Skyfire (28 page)

Lukas rests upon a camp bed in one of the tents. He wants to help with the clean-up, but his body is too weak.

‘Just rest,' I tell him. ‘You can help tomorrow.'

Lukas protests, but finally sinks back onto the blanket. In moments, he is asleep.

We burn the debris: sheets of canvas, broken tents. Many soldiers stare when I pass, visibly startled, as though they recognise me from a dream. As the day rolls on, these stares change into nods and bows, and I know the whispers must be spreading.

But there's too much work to worry about rumours. I'm a soldier too, in a way. Perhaps I've been one since my family died: fighting each day for the right to survive. All I can do is keep fighting, and help to erase these scars from the earth.

The soldiers bury their dead on the slopes of the Valley, high above the waterline. As I traipse across the mucky slopes, I see that here, too, tiny green leaves are beginning to sprout.

‘Chasing those distant deserts of green,'
I recite.

Teddy throws me a startled look, then grins. ‘Been a while since I heard that one.'

And so we struggle on. We clean, we burn, we bury. Tendrils of smoke rise into the sky.

The VÍndurnics are the first to leave. The clans travel together: clusters of families and neighbours, organised by Bastian. They bundle the weaker bodies onto sólfoxes, while the stronger folk set out on foot.

As evening falls, we watch them go. I sit high on the slope, upon a stack of boulders, as an army trails away into the shadows. It will be a long trek across the Valley. Bastian glances back at us, raising a hand in farewell.

I raise my own hand, and watch him lead his people into the night.

Home
, I think.
They're going home
.

And it strikes me, not for the first time, that I don't have a home to go to. I risked everything to cross the Valley – to reach the lure of the land on the other side.

But Víndurn isn't my home. Not really.

My friends huddle beside me under blankets. Even Lukas is here: his head lolling gently, his body exhausted. We sip mugs of hot tea and watch the evening trace its breath across the sky.

‘What d'you reckon comes now?' Teddy says. He sits beside Clementine, her head resting on his shoulder. I can see their fingers intertwined tightly beneath the blanket.

I shake my head. ‘We'll have to wait and see.'

Teddy considers this. ‘Time to start living, I reckon.'

‘We're already living.'

‘Nah,' Teddy says. ‘There's a difference between living and surviving.'

I take a moment to taste this thought. I've spent a lifetime existing. A lifetime surviving. Never any time to think about hope, or plans, or dreams. Just time to fish through a dumpster, or beg an illegal shift at the Alehouse.

Now … anything.

I pull my knees up to my belly and hug them. I think of my crew dispersing, splitting. Leaving to chase our own desires.

Teddy will cook up a business illegally importing sólfoxes, or start a gambling ring in some dodgy city. Gunning, perhaps. Clementine might join him, although she'll insist he finds more respectable employment. Perhaps she'll take up painting again, or become a designer like her mother. Maisy will work in a library: perhaps down in the warmer southern cities, where Taladia's oldest vaults of knowledge are stored. And Lukas will be king. For
a while, at least, until he can sort out his plans for a fairer system.

But what about me? I don't have any special calling. I'm just … Danika. All I have are memories.

And with a terrible rush, it all hits me.

My family. The bombing. My escape over the city walls and into the forest. The cold. The terror. A half-frozen ditch, and the rush of a foxary through the trees. Lukas's kite upon the stars. The fire of Gunning, the sky-bound railroad. The snow of the mountains. The terror of the wastelands, and the violent crash of the exploding airbase.

The Knife, the borderlands. The smugglers' boats, with Quirin singing softly into the night. The catacombs. Darkness. Flooding. Skyfire Peak, and a world aflame. The shine of the Hourglass. The power of life and death in my hands.

Silver, Radnor, Tindra, Annalísa. All dead. All gone.

And Lukas, dead beneath the stars.

I press my forehead against my knees, my whole body tense. The memories brim like fire inside me. Too much. Too many. I feel as though they're about to explode – to burst right through my skin and leave me dead in the night.

I could do it. I could float away, right now, and not have to deal with any of it. Not have to deal with the future. With my fears. With the scorch of every memory in my past.

A hand touches my own. I wrench my gaze up, my eyes watering, to see Lukas staring at me. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't ask me what's wrong. He doesn't judge. He just sits there, his fingers clasping mine.

And little by little, the grief subsides.

We spend the entire night on those boulders.

I half-expect Clementine to leave: to brush off her knees and gesture for us to follow her down into the warmth of the camp. To find a fire, or a tent, and curl up in safety among the soldiers. But no one moves.

I think, perhaps, we all know this is the end. Our last night as a crew in the wilderness. Tomorrow, everything will change.

And so we ignore the cold, and huddle together, and share our warmth beneath the blankets. The stars crawl overhead, bright against the dark of the night. I wrap my fingers between Lukas's, like links in a chain, and our noses touch in the dark. He breathes out. I breathe in. We sit in silence, sharing breath and body heat.

When morning comes, we finally rise. We throw off our blankets and stretch our weary limbs. A quiet breeze brushes our faces. Nobody moves to descend
into the army camp. We just wait on our boulders, watching the sun rise over the Valley. It's not the sort of moment that you want to break.

Not yet.

‘To those deserts of green …'
I whisper.

The others turn to look at me: eyes bright upon weary faces. As one, they finish the line.
‘And beyond.'

And I know that this isn't over. We won't split up, or disperse into different cities. Somehow, somewhere, we'll find a life together.

I meet their eyes. Teddy, Clementine, Maisy, Lukas. I don't know where we'll go from here, but we're still a crew. Lukas squeezes my hand.

And together, we step into the day.

Well, I guess that's it! After three books, a truckload of words and an avalanche of coffee, the Magnetic Valley has been chased all the way to its conclusion.

First of all, I am forever grateful to Rick Raftos and Anjanette Fennell for finding my series a home.

This trilogy wouldn't exist without the wonderful team at Random House Australia. Thanks especially to: Zoe Walton, who has been so positive and passionate in guiding my publication experience; Kimberley Bennett, my genius editor, who consistently blows me away with her insight; and Sarana Behan, Dorothy Tonkin and Zoe Bechara, who are marketing and publicity wizards (in addition to being lovely people). Thanks also to Julie Burland, Nerrilee Weir, Rebecca Diep, Jo Penney, Janine Nelson, Jeremy Vine, Adiba Oemar and all the other awesome folks at RHA.

Special thanks to Sammy Yuen, who designed all three gorgeous book covers!

My family members are always the first to read my manuscripts. Thanks to Mum, Dad and Brooke for your advice and enthusiasm over the years. Thanks also to Sarah Marrinan, without whom I would never have started writing again.

Above all, thanks to my readers. I truly appreciate all your emails and reviews, as well as those who simply enjoyed the story. It means more to me than I can say.

Skye Melki-Wegner is an Arts/Law (Hons) graduate from Melbourne. She has worked as a sales-woman, an English tutor and a popcorn-wrangler (at a cinema). In addition to writing fiction, in her spare time she devours a ridiculous amount of caffeine and fantasy literature.
Skyfire
is the third book in the Chasing the Valley trilogy. Skye is currently writing a new book,
The Hush
.

 

You can contact Skye at
www.skyemelki-wegner.com

WATCH OUT FOR SKYE MELKI-WEGNER'S NEW BOOK

 

THE HUSH

 

Coming early 2015