Borderlands by Skye Melki-Wegner Page A

I won’t let her die. I won’t let Sharr take my friends away. I’ll save them, and quickly, and maybe Silver’s smuggler friends will have some medicine to save Maisy . . .
    â€˜Well,’ Silver says, unconcerned, ‘now what’s your plan?’
    â€˜I thought we might –’
    â€˜We?’ Her whisper is amused. ‘There ain’t no “we”, my friend. I made a deal to help you find your friends. Not to rescue ’em.’
    â€˜But –’
    â€˜Those’re your friends down there, trussed up like chickens?’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s them.’
    â€˜Well then, I’ve done my half of the bargain. Rescue ’em if you feel like it, but I want no part in it.’
    I stare at her, throat dry. Normally I’d pride myself on my ability to fight my way out of trouble, but I can’t take on five adult hunters alone. I swallow my pride and wet my lips. ‘I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ve got a bracelet, a cloak . . .’
    â€˜Don’t want it,’ Silver says. ‘I’ve already got you . Don’t insult my people by offering up trinkets. Either try to save your friends, or don’t. Up to you. But if you’re still breathin’ by the time this day’s done, then you, my friend, are comin’ with me.’
    The old woman slips further up the trunk into the canopy. I realise with a cold twist that she’s searching for a better hiding place – or an escape route in case things go wrong. If I die before I can save my friends, she’ll be halfway across the island before my blood begins to cool.

I watch the hunters. This time I look more closely, trying to spot a point of weakness. Despite days on the run, Sharr looks as vicious as ever. Beside her, the other woman is heavily muscled, with a dozen copper bangles up her arm. Perhaps her proclivity is Metal. I hope not. A shard of copper, blasted through the air, could do as much damage as a gunshot.
    The Reptile man hobbles, as though slightly injured, and the Water man has both arms in slings. That will make it hard for him to handle his proclivity, since gestures help to control a natural force. But on the whole, they’re healthy – and they’ve got pistols. One false move from me and they’ll be merrily blasting bullets through my skull.
    Except, perhaps, for the Air man. He concentrates hard on the breeze, conjuring a mobile prison cell with my friends floating inside. If I shatter his concentration, perhaps my friends can escape.
    But what then? I have to deal with the other hunters first. I could draw them away from here, to leave my friends with a chance. The idea makes my guts twist. These are the king’s hunters. And in their eyes, I’m prey.
    Soon enough, the hunters’ break is over. Sharr takes a final sip of water and gestures for the others to proceed. Once they’re out of sight, I slip down from my tree and follow through the undergrowth. I sneak as quietly as possible, conscious of Silver’s earlier criticism. The air tastes moist, thick with the smell of rot, and I realise we’re approaching another shoreline. At least the water’s gurgle hides my footsteps.
    Near the edge of the foliage, I nestle into a clump of roseberry bushes. The fruit smells sweet beside my face, and I pop a couple into my mouth. I don’t feel like eating, but my body needs the sugar rush. I force myself to swallow, ignore the lump in my throat, then smear a few more berries across my face and hands. Not much of a disguise, really, but it might help me camouflage with the dappled leaves.
    I peer between the branches, heart pattering. The hunters are loitering at the water’s edge, twenty metres down the shore. This river is vast, curving away for at least a hundred metres before it reaches the next forested island. But it looks shallow – unnaturally shallow – and I can see the