The Borderkind

Throughout the entire conversation, Julianna had learned so much that was nearly impossible to believe, and yet she had no choice but to believe it. After all, the proof was all around her. Miss Tsing told them of the legendary and the Lost, the Two Kingdoms, the Veil, and the Borderkind. She shared what she knew of a crisis that was spreading throughout the Two Kingdoms, with Hunters in pursuit of the Borderkind in a secret effort to eradicate them. A secret that was no longer quite as secret. Even as Julianna attempted to wrap her mind around that, Miss Tsing explained that Oliver was different from the Lost Ones, that he was an Intruder.



“All right,” she said now, sipping at the coffee, which had a hint of exotic spice. “So Oliver was not touched by the magic of the Veil…Jesus, I can’t believe I’m saying this…which means he can go back. And that’s why this whole crazy world wants him dead?”



As Julianna spoke, a handsome young man came from within the bakery. He wore an apron that was covered in flour and smeared with something dark. From his complexion and his countenance, it was clear he was some relation. The man stopped at another table to speak quietly to a group of humans—Lost Ones—of varying races.



A very pale, thin man glanced over at Halliwell and Julianna and laughed softly, rolling his eyes in derision. The baker said something quiet but sharp, and the pale man fell silent.



“Just as you say,” Miss Tsing told her.



“Virginia,” Halliwell said, and it had been so long since he spoke that both women were startled by his voice. “If one of these Borderkind can take Oliver back, then why not us? So we went through once, and now this…roadblock…is going to stop us?”



“I’m afraid so.”



Halliwell shook his head, jaw set grimly. “There has to be a way.”



Even as he spoke, the baker came toward them. He put a hand on Miss Tsing’s shoulder.



“There are always stories. But if there is a way,” the baker said, “no one has ever found it in all the years since the Veil was created. Otherwise, the Lost would never have remained.”



Julianna smiled at the newcomer, who seemed friendly enough. But Halliwell knitted his brows and grimaced at the man. It was obvious the detective did not want anyone dousing whatever spark of hope he could still retain. Julianna didn’t blame him.



“My friends,” Miss Tsing said, “this is my son, Ovid. Ovid, Mr. Halliwell and Miss Whitney.”



Ovid Tsing nodded once to them politely, then glanced at the Lost who sat around the table he had just come from. There were others out on the bakery’s patio as well, some of whom had been making little attempt to disguise their eavesdropping.



“I have spent my whole life on this question, Mr. Halliwell,” Ovid said. He squeezed his mother’s shoulder and she smiled up at him indulgently, patting his hand. “If there were a way for the Lost to return, I would know. One day you will have to accept that, but it often takes time.”



“Your mother said something about a child…what was it?”



The pale man across the patio shook his head wearily.



“The Legend-Born?” Ovid asked, favoring his mother with an indulgent smile. “Stories. Mother’s generation is very superstitious.”



A dreadful silence fell upon them then. Julianna could not look at these gentle, hospitable people. She looked out across the cobblestoned riverwalk and at the river rolling by. Her parents and friends would be frantic by now, believing the worst. It must be nearly Christmas, and she thought of the antique radio she had bought her father, who loved such things, and the Christmas Eve dinner she was supposed to cook with her mother. Work was not such a terrible thing to leave behind. It was all of the little things, the sweet minutiae that made up the best of life.



Halliwell stood up, chair scraping on the patio, and went to the railing to look up and down the length of the Gorge, as if searching for an exit.



“What will you do?” Miss Tsing asked, leaning in toward Julianna.



“Find Oliver. Whether I’m trapped here or not, the only thing left for me to do is to find him, to see his face and hear his voice, and from there we’ll figure out what’s next.”



“And you, Mr. Halliwell?” Miss Tsing asked.



Julianna studied him. The detective leaned on the rail with his shoulders hunched, his muscles taut, as though he might at any moment fly into a rage. But when he turned, his expression was calm and his words measured and even. It was the eyes that gave him away. Halliwell’s eyes were far away, perhaps as far away as a little corner of Maine, or an apartment in Atlanta, Georgia, where his daughter remained, never knowing what was in her father’s heart.



“Julianna’s right. We find Oliver,” he said. “There are questions I want to ask him. Things I need to understand. And if you’re wrong, and there is a way home, then I’m betting his friends will know about it.”



Ovid gazed at him, only a hint of sympathy on his face. “And if I’m right, and there is no way home?”



Halliwell looked at him for a moment as though contemplating the question, then walked back to the table. He did not answer. Instead he sat down again and looked at Miss Tsing.



“All we know is that Oliver’s gone east. He’s got almost half a day on us. But he’s going to have to stop at some point. Do you have any idea where he might go?”



The woman’s forehead creased in thought. She glanced around at the other people sipping coffee and tea and eating scones and muffins and pastries at the patio tables, as though some of them might make a suggestion.



Then she shrugged. “I cannot help you. The Orient Road is to the east. If they are truly going that direction, they will travel upon that road. But your friend has a warrant sworn out for him. He will be cautious. That might slow him down. But it will also mean he is trying not to be found, unaware that some of those who seek him are his friends. There are small towns and villages along the way, but nothing of great consequence. I cannot guess at his destination.”



Julianna shivered, and became aware of a chill that went all through her. It was as though she had been cold all along and only now realized it. A sip from her coffee cup did nothing to warm her. Only then did she understand that the chill was despair.



“So, what, then?” she asked, turning toward Halliwell. “How do we even begin to look for him?”



Halliwell stood up again, edgy with nervous energy. “We go, now. We’ll find this Orient Road and we’ll follow. If we ask enough questions, we might find someone who saw him, or even better, someone who will be able to tell us where he’s headed. He’s wanted, Julianna. Wanted men have only one thing on their minds, and that’s how to stay alive. If we can figure out how he plans to do that, we can find him.”



Julianna stood, and so did Miss Tsing. She hugged the old woman. “Thank you, so much.”



Ovid shook Halliwell’s hand, then Julianna’s. “I wish you luck. Please, though, wait here just another minute. I will put a bag together for you, some food and water to carry on the road.”



“That’s very kind,” Julianna said.



Halliwell looked at him and the tension between them seemed to dissolve into understanding. The detective nodded, and Ovid the baker nodded in return, then turned and went back into the bakery to fetch them food for their journey.



Virginia Tsing stepped close to Julianna. “If you do not find him, or if you should find him and return this way, come and see me.”



Touched by her generosity, Julianna embraced her again, whispering her thanks.



“You’ll never find him,” said a small voice behind her.



Julianna turned, angry at the callousness of the words and the intrusion. She saw the fury that flashed in Halliwell’s eyes and worried that he would one day lose control of himself.



But not today. The voice had come from a little girl, perhaps ten years old, who had been sitting for the past half an hour or so with two others, slightly older than she. The girl was pretty, eyes wide and precocious, skin a dark chocolate brown.



“Excuse me?” Julianna said.



“Kara, still your tongue. This business is none of your concern,” Miss Tsing said.



The girl scuffed one shoe on the patio. “All right, but it’s true. They don’t stand a chance of finding their friend. Not without a guide. Not without a tracker.”



Halliwell took a step toward her and the girl flinched.



“You know someone like that?” the detective asked, crouching down beside her.



The girl executed an elegant bow. “I am Ngworekara, sir, though I’m called Kara by most. And if you wish, I would guide you myself.”



Julianna laughed softly, but not unkindly. “That’s sweet, Kara. And we appreciate it. But you can’t be…what I mean is, you’re only—”



“A child?” Kara asked, those wide eyes narrowing. “You’re Lost, miss, and so I can understand your doubt. But you’ll learn soon enough that many of the people here are more than they seem.”



Halliwell had not laughed, only studied her more closely. Now he turned to Miss Tsing. “Can she really do that? Track Oliver?”



The woman arched one eyebrow. “Who is to say? Kara has no parents. She has been here for several years and yet she seems no older. She often seems to know things others do not. If she believes she can guide you, there seems no harm in letting her try.”



Julianna looked closely at the girl’s face. The idea was insane. How could she and Halliwell, who knew nothing of this place, take care of a little girl while they were searching for Oliver? And yet if what Miss Tsing said was true, perhaps Kara wouldn’t need much looking after.



“Are you sure?” she asked the girl. “You can do that?”



Ngworekara nodded gravely. “Oh, yes. If he can be found, I will find him.”



“All right,” Halliwell said. “Let’s go.”



Staring into the girl’s eyes, Julianna felt cold again, but did not know why.



Many cities in the human world had neighborhoods that lingered from the earliest days of settlement. Often they had quaint names, but with equal frequency, the locals referred to these sections with the simplest of appellations. The Old City. The North End. The Latin Quarter.



There was a Latin Quarter in Perinthia, but it was not preserved as such neighborhoods in the human world were. At the northwest corner of the city, the Quarter consisted of buildings that had been old when Rome and Greece were young, and that had been shifted from the mundane world to the realm of the legendary when the Veil was raised. Parts of the Quarter were little more than ruins, but even the structures that were still inhabited were crumbling.



Blue Jay strode through the Latin Quarter that afternoon with Cheval Bayard and Chorti flanking him. The kelpy woman glanced around nervously as they skirted a long column that had collapsed into the street. She glanced at Chorti every few seconds, and seemed to draw courage from him, but Cheval was skittish. Blue Jay could not blame her. A gray caul of cloud cover hung over Perinthia, and a light rain fell. Even without the sunshine marking out their every movement, however, striding down the street in the middle of the day when all the Hunters were searching for Borderkind—and the authorities seemed disinterested in intervening—was about the most foolish thing Blue Jay could have imagined.



Fortunately, none of them was as famous as Frost. They were staking their lives on their lack of celebrity. Most of the city’s denizens would not recognize them as Borderkind on sight. They had entered Perinthia within view of the watchtowers and no alarm had been raised. Frost reminded them all unnecessarily that there might well be spies looking out for them, but Blue Jay chose to be optimistic for once. They slipped into the city almost unnoticed.



It helped, of course, that they went immediately to the Latin Quarter. In other sections of Perinthia it was probable that they would be discovered—that locals or even the city guard might be cooperating with the Hunters and pass on the word that there were Borderkind in the area. From the stories they had heard, the news of the Hunters’ mission had spread. Many Borderkind were in hiding now, or dead. Blue Jay figured the only Borderkind still in Perinthia would be collaborators or those who were insignificant enough to go unnoticed, at least for now. Or the oldest of his kin—elder cousins who were arrogant enough to believe that no one would dare to trouble them.



At the moment, they were right. The Hunters were occupied in the search for those Borderkind who dared to fight them, to strike back at their murderous conspiracy. For those—for Blue Jay and Frost, Chorti and Cheval Bayard, and any who would join them—nowhere in Perinthia was safe.



Except perhaps the Latin Quarter.



Strangers rarely entered the neighborhood, out of fear or distaste or both—and indeed, there were dangers there for those who were not welcome. Ancient creatures born with the empires of old lived in the ruins. Some thought they were simply beasts or driven mad by the passage of time, but Blue Jay had heard whispers amongst the tricksters that the monsters of the Latin Quarter were far from mad or primitive. They were only territorial, no different from the descendants of ancient Rome and Greece and the legends of those times that lived there.



Cheval Bayard flinched, glancing over her shoulder, peering up at the darkened doorway of a house. She swept her silver hair away from her face and paused, watching warily. Chorti sniffed the air, then grunted and urged her forward.



“Right, keep moving,” Blue Jay said, voice low. “It’s not a good idea to stand around.”



“Nothing about this is a good idea,” Cheval replied.



“We don’t have a lot of options.” Blue Jay shot her a hard look. “And you know the whispers we’ve heard.”



She sighed. “I only hope they’re more than whispers.”



Blue Jay shared that hope, but did not say so out loud. They had been in Perinthia less than an hour. The moment they had arrived, Frost had slipped unnoticed into Amelia’s, invisible, nothing more than a gust of frigid wind. The nightclub section of Amelia’s had been closed, but the bar at the front was open, and the rumors were raging. When Frost had emerged he had shared what he’d overheard with his companions.