The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2) Page 20

  “Birthday rights?”

  “Yes, those exist.”

  “Right.”

  “They do!” she insists. The deep V of her eyebrows startles a laugh out of me. She’s so serious.

  “I believe you,” I say, rolling onto my back. “I’ll wait for you to come back, then.”

  “Like always.”

  I look up to say something, I don’t know what, but the tent doors are swaying and there’s nothing but air where Miya stood. She’s right though. I’ll always wait for her. Even if she’s the most frustrating woman in all the Forgotten Lands.

  ***

  Honour

  08:55. 30.10.2040. The Free Lands, Northlands, Manchester.

  After the speech I messed up, The Guardians leave me alone. I don’t hear anything of them other than training sessions with Anna for almost a week, until someone causes a big enough commotion that I crawl out of my tent to investigate. Dalmar and Hele hover, watching a small crowd of Guardians in the widest of the narrow aisles. I’m about to hang back with them when I spot Yosiah over the heads of a few short Guardians.

  I push my way into the fray.

  A guy I don’t recognise is shouting at Timofei, snarling really. The dark haired leader watches silently, his face contorted with rage. I can barely make out the words coming from the Guardian’s mouth but I catch Alba’s name.

  Yosiah is stood on the other side of the circle formed around the two men, watching the scene with narrowed eyes. His posture is taut. His jaw is set. Before the cruel Guardian can spit another word at Timofei, Yosiah steps forward and punches him squarely on the jaw. Another punch breaks his nose. I wince at the sound.

  Yosiah turns away, only glancing back to give Timofei a summoning tip of his head. The crowd parts to let them through.

  A loud snort to my left has me meeting Miya’s gleeful grin. She nods at the crowd, directing my attention. I turn back, watch the Guardian cover his bleeding nose with his dirty sleeve, drops spilling to the floor. I sense a shift in the atmosphere, a heaviness, and then everyone—all the Guardians who came here to watch, who stood back while Yosiah hit this guy—converges on the figure. I automatically take Miya’s elbow to guide her away but she shakes it off. The sting of hurt fades quickly when she slants a smile at me. Right, she doesn’t like people touching her. I remember now.

  Ignoring the thudding, crunching sounds from behind us, we walk away from the fight.

  “What a dick,” Miya says. “That asshole, I mean, not Siah.” She reaches up to touch a gold necklace at her neck. I don’t comment on it.

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “Timofei didn’t deserve that.”

  “They keep doing that—fighting. Every day. And it’s getting worse.”

  “It’s Alba. They don’t know what to do without her.”

  “Well they need to move on or they’re gonna kill each other.” She jams her hands in her jacket pockets. “Then there’ll be no Guardians left. And what will we do? We can’t do this revolution on our own.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Are you admitting you need their help? That seems out of character.”

  She elbows me in the ribs.

  15:01. 30.10.2040. The Free Lands, Northlands, Manchester.

  “Leeds, Birmingham, and Cardiff are the largest safe zones,” Dagné is saying as Dalmar, Miya and I creep into the back of the theatre. The outside was nothing to look at—a cream coloured crumbling brick—but the inside is impressive.

  Rows upon rows of red cushioned seats fan out around us, the old fabric filling the high-ceilinged room with the musty scent of history. Gold columns hold up a second level of seats; I crane my head to take it all in, the city of crimson velvet, the intricate gild work on the balconies, the curtained archways that could hide anything from spare seats to lost treasures.

  We slip into seats a row behind the Guardian council, and the cushion swallows the back of my legs. I lean back and accept that I’m probably going to fall asleep. So much comfort, and they use this place for meetings?

  Marc nods at Dagné’s point and speaks in a deep voice. “We’ll find the largest numbers in those towns. They’re the most similar to our colony in terms of being organised and civilised.”

  “Agreed,” says Cell, the Guardian leader with the dust-coloured moustache. I’m amazed he can speak with that thing. “But if you’re working with us, you’ll be following Guardian guidelines. And we won’t be leaving anyone behind, not even in the smallest safe town.”

  “That will take too long,” Marc argues. I watch him cross his arms over his chest, and all I can think is his muscles try too hard. Nobody needs arms that big, especially not some old guy.

  “And there’s the small problem of finding them all,” Dagné sighs.

  “Who will organise these evacuations?” I don’t know who asks this but the voice is familiar. All I can see is the back of their head—cropped dark hair. “We might be able to find them, between our contacts and yours, but how will they be managed? Because the larger our numbers get, the more at risk we are of being found.”

  “And killed,” adds Marc.

  Cell sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “So you’re saying we should leave these people behind? People who’ll benefit from life in Bharat? People who may well be skilled fighters or technicians?”

  I lean my head against the back of the seat and let my eyelids close. Dalmar prods me in the arm and I can picture the expression of disapproval he’s wearing. I peel my eyes open. He sighs with more than a little frustration. “Why aren’t you sleeping at night?” he hisses.

  “I can’t,” I whisper back. “Either I can’t fall asleep because my mind won’t stop running or I have nightmares.”

  He taps his bottom lip, thinking. “I’ll think of something,” he says before returning his attention to the front.

  Yosiah comes out of nowhere and, without a noise, sits beside Miya. He offers an apologetic smile to me and Dal for being late before speaking quietly to Miya. She puffs out her breath, folds her arms over her chest, and glares straight forward, though the tips of her ears redden. I wonder if they’ve finally accepted they’re more than friends. It looks like it, with all their blushing and secret touches.

  “Guardians do not leave people behind.” Saga’s gravelly voice makes me jump. “I admire the bravery it takes for you to consider leaving your town. I know you have made Manchester what it is now, and that it is important to you. However—I’m not sure a joining of our efforts will be possible. We have a major clash of interests. Too much compromising will have to be made for this to work, and I don’t know if we Guardians will ever compromise. We are an unforgiving group of people.” From the sounds of his voice, he attempts a smile at Dagné. The Manchester leader’s icy expression matches her hair colour, her back ramrod straight where she sits on the edge of the stage facing everyone else. I don’t think she’s happy to hear that Saga is rethinking teaming up with them.

  Her voice is cold and even when she replies. “Well, we tried. As you say, we’re just too different.”

  Marc opens his mouth but Dagné silences him with a wave of her hand. His face turns bright red, furious, but he doesn’t speak a word.

  “We can’t stay in Manchester,” she continues. “We’re a bigger target for Officials each day we—”

  I zone out, giving up on the meeting. These things are always the same, always boring, always talking, talking, and more talking. I don’t know why I keep getting invited. Dalmar thinks it’s a good idea for me to know what’s happening with the Guardians and the rebellion, but if I didn’t get an invite, I wouldn’t ever turn up. I wonder who keeps sending for me. Somehow I doubt it’s Cell…

  Dalmar kicks my leg. I jump in my seat, my eyes flying open.

  “You fell asleep,” Dal says.

  I rub my eyes. “For how long?”

  “A minute. Maybe two.”

  “Is that it?”

  “This is important.” He points at the stage. “Pay attention.”

/>   “Yes, dad.”

  “Son,” he says. “Don’t.”

  I shake my head at him, begrudgingly tuning into an argument between Manchester and Guardians.

  “We won’t aid you in evacuating your safe areas.” Dagné hops down from the stage. “But we’ll stay here and gather our intelligence and weaponry, so that we can help you in Bharat.” She says it slow, like she’s speaking to idiots.

  The Guardian with pale skin and white hair speaks for the first time, his voice rich with an accent I can’t place. It’s not Forgotten London, for sure. “You want to come with us to Bharat, but won’t help us save the lives of people who are unsafe on this island. You’re going to take advantage of our numbers and our technology, but with minimal effort. Do I understand correctly?”

  “We have numbers you can add to your army, and all our civilians are trained in combat and weaponry.”

  Oh, nice. So I’ve been wandering around this place, thinking I’m safe among the ordinary people, and everyone can kill me without even trying. Fantastic.

  “I told you,” Miya hisses to Yosiah. “I told you they were all soldiers and you wouldn’t listen.”

  “I didn’t think they were,” he whispers back. He shakes his head, looking around us with narrowed eyes. “Should’ve listened to you.”

  “Damn right.”

  “Not to mention,” Dagné’s voice cuts through the tension and we all look at her, waiting for the next axe to fall, “the information we have in our library is a hundred times larger than the small collection of books you have.”

  “And how’d you plan on taking it to Bharat?” Cell asks. I can hear the sneer in his voice without seeing it on his face. “Your technology must be more advanced than ours if it’ll move whole libraries at a time. Miraculous, really.”

  Miya laughs loudly, clapping her hands over her mouth. “Sorry,” she wheezes when everyone looks at her. “But he’s hilarious. Also I’m leaving because this is boring as hell.”

  Dalmar can’t hide a smile. Miya jumps to her feet and takes off up the sloped walkway, Yosiah right behind her. I squeeze out of the row of seats and into the aisle after them without a second thought. Maybe I’ll go back to the Station and nap.

  “For the love of God,” Dalmar mutters, coming with us.

  When we’re near the back door of the theatre, Miya turns around and waves at the councils still staring at us. “Later, losers.”

  Yosiah huffs a long suffering sigh and pushes her through the door.

  ***

  Miya

  00:16. 31.10.2040. The Free Lands, Northlands, Manchester.

  It’s the middle of the night and Yosiah isn’t here.

  I know where he is, of course, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. Ever since the train incident I’m uneasy when he isn’t with me, expecting him to do something honourable and suicidal without me there to stop him.

  I check on Tom and Olive, watch their deep breathing and quietness for a moment, and then slip out of the fabric doorway. I don’t think about Siah, or dwell on what he could be doing right now inside Timofei’s tent—talking, planning this screwed up rebellion, kissing.

  I don’t know why the thought of them together hurts so much. I get that Yosiah and Timofei have unresolved romantic feelings. I understand it, but my stomach is still twisting at the thought of someone else kissing him. Something dark inside me is growling. Maybe it’s because of the times we’ve kissed. Maybe it’s because I’ve denied my feelings for him.

  “Get a grip,” I whisper to myself.

  I should have just given in, given myself over to him like a repressed part of me wanted to. If I had, he wouldn’t be with Timofei right now and I wouldn’t be stalking around like a possessive lover.

  I reach the doorway under the huge glass semicircle and frown. The night outside is lit up in shades of orange instead of the black it usually is. Seems like a waste of electric to power more lights at this time, but Manchester people are weird.

  With a shrug, I pull the door open. I’m instantly hit by a scorching wall of air and a scent that burns my nose as I inhale. Something is wrong. The edge of the sky is grey, murky with smoke, and the orange that shone through the glass is caused by patches of flickering light. Fire—and a lot of it.

  “No,” I say. “No, no, no.”

  My boots squeal as I spin on my heel and run for my brother and sister—but before I can take a second step, there’s a sound so low my ribs shake. It muffles all other noises, packs the Station with a heavy, humming pressure. The humming is swallowed by a boom so loud I lose my hearing. I’m thrown off my feet. I crash through the air and hit the concrete on my side, a foot twisted under my leg. Veins of agony go from my ankle to my thigh and I scream before I can trap it.

  I haul myself to my feet, gritting my teeth at the pain. I spit blood, drag myself back together despite growing dizziness, and force my legs to work.

  People are staggering out of their tents, angry and scared and confused. I shove my way past them, getting faster and faster with every step until I’m tearing across the room at a sprint. I push and kick my way through the people to our tent, to Thomas and Olive, as the humming builds again. I screech to a stop, bracing for the blast that comes six seconds later. My hearing is coming back to me, gradually, so I hear the curses and screams when they fill the Station. As soon it’s steady, I’m flying over the ground again.

  The Officials have found us. I knew they would—Manchester is a neon sign in a wasteland. Leeching power from an Official port on the coast, using electricity and other technology with signals that can be detected, not even attempting to stay out of sight. Why did the Guardians lead us here? It was a death sentence.

  I tear the entrance to our room open, the material ripping in my fist. It’s empty. The tent is empty. Where are they? I don’t do anything but stare at the empty room, the three beds, our scattered belongings—Livy’s red T-shirt thrown on the floor, Tom’s wet clothes hung to dry on the ceiling poles, a pillow that still has the imprint of mine and Yosiah’s heads—for seconds. My head is hollow, my body numb.

  A scream somewhere across the room thumps me into action. I run, hobbling on my twisted ankle, screaming for my siblings. The Station fills with a stifling heat that inflames my panic. I scream their names over and over, my heart beating so fast. I don’t have time to stop, to pray that Timofei still has Siah, because I’m hurtling into someone’s back and kicking their ankles to get them out of my way and punching someone else in the gut. The only thing I know is that I need to find Thomas and Olive. They’ll pull my body out of the ashes before I stop looking for them.

  “Thomas! Olive!” My throat is raw with the smoke but I don’t care. I yell their names and run—and run.

  “Leah?”

  Thomas.

  I whirl around, scanning the Guardians running for the door with desperation. I can hear Tom, his voice small in the midst of chaos, but he’s too short to see. A second later he runs into my leg. I gather him into my arms and hold him to my heart like a promise.

  “Where’s Livy?” They shouldn’t be separate.

  “I don’t know.”

  Her name emerges as a howl. The terror is a real thing sitting at the back of my throat and controlling my voice.

  “I’ve got her.”

  Yosiah. My heart lurches with a mangled form of relief. And then he’s there, my sister held safely in his arms. I choke on his name. A brittle crack comes out of nowhere, a groaning and shattering sound I can’t place.

  “Leah,” Tom breathes. He pulls on my hair, points up. Up. The ceiling. Breathing hard, I tip my head up. A crack has cut the roof in two. Smaller cracks break off from the main crack, and tiny cracks break off from those. I watch it happen, like a weird kind of art, cracks upon cracks upon cracks. It’s like a tree, like the branches of a tree. And it’s breaking. The roof is breaking. I don’t know how it’s still suspended.

  “Miya.” Yosiah’s voice steals my focus. “Miya we have t
o go—now.”

  I stumble after him. Everything is going to be okay. I’m not going to lose anyone.

  I take a long drag of the acrid air, letting it out slowly, and then I’m back to myself. The fear is locked away in a vault so far deep inside me even I don’t know where it is, the hysteria along with it.

  I hear the cracks above us get bigger, feel the room get hotter as the fiery air seeps inside. We reach the door as the first bricks fall. Around the Station is pure heat—muggy, scorching, smothering heat. It’s hard to breathe but we have no choice but to run into it. The building must be wrecked now, because all that’s behind us is deafening noise, low roars and the crash of broken glass. But we can’t look back. If we look back we’ll fall and if we fall we’ll die.

  “Run,” Livy screams.

  The crashing gets louder, the collapse gets more urgent. I throw a glance over my shoulder. The Station has collapsed in on itself, the domed roof gone, but the front wall stands apart from the rest, the half-moon of glass still in one piece—and it’s tipping. Tipping and leaning and falling towards us.

  “Siah!”

  “I know.”

  I push myself as fast as I can go but I’m slowed by my ankle, by the sparks of pain I feel everywhere. The ground quakes as the wall crashes into it but I don’t let myself stop, don’t let myself breathe. I follow Yosiah, racing across Manchester, until he says we’re safe enough to slow down. Only then do I let myself look back, but we’re too far away, we’ve taken too many turns, to see the wreckage of the building that was our home for the past week and a half.

  “You’re okay,” Yosiah says, breaking the drawn out tension between the four of us.

  “Of course I am,” I snap. “I’m fine.”

  He shuffles my sister so she’s held to the other side of his body and then his hand is on the side of my head, pulling me to him. He leaves a long kiss in my hair and I think this must be something he does every time we’re going to die. I can’t bear it. I jerk away from him, my heart pulsing with a physical ache I didn’t even know was possible. I thought heartache was something romantics had made up.