Standing on the edge of a crowded road, Harry looked down onto the rolling fields and abandoned farms of Tula Valley and got his first glimpse of the Shadow Fold. His regiment was a two weeks march from the military encampment at Poliznaya and the sun was warm overhead—a miracle in itself on this side of the Fold. Harry shivered and drew his coat closer as his eyes alighted on the black haze that lay like a dirty smudge on the horizon.
A heavy shoulder slammed into him from behind and almost sent him face first into the muddy road. Harry righted himself and whirled around to see a soldier sneering down at him.
"Watch yourself, boy!" The soldier spat.
"Why don't you watch your fat feet?" Harry snapped back, satisfaction filling his chest when shocked surprise flitted over the prick's face. People, particularly big men carrying rifles, didn't expect snark from someone as small and scrawny as Harry. They always looked a bit dazed when they got it.
The soldier got over the novelty quickly and gave Harry a dirty look as he adjusted his pack, then disappeared into the caravan of horses, men, carts, and wagons streaming over the crest of the hill and into the Valley below.
Harry quickened his steps and pushed up onto his tiptoes to peer over the crowd. Or, try to. He'd lost sight of the purple flag of the surveyor's cart an hour ago, and he knew he was far behind. As he walked, Harry took in the green and gold scents of the autumn woods, a soft breeze at his back.
His regiment was on the Vy, the wide road that had once led all the way from Os Alta to the wealthy port cities on Ravka's coast. But that was before the Shadow Fold.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone was singing.
'Singing? What idiot is singing his way into the Fold?' Harry thought, bemused as he glanced again at the the looming smudge on the horizon. He had to suppress a shudder.
He'd seen the Shadow Fold on many maps—a black slash that severed Ravka from its only coastline and left it landlocked. Sometimes it was shown as a stain, sometimes as bleak and shapeless as a cloud. Harry had seen a few maps pass through his hands that merely labeled it like a lake and named it the Unsea. The Fold had ravaged the land it crossed with absolute darkness, turning men into monsters and land into desolate desert.
Harry took in a deep breath to steady himself, suddenly light headed. And then his question as to who had been singing their way to death was answered.
"No fainting in the middle of the road." Fred chirped as he slung an arm around Harry's shoulder, George trying to shove his way past the merchant behind them. "C'mon, one foot in from of the other. You know how it's done!" He ordered in a rather good impression of their Senior.
"You're interfering with my plan."
"Oh really?" George had wriggled free and swung his arm up over Fred's.
"Yes. Faint, get trampled, grievous injuries all around."
"Sounds like a brilliant plan."
"Ah, but if I'm horribly maimed, I won't be able to cross the Fold."
Fred nodded slowly. "Of course. I can shove you under a cart, if that would help."
"I'll consider it." Harry grumbled, but his lips twitched upwards all the same. The twins were always able to lift his spirits, no matter how tense or thick the air. They were family, after all.
After the Weasley's had dropped by one week to deliever clothes to the orphanage, Harry and his friend, Neville, had climbed into their cart and hidden, wanting to be taken away. Well, needless to say, when Mrs. Weasley found out, she hadn't been thrilled, but she hadn't taken them back either. So they'd been all but adopted into the Weasley family.
Speaking of Neville, he had been just behind George earlier, and was now apologizing profusely to the same merchant George had apparently knocked over. Ron rolled his eyes, thumbs in his pockets, and grinned at Harry over Neville's shoulder. "Excited, Harry?"
Harry's weak smile turned sardonic. "Oh yeah. I'm just trembling with anticipation."
George leaned over Harry's head to stage whisper to Fred, who leaned in indulgently. "I dunno about you, but that anticipation looks more like terror to me."
Neville sidled up beside them, a pot of dirt in his hands. "C'mon Hare, it's a one way trip! Once we cross the Fold this once, we'll never have to cross it again. We'll stop in Novokribirsk, then head out over the True Sea to Cofton."
Harry had, of course, heard the plan a hundred times over by now, but it still calmed him to have it repeated. He gave Neville a small, thankful smile.
"Madame's spirits have been restored!" Fred shouted as he and George threw their hands up as if exalting a saint. "The sun can once more shine!"
"Oh, will you two shut up," Harry griped as he turned to try and punch George on the shoulder. Before he could, Neville had caught him under the arms and lifted him up off his feet to swing him back into the twins. The clatter of hooves and shouts shattered the air beside them as a huge black coach roared past, scattering people before it as they ran to avoid the pounding hooves of the four black horses pulling it.
"The Darkling." Neville breathed, eyes wide in alarm.
Heart pounding, Harry nodded absently, still reeling from the fact that he'd almost been run over. For one hysterical moment, he recalled his earlier comment to Fred, and wanted to laugh. But no, there was no mistaking that black coach or the uniform of his personal guard.
Another coach, this one laquered red, rumbled past them at more leisurely pace. Trailing after it was a third coach, laquered in blue. As it rolled past, a woman stuck her head out the window. She had a mane of wild, curly black hair and blood red lips. She scanned the watching crowd and, for some reason, her eyes lingered on Neville. Harry felt him shiver from where their sides were pressed together, still huddle into the twins and Ron on the side of the road. The woman's lips twisted into a wide grin as she held Neville's gaze, watching him over her shoulder until the coach was out of sight.
Neville gawked after her, stunned.
"Did you see that?" A familiar voice bellowed, from in front this time. Bill Weasley came shouldering back towards them, though he was easily tall enough to see over people's heads. Ginny Weasley hurried to catch up behind him. Both of them had their brilliant red hair tied back into a ponytail—Bill's low, Ginny's high.
"We all saw it!" Ron exclaimed back as he clapped Neville on the back.
"She looked right at you!" Bill continued, his grin widening as Neville's perpetually pale cheeks flushed crimson.
"So she did," Neville mumbled, both embarrassed and bewildered, not to mention a little pleased.
Harry could tell it was just from Bill's praise though; Neville had looked like a right deer in the crossfire when he'd locked eyes with that woman. While gorgeous, there was something about her expression that was downright terrifying.
Ginny scoffed and came over to dig Harry out of the cluster of teasing redheads before he suffocated. "You know, they say Grisha girls can put a spell on you." She wiggled her fingers spookily at Neville and Harry snickered as he watched the brunet go pale.
Bill, having just noticed Harry, beamed down at him. "Hey, Trouble," He gave Harry a hard jab on the arm. He laughed when Harry slapped his arm away and delievered a playful punch to his stomach. "You all fell behind. Mum told me to come and get you before you got trampled."
Fred draped himself back over Harry's shoulders. "Aw, but he was counting on it, Bill!"
George propped his chin atop Fred's head and scowled. "Yeah, let a man die in peace would you? Give him some dignity."
Ron, who was stoutly ignoring that train of conversation because it made him nauseous, turned back to Neville. "You know she'll be staying at camp. That Grisha tent is the size of a cathedral, I heard. Lots of nice, shadowy nooks."
"You're despicable," Ginny drawled as they all began walking again.
"Oi, let a man have some fun!"
"Yeah, Gin, I'm pretty sure Nev is the only man in our family who hasn't slid his v-card yet." George chirped with a mischevious waggle of his eyebrows.
"What about Charlie? Or Percy?" Ginny mused.
"What about me?" Harry protested.
Fred flapped a hand at them. "We all know Charlie's married to his job, he doesn't count. And, believe it or not, sis, Percy had quite a few romps before he went on the straight and narrow—"
"Road to hell," George interjected with a dim twist to his mouth.
"And you, Harry, are our darling baby brother, who is too pure for such nonsense. You're not even seventeen yet."
Harry scoffed and blustered out, "You had your first lay at fourteen, you hypocrite! And Ginny's younger than me, but I don't see you coddling her!"
Ron came up beside Harry to nudge the twins off him and put an elbow on his shoulder. "Mate, if anybody but Mum tried to coddle Ginny, it would end in blood." He drawled with a grin.
Unable to argue with that, Harry blew out an angry breath and glowered at the now smirking twins. He brandished a finger at them, "I could absolutely get a lay if I wanted one."
"Oh we have no doubt about that."
"Yes, I've had to beat off several lovestruck boys with a stick, haven't I Gred?"
"And the girls, oh dear, remember that blonde from Vos?"
"I believe she stole his clothes right off the line just so he would have to come over and get them naked."
"You're lucky Forge and I went and got them back for you. How embarrassing would that have been, hm?"
"I hate you both." Harry deadpanned, unamused.
The twins continued to tease him as they made their way into Kribirsk, while Bill and Ron resumed their attempts to coerce a stiff Neville into seducing the Grisha woman. They all went their separate ways after that, because like or not they all had jobs to do. The trip across the True Sea wasn't going to be cheap, so they'd all taken up jobs that would get them across the Fold.
Harry broke off from them to head towards the documents tent. To his relief, it seemed as if the Senior wasn't in their tent yet, so Harry was able to slip in unnoticed. As he weaved between tables and the large white lanterns stationed every ten foot or so, he felt himself relax. After all the dust and jostle and excitement of the trek down, there was something about the familiar scent of paper and ink, along with the soft scratching of nibs and brushes, that soothed him.
He pulled his sketchbook from his coat pocket as he slid onto the work bench beside Dean, who turned to him and whispered irritably, "Where have you been?"
"Nearly getting trampled by the Darkling's coach," Harry drawled dismissively. He grabbed a clean piece of paper and flipped through his sketchbook to find a suitable one to copy. As part of his 'training' as one of the junior cartographer's assistant, he was supposed to submit two finished sketches or renderings everyday.
Dean drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide. "Really? Did you actually see him?"
"I was actually too busy trying not to die."
"Normally you're griping about the opposite. Besides, there are worse ways to go." Dean stopped his next question to scrunch his nose up at the sketch Harry had chosen, and reached over to flip his sketchbook to a different page. "Not that one. There." He tapped the mountain ridge with his finger decisively.
Harry had barely traced his first line when the Senior came swooping in the tent and down the aisles to observe their work as he passed. He paused by Harry and raised an eyebrow. "I hope that's the second sketch you're starting, Potter."
"Yes," Harry lied. "Yes, it is."
As soon as the Senior had moved on, Dean leaned over. "Tell me more about the coach."
Harry gave him a bit of a helpless, exasperated look. "I have to finish my sketches, Dean. Go gossip with Seamus."
Dean slapped one of his sketches down onto Harry's workspace. "There. Seamus didn't see it up close; it would negate the point of gossiping if their wasn't anything new to gossip about."
"He'll know it's your work. Besides, I didn't see much of anything new. Again, trying not to die."
"Again, surprising." Dean mused as he poked Harry in the chest. "And you should be able to pass that off as one of yours; it's one of my sloppier ones."
"There's the Dean I know and tolerate." Harry sighed, but didn't give back the sketch. Dean was easily the best cartographer out of all of them and Harry was behind as it was. Dean grilled him on the Grisha coaches and Harry tried to give him all the details he remembered as he worked on his mountains.
By the time they were finished, dusk was falling. They handed in their work and Dean walked with Harry to the mess tent to stand in line for muddy stew with chunks of indiscernible vegetables. They found seats next to some of the other surveyors, Seamus amoung them.
Harry, more concerned with filling his belly than joining the conversation, listened to Dean and Seamus banter back and forth in silence. Until Dean insisted that Harry retell the tale of his almost-death by horse to the rest of the table. It was followed with the usual mix of fascination and fear that met any mention of the Darkling.
"He's not natural," Seamus grumbled, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed. "None of them are."
"Spare us your superstition, Seamus." Dean rolled his eyes.
"It's not superstition," Seamus continued hotly. "It was a Darkling that created the Shadow Fold in the first place!"
"That was hundreds of years ago! And that Darkling was completely mad."
"This one is just as bad."
"Peasant," Dean dismissed with an affronted wave of his hand. Seamus huffed and turned
deliberately away to talk to his friends.
Harry stayed quiet. He was more a peasant than anybody, despite their superstitions. It was only because of Molly Weasley that he could read and write (and by an unspoken agreement, he and Neville avoided mentioning the orphanage).
The orphanage itself hadn't been terrible—just poor. Too many children had lost parents in the Border Wars for all of them to fit comfortably under one roof. It caused high tensions and encouraged thievery and bullying amongst them. The only reason Harry had been friends with Neville was because they'd gone to the orphanage together. Their parents had been close friends, in the same regiment, and were wiped out by Volcra before they ever reached the battlefield. The Fold's monsters had torn not only the country in half, but the families as well.
Neville had been soft spoken and polite, if a bit shy, and it was only because of their mutual sorrow that Harry had let Neville in on his plan to hop on the next cart out of there. Neville had been apprehensive at first, but the other children were no nicer to him, so he followed Harry onto the Weasley's cart. And Harry definitely wouldn't apologize for that happy mistake.
After dinner, Dean wanted to stop by the Grisha camp and take a look, but Harry knew Dean was just trying to distract himself. People crossed the Fold every day, sure, but more often than not with heavy casualties. Dean was like Harry in that way. His mindset was not 'that could never happen to me', but 'it would be my luck'. So Harry bid him goodnight and left him to his distractions. Harry preferred to stew.
Tomorrow, if everything went smoothly, they would pass through the Fold to West Ravka, he and his family would stay a week in Kribirsk to make ends meet, and then it was over the True Sea and into Cofton they went.
Harry burrowed under the fur-lined blanket on his cot, and obsessively thought of everything that could go wrong.
He was still wide awake when he heard it. Tap. Pause. Tap tap. Tap. Pause. Tap tap. Harry groaned and rolled off his cot as a few people in his bunk started to stir. Seamus lifted his head blearily. "Wha's goin' on?"
"Nothing." Harry whispered as he stuffed his socked feet back into his boots. He grabbed his coat and crept out of the barracks as quietly as he could. As he opened the door, a girl in the back giggled softly.
"If it's that tamer, tell him to come inside and keep me warm."
"If Charlie wants to catch syphilis, I'm sure you'll be his first stop," Harry replied sweetly, before he slipped out into the night.
The cold air stung his cheeks and whipped through his already wild hair as he tucked his nose into his collar. Neville was sitting the rickety steps as he watched the twins and Ron pass a bottle back and forth between them. Harry let out a breath and came to sit down beside Neville. "Ron finally convince you to loosen up?"
Worried hazel eyes turned to meet his. "You think I should go? To the Grisha tent with them?"
Harry shrugged. "If you want to. Don't go just because they want you to. But if you'd like to—as Fred and George say—do the naked tango with that woman from earlier, then go ahead." He patted Neville between the shoulder blades. "She'd be lucky to have you."
"I don't know about that. She's kind of scary looking, isn't she?" Neville's lips twitched up as he glanced at Harry. "Beautiful. But very scary."
"Very," Harry agreed with a grin. They watched for a quiet moment as the twins began to play Ron-in-the-middle with the bottle that Harry could assume contained something alcoholic.
"He always tries to keep up with them." Neville shook his head, tawny hair falling in his eyes. "They'll challenge him to a drinking contest, he'll try to out do them, and then he'll end up puking on my boots." Though his tone was huffy, his smile was fond.
"Serves you right. Trying to seduce poor Grisha women."
He whipped his head around to gape at Harry, then let out a boisterous laugh that had the twins' heads turning towards them. "I haven't even decided yet, Hare!"
Harry hummed and pulled his knee towards himself. "Well, decide quickly. Gred and Forge are headed this way."
Alarmed, Neville yelped and scrambled to his feet as the twins approached, only to turn tail and bolt in the opposite direction, towards the Grisha camp. Fred and George beamed at each other and raced after him.
"Wait up, Nevs!"
"You're taller than us now!"
"All of you, wait for me!" Ron bellowed after them as he snagged the bottle at last and tore down the road, sending a wink in Harry's direction. "Wish me luck, mate!"
"Good luck, Sir Ronald," Harry gave him a hearty salute and laughed when Ron flipped him off in return. He watched them disappear down the foot path with a bit of melancholy creeping into his heart.
The Fold loomed like a beast over his head, the knowledge that he'd have to cross it about as appealing as sticking his head into the mouth of a lion. It scared him. Not for himself, though that was a bit of it, but for his family. It wasn't irrational, not like this, but Harry had always been obsessively protective over his adoptive family. He'd already lost one, he didn't think he could take losing another one. The casualties on the Fold were one in nine. So even if Harry was the one to die, it would still mean that one other person in his family would get taken out as well.
Bill could poke and the twins could tease all they liked. Harry would still turn in to bed, praying to death, unashamed, and beg it to take someone else.