finger wraps around the trigger of her pistol.

I open my mouth. ‘Wait!'

‘Yes?' Sharr says. She looks cold, amused. She knows that she has us trapped, that she's blocking the tent's only exit. She's been waiting for this moment a long time, and she's all too happy to toy with us. To gloat. To make us squirm.

I wet my lips. I have to use this somehow, to buy some time. ‘I . . . I still don't see how you found us.'

Sharr laughs, proud of herself. ‘Show them, Laverna. Show them what fools they've been.'

Laverna twists slowly and pulls down her collar. I catch a glimpse of her proclivity tattoo: just a flicker in the pallid light. Lines run across her shoulders, down her back. They weave and fork like veins. Tiny black droplets run and dribble between them.

Laverna's proclivity is Blood. It's a rare proclivity, and one I've never seen in person before. No wonder she became a healer. No wonder she was so valuable to Quirin, to the hunters, to the king.

‘Bloodhound,' Maisy whispers.

‘What?' I say.

‘That's what they used to call people with Blood proclivities. Bloodhounds
.
Because once they've healed you . . .'

‘Very clever, dearie.' Laverna smirks directly at Maisy. ‘I saved your life and I bonded our blood. And I can always feel the folks I've healed. I
sense
you. I close my eyes and you call to me. Run as far as you want, but I'm always gonna find y–'

A bullet hits her forehead.

But when I hear the bang, I think
I
must be dead. I can only see one pistol in this tent, and Sharr is pointing it right at me. But I'm still standing, and the shot rings in my ears while Laverna topples to the floor . . .

Someone smashes me aside. There's a shrieking blast right where my head would have been, and I catch a whiff of Teddy's breath as he falls on top of me. ‘Move, move, move!'

I don't know what's happening, but moving sounds like a pretty good idea. I roll to the side, glimpsing the scene in a blur before I get another faceful of floor. Radnor holds a smoking pistol. He's still pointing at the space above Laverna's body, which lies dead on the ground. And Sharr is aiming her pistol for a second retaliatory shot . . .

I jerk sideways. Sharr's bullet whizzes through the space I've just vacated to impale the tent's back wall. Shouts punctuate the night outside, then screams and running footsteps. I guess people must have heard the gunshots; a moment later, there are soldiers at the tent's entrance. I pull out my knife and slash a hole in the back canvas. Then we're out, pelting into the night.

I don't know where Sharr is and I barely care. We run, stumble, trip through the dark. Soldiers are everywhere. There are bangs, shouts, crashes. More gunshots. Is Sharr shooting her way out of the tent? I feel sick at the thought, but self-preservation wins out, and I keep on running.

The crowd seems to thicken every second. People push and shove; soldiers elbow me to get through, to see what's going on. Limbs fly everywhere, heads turn, bodies press together like fish in a tin. Any second now, someone will spot the smudged night sky of my proclivity tattoo, or ask me why we're fleeing . . .

We need to get out of this crowd. There's only one thing for it. The catacombs.

I dart to the side, heading for the nearest entrance. I can sense my friends behind me: Clementine's breath sounds like gasping; Teddy's is hot on my neck. Radnor swears to himself and I hear Maisy's footfalls to my left. I sprint behind some tents, almost trip on a tent wire, and throw myself with a gasp into the dark.

The first thing that hits me is the smell. It's dank and cold, heavy with the stink of mildew and damp earth. We scramble down in single file, with me at the front. The world inside is shockingly black. I keep my hands out to the sides, pressed against the chilly stone walls. Dirt crumbles at my touch and I shrink back, afraid that the tunnel might collapse.

‘Where are we going?' Clementine whispers.

‘Away from Sharr.'

No one argues with that, at least. The tunnel opens into a shallow cavern lit by alchemy lamps. They flicker, bracketed above the gaping mouths of a dozen other tunnels. This must be a meeting point. Any of these paths could lead us back up into the crowd and the open night.

Each tunnel's entrance holds a heavy iron door, all raised open to keep the pathways clear. They seem to be operated by levers located on the tunnel side of each doorway. Briefly, I wonder what the doors are for – to keep something out, or something in? My stomach gives a nervous jolt before I dismiss the thought. It isn't important. They're open now, and we have a choice of routes. That's all that matters.

Only one tunnel leads down. It lies on the far side of the cavern: a dark hole shrinking into the deep. I can smell dead earth and musty air, and every instinct in my body yearns to back away.

‘Up or down?' Teddy says.

I hesitate. Every moment we spend outside in the chaos, we increase our risk of capture.

‘This is our chance,' Radnor says. ‘I say we go for it.'

‘But we haven't got a plan worked out yet –' Clementine begins.

‘Doesn't matter,' Radnor says. ‘We're here now, and we'll just have to deal with it.'

‘Will only the two of us go?' I glance at Maisy. ‘Maybe the rest of you could –'

‘Forget about it,' Teddy says unexpectedly. ‘I'm with Clementine on this one. If you two are going, we're all going.' He pauses. ‘We're a crew, Danika. I reckon that's what crews do.'

Radnor doesn't look happy, but he can see he's been outvoted. He gives a reluctant nod, lantern light flickering on his face. ‘All right, then. Let's go.'

We choose the lower tunnel. I take the lead, prepared to throw up an illusion if we run into any soldiers. But there's no sign of human life – just silence and dirt. Perhaps the night shift is working deeper into the catacombs, further out beneath the Valley itself.

I stumble deeper, fighting back my fear. The silence is broken only by the slap of our footsteps on rock, and the quiet huff of breathing.

Lamps are bracketed to the wall at wide intervals, but their flickering light is feeble at best. The deeper we trek, the further and further apart they seem to be spaced – until finally we step into blackness. With a pang, I realise that we must be just beneath the Valley – and within the reach of its magnetic field. The army can't risk alchemy here. Not when magnetism might throw back the magic, causing gas and flames to explode in the dark. In this section of the tunnels, I suppose the soldiers must carry candles, or perhaps old-fashioned gas lamps.

Still, we don't dare light a match. We have no idea how far the light might carry – and around every bend, soldiers might be waiting. If we're caught down here, I doubt even Teddy could bluff our way out of it. So we scoot ever onwards into the dark.

As we descend, I hear something else. It's faint – a distant whine, perhaps, from somewhere deep beneath our feet. We sneak around another corner, and I almost slip.

‘Whoa!' Radnor whispers, grabbing my shoulder. ‘Steady on there, Glynn.'

The tunnel floor angles down sharply. I stick a hesitant toe out to take a step, and almost slip for a second time. ‘It's steep,' I warn the others.

We scramble down carefully, using the walls for support. Although we try to move without sound, the dirt is loose and slippery and our boots refuse to grip the stone beneath. All is black. All is cold.

It's impossible to measure time down here. We might have been here for twenty minutes, or an hour, or even two. There's just the endless descent – the ache in my hands, the rawness of my palms on the walls.

After a while, I start to feel dizzy. My lungs are strangely tight. Every breath is sharp in my throat.

If I were in the middle of our group, surrounded by my friends, it might be easier to keep a grip on my terror. But here at the front, every instinct screams at me that I'm lost, I'm in danger, I'm plunging into the unknown. Any scoot forward could be my last. There could be a steep drop, a hole in the floor. A soldier. A bullet.

Down, down, down we go. I can't even pick out any shadows, because everything is shadow. My breath sounds hollow. It feels like the world has turned to black: a coal blanket, smothering my face, my limbs, my eyes.

I concentrate on my breathing. In the back of my head, a comforting rhythm stirs.
‘Oh mighty yo, how the star-shine must go . . .'

It's funny how the song comes back to me in the moments I need it. Perhaps it's because my parents sang it as a lullaby. It's a memory from the start of my life – the only time I felt truly safe. It swims back into my brain, soft and reassuring. My breath shakes. My memory whispers. ‘
Chasing those distant deserts of green
. . .'

But suddenly the words change, and I don't hear my mother's voice in my head. I hear Quirin. He sits on the beach at Green Lagoon, as his son plays in the shallows, and that extra verse spills from his lips.

Oh Valley's vein,

How we swim through your pain,

From the prisoner's pit to the sky . . .

The prisoner's pit. The place where that long-ago smuggler was entombed – down here, in the catacombs. It feels like I'm already there. Buried. Imprisoned. The earth presses in around me and the roof grows lower.
Oh Valley's vein . . .
Does that refer to this tunnel? It certainly feels like a vein: a hollow tendril flowing beneath the skin of the earth. But instead of blood, it flows with darkness.

I feel a strange prickle across my skin.
Night
. My proclivity magic, breathing back into my flesh. We must be deep enough to use magic again – below the reach of the Valley's magnetic field.

We lean backwards, straining to slide through a narrow stretch of tunnel. There's no room to sit up, let alone stand. Just earth all around me. Stone and dirt and soil, and the sound of fingers scrabbling, and the constant weight of darkness pounding upon my chest.

And the sound. It grows louder the deeper we delve into the earth. I remember Private Riley, mad with drink and memories as she lurches around the camp fire.
The sound!
she cried.
The sound, the sound!
It filters up through the catacombs to reach my eardrums – and once it grabs me, it refuses to let go. A clank. A shriek. There is a faint ticking that underlies it all, like clockwork, but the screech of rusty hinges makes the whole machine sound alive.