Boundary

  Also by Heather Terrell

  Relic: The Books of Eva

  Copyright © 2014 by Heather Terrell

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Soho Teen

  an imprint of

  Soho Press, Inc.

  853 Broadway

  New York, NY 10003

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Terrell, Heather.

  Boundary / Heather Terrell.

  (The books of Eva; [2])

  HC ISBN 978-1-61695-199-3

  PB ISBN 978-1-61695-620-2

  eISBN 978-1-61695-198-6

  1. Fantasy. I. Title.

  PZ7.T274Bou 2014

  [Fic]—dc23 2014027672

  Interior illustrations © Ricardo Cortés

  Interior design by Janine Agro, Soho Press, Inc.

  v3.1

  For my three boys—Jim, Jack, and Ben

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  History of New North

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter XXVI

  Chapter XXVII

  Chapter XXVIII

  Chapter XXIX

  Chapter XXX

  Chapter XXXI

  Chapter XXXII

  Chapter XXXIII

  Chapter XXXIV

  Chapter XXXV

  Chapter XXXVI

  Chapter XXXVII

  Chapter XXXVIII

  Chapter XXXIX

  Chapter XXXX

  Chapter XXXXI

  Chapter XXXXII

  Chapter XXXXIII

  Chapter XXXXIV

  Chapter XXXXV

  Chapter XXXXVI

  Chapter XXXXVII

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  PROLOGUE

  Lukas stands on the highest point of the

  Ring. He knows the position is too exposed, too risky in daylight, but he has no choice. Not if he wants to see Eva. He strains for a glimpse through a small crack in the ice-roof of the Basilika. If he angles himself just right, he may catch something of the ceremony proceeding behind the colorful stained ice-windows. Perhaps the swoop of a Gallant’s silvery cloak. Maybe even the trailing hem of Eva’s white gown.

  Bracing himself against the bitter wind, he walks up toward the edge and looks over the top of the snow cornice. In his eagerness, he moves too close. His misstep sends qetrar flying down the side of the Ring. The chunks of ice-crust crash into one another as they fall, making a noise that no Ring-Guard could ignore. Not even the laziest of them.

  Ducking behind an ice-mound, Lukas slows his breath and stills his body. He leans into a depression, willing his inky sealskin coat and black hair to blend into its shadows. The unalaq picks up, and his coat flaps in its wind. He grabs the coat and pulls it close to his body. To the eyes of the Ring-Guards—poorly trained in the Boundary ways of seeing in ice and snow—he will look like nothing more than a shadow. Which is all he is to them, anyway.

  The thud of clumsy footsteps grows louder. After thousands of siniks on the ice, the Aerie people should be more nimble, yet still they walk as heavily as bears, even on such an important day as this. But it’s just another example of their dependence on the Boundary. The Aerie would starve if there was no one to hunt for them; they’d scare a deaf rabbit away.

  The sound of the footsteps stops close to his hiding place.

  Lukas slides his bow out of his pack and turns it toward the ground to notch his arrow. In one single, silent movement, he draws his bow and brings it up to his face. He holds it there as he listens to the Ring-Guards.

  “Looks like the ice fell from here.”

  “The cornice seems weak. Probably just couldn’t hold the ice-crust.”

  “So some pieces broke off and slid down on their own?”

  “That’s what I’m guessing.”

  “It’s possible. Still, the Triad issued strict orders about today—”

  “Come on. We still have the rest of the perimeter to patrol.”

  The voices trail off, and the footsteps fade. Lukas exhales and lowers his bow, watching his breath form frozen clouds.

  He dares to step out onto the Ring again and peers down onto the Aerie. The open spaces at the Ring’s center—usually bustling—are empty. All the Aerie folk are within the Basilika’s walls. A stark reminder that this ceremony is not for the Boundary. The Boundary are always ellami, outside. Unless they’re serving at the Feast afterward.

  Lukas waits, watching through his soldered-together metal tubes. Without warning, the sunlight intensifies. The bright rays afford him a view into the rift in the Basilika’s roof. The view is limited, but it serves his purposes.

  The procession of Gallants, Maidens, Lords, and Ladies begins the ceremonial walk down the Basilika’s knave—it reminds him of the slow journey of an iceberg across the Frozen Sea. Cold and inhuman. Lukas can make out only their white and silver-grey finery, not their faces. He can barely hear their chanting. It’s the purr of insects on a rare summer night. He’s not certain how he’ll identify Eva.

  Anger courses through him, anger at himself. He alone is at fault for this. His acts brought Eva to this juncture. The guilt is his to shoulder; it doesn’t matter that his acts were ajurnama, that they could not be helped. Their lies gave him no choice. He’d like nothing more than to send one of his arrows down into the icy parade to stop her ceremony with that tedious Gallant. But he must only bear witness.

  At that moment he sees it. A flash of her long auburn hair cascading down the back of her white gown. Eva. His Eva.

  No, she is more. She does not belong to him alone. She is the Angakkuq. The one who will spark the true Healing, the one who will melt the frozen sea of lies and destroy this place forever.

  I.

  Junius 20

  Year 242, A.H.

  I stand at the back of the Basilika, waiting. I watch as every friend I’ve ever had, every highborn Aerie I’ve ever known, promenades down the nave first, a resplendent sea of white and silver. The men’s elaborate cloaks of animal hides are bleached white from Mother Sun; the women’s sumptuous gowns of undyed fabrics, scrubbed with ivory, are embroidered with rare silver thread that shine as if just made.

  These robes may only be worn on this particular occasion, the Betrothal ceremony.

  Except for a Union day when a Maiden and her Gallant alone wear blue, a Betrothal is the only time The Lex permits the entire Aerie to deviate from our usual somber blacks and browns. Only then does The Lex allow us to focus on the future—Unions and children—rather than remind us of our terrible past. On this special day, we Aerie band together in a swath of the purest snow as a plea to the Gods to give mankind another chance.

  The rays of Her Sun pour through ice-windows colored in the symbols of the Father, the Mother, and the Healing. The day is unseasonably warm, even for spring. The warmth makes the walls weep, as if the Sun Herself is crying colored tears.

  Here I am at
the center of it all, some kind of offering to the Gods. The trussed-up milky-white emblem of mankind’s hope for a second chance. But I am a fraud.

  I draw a Maidenly smile upon my face for the Aerie

  people to see—I know they’re all watching—but really I feel like crying along with Her. Not because my Betrothed is Jasper.

  He is the best kind of Gallant, and I believe he’s in love with me. I’m lucky in this, because love isn’t a prerequisite for Unions. In fact, it’s a rarity, and I almost feel guilty that Jasper feels so strongly for me. After all, our Betrothal is born from a ruse.

  No, the reason I feel like sobbing is that I mourn the loss of my old self. I used to be a guileless child playing with my twin Eamon before he fell from the Ring. I was a trusting Maiden in search of Testing glory in her dead brother’s name. I stood within these sacred walls and worshipped the Gods with my whole spirit.

  No more. One night with Lukas in the Boundary lands melted that innocence.

  A shift in the music awakens me from my dark thoughts. The deep chanting of the Basilikons becomes more layered, more intense. Their polyphonic pleas for the Gods to bless this Union—voices only, no instruments in the Basilika—escalate. I look over at the Chief Basilikon, who nods in my direction.

  This is my signal.

  I muster my courage, gather the folds of my white gown heavy with embroidery and beadwork, and take the first step down the long nave. Silver and gold orbs—symbols of Father Earth and Mother Sun—stare down at me from the chancel. I suddenly feel that the Gods Themselves see through my artifice. A shiver passes through me at the thought of Their judgment.

  Then the doubt creeps in. The fear vanishes, and in its wake is something I cannot name. This new feeling I have, it feels like a sickness. Do the Gods even exist? I believed in the Father and Mother for so long, but now I wonder.

  As I continue my procession down the nave, I see the smiles of my friends and neighbors, even some Aerie I don’t really know. Hundreds of faces, maybe even a thousand, beaming at me. I am the cornerstone of their hopes. I am about to become a newly Betrothed Maiden, and I’m already their newest Archon. I am something special and new, and therefore a gift from the Gods.

  Without slowing my progress, I bestow my own small smile upon that sea of faces, always careful to keep my gaze downcast in Maidenly modesty. In truth, I dare not look any one of them in the eyes. I fear that my eyes will reveal my true purpose, the whole reason I continue with this subterfuge. Because only I know my true mission: I must uncover who among them killed my brother.

  II.

  Junius 24

  Year 242, A.H.

  One by one, the tight stays of my gown loosen. As my Companion Katja slowly undoes the bindings of my corset, I sigh in relief. I’ve been laced up in my somber Basilika gown since the first bell of morning—suffering through the last in an endless number of services blessing me as Archon. At long last I can breathe.

  The heather-grey gown drops to the floor, and I reach for my black sealskin Archon uniform. The tunic, pants, and cloak look almost exactly as they did during the Testing—except they’re now a whole lot cleaner, and they’ve been embroidered with the Triad symbol.

  I finger the red stitching; it looks like my mother’s fine handiwork. She got the Archon for which she’s longed. Just not the one she expected.

  What would this day have held if Eamon hadn’t died? Would I be helping him prepare for his first day of Archon training? Would I be betrothed to Jasper and ready to enter a life like my mother’s? Even though I’ve never wanted to be anything like my mother, I’d choose that path if it would bring my brother back.

  Seeing me pause, Katja hurries to my side. Shaking out the uniform, she holds out the pants so that I can step into them. I take them back from her instead. “It’s all right, Katja. I can manage this on my own.”

  “Oh, no, Lady Margret would never forgive me.”

  “Are you Lady Margret’s Companion or mine, Katja?”

  Her body stiffens. “Yours—”

  “If you don’t tell Lady Margret that I got dressed on my own, then I won’t, either,” I interrupt. My tone is stern, but

  I am smiling.

  Katja hesitates. My request is certainly outside the bounds of The Lex; secrets are never, ever permitted. But I am an Archon now, and my rule is law, too.

  Nodding, she starts to curtsy and says, “Good day, Maid—” Then she stops herself. She isn’t quite sure how to address me. No one is.

  She tries again. “Good day … Archon.”

  I force a laugh. I need to lighten this exchange. “Just call me Eva. It’s a lot easier.”

  Backing out of the room, head down, she mutters, “I couldn’t do that.”

  She’s right, of course, and I’ve only made her more uncomfortable. Such familiarity between Boundary and Aerie people is forbidden by The Lex. Katja would be disciplined by Boundary and Aerie alike if someone overheard her. Never mind that Lukas and I more than bridged that gap.

  Careful not to call me anything at all, Katja closes the door behind her.

  Alone for a few ticks, I kneel on the floor next to my bed. I slide my hand under a loose floorboard and force my fingers into the crevice below, until I feel my treasure: Elizabet’s amulet. Lukas taught me the real name for the pendant—a “flash drive”—but I will always think of it as an amulet, because Elizabet wore it around her neck the night she died. She’d put her hopes and dreams into it, and by doing so, she made it magic.

  I slip the amulet around my neck. No matter the risk, I want Elizabet with me on my first day as Archon. She’s the one who got me to this place, after all. Well, Elizabet and Eamon.

  Pulling the black tunic over my head, I arrange the neckline to cover my secret possession. Then I pull on the sealskin pants and cloak. They feel so light and comfortable after all the long siniks in gowns. I remember how peculiar the uniform felt when I first wore it for the Testing. Now I prefer it.

  Just this once, I wish I had a mirror to see my reflection. I feel so different than when I set out on this path. I’m certain my face must show it. But once more, I must guess at how I look—ever since I returned the only proper mirror in the Aerie to my father after the Testing. It’s telling that Father chose not to return it to the mantel in our home but instead locked it in his private treasury. His precious Relic ultimately won him the Sacred Role of Chief Archon. But though we’ve never discussed it, Father and I both know it served me well during my own Testing, thanks to Lukas. Lukas insisted I take it, knowing it could be a tool and not just a Testament to Vanity. In violation of everything we believe, Father agreed. He knew it could save my life. I wonder how much else he knows about the wisdom of the Boundary.

  I take a deep breath at the top of the stairs. My parents will be waiting at the bottom, eager to send me off with blessings for my first day of training at the Hall of Archons. I stride down the steps with a confidence I don’t really feel and am surprised to find that Jasper is waiting, too.

  “Your Betrothed wanted to say his farewells,” my mother announces on Jasper’s behalf, as if he concocted this meeting. Of course she arranged this. Any chance she gets to tether me to my role as Betrothed instead of Archon, she takes.

  I glance over at Jasper, so handsomely Gallant and Nordic blond. He gives me a small, knowing smile—he understands my mother almost as well as I do—and takes my hand in his. Now that we are Betrothed, we are permitted to touch in this limited way.

  “I’m glad that you came,” I say. Truly I am. After playing at so many ill-fitting roles these past weeks, it’s a relief to be with someone who understands something of the truth. He alone knows how our Betrothal really happened, forged under the shining light of the Ring-Guards’ threats instead of during an impassioned moment on the turret, as we told our parents. Our parents believed us, or pretended to, anyway. For them, it was relief or delight or both. And we felt it, too. After that, Jasper and I embarked on a whirlwind of Feasts and Basil
ika services, culminating in the Betrothal ceremony, which was so lavish that in comparison, the actual Union festivities may feel anticlimactic.

  I squeeze his hand. Jasper’s presence brings me comfort today. He also understands that no matter how hard I fought for the Archon Laurels in the Testing in Eamon’s name, I have mixed feelings. But he thinks my discomfiture stems from grief over my brother; he knows nothing about the fear I feel as the so-called Angakkuq. How could I tell him about the Boundary people’s belief in my sacred role without revealing too much? I can barely admit to myself that their belief is real, or what it could possibly mean.

  My mind flashes back to that strange night—my secret trip to the Boundary lands, to Lukas’s grandmother. What she said still sounds crazy: that I am the Angakkuq, a shaman mediator between the Earth and the spirit world. And that the Boundary has been waiting for me, the seeker of the truth, for over a generation. Normally I don’t disagree with Elders—The Lex is very clear on the subject of respect—but while I accept the duty to unearth the truth and change things if I must, I have to refuse the Angakkuq title.

  If the Aerie’s religious beliefs are false, as I’m starting to believe, then doesn’t that mean the Boundary’s belief could be false, too? Again, I think of my father’s mirror. He believes something of what they believe, even though he could never admit it. What other secrets is he keeping?

  Still, even if I don’t buy into this Angakkuq notion, it doesn’t mean that the Boundary will give up on the idea. They are relying on me even if their motives are based on some wild dream. I feel their expectations on my shoulders as well as my own.

  “May the Gods travel with you,” Jasper says.

  His words surprise me at first; they constitute the ritual blessing for those few permitted to journey beyond the Ring. I’m just heading to the Hall of Archons. I realize, however, that his words are fitting. This is the start of a pilgrimage, and it may well take me outside the comfort and safety of the Aerie.