Borderlands by Skye Melki-Wegner Page B

trees.
    Lukas wouldn’t leave us, I tell myself. And he wouldn’t keep secrets. Not after everything we’ve survived together. Maisy’s just paranoid, that’s all – and who can blame her, after what she’s been through?
    But then I remember the afternoon, when Lukas pulled his mind from the eagle’s eyes. The way he looked down to disguise his expression. The way he hesitated, pausing between answers. And how he chose his words so carefully . . . like a boy with something to hide.

    We reach the borderlands a few hours after noon. The forest ends at the edge of a cliff, which skirts around the region like a picture frame. And the picture within is so startling that it takes my breath away. This isn’t just a swamp. It isn’t just a network of streams. It’s something else entirely.
    A sea of shining threads: water and earth, river and island . . . all entangled in an enormous knot. When I squint into the afternoon sun, it looks like someone has splattered tendrils of silver paint across a wall. Some islands sprout foliage so thick and sprawling that you can hardly see the water separating them.
    But in the areas I can see clearly . . . well, it’s a far cry from Rourton’s alleyways. The water gleams and shifts like a thousand moving snakes beneath the sky. Higher chunks of land form plateaus; lower areas sink like sighs beyond my sight, and ribbons of waterfall tumble between them.
    â€˜Wow,’ Teddy says. ‘That’s it.’
    For a second I think he’s talking about the borderlands, but then I follow his gaze. He stares towards the horizon, where enormous mountains line the sky. The Eastern Boundary Range. Those peaks are legendary for their height, impassable even by biplane. They mark our eastern border, cutting off Taladia from the land beyond.
    A space between two mountains draws my gaze. I focus on the V-shaped chink of light.
    The Magnetic Valley.
    A prickle runs across my skin. This is it. After all this time struggling across Taladia, it’s surreal to think I’m seeing the Valley with my own eyes. It’s right there, just like any other landmark, and I don’t know whether I’m stunned or thrilled or disappointed. It looks so ordinary from here; just a gap between mountains. But what did I expect it to do – jump up off the ground and start yodelling to welcome us?
    â€˜I don’t see an army,’ Clementine says, shading her eyes.
    Lukas shakes his head. ‘We’re too far away to see from here. But trust me, they’re real. Clustering around the Valley’s entrance.’ He gives a little snort of distaste. ‘Like bees on a hive.’
    We stand in silence, gazing at the distant mountains. This is it. This is the gateway into our new home – whatever that may entail.
    A breeze blusters across the cliff, churning dust around our ankles. Clementine shifts her weight uneasily. ‘What do you think it will be like?’
    â€˜The Valley?’
    She shakes her head. ‘No, the land beyond.’
    â€˜Like the stories, I reckon,’ Teddy says. ‘You know – food, freedom, paradise and all that.’
    â€˜But they’re just stories.’
    Teddy shrugs. ‘Yeah, they’re stories. And that smuggler’s song is just a song. But it still got us here, didn’t it? Just because it’s a story doesn’t mean there’s no truth in it.’
    An arch of crumbling stone curves down from the cliff, offering the gentlest route into the border­lands. We descend in single file, crab-walking with our hands behind our backs to keep a firm grip on the soil. It’s a long process: slow and awkward. Pebbles spill beneath my fingers and occasionally I lose my footing, but there’s always a chunk of clay or clump of weeds to swipe. I bet we could take this path in five minutes at a sprint – but since we don’t fancy breaking our