Resurgence (28 page)

Considering we have no set times to rest, sleep becomes a friend again. Whether it is day or night, whether I have been walking or on lookout duty, I rest soundly every time I put my head down.
I even know why: the resignation of knowing that this is our final crack at things is somehow reassuring.

The days are shorter the further up the country we move and the temperature drops slightly, but there is so much green. So many pretty, untouched cottages, so many vast fields left to grow in
whichever way nature dictates. The mixture of rain and sunshine starts the buds flowering. Jela wears flowers in her hair and shows off her archery skills by catching us food every day. Pietra
wakes up to find beautiful pink petals scattered around her head, left by Hart as she slept. I spend time with Opie and Imrin, together and apart. I begin to be able to identify birds by their
different calls. At one point, we walk for three days without seeing a soul. If anyone is tired, we stop. If we’re thirsty, or hungry, we stop.

It is one of the best times of my life. If I could walk and walk, then I would, spending time with my friends and almost having a normal life.

It’s been weeks, months, since we left Gwen and Bryony with the children, and in that time we’ve not seen any news or heard anything about the state of the nation. Colt, Imp and my
mother are always close to my thoughts, but my presence in Martindale would only cause more trouble.

Knave asks how we are going to know where Hadrian’s Wall is. I tell him I don’t know. Neither Imrin nor Opie remembers Xyalis saying anything about the location either. I speculate
that if it is a literal wall, then we will be able to see it.

The answer comes one morning as we cross the brow of a hill.

There is a hum that I can feel more than I can hear. It ripples through my body, forcing my arm to tremble. Each step I take forward makes it feel worse until the vibration is so intense that I
cannot move my legs any further. I reach forward but there is nothing except air.

Slowly, I step backwards and the feeling ebbs away until it is a gentle pulse between my ears. There is a scattering of stones in a line as far as we can see. It might have once been an actual
wall a long time ago, but that’s not what’s stopping us. Xyalis told me that the wall had been rebuilt with technology he didn’t understand, and I can only assume this is what he
means.

‘I guess this is Hadrian’s Wall?’ Knave says.

‘At least I haven’t been killed on sight.’

‘
Yet
,’ he adds, unhelpfully.

I tell the others to move backwards and then wave my arms, shouting ‘Hello’ at the top of my voice. ‘Hello, I’m Silver Blackthorn.’

I’m not sure what I thought might happen, but the nothingness that comes back is in many ways worse than being threatened with death. If that had happened, at least I would have known that
I’d tried. Now it feels as if we have walked all of this way for nothing. As far as I can see ahead of us, there are green fields, hills, everything I would expect. Presumably because of the
invisible wall, I cannot move towards them.

I start to edge forward again, one step at a time, shouting my name and ‘Hello’ over and over, willing anything to happen. It isn’t long until I again reach the point at which
I can’t move. I try to lift my leg, to stretch my arm, but something is screaming in my ears and forcing me backwards. Eventually I let it.

The others stare at me blankly until Opie bends over, picks up a rock and throws it as hard as he can. It loops over my head and then disappears. I blink, wondering if it has landed somewhere I
missed, but I never saw it hit the ground.

Following his example, I pick up a stone and throw it underarm towards the invisible barrier. It sails through the air, promptly vanishing without a sound.

‘It’s not just me who sees these disappearing, is it?’ I ask, turning.

Everyone shakes their heads, but then Knave points behind me, yelling my name.

I drop to the floor, rolling away, but there is only one man standing there with his hands on his hips. He has short brown hair and is wearing a checked woollen red skirt with a black jacket,
his eyebrows arching in disapproval.

He says something I don’t understand and at first I think he is speaking in a different language. It is only when Jela says, ‘He asked what your name was’, that I realise this
is because his accent is very different from what I’m used to.

‘Silver Blackthorn,’ I say.

This time I listen closely, clearly making out his words. ‘Well, Miss Blackthorn. If you could stop throwing stones, it would be much appreciated.’

I stammer an apology and he breaks into a smile. ‘Come on through,’ he says, with a dramatic sweep of his arm.

I creep forward a step at a time but the hum doesn’t get any louder than it already is. The others follow slightly behind and then I hear a popping sound. In the time it takes me to blink,
the scenery changes completely. Well, almost. There are still green fields and hills; just not the ones I could see from the other side. These are slightly browner and steeper. There are also
around a dozen men, each wearing the same uniform as the first man, with guns clipped to their belts and unhappy looks on their faces. From the other side, they were invisible.

‘Welcome to Scotland,’ the first man says.

‘It’s . . . different,’ I reply, pointing towards the hills behind him.

He laughs and grins. ‘Aye, we’ve got an observant one here, lads.’

A few of them smile too, but most of them continue going about their business, which mainly appears to be chatting to each other and leaning on two vans that are exactly like the ones in the
gully – except they aren’t covered in rust.

‘Can you taste the air?’ he says, breathing in and out quickly. ‘It’s cleaner, isn’t it? There’s nothing quite like Scottish air.’

I breathe in but can’t sense anything different compared to what I am used to. When it is clear I don’t understand, his face falls. ‘Lighten up, will ya? Not many of you get to
cross the wall.’

He turns to Opie. ‘All right, you, Mr Stone-thrower. What’s your name?’

‘Opie.’

‘Right, “Opie”, if that is your real name, walk back over there and throw another stone.’ He points in the direction we have come.

Opie glances towards me and I shrug, unsure. He takes a few steps forward and then covers his ears quickly, running until he is back at a similar point to where he was before, on the other side
of the invisible wall. He rubs his ears and scowls before leaning forward. I have known him long enough to realise when he is confused. He squints, peering towards us, waving.

I wave back, unsure what he is doing.

‘He won’t be able to see you, missy,’ the man says. ‘Think of it like a window. On this side we get to see all the way through to the other side. Anyone outside the
window can only see the pretty picture we’ve painted on it.’

‘How did we get through?’

He holds up a cylinder that looks eerily similar to the blood bomb on my belt. ‘This turns it on and off. We have to get special permission to use it.’

‘So you had authority to let me through?’

He winks. ‘Aye, we’ll get to that. First, let’s see what your mate does.’

Opie is still waving and then stops, scratching his head. Eventually he shrugs, bends over and throws a stone. It fizzes through the air, heading straight at me. I jump to the side but it never
reaches me, disappearing in front of my face and creating a ‘vworp’ that screeches painfully through my body.

‘Ouch,’ I say, covering my ears. I can still feel the buzzing seconds later.

‘Exactly,’ the man says. ‘I’m Greg, by the way. I’d introduce you to this lot but they’re busy.’

I peer over his shoulder to see the other guards still chatting. One pair is playing a card game on the bonnet of the van.

‘What actually happens to the stone?’

‘Anything non-organic that impacts the wall is converted into a sound wave.’ I start to ask a follow-up question but he throws his arms into the air. ‘Don’t start getting
too technical on me, missy. Anything beyond that is for the boffins.’

I think for a moment. ‘So when we’re on the other side, we can see the fields but that’s like a photograph, and the vibration thing stops us getting any closer. But on this
side, you can see everything as it actually is?’

He claps his hands together, almost dropping the controller. ‘Exactly. You picked that up quicker than half this lot.’

Opie is waving again.

‘I don’t know what he’s playing at,’ Greg adds. ‘The sonic generator is off – he can walk through if he wants.’

‘But he can’t see us . . .’

‘Oh yeah.’

Greg strides forward and bellows at Opie to follow him. I watch him walking towards us unimpeded, but it is clear from the surprise on his face that he couldn’t see us until he stepped
across.

‘Are you all right, missy?’ Greg asks.

I must have been pulling a face. I certainly feel puzzled. ‘I suppose, it’s just . . . someone told me that I would be killed on sight if I came here.’

‘But you came here anyway?’

‘Yes.’

‘And
you’re
the one that’s confused?’

He has a point.

‘I suppose I wanted to see for myself. He told me this story about a wall in the past that the Romans built to try to keep barbarians away.’

Greg bursts out laughing. ‘Barbarians? There’s only one set of barbarians around here and they don’t come from this side of the wall.’

I’m not sure what to say. I don’t disagree with him but it was only two days ago I saw Pietra waking up surrounded by petals left by Hart. She smiled and pulled him towards her,
smelling each one and thanking him. I remember Bryony’s forgiveness of Pietra; Knave celebrating my birthday; the bravery of Opie’s father, Rush and Kingsman Porter, all sacrificing
themselves for us – for me; and beautiful, wonderful Faith and everything she stood for.

It isn’t as if we are all savages either – just a small minority.

‘Anyway,’ Greg says. ‘We
do
shoot people on sight – but only those who are up to no good. You idiots were just throwing stones. If you hadn’t have shouted
your name, we’d have left you to it. Well, if you’d kept throwing stones, me and the lads might have come out there and given you a hiding. Either way, we only shoot people who deserve
to be shot.’

‘Er, thanks . . .’ I try to think of something else to say and then realise I have missed something. ‘You let me through because of my name? How do you know who I
am?’

He scowls. ‘Where do you think you are, missy? We have screens here.
Everyone
knows who you are.’

‘And that’s why you let me in?’

‘Well, we had to make a few calls first. Like I said, “special permission”.’

‘Right . . .’

I am struggling to know what to say. Greg seems friendly but that only makes me more suspicious. He knows more about me than I do about him.

‘I like your, er, skirt,’ I add, trying to make small-talk.

I realise straight away I have said the wrong thing. He raises his voice, accent thicker than ever.
‘ Skirt?!’

‘Your, erm . . .’ I’ve never seen one before and have no idea what word I am supposed to have used.

‘It’s a kilt, missy. It’s what proper men wear.’

‘Sorry.’

He eyes me up and down, wondering if I am deliberately trying to offend him, but is quickly distracted, pressing two fingers to his ear. ‘Yes, she’s here,’ he says, turning his
back to me. He follows by adding ‘yes’, ‘right’, ‘no’, ‘I don’t know’ and ‘seven of them’.

When he turns back, Greg’s face is etched with concern, worry lines creasing the edges of his mouth. ‘Why exactly are you here, Miss Blackthorn?’

‘I’m not entirely sure.’

‘You don’t seem to know a lot.’

‘I suppose I’m here because I don’t know where else to go.’

He gives a short, sharp nod. ‘Your presence has been requested—’

‘Who by?’ I interrupt.

He purses his lips but doesn’t answer, turning to Jela and pointing at the crossbow. ‘You’re going to have to leave that here or go back into England. Only authorised people
can carry weapons across the border.’

Jela places a hand protectively across the crossbow. ‘I’m not leaving it,’ she says.

Greg shakes his head and flicks his fingers at her. ‘Then you can turn around and go back the way you came.’ He points to me. ‘You as well. Your weapons have to stay here.
They’ll be waiting for you when you return.’

‘How do we know you’re not taking away our weapons just to kill us?’

He shrugs dismissively. ‘You don’t – but you came to us. You can either leave your things here or head back through. It’s up to you.’

I pull the knife from my belt and toss it to the floor, nodding towards the others. ‘I’m going. I’m not telling you what you should or shouldn’t do.’

Hart, Opie and Pietra follow my lead, throwing their knives to the ground. Knave stands unimpressed, hand resting on his belt before finally making a decision. ‘I suppose I’ve walked
all this way . . .’ He unclips his knife and flings it on top of the others.

We all look towards Jela, who is grasping the grip of the crossbow with both hands. ‘I’m not giving it up,’ she insists. ‘Can’t I wait here?’

Greg speaks firmly. ‘No chance, missy. I’m not putting my men at risk. I told you, no unauthorised weapons. That’s the law.’

Jela looks at me, eyes pleading. ‘I don’t want to go back on my own.’

‘How about if she leaves the arrows?’ I suggest. ‘She can’t do much damage with the crossbow by itself.’ I know how protective Jela is of the weapon. It has become
an extension of her, a way to express herself and something she is genuinely perfect at.

Jela nods slowly, agreeing, and Greg looks suspiciously from her to me. ‘All right, fine. Do you have anything else?’ His eyebrows are raised and looking at me.

Jela unclips her quiver and places it gently on the ground next to our knives. I keep eye contact with Greg, wondering if he knows what I have clipped to my ankle. Regardless, I decide to trust
him. Without looking away, I lift my leg, unhooking the knife and throwing it onto the pile.