Ashes of Twilight (4 page)

“Come on, Wren. It’s just love play.”

“It’s not play if I don’t love you.”

“There’s no one else for you but me.” He grabs my arm and I immediately jerk it away.

“Stop. I don’t want this.”

He pushes me against the wall once more and traps me with his arms. He stands far enough away that he’ll have time to jump back if I try to kick him. “Yes, you do.” His eyes narrow as he looks at me. “You’re just playing.”

“I’m not playing, James. Let me go.”

“You should be grateful I want you. My parents certainly don’t approve. They don’t mind Peggy being your friend but…” He gives me his smile, the one that immediately charms anyone who sees it. The one that always gets him what he wants. “None of the families want you. But I convinced mine that your tainted blood won’t hurt their grandchildren.”

I shove against his chest and he stumbles back. “What’s wrong with my blood?” I’m so angry that I shake.

“Who knows who your mother slept with? A scarab? A filcher? Your father could be anyone. Anyone from up there.”

Fire fills my veins. My body feels as if I’m going to erupt into flames. I slap him, hard, across the face.

His head snaps to the side with my blow and he places his hand on his cheek. His other forms into a fist. I push by him and start up the tunnel.

“You’ll be sorry,” he calls after me.

“I already am.”

3

I
am more tired
than usual after my shift. I could not stop playing the scene with James over and over again in my mind. I keep asking myself the same questions as I relive each agonizing moment of the kiss. Is there something wrong with me? Do the shiner families really feel that way? Or was it something James said just to convince me that I should be with him? I feel as if what happened was entirely my fault, yet I cannot figure out what I did that was so wrong. Am I simply incapable of love? Am I destined to spend the rest of my life alone since I rejected James? The thought makes me unfit company, even for myself.

I don’t want to go to the seekers’ meeting, especially if James is there, so I go where my heart leads me. It’s probably over with anyhow as I can’t imagine Alex letting a meeting, even one that could possibly change our destinies, keep him from walking Lucy to work. As I ride the lift to the surface I can only hope that watching the light come to the dome will clear my mind and restore my spirit.

I decide to change from my usual path after yesterday’s scare, in case the filchers are watching for me. I will not walk into a trap, not if I can help it. I go right instead of left and walk toward the slaughterhouse. I slide my kerchief up over my mouth and nose to keep out the stench. The air inside the dome feels heavy, laden with smoke, the stench of the animal pens, and the rusty tang of fresh blood. Men, stripped down to their waists, their skin already dripping with sweat, wear heavy aprons over their bare chests as they strip the hides from the morning’s butchering. One stares at me as I go by and waves a long knife. He gives me a leer and opens his mouth in a grin that reveals brown and rotted teeth. I grimace and try not to gag as I pick up my pace and cut back toward the promenade.

I mingle in with the common folk as they move toward the center of the city. Most are on their way to work, but I spot a few women carrying market baskets and a group of children, too young to apprentice, who turn off into a school. I relax as we come close to the promenade. Here I can blend in with the others, as long as I keep my goggles on. Most everyone wears them to protect their eyes from the smoke that constantly fills the streets. Without them, the silver cast to my eyes will identify me as a shiner. As we move onward the streets widen and the crowd lightens as the people scatter into the side streets and their daily chores.

Whenever I am on the promenade I wonder about my father. Is he one of the many who stroll up and down its length during the afternoons when I am asleep after my shift in the mines? I take every opportunity I can find to go there, to hide in the shadows of the passageways and study the faces of the royals.

Why do I feel the need to prove that my father is a royal? Will it make the circumstances of my birth any different? For all I know, James could be right; my father could have been anyone. Maybe the reason why my mother didn’t name him is because she didn’t know who he was. She could have been raped by the filchers, for all I know. It’s happened before, plenty of times. It’s something not talked about, yet in a community such as ours it’s hard to keep secrets.

Yet my mother managed to keep hers. I don’t know why I feel the need to know. Perhaps it is just that I need some sort of validation from him. So I study the royals as they walk their endless circles with their tiny dogs, as they wear their fancy silks and satins that have been carefully tended and passed down from generation to generation. I wonder what his name is and the circumstances that brought about my birth. I don’t dare to show myself, yet I can’t help but think, if he were by happenstance to see me, would he recognize me? I have been told by many that I look like my mother. Would that be enough proof to claim me as his?

Today I spare no thought for the man who sired me. As I come close to the center fountain I see Alex and Lucy standing on a street corner arguing. I was right; Alex didn’t waste time at his meeting. When it was time for Lucy to go to work he left with her.

It is obvious to all around them that they are arguing about something. They stand, facing each other, their bodies rigid with anger, while the tide of workers hurrying to their jobs parts around them. They are oblivious to the dark and curious looks that turn their way. I take shelter behind a street vendor’s cart. I don’t want them to see me, or maybe it’s just that I don’t want them to know I see them. I feel as if the pain and hurt that surrounds them will somehow contaminate me. What happened to Alex’s high spirits and certainty from the night before? He seemed capable of anything after he flew; he was certainly capable of making everyone believe what he wanted them to believe.

Except for Lucy, it seems.

“Move on.” The vendor eyes me, sizing up my clothes and the contents of my pockets in one sharp glance. His cart holds hot chips, steaming within their paper and dripping with oil. My stomach rumbles with hunger. It’s been a long time since my hastily eaten meal the night before. I dig into my pocket and pull out a coin, long forgotten and covered with coal dust and lint. I rub it clean on my sleeve and hand it to him. He peers at my face in an attempt to see my eyes through the goggles. He looks over his shoulder toward Alex and Lucy, then back at me. With a grimace of disgust he hands me a paper of chips. “The likes of you should keep your business down below,” he grumbles as he trundles off with his cart.

The likes of me … Doesn’t he know that without the likes of me he would not survive? That without my people there would be no coal, and therefore no fans to keep the air cooled and circulating. When in our history did it become a bad thing to be a shiner? When was the hate born?

I step into an alley and let the bustling street hide me from Alex and Lucy, not that they would notice. I eat a chip, savoring the taste of the bacon grease in which it had been fried. I watch as Alex takes Lucy’s hand and she jerks it away. Alex looks stricken. Lucy turns and walks away, leaving Alex standing all alone on the street.

Should I go to him? I want to. I want to soothe his pain, but I am unsure of my motives. Do I really want things to be fine between Alex and Lucy, or do I think that if they break up he might turn to me? What should I do? I stand there, eating my chips and trying to decide what would be the right thing. Before I can come to a resolution, Alex takes off, making my decision for me. He goes opposite of where I think he’ll turn. Not after Lucy, not toward the lift, and not to me, which was what I secretly hoped. I think for an instant of following him, and then I decide not to. There will be time to talk to Alex tonight, when we are at work. Time when no one will disturb us.

Daylight now fills the dome. I’ve missed the coming of the light between my detour and watching Alex and Lucy. I feel empty without the dawning and drained after my exhausting shift. There’s nothing for me to do now but go underground and sleep.

I’m not ready. Even though I am weary I decide to stay above, and I move in the direction of my usual place and finish off the chips as I go. My mind is full of so many things: James, Alex, Lucy, Peggy, and Adam. The things that happened last night and the things that might or might not happen in the future.

I watch for the filchers as I walk. I keep to the shadows, close to the buildings and alleyways. A bluecoat stands on the corner ahead so I cut across the street behind a steam-powered cart, laden with fruit and vegetables, on its way to the royals. I try not to stare at the bright red of the apples that are piled high in a basket. We never get fresh fruit below, only dried, and I am tempted to steal one and run. But the bluecoat, the name we use for the security force of our world due to the dark blue uniforms they wear, is too close and I dare not risk it.

I feel his eyes upon me as I turn onto the street that leads to my rooftop. I duck into the alleyway, but instead of climbing the ladders and stairs that lead to my usual perch, I go to the one right beyond it, which is the library. There are no gardens on top of this building; instead, there is a small dome, a miniature tribute to the one that shelters us.

Since there are no gardens above, there are also no steps; instead, iron rungs are bolted to the heavy brick. It’s a hard climb, and it hurts my lungs, but I press on. I know the harvesters will be at work now, and they’ve made it plain in the past that they will not tolerate my presence during their shifts.

Finally I reach the top. I take a moment to catch my breath before I sit down against the short wall that encloses the roof, push my goggles up on my forehead, and look up at the domed sky above me. I know I can’t be seen from the other rooftops as I have long considered the best places to hide when I am above. The buildings around me are all taller, but the wall and corner posts on the library roof are great for concealment.

A shadow darkens the dome. Something from the outside. I follow the lazy circles with my eyes as whatever it is hovers above our world. What could it be? A large bird perhaps? And if it is, how does it survive if the world beyond our walls is consumed with flames? I watch until the shadow fades from sight and the quietness of the world above the streets consumes me.

A shout jars me awake. I scramble to my feet and look around. Has someone noticed me? Are there filchers about? Falling asleep was a stupid, stupid mistake. I scramble to the side of the building, just in case, and will my beating heart to slow down.

“Runner!” someone shouts. I look up at the rooftop next to me. The harvester waves to someone on another building.

“There’s a runner,” he calls out.

A runner? Someone has tried to leave the dome? I’ve heard rumors of runners and stories of burned bodies shown as evidence of the hazards of going outside. But I’ve never seen one, nor has anyone else that I know.

Where?
Where has someone tried to escape? If I can find out where, then I’d have something to bring to Alex, and maybe he would see me in a new light. There are places that are heavily guarded, places that mark you for certain death before you could even attempt to get out. Has someone found a way to get past?

Suddenly the alarm blares with a piercing blast that bores into my brain. I don’t bother with the ladder, instead I lean over the side and grab on to the drainpipe. I brace my knees against it and quickly slide down to the ground where I take off at a run.

It is impossible to think. The alarms scream continually, scaring the birds from their morning rounds. They swoop and squawk angrily above my head. Dogs join in the cacophony of sound and a cat, caught in my path, arches its back and hisses at me as I pound through the alleyways. I slow down as I come to the promenade and the alarms stop.

I have to take a moment to catch my breath. The air is heavy and difficult to draw in. I had forgotten to pull my bandanna over my nose and I pay for it now with choking spasms that echo loudly off the bricks in the after-silence from the screaming steam pipes. I cover my mouth and suppress the noise as best I can. If I am caught by the filchers … I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The air is better here as this is the place where the royals gather. The filters are stronger and the fans more powerful. Only the best for the best of us, as it has always been.

People hurry by, tradesmen and royals, all anxious to know what caused the alarm. I cautiously peer around the corner. The need to know what is going on is greater than my fear of the filchers, who will take advantage of any opportunity to collect a bounty. There is enough of a crowd that I can blend into the group that gathers around the fountain and statues that mark the center of our world. It is not as if I am not allowed to be here, it is more that it is unwise for me to be caught here, a jeopardy that concerns me no matter where I go. I pull my goggles over my eyes and join in with the others.

A strange smell assaults my nostrils and the chips, so recently in my stomach, make an attempt to show up once more. I swallow back the bile and mingle with the others. We gather, all citizens of the dome, coming together as one whenever the alarms sound. I manage to hide in plain sight and watch as a squadron of bluecoats drops a body at the base of the fountain. A collective gasp rises from the crowd as we all look in horror at the charred flesh.

“Look, all of you!” A tall man with thick dark hair and eyes as black as coal stands on the dais around the fountain. His uniform shows that he is a bluecoat, yet it is heavily decorated with gold epaulets and a series of gold bands on the right sleeve. His right arm points downward at what once was a shiner. The tattered remnants of his clothing are all that is left to identify him. “This is what awaits those who venture outside these walls. There is nothing there, nothing but
fire
and
flame
and
destruction
!”