Читать книгу City of Dust: Completely gripping YA dystopian fiction packed with edge of your seat suspense - Michelle Kenney - Страница 12

The rustle of the trees seemed to echo my promise, as I trod the short distance towards the torch-lit cavern we called the Ring. I couldn’t understand myself, or my impulsiveness, only that my aversion to hurting him had become suddenly and painfully overwhelming. He’d risked his life so many times in Pantheon, just so he could protect me. And it was reason enough. Wasn’t it?

Why run when you can fly?

I bit my lip. Our childhood tree-running mantra had come to mean so much more following Isca Pantheon. We’d won a victory of nature over the most advanced biotechnological world, a world I hated with every fibre of my being. It had stained my hands with deceit and desire, and yet it still wasn’t a stain I wanted to fade. Not completely. So why had I just promised Max everything?

My pace slowed as I approached the cavern; it looked as though the alarm had done its work and the entire village had turned out. I could tell by their pallid faces most were panicked about the sudden roll call, and I felt more than a little guilty as I scanned the queue for Aelia.

I cursed softly. What I was about to ask fell into one of the most difficult and challenging questions ever asked of the Arafel community, and Aelia was nowhere to be seen.

Seconds later, I spotted Eli and Mum, and wound my way through the crowds to take Mum’s arm before filtering inside, like everyone else.

There was already a formal semicircle gathered around the wide, raised boulder that served as a platform, and once we were inside Art gave the signal for the thick woollen hangings to be let down. It was part of the procedure that usually made me smile, as though he expected the trees and animals themselves to be capable of spying on us. Tonight though, I didn’t feel like smiling.

‘Friends, I apologize for the intrusion to your evening; but we are called together as a matter of urgency.’

There was a murmur around the crowd.

‘We have received a plea for help. And it doesn’t come from within Arafel, but instead from people – our kind of people – outside this mountainous valley.’

This time there was a stony silence. And I understood why completely. Whispers about the Insiders had been told, and retold, since my childhood. And now they were fleshed out by the story that had accompanied our return from Pantheon a year ago, like a noxious cloud.

We’d relayed a scant version of the truth at Art’s request, but Grandpa’s murder had been felt by each and every member of Arafel. He’d been a much-loved, trusted leader of the Arafel community for many years, as well as the last direct link to Thomas’s original Council through his own grandfather.

When news of his death at Octavia’s own hand had broken, many had wanted a task force to storm Pantheon to demand justice. Only Art’s diplomatic tongue had persuaded them it would be tantamount to taking a torch to Arafel.

And now, we were asking them to look on a party of Insiders kindly, with pity even. I doubted there was room in their hearts.

I scanned the crowd covertly. Aelia was still nowhere to be seen.

‘Insiders can never be our kind of people!’ Bereg, one of the head butchers, jeered from the back of the cave.

There was a noisy outbreak of support for the thickset, respected hunter before Art held up his hand. A slow hush swept across the space. Art had never commanded the same love as Grandpa, but he was still Arafel’s experienced and trusted leader.

‘My friends, I feel the same doubt, but let me beg your indulgence a little longer while I present one of the Insiders who asks for our help. A young Prolet who has risked her life on a hazardous journey over Arafel’s very own North Mountains, to find us … Aelia? And Talia? Where are you both?’ Art’s venerable voice echoed oddly around the cavernous space.

I stood up, feeling the weight of my mother’s anxiety as I weaved through the crowd towards the dais. Art smiled, but my own facial muscles felt stiff, and I knew this was going to be hard. I turned slowly and surveyed my friends, their usual affable expressions replaced with suspicion and fear. They already bore a hatred of Pantheon.

What would Aelia say if we turned her down?

I glanced at Max, who’d taken one of the watch guard’s posts beside the Ring entrance. He shook his head and I tried not to frown.

Where on earth was she?

‘I don’t stand here with any … expectation,’ I began haltingly. ‘We all know what’s at stake every time we leave the valley … every time we cross paths with a Sweeper or Insider – and have to run for our lives.’

The silence was heavy and oppressive. I surveyed the crowd; it was so quiet I could almost hear the lemurs in the outside forest.

‘But we run because … because we have somewhere to run to …’

Someone coughed, and I swallowed. This was so much harder than I expected.

‘A home that I know we have created and nurtured, but also one that has nurtured us right back … Grandpa used to say: “care for the seed and it will care for you.”’

I paused, surprised by the sudden heat behind my eyes. A soft murmur of recognition swept through the listening crowd, and I inhaled, suddenly feeling stronger. Grandpa’s wisdom and legacy lived on within us all. I just needed to harness it.

‘When I was a child, I thought he meant the seeds blown into the valley of Arafel. But now I’m older, I realize he was talking about seeds far closer to home. He was talking about us.’

I stared back at their solemn faces. Watching me. I had their full attention now.

‘He meant for us to take care of one another, and I don’t think he meant just the people living here, in Arafel. Grandpa knew the day was coming when the tables would be turned, when the Insiders needed us. And maybe, just maybe, that day is here.

‘The people who have asked for our help are like us. They come from a world inside Isca Pantheon that is made up of the discarded and rejected, a world where living beings are designed to work until they drop, and a world where they are always …’

I scanned the faces, feeling their fear. Feeling Max watching me, willing me through.

‘… afraid. And now they’ve done the single most brave thing of their lives, and escaped their prison – Pantheon. They are hiding – men, women and children, just like our own – in the ruins of the Dead City with barely enough to eat because of the myth of an Eden – here – on the outside.’

A sudden gust of wind echoed down the connecting rocky corridor, almost as though it was adding its own objection.

‘They are desperate, and will die without our help. And two of them risked their lives crossing the North Mountains just to find us … and ask for help.’

My voice trembled as the full force of my own words began to sink in, and the very worst possible explanation for Aelia’s absence reared its head. My throat dried and I tried to swallow, scanning the crowd once again. Every face but Aelia’s looked back.

And in a breath, I knew it wasn’t just my fanciful imagination; that my fear was a materialization of the worst kind; the type of knowledge that comes with really knowing a person’s spirit and capabilities. Aelia hadn’t come to the meeting because a better idea altogether had presented itself – and in Arafel the choice was pretty limited.

I didn’t make the decision to run, I was just conscious of a sea of bemused faces as I leapt from the platform. My suspicions rang as loudly as the Ring alarm, although I was aware of Max’s voice reaching through the clamour of my anxiety. I shook my head fiercely, before flying through the entrance archway and down the narrow stone corridor leading outside. And I didn’t hesitate as my light feet left the bamboo market huts and storehouses for the obscurity of the candle-lit trees. My only thought was to reach home as fast as I could, praying Jas had been her reliable, unsociable self.

The forest reached out like an old friend as a few errant chickens flew up in fright. Then I was flying like my life depended on it, ducking between thick, twisted tree roots and swinging through a banyan, not even pausing beside the meat-curing huts to hiss at an inquisitive honey badger. I barely allowed myself to breathe. All of our fates would hang in the balance if my suspicion was correct. How could I have been so stupid?

Finally, I reached a length of pecan tree that entwined with our white oak treehouse, and froze, listening intently. The treehouse was lit only by Pacha’s beeswax candle jars, and a small outdoor lantern Eli had fashioned from some dry willow. It creaked stiffly every time the wind rustled through the leaves. Usually the noise was friendly and welcoming, but tonight it grated like a rusty saw.

With pounding ears, I leapt to the floor and scaled our twisted rope ladder, willing Jas to greet me as usual at the trapdoor entrance. The familiar cosiness reached out, but Jas was ominously absent, while her bed was dishevelled and empty.

My chest tightened as I flew across the floor, telling myself there was no way Aelia or Rajid could have known where the Book of Arafel was hidden, and that Jas would never have let them move her bed, let alone root around in the empty space beneath. Then the small hiding hole at the back of Aelia’s cave in the Prolet world materialized in my head.

Aelia knew how to hide. Hadn’t she hidden her true identity from most people from the day she was born?

The special fuss Rajid made of Jas at dinner crowded my brain, as the remainder of my calm evaporated. Had it all been for a purpose should Arafel not be able to help? I yanked aside Jas’s bed to prise up the old wooden floor plank beneath. It was worn and slotted together in a way that didn’t require old-world metal nails, but tonight I wished I’d had the foresight to add some of the pine sap glue Max used in his building work.

‘Do you want some help?’ Max’s whisper in the dark made me jump. I’d tuned out the telltale creaks of the floor.

I flashed him a look. His face was full of shadows – and questions.

I’d never told Max the whole: that the Book of Arafel contained Thomas’s secret research into the Voynich Manuscript; a genetic blueprint for mythological creatures, though I’d often wondered if he’d worked it out anyway. He’d listened to Aelia and August’s excitement about Thomas’s cipher. But as far as I knew, he’d never connected the Book of Arafel, the sacred book charting Arafel’s emergence from the dust clouds of the Great War, with the Voynich Manuscript. At least, not openly.

‘It’s OK. I guessed you’d hidden the Book of Arafel in here somewhere, after your grandpa …’

I nodded swiftly, not wanting him to say the words, even now.

He reached forward and with one deft movement, prised up one of the uneven floorboards. I peered inside, and immediately felt my world contract to the size of a corn kernel. The space was dark and empty.

‘They’ve stolen it!’ I whispered, struggling to force the words over my lips.

‘But why? What can they possibly want with it?’ Max responded in confusion.

I stared at him, dread creeping through me like a mountain mist.

‘Cassius! She’s taken the Book to Cassius … to negotiate for the insurgents! Perhaps even August?’

Even in the dusky light I was aware of the sudden anger in Max’s eyes. I’d deliberately avoided speaking August’s name for twelve whole months, and now I’d managed it twice in the same day. But it was a farce anyway; Max knew me inside out. And he’d sensed the charge from the start.

‘But why? What possible interest could our village book hold for Cassius? And what makes you think Aelia wants to negotiate for him at all? Perhaps he’s not missing,’ he added. ‘Perhaps he made it outside and decided to disappear! Who could blame him? He had the perfect opportunity – you knew he always wanted more. Maybe Cassius gave him the opportunity to change it all, an opportunity too good to resist!’

I stiffened. It suited Max for this to be August’s choice. It made it reasonable for him to hate him.

‘He saved us, Max,’ I snapped, ‘in the Flavium, remember? You may have forgotten that, but I definitely haven’t. He rode out alone when—’

‘I know, I know – like a knight in frickin’ futuristic armour and defied the might of Pantheon!’ he scathed. ‘I was there, beside you, remember? And how does a forest builder ever compare with that?’ he continued, his eyes narrowing. ‘Isn’t that what it comes down to? And while we’re being honest, how about you share with me exactly why the Book of Arafel is so precious to everyone else? This isn’t just about the cipher on the floor, is it?’

I stared at him, knowing the situation was spiralling out of control, that I needed to rein it in somehow, and say the right thing. But I was too scared and furious to think straight.

‘I’m not just a dumb treehouse builder, Tal! I know Octavia wanted the Book, and it wasn’t just because of some old feud between her and Thomas. And I know you’ve avoided telling me, and for the love of Arafel, I’ve not pushed you – though I’ve wanted to. But it seems I’m the only one not in the circle now. Despite everything we’ve shared. Even Aelia places some special value on the Book, and I’m still left guessing, because presumably, I’m just not him – that’s it, isn’t it?! I’m just not him!’

The words cut the still air between us, like a knife descaling a fish, removing twelve months of armour with just a few short strikes. And I could tell by the look on his face how much it had cost to deliver them, and that he was fighting himself even now. I knew exactly what he needed me to do. And so much of me wanted to throw my arms around him, tell him it was all his imagination, that August meant nothing to me. That I only wanted him. Especially since that night.

But I couldn’t, no matter how much I wanted to push back the tidal wave of guilt. Because it was a downright lie. And while suffocating my feelings was one thing, outright denial would be like prising them out at the root.

The whole damned world is waiting … August’s last words fell through my thoughts like tiny sharp hailstones. If, by the whole world, he meant a daily trajectory of denial and distraction, followed by the slow burn of reality, he just about had it summed up.

How could he have left Isca Pantheon without looking for Arafel? And for me? Were his memories not slowly eroding his sanity?

‘If that’s what you really think, you can keep this!’ I ground out, whipping off the hand-carved treehouse dart tube and throwing it at him. ‘I haven’t got time to stand around listening to a neurotic fairy tale. Someone has to stop Aelia before she leaves Arafel!’

Spinning around, I flew towards the window. I was flying before Max could answer and I didn’t look back.

Anger always put the devil into my tree-running, and tonight was no exception. Aelia and Rajid had stolen the village’s most prized possession, something Grandpa had charged me to protect with my life. And now there was a very real chance it could end up in Cassius’s hands.

Cold fear gripped my stomach as I paused at the end of a thick ash branch. What could they possibly hope to achieve by giving Cassius the final means to decrypt the Voynich? They might buy the escaped Prolets and August time, but Cassius would be able to accurately re-create beasts from myth and legend on an unthinkable scale – beasts that were extinct for a reason.

‘Come what may, nature finds a way.’

It was one of Grandpa’s favourite mottos, but I wasn’t sure the recovering world would ever be ready for that dark day. My feet flew as though they had grown wings. I grasped a low-hanging pepper tree branch, and ignored the way a pair of bush babies cried out as I disturbed the last of their sleep. I had no time to waste, and my frantic thoughts kept pace with my feet.

Aelia couldn’t physically take the Book through the tunnel, even if she knew where it was located, which meant she either had decided to navigate the North Mountains on foot – suicide, but plausible – or make her way to the animal infirmary and take a certain mythical two-headed haga back to Pantheon. My acorns were on the latter, and that meant there was a very real chance she could be gone before I even reached the infirmary.

I took my running and leaping as high as I dared into the topmost branches of the trees I knew like the back of my hand, but it was still too long before I dropped down near Eli’s veterinary hut, where we’d left the exhausted two-headed Roman eagle a little earlier.

With a pounding chest, I pushed through the thick fringe of banana trees, and out into the grazing paddock. It was a communal grassy community space, where hens, pigs and Eli’s injured menagerie roamed during the day. But tonight it was deserted.

I made my way silently across to one of the dozen oak timber and willow huts that lined the field. They were emergency shelters should a monsoon storm hit our treehouse community, but also served as an indoor space for wet market days, grain storage and my favourite: Arafel story nights.

Cautiously, I pushed open the grass door to the animal infirmary, and was immediately greeted by a cacophony of sounds and dubious smells. The hut was Eli’s special project when we returned from Pantheon, and together with Max, he’d painstakingly designed it to meet the needs of all kinds of sick and injured animals. I’d often thought it was his way of coping with what had happened; Max and I had turned to each other, while Eli had thrown himself into his work.

‘Eli?’ I whispered.

There was no answer and then I remembered. Eli wasn’t here. He was in the Ring with every other member of Arafel debating the issue of the day, and probably my sudden departure too.

Holding my breath, I sprinted down towards the end stall he reserved for the larger animals, willing the haga to be there, willing Aelia to have had second thoughts. But when I reached the stall and peered over at the sawdust floor, only a lone golden feather the size of a cedar leaf gleamed back at me.

I bent down to pick the feather up, as the moon slipped behind a cloud, and for a moment the air thickened with meaning. I inhaled slowly, feeling a shadow creep over my home. Knowing the stark truth. Arafel was standing in the eye of a cold, dark storm, one that was whispering names.

I lifted the feather to my lips. It was still warm. And when I cast a look out of the small netted window on the back wall, the last of the dusk was receding in to the horizon. It was bleeding the colour of Arafel’s ruby orchids, the deepest shade of their brief exotic season, and staining the sky blood red.