Книга - City of Dust: Completely gripping YA dystopian fiction packed with edge of your seat suspense

City of Dust: Completely gripping YA dystopian fiction packed with edge of your seat suspense
Michelle Kenney


The fight is never over.Life in Arafel is no longer safe. Not since August’s disappearance, and whispers of a ghost controlling Pantheon.Meanwhile, Talia stands torn between secretive twin, Eli, and best friend, Max.Betrayal forces Talia to leave the sanctuary of her forest home as she pursues the stolen Book of Arafel. A book which could destroy the freedom of all those she loves if it falls into the wrong hands. And when she enters the ancient ruined city of Isca, she fights to protect the vulnerable from the iron grip of the Pantheon, while learning to fight for the man she loves.But with the shadow of the Black Aquila looming ever closer, will she put the freedom of others above her own, or will she follow her heart?This is Michelle Kenney’s thrilling second instalment in the Book of Fire Trilogy.Readers love Michelle Kenney:‘Michelle Kenney cleverly weaves together a heady mix of dystopia, history, science, romance and mythology.’‘I see plenty of potential in her writing for great books in the future.’‘Michelle weaves a truly believable world with characters you really come to care about.









About the Author (#u7552ef10-cde7-5696-aebf-6dc11b319e55)


MICHELLE KENNEY is a firm believer in magic, and that ancient doorways to other worlds can still be found if we look hard enough. She is also a hopeless scribbleaholic and, when left to her own devices, likes nothing better than to dream up mystical, fantasy worlds in a dog-eared notebook. Doctors say they’re unlikely to find a cure any time soon.

In between scribbling, she loves reading, running, attempting to play gypsy-folk music and treasure-hunting on deserted beaches with her young dreamers-in-training.

Michelle is a graduate of the Curtis Brown Writing for Children Novel Course. She also holds an LLB (Hons) Degree and is currently an Accredited Practitioner with the CIPR, with whom she has won several national awards for her magazine and media/PR-related work.

Michelle is currently represented by Chloe Seager of Northbank Talent Management and can be found at:




https://www.facebook.com/BookofFireMK (https://www.facebook.com/BookofFireMK)




@mkenneypr (https://twitter.com/mkenneypr?lang=en)




@michken01 (https://www.instagram.com/michken01/)

Website: https://thescribblersonline.com/michelle-l-e-kenney/ (https://thescribblersonline.com/michelle-l-e-kenney/)




Also by Michelle Kenney (#u7552ef10-cde7-5696-aebf-6dc11b319e55)


Book of Fire




City of Dust

MICHELLE KENNEY








HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Michelle Kenney 2018

Michelle Kenney asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008281441

Version: 2018-09-04


Table of Contents

Cover (#ud62df925-0c5c-5485-b866-49fa7319164e)

About the Author (#ucae16bc0-170d-5982-9a9e-f19ec95e2084)

Also by Michelle Kenney (#u34371d79-4728-5ccd-9386-90317419db9d)

Title Page (#ufdd1ce12-87b5-5bfa-805b-48f5eb9dc639)

Copyright (#uc98ec38c-4eb4-5a82-b2b7-5d82e306a8a0)

Dedication (#u7d2cc35f-0325-5960-b3a1-39628836a7e1)

Epigraph (#u708c2612-1172-5986-9e96-49bfe6ffaa10)

Chapter 1 (#u0a3a724c-9aa5-5a3b-a7b2-65ef444a7445)



Chapter 2 (#uf06520e4-c938-5551-a122-e5d89687e630)



Chapter 3 (#u2d8c562c-15fe-563c-910c-0a846475d7c3)



Chapter 4 (#u011ec371-7953-5c4e-8fdd-634b8d8659f0)



Chapter 5 (#u29eae065-8782-5db6-b6a3-848e346baa09)



Chapter 6 (#u980db44d-7538-5881-a780-37956ab78aaa)



Chapter 7 (#u0674cd81-5dfe-52ff-a3ee-9d6c8cab8b7e)



Chapter 8 (#u5ebac1c5-0f17-59b1-9079-29b44a0cae4d)



Chapter 9 (#uf7ed6975-2b9b-5c03-befc-bfb9133f81d0)



Chapter 10 (#u78abfb0c-2a6a-5218-b0fa-aaa2b85ece95)



Chapter 11 (#ua386afe3-ee8c-5db8-9993-fc1c1e79f287)



Chapter 12 (#u70187be1-04ae-5a7f-9d3c-0470fe715649)



Chapter 13 (#u4269612a-d01c-5305-a0d1-b613fc6a571f)



Chapter 14 (#u363e1a38-3386-59bf-878f-c5448fcf30b8)



Chapter 15 (#u0c61113f-6130-53a6-95d6-9114d0a39ca7)



Chapter 16 (#u19b1995f-03aa-57ae-9ba6-81d62ccbd129)



Chapter 17 (#uafe57232-c826-5b19-8105-36158325f08e)



Chapter 18 (#ufa02ddce-d643-58b3-82f8-13556c3f4ba0)



Chapter 19 (#u372cfd71-6e8d-5d19-b44e-87f776c4c9ef)



Chapter 20 (#uaa9e6b49-95b7-56f8-bccf-877cd0c5b865)



Chapter 21 (#ud2e2c981-52f8-5cce-9903-addee230c9e7)



Chapter 22 (#u0ae3c2aa-5d64-534d-b814-ba0300866050)



Chapter 23 (#u3b365c66-86cf-5cb1-bf5b-ef2e2bc37107)



Chapter 24 (#u4ad3aadf-9772-5d33-89b6-60ddc546656d)



Glossary of Terms (#u30d814e1-7831-54d4-aed7-ca36e5a5c5bb)

Acknowledgements (#u8f9fc00a-b786-513c-a57e-064bbe3ee476)

Coming Soon … (#u0c195880-c2f4-58d3-942c-c674c5d89ec5)

Extract (#u950b9779-bbea-5fea-b596-2d19b6085862)

Dear Reader (#ucec974ef-cf6d-50ba-b2a1-2c158bd95ec9)

End Pages (#u6437702f-d6cb-5735-93aa-fb31bc46808c)

About the Publisher (#u5b74bb14-2d64-5f71-adb5-4222add38548)


For Nick,

and our journey around the words.


Et in Arcadia Ego




Chapter 1 (#u7552ef10-cde7-5696-aebf-6dc11b319e55)


When a black aquila falls from the golden sky, it will spark a winter of a thousand fires. Or so Grandpa used to say. Yet this day was iris blue in bud. Colour enough to steal a girl’s thoughts. And the ground was green with the sweetenings of spring as the bird fell. It was noiseless at first, before the hollow barrelling of wind, like a meteorite powering directly towards Arafel’s forest. And as though it was Pantheon’s ice-bitch herself, I ran.

‘Tal?’

Max’s whisper steadied me, like the steadfast branches of the Great Oak in the middle of monsoon season. And I strained through the nightmare towards the voice that could take me away from the fear, the watching forest, and the distended white faces that loomed and receded, jeering. Always jeering.

‘Tal?’

The second whisper pulled me back. It was the way it worked. The first reached through the haze of distorted images; the second caught and pulled me home.

I rolled in to his chest, burying my face in his outdoor scent as my room loomed into focus. Everything was just as it should be. The wizened branches of our white oak were still entwined above my simple reed mattress, mirroring our bodies. I drew a steadying breath, and forced my tight limbs to relax. I was home.

‘The same?’

His gentle question said everything, and I nodded before turning away to stare out at the kind night sky. It blinked its forgiveness. Somehow it knew Max’s care was bittersweet. That, after Pantheon, I’d understood three things:

One, that for some inexplicable, never-to-be-understood reason, Max loved me; two, that I loved him back, fiercely; and three, that his forest-green eyes were entirely the wrong colour.

I’d nearly whispered it once, after a dream, but managed to stop myself just in time.

Commander General Augustus Aquila. It helped to think of him as Pantheon’s new leader, untouchable and distant somehow. It kept him at bay from my everyday thoughts, even if it didn’t work in my dreams. And yet somewhere deep inside, Max knew. I saw it in the way he glanced at me when he thought I was distracted. And the guilt was suffocating. Which was why I kissed Max, why I wanted his body to warm mine before the dawn shift, why I listened when he talked about the future – our future – ignoring the twisting deep inside.

And according to the seasonal crop chart, it had been twelve months. Twelve sunlit months since I’d escaped the Lifedomes; fifty-two grey weeks since Grandpa had left; three hundred and sixty-five fragile dawns since he’d touched my skin.

August.

I closed my eyes, and this time my oblivion was like the fathomless sky.

***

‘Brace of pheasant! Enjoy ’em now before the monsoon! Coming early this year so Mags says … Enjoy nice fattened birds, two for a good price!’

I grinned at Eli, ignoring Bereg’s overloud prediction that the late summer rains would wash the wildfowl clean out of Arafel. He said the same every year, even though everyone knew he and Mags, the village fortune-teller, had a long-standing arrangement. And despite his gloomy warnings, I’d never once eaten squirrel all winter.

‘Split shifts this week,’ Eli signed as I traded two of Mum’s woven garlic and shallots chains for a loaf of sunflower bread. It was her favourite.

There was a buzz about the market this morning. The warm spring sunshine glinted off the ripened beef tomatoes, and early corn-ears were piled high like edible gold. One of the perks of wholesale climate change was the chance for two harvests if we farmed carefully, though the monsoon rain always threatened the last. This year the first crop was good though, and that took pressure off us all.

I nodded, stifling a yawn.

‘My best lychee source for your morning shifts?’ I signed, watching my twin’s face break into a mischievous smile.

Now twenty, Eli had changed the most over the last twelve months. Isca Pantheon had scarred us all in more ways than one, but when Max, August and I thought Octavia had beaten us, Eli had found strength in his extraordinary gift. And that day had bred a new quiet air of authority in him.

He’d left the shy boy behind, along with his dependence on his sister to communicate with the world. And while I found it disquieting at first, it was also oddly freeing. I’d always loved with him a protective intensity, but he’d forced me to see the man he’d grown into. And he was a man who’d saved us all from a barbaric death; a man who looked after those he loved; and a man who understood animals better than anyone else I knew.

‘Your best lychee source – and you muck out Celia for a week!’ Eli bartered, winking.

‘What? She’s in season, isn’t she?!’ I protested, alarmed at the thought of going anywhere close to Eli’s heavy boar sow at her most unpredictable.

‘Think I’d rather snooze in the Great Oak,’ I added, watching his smile fade.

‘Still not sleeping then?’ he signed.

We made our way out of the busy marketplace towards the wizened wisteria tree at the edge of the forest. Its aged branches and lavender fronds created a natural canopy under which hunters gathered on days like today – the last day of our working week, celebrated with traditional tree-running trials.

I shook my head lightly, shifting the woven basket of traded goods on my arm. My disturbed nights weren’t exactly a secret, but I was wary of talking about them with Eli. Because of Max.

The tension between them was so real, and yet I couldn’t have survived the last twelve months without my best friend. A brief glance over the village fire, and Max and I were both back in the dark clawing tunnels, trying to breathe through the swirling dust of the Flavium. Those memories often clung to the edges of my consciousness until dawn crept through the woven roof of our treehouse, or Max’s warm arms chased them away.

Mum had turned a blind eye to his dusk arrivals and dawn exits through my window. She recognized we were no longer two people, as much as two parts of a story that only made sense together. But Eli had been less enthusiastic. Max had always represented an intrusion to our twin bond, and our new arrangement had only compounded that feeling. I tried to reassure my brother, but he only shrank from conversation, isolating himself from me. The truth was, Max and I were closer than any other friends I knew. And although the line was blurred, there had been one night of torrential rain two months before when the nightmares wouldn’t stop, no matter how tightly Max held me.

We were both guilty of needing to leave it all behind – Pantheon, its cruel perversions and terrifying creations – and somehow that desire had turned into a fire we couldn’t quench. And there was an irrevocable feeling of needing to know whether it could mend us.

So, he’d stepped inside my world completely and when he gripped my hand that night, our bodies fused, we unlocked a door we couldn’t quite close.

It hadn’t happened again, despite the burn in Max’s eyes, but the memory was there now, binding us, dividing us.

And Eli didn’t like it one bit.

‘At least my dreams are tamer than the rumours!’ I winked.

Eli grinned. The whispers about the Inside flourished despite our attempts to quash them, and were more exaggerated every time I went into the village school. Most of them were fireside stories, embellished to entertain. But an echo of the truth was always there, despite our pact to say as little as possible about what we’d actually seen.

‘Kai asked whether Insiders breathe fire yesterday!’ I signed.

‘Ha! Hope you told him only his schoolteacher can do that!’

I smirked and shoved him.

‘Time to run,’ he challenged.

I smiled as he grabbed my basket and passed it to Mathilda, one of the Elders who invigilated the trials with members of Arafel’s Council. The trials were an important village event, honoured every ten days, and we raced according to our age and ability. Eli and I both competed as adult hunters; although Max and I often ended up leading the field, much to Eli’s irritation. Today, though, I wanted to run with my brother.

‘Time to fly,’ I corrected, pushing my tongue into my cheek. He grinned his response, and just for a moment it was just like old times.

‘Hey, foraging queen! Hope you weren’t expecting me to go easy today!’

Max’s strong arms lifted me clean off my feet and swung me round, despite my protest. He put me down rapidly, but the damage had been done. Eli’s sunny expression dissolved as he turned his back to watch the young tree-runners line up. And with his tight shoulders and folded arms, he might as well be a million miles away now.

I glared at Max who only held up his hands a little guiltily. We’d discussed keeping things low on the village radar. For Mum and Eli’s sake. But I also knew Max suspected me of an ulterior motive, and that he wanted Eli to know about us. He was saved by the sound of a sonorous ibex horn, followed swiftly by a whole cacophony of whoops and cries as the youngest tree-runners set off. Dressed in small trial tunics, with their faces painted the colours of the forest, they looked every inch a feral, tree-living tribe – worthy inheritors of Arafel.

‘Come what may, nature finds a way,’ I whispered under my breath. My ancestor Thomas’s legacy looked to be alive and kicking. Seconds later, they had been completely enveloped by the thick mass of trees and bushes, their presence only evidenced by the occasional rustle or flurry of surprised birds.

‘We’re up?’ Max tested.

‘Great,’ I responded in a way that told him he wasn’t off the hook.

But I knew my brother too well to attempt a clumsy retrieval of the situation just now, and the three of us made our way across to the hunters’ start point in silence.

Rief, Saba and Fynn, old school friends, were already waiting by the maple and I nodded briefly. There was always an air of anticipation at the tree-running trials. Learning to move and live within the trees had saved our ancestors from extinction, and the trials served to remind us of the survival skills that brought us through the dust.

‘Chalk?’ Rief asked.

Eli accepted the piece of dusty rock, and rubbed his hands ceremoniously, before passing it to me. The white powder helped with grip, but also focused our thoughts before the race began. Although most of the hunters knew the flying routes well, the Council occasionally added special challenges. The intention was to replicate the unpredictability of the outside forest as much as possible. This week Max, Bereg and a few of the older hunters had helped construct a sticky net between three acacias to challenge the younger runners.

I took the chalk from Eli, and whitened the palms of my hands methodically. The older trials were usually judged by speed, our acumen as hunters not expected to be in any doubt. But the Council weren’t above throwing in wild-card obstacles for us occasionally either. Either way, it paid to be prepared.

‘Hunter … Positions!’

Art’s command hung in the air and the majority of Arafel’s most skilled hunters suddenly melted out from the trees, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. I stepped between Eli and Max, casting a swift glance down the starting line. There had to be more than eighty of us this morning. And with long, lean limbs, faces streaked with dirt and waists hung with seasoned weapons, the hunters were an impressive sight to behold.

A pregnant hush descended, before the pulse of the ceremonial chant thickened the air. It was a simple repetitive beat, low and rhythmic, supposed to replicate the drum of a hunter’s heart. A feral heart. I inhaled deeply. It was time. I focused my gaze on my leather-soled feet, and silently repeated the words that had come to feel like a prayer.

‘Why run when you can fly?’

I reached out to squeeze Eli’s cool hand, and he returned the pressure without looking. Then the ibex horn sounded again and it was just me, the forest and the sun at my back.

We flew like birds, running through trees as though we were animals that had always belonged there. Occasionally I caught the flash of a green tunic or brown hand, dirtied with dust to make it less visible, but no greetings were exchanged. Tree trials were sacrosanct, and no serious hunter would compromise their time with mischief or chat.

At first I hung back for Eli, hoping he might still run with me, but when I finally caught sight of him, he’d paired with Fynn. I swallowed my disappointment and flew on, Grandpa’s advice lulling me into a swift rhythm:

‘Remember what Thomas taught us. An Arafel hunter believes in natural order, respect for his place in the forest, and takes only what he needs to survive.’

His words were as good as imprinted in my mind, and it was several minutes later when I finally dropped to the floor to pause beside a drinking hole. This part of Arafel’s forest was lush and dark, and the water came from a deep underground spring, which made it reliably fresh and cool to drink.

I leaned over the water, and watched two hazel eyes gaze back from an earth-stained face. I stared back, trying to read them before I bent to drink. August had always seemed to find it so easy, but right now they seemed as closed and secretive as the dark pond water in which they danced.

I glanced over my shoulder. All was still. Max and Rief had run into a nest of fire ants, which had left me out in front. Fire ant nests were more usually found at the base of trees, but this particular nest had somehow managed to find a home in the centre of one of the well-used tree forks. I frowned. Art’s Council were clearly upping the stakes, and I had a suspicion it wasn’t just to keep things interesting. Art was nervous, and he had every reason to be.

We’d all but razed Pantheon to the ground, and then taken off. August had been left in charge, but who knew how that had gone down in the twisted, archaic world of Isca Pantheon. And now our existence wasn’t a secret. Cassius might be dead, but the Insiders couldn’t deny our existence any longer. I thought about the message I’d left: the photograph of Cassius striding through the forest, smiling and helmet-free. It was a message about betrayal on a momentous scale.

I stared back into my own jaded eyes. Our idyllic forest life looked cocooned and protected, but in truth it all balanced on the edge of a harvest scythe. Its continuity depended on political stability inside the domes, and that was so dangerous to assume.

The faint crackle of weighted branches filled the air, and I didn’t need a second warning. Rising swiftly, I darted up the nearby kapok tree.

A good hunter never gave up her lead, not for all the apricots in Arafel.




Chapter 2 (#ulink_8943945a-d49c-59a5-bed3-158b448021df)


It was falling fast now. I shimmied down a fallen trunk and leapt up into a thick willow, keeping my eyes trained on the sky above the trees. Max followed agilely, sensing my need for urgency, and only paused when I reached the swaying branches near the top. I held up a hand, knowing the thinner, reedy branches wouldn’t support his weight. And it only took one of us to look past Arafel’s silvery waterfall into the canopied clearing beyond.

It had been two days since the hunter tree trials, and we were on the outer perimeter of Arafel’s forest, the last thicket before the gently sloping pastures we’d cultivated for our rotational crop supplies.

I scanned the busy fields swiftly. I could just spy Kela, today’s shift leader, checking the green shoots of the second barley crop, which once only grew in the old-world Middle East. It was another newcomer since the change in climate, and we were grateful for the flour that provided our village with barley bread throughout the volatile monsoon months.

Beyond the long pastures were the gentle, arid slopes that signalled the start of the mountainous terrain. They were used mainly for grazing the village goats, and the occasional wild caribou kill. The slopes were also where Eli had found Jas, our snow leopard watch-cat, when we were just children. As far as I was aware, she was still the only living creature I knew to have wound a precipitous route from the North Mountains’ snowy peaks into our hidden paradise.

Today though, Jas’s Herculean feat was not foremost in my mind.

I’d followed the tiny falling speck from the roof of our treehouse, feeling suspiciously like I’d fallen into one of my nightmares. Yet this speck was real, I was sure of that. It was also big with a predatory shape, like one of the birds of prey circling way up in the mountains. And its direct, urgent flight marked it out from the rest.

I craned my neck, trying to peer through the dense foliage into a clearing a few tree jumps away. The bird had merged with the trees here several minutes ago.

‘What was it?’ Max’s whisper was barely discernible above the rustle of the willow. ‘Boar?’ he added hopefully.

I shook my head, drawing mixed comfort from the warmth of his breath against my calf. The fallout was forgotten. I never could stay mad with him anyway, he was simply too Max. And he never suffocated me with words; everything that needed to be said was conveyed with a look or a touch. Apart from that one night, when he’d rolled onto his side to look at me. Really look at me. And I’d never felt more naked. The moon painted his Outsider skin in runes when he whispered the three words that terrified me most. And it was the best and worst moment of my life.

My own words had dried at the back of my throat, and it was part of the reason we hadn’t stopped. Because I couldn’t wrap words around my own feelings. They wouldn’t fit no matter how much I tried to force them. And now the nights were so much harder. The question was always there, hanging between us in the darkness. I really tried to bury my memories, to leave it all behind like we had that night, but the same confusion that stopped my words, stopped everything else. His frustration was tangible. And I could only hope that it overshadowed my guilt, which gnawed like a hunger at the pit of my stomach.

The sun glinted through the trees the way it always did, but today felt different somehow. I lifted my head and sniffed. It was too early for the rains, but the breeze was sharper.

I craned again, and then I glimpsed it, several trees away. The tip of an outstretched wing, a burnished gold-edged wing, and then something else that made my fingers clench the willow until the whites of my knuckles gleamed.

I shinnied back down the branch to face Max.

‘Hey, what’s up?’ he asked, weaving his fingers into mine. ‘You look like you spied a strix!’

‘Golden plumage,’ I whispered, loosening my hand before leaping again into a strong maple, and scurrying down into its thickened fork.

‘Griffin?’

Max was right behind me in a heartbeat.

He meant Friskers of course, our much-loved village pet griffin, who now roamed the outside forest. Although the outside forest inhabitants had been disgruntled, I’d no choice but to leave Octavia’s engineered beast there when I made it back from Pantheon. I knew it stood the best chance of survival among the wilder animals and vegetation, rather than within our farming community. But instead of embracing its new-found freedom, it had taken to waiting patiently in the outside forest for Arafel hunters to appear, when it would appear like an over-enthusiastic dog, its pink tongue lolling over its carnivorous beak. Even genetically modified mythical beasts had the potential for domestication, it seemed.

One of the village children had since named it after its unique mix of bushy feathers and whiskers, and somehow the name had stuck.

I shook my head.

‘Two heads,’ I mouthed, watching the teasing light fade from his eyes.

This time his pace matched my own. We both understood the implication of what I’d glimpsed. And as far as we were aware, the only two-headed creatures in existence were Octavia’s genetically enhanced haga, supposedly incarcerated inside Pantheon’s Lifedomes. Not flying free over the North Mountains.

We took a wide, circuitous route around the clearing, and leapt through the trees like spider monkeys, before dropping into a grove of large banana trees. A newcomer to the western world, they grew in abundance here. Today, I was grateful for their thickened corms and blades, which obscured us from whatever was shuffling around the forest floor just ahead.

I stole forward, pausing only at a light touch on my shoulder. I shook my head abruptly before returning my gaze to my path. Max had always struggled to accept my need to look after myself, but it was one thing I couldn’t compromise on. Like those words.

The pounding in my ears steadily increased as we crept forward beneath the swollen leaves, and each careful footstep seemed to sound as loudly as a felled tree branch. But as the interwoven leaves thinned I glimpsed bright colours that made my hairs strain to attention, until finally as I pulled aside the last fronds, there was a sharp gasp. It took a couple of seconds for me to realize it was my own.

I’d seen nothing and no one from Pantheon in a year and yet, somehow, I was staring straight into the archaic eyes of one of Octavia’s flying watchdogs of the night.

A haga.

It threw back its crested heads as our eyes connected, one microsecond before it crowed its aggression to a group of red pandas above. They scattered while we stared, mesmerized by the impressive newcomer, which was as alien to its forest surroundings as ever a creature could be.

It reached head and shoulders above any man or woman in Arafel, and had a wingspan that extended beyond twice that of a natural eagle. It was also one of the creatures August had sworn to keep within the world of Pantheon, despite my protest that the natural world would survive if he threw open the doors. Its containment was one of the fundamental reasons August had stayed behind; so what, in the name of Arafel, was it doing out here?

But I had no time to think. The question was crushed by a sudden leaden weight around my shoulders, sending me careering forward into the lush green grass as a muffled exclamation filled the air. Blindly, I wrestled against my assassin. He was small and lithe, but uncannily fierce, and it took all my strength to thrust him backwards. I was on my feet and spinning around in a heartbeat; just in time to witness Max force his attacker to his knees. He had autumn skin, and curious inked drawings all over his arms and neck. He wasn’t from Arafel.

I shot a look at my own combatant, who was drawing himself up to his feet. Her feet. I caught my breath again. Our eyes locked, and the forest melted away until there was only the heated rush of recognition. Then there was a brief stunned silence, before I forged forward to wrap myself fiercely around her slight frame.

‘Ow! You still have a ridiculously strong grip for a girl!’ she complained, detangling herself.

I chuckled, releasing her.

‘Like you can talk, General!’ I shot back, recovering myself.

The grin illuminating Aelia’s elfin face faded a little, and I was suddenly acutely aware of her jaded appearance. Her clothing was even more tattered and stained than I remembered, and she looked tired, deathly tired.

‘Are you hurt? How did you find us? Are we really to believe you somehow made it over the mountains on a haga?’ I fired incredulously.

Everyone knew the North Mountains were precipitous and unforgiving; their dangerous peaks and terrains had always been our protection. That a girl on a mythical bird could navigate her way over them seemed impossible. Yet here Aelia stood. A miracle, and an ominous threat.

Her eyes gleamed with adventure, and a sleepy dragonfly flapped its wings against the inside of my ribcage. I couldn’t imagine how it had taken me so long to work out Aelia was August’s Prolet-born sister. They shared the same shrewd wit, and eyes the colour of an Arafel dawn. And right now, they were more unsettling than I cared to admit.

‘Max! Let Rajid go. He’s got the most awesome Cerberus ink you’ve ever seen!’ she admonished, stepping across to them.

I watched Max relinquish his prize, before catching her up in an affectionate, slightly awkward hug.

‘Hey, Lia, wish you’d said you were popping in. I would have gone all out for a brace of rabbits instead of fresh trout!’ He winked, holding out a conciliatory hand.

The inked man shook his head and jumped to his feet in one agile move, rubbing his neck.

‘And if I’d known you were cooking, I’d have worn my best Prolet dress and booked the sky train instead of an oversized pigeon with no sense of direction!’ she retorted.

They grinned, and not for the first time I acknowledged just how suited they were. In another time and space they would have been perfect for one another.

‘Tal, there’s a lot to say. But probably … not here?’ She frowned, shooting a look at Rajid. ‘And this big pigeon over here needs some attention. It was cold up there. His flight feathers took a little frosting from the northerly winds.’ She ran her hands over the exhausted haga.

I nodded briefly, collecting my wayward thoughts. Aelia was here, and she had to have a burning reason to risk her life over the mountains on the back of a haga.

‘Yes, of course! And Eli will take a look at the … bird. Will it follow? We can take it straight to the animal infirmary.’

Over the past year, Eli’s animal whispering had matured into full-time veterinary care in a purpose-built hut he and Max had built near Arafel’s centre. All the villagers trusted him with their livestock, and he never seemed to be at a loss for a diagnosis or treatment, despite being entirely self-taught.

I shot a look at Max, his grin saying it all.

‘And then I think Max has promised you trout,’ I added.

A golden pheasant peeped among the crickets as we followed the quickest path back through the forest, silenced only by a pair of amorous rainbow lorikeets. Aelia broke off our conversation to better watch their dance against the cornflower sky, unfettered by cavern or dome ceilings. Clearly, the array of wildlife running freely through the trees entranced and bewildered her. And I understood more than she realized.

Completely cut off from the outside world for nearly two hundred years, Arafel was a paradise compared with the brown grit of Isca Prolet. I recalled my own astonishment when Unus and I had emerged out of the tunnels into the Prolet world – Pantheon’s genetic rubbish tip, and Aelia’s natural home. Life there was so engineered, disparate and exploited. It couldn’t in any way compare with life on the outside, which had recovered far faster than anyone had expected.

I stole a glance across at the slight, elfin girl who had been so full of secrets in Pantheon. And now my mind was spinning with more questions, like one of Max’s water wheels, but I kept my lips pressed firmly together until we’d delivered the haga into the wide-eyed keeping of one of Eli’s volunteer helpers. It was only when we’d pulled the willow ladder back up inside our treehouse, that I allowed my curiosity to show. And Aelia’s nerves were as clear as Jas’s objection to the sudden intrusion.

‘Is this the actual cipher? Thomas’s cipher?’ she whispered, crouching to inspect the freshly swept floor of our small living space.

Cursing silently, I nudged Mum’s handmade reed mat over the crude drawing with the heel of my foot. I’d thought so many times about erasing the charcoaled markings Thomas had painstakingly drawn out on our living-room floor, but it had always seemed sacrilegious, especially with Octavia and Cassius gone.

Now, though, my inaction seemed foolish. Although Aelia had proven her real loyalty to the outside, I’d always sensed her scientific weakness for Thomas’s research and Octavia’s obsession with the Voynich Manuscript.

‘Its existence still isn’t well known in the village.’ I smiled apologetically.

It would have been so much easier if Thomas hadn’t recorded the cipher to decode the only known genetic blueprint for mythical creatures.

‘And Art felt it was for the best – to protect the other villagers.’

‘Doesn’t seem entirely open, in such an open society?’ she commented, her eyes narrowed and suspicious.

‘Would have been far better to burn it – for the firewood it is!’

Rajid’s low mutter cut across the small circle, and this was swiftly followed by another round of low growling. I shot a look at Jas’s sleek white body curled up in her bed, her yellow eyes watching our guests unwaveringly. She looked every inch the content treehouse cat, although her beautiful white jowls twitched unusually. I tried to assess her mood briefly, before returning my attention to our guests.

We were sitting in a makeshift circle, around Mum’s clay cooking pot of fresh trout stew. The aroma was making my stomach grumble, and by the looks on their faces, it had been a good while since our guests had eaten too.

Rajid was crouching, warming his hands by our fire. I shot him a careful look. Everything about him was at odds with Arafel. His manner was so cool and indifferent, and the mythical Cerberus snarling up his neck couldn’t brand him more a product of Pantheon, and yet he was here. In our forest home. I followed the purplish line of the ugly, salivating hounds, mesmerized by the reddened tongues hanging from their jowls, and wondered at the artistry that brought their bulbous eyes to life every time he swallowed.

Who would choose such a mark?

‘So, tell us everything,’ I invited, as my mother ladled the steaming food into wooden bowls.

She looked particularly tired and drawn tonight, and I could sense she was anxious. Eli had taken a shift foraging and hadn’t returned yet. And even though hunting in the outside forest was now deemed a lot safer, she never smiled until we were all back in the same room.

‘You mean, why am I here, disturbing your little corner of paradise?’ Aelia responded, her delicate features twisting up into a grimace. ‘Well, let’s see, where to begin?’

‘How is August?’

The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it. And although it was just three words, lightly spoken, it felt as though they carried the entire weight of the treehouse on their back. I tried to ignore Max’s eyes boring into the side of my head, telling myself it was perfectly normal to ask about her brother, especially given everything we’d all been through.

But a brief shake of her head undid every good intention.

I stared at her, an uncomfortable flush crawling up my neck.

‘What do you mean? He’s … everything’s OK, isn’t it?’

Max’s frown deepened into a scowl.

‘August hasn’t been seen for three months. Not since the Director General took his seat back in the Senate,’ Rajid interjected, staring into the fire embers beneath the cooking pot.

I glanced at Max, my skin starting to crawl like I’d fallen into the fire ant nest myself.

‘The Director General? Cassius? He’s …?’

‘Alive? Yes,’ Aelia confirmed.

A stunned silence pervaded the small rounded room.

‘The head wound Unus inflicted in the Flavium would have killed any ordinary Pantheonite, but as one of Octavia’s original fighting elite … well it turns out Cassius was pretty strong,’ she continued.

‘When the Flavium was cleared, the Scientific Generals had him transferred to the infirmary, where he remained in a comatose state until last month.’

‘But if Cassius is alive, August …?’ I whispered, feeling all my old nightmares start to stir.

‘… was instantly compromised,’ Rajid drawled with a glance at Aelia.

‘It turns out Cassius still commanded a loyal following among the elite Pantheonites, despite what happened in the Flavium,’ Rajid continued, his tone at odds with the gravity of his words.

‘And as soon as news of Cassius’s recovery began to spread, August’s new legislation was frozen by the Senate. Cassius played the game cleverly,’ he continued. ‘He didn’t immediately pull rank. Instead, he offered to work together with August, to bring about a fairer, more open Isca Pantheon that pursued the more … useful elements of the Biotechnology Programme.

‘He recruited old friends, like Livia, as his Empress-Consort Deputy.’

My brain whirled as I tried to recall what I knew about the original mother of the Holy Roman Empire, though Aelia’s scowl already spoke a thousand words.

‘Livia … as in Livia Drusilla? Wasn’t she the real wife of Emperor Augustus?’

‘The wicked witch of Rome?’ Aelia responded, her top lip curling. ‘Yeah, she was a real shining beacon of womanly virtue … apart from the power games, treachery and systematic murder, of course.’

I stared, feeling my world grey.

‘And Cassius was convincing,’ she continued, the dark circles beneath her eyes suddenly more noticeable. ‘His speeches in the Senate were persuasive, especially among the newly elected Prolet representatives. He nearly had me believing in his integrated school for every Prolet and Pantheon child, irrespective of genetic coding. He always was a powerful orator.

‘Besides, the Senatore were weak. Octavia’s sudden death left them fractured. She wasn’t loved, but she’d always been there, at the helm. Her poison was still trickling through their veins, and Cassius was a direct link with the old way of life.’

The room went quiet and Aelia and Rajid exchanged another glance, almost as though they were deciding exactly how much more to share.

‘The Senatore decided Cassius’s seniority demanded he be given a chance.’ Rajid shrugged. ‘And that August should lead a new important mission – the investigation into habitable life.’

‘On the outside.’ Aelia’s whisper seemed to merge with the faded forest pictures I’d painted on the walls as a child.

I glanced at Max. It was the first time we’d heard of any deliberate move by Pantheon to investigate the outside world.

‘Despite his repeated request they send someone else, he was dispatched with the elite Equite force on an exploratory mission. Across Europa,’ Aelia confirmed bluntly.

I grew colder. August was somewhere, on the outside. And he hadn’t come to Arafel.

‘His key objective was to gather scientific evidence for sustainable community living across Europa,’ Rajid clarified.

Aelia nodded, swallowing hard.

‘It was Cassius’s idea, that the Senate explore opportunities for satellite Lifedomes, which would help start a re-familiarization programme. The Senate were impressed, heralding it as a new era, an opportunity to combine the best of the old with the future.

‘And August, with his background in fieldwork, was the obvious choice to lead the investigation.’

‘The mission was expected to take six weeks. It’s been three months,’ Aelia offered, her eyes flitting past Rajid’s.

‘Rumours spread swiftly after that. Now most Pantheonites believe August planned his desertion, and that the group of young Prolet Freedom Fighters abandoned the new Civitas to go looking,’ Rajid added.

‘Anyway, Cassius has since denounced them all as deserters.’

He paused to draw breath, while I stared, already knowing the answer to my question, but I needed to ask anyway.

‘Looking for what?’ I whispered.

‘For you, Tal,’ Aelia returned, like a challenge.





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