Ashes of Twilight (8 page)

My cheeks flame as I watch. The little boy points and giggles before turning his face up to me to see my reaction. I feel as if I’m intruding on something very private; I drop down so I can’t see them and they can’t see me.

More questions fill my mind. How long has Lucy known the young man? How long have they been together? One realization comes to the forefront of my thoughts with the same impact as if the alarms sounded again. Alex must have found out. That’s what made him run. He saw Lucy with the young man and called her out. That was when she told him, and that was why he ran. He wanted to prove to her that he was better than the other man. He wanted to win back her affection.

I steal another look and see that Lucy is gone, undoubtedly into the building with the young man. It is time for me to make my escape. I start back down the alleyway toward the promenade, my head once more spinning with all the things that have happened the day just past.

Will any of us ever see Lucy again? She has parents, brothers and sisters. Will she ever come visit them? I need someplace to think. I need to find some logic in all that has happened. Even though light fills the dome and the dawning has passed, my body turns automatically to my rooftop hideaway. My mind is so occupied that I do not concentrate on where I am going until I turn a corner and find myself face-to-face with the cadet.

“Is she your friend?” His very blue eyes shift behind me to the alleyway. There is no way he can know about Lucy. Unless … “Why did you follow her?”

I sputter at his question, indignant and defensive. “Why are you following me?”

“You’re a shiner. You’re not supposed to be up here.”

I check his uniform carefully. It still shows the markings of a cadet, which means he can only observe, not act. “The law does not prohibit shiners from going above. The only place we are not permitted is Park Front.” I cannot keep the sarcasm from my voice. “We wouldn’t want to inconvenience the royals in any way.” His sudden appearance shakes me to my core. I always thought I was being careful. I always felt as if no one would notice me as I walk the surface because I stay to the shadows, where I am most comfortable.

“You really should stay below.”

His words challenge me, even though he says them without malice. For some strange reason I feel the need to contradict him at every step. “Why?”

“The filchers…” He looks away from me. My eyes follow the trail of his gaze. Are there filchers about? Has he betrayed me to them? I am conflicted, torn between the desire to run and the need to know why he followed me. The streets fill up, growing busy with people going about their business. No one pays attention to us, except for an occasional grunt to indicate we are blocking their way. I step closer to the building beside me, finding safety in the dim light beside it. I pull my kerchief up and place my hand on my goggles to pull them down.

“Don’t,” he says and moves closer to me. “Your eyes…” His cheeks turn red and he hastily looks away. I drop my hand and leave my goggles where they are.

“I should go,” he says finally.

“Wait.” Without thought I place my hand on his arm. “Why are the filchers after me?”

“The enforcers put a bounty on you. They think you know something about your friend. They think there will be others.”

“I have you to thank for that. You’re the one who pointed me out to the bluecoats.”

“I wasn’t,” he explains. “I was excusing myself. I told my superior I was going to be sick and didn’t want to do it in front of everyone. I used it as an excuse to talk to you. But you ran and I had no choice but to chase you.”

“So because I ran the bluecoats think I had something to do with Alex’s escape?”

“Bluecoats?”

“The enforcers. It’s what we call you.” I motion to his uniform. “Them.”

“Oh.” He shakes his head in understanding.

“What is it exactly that they think I know?”

“They think you know everything. About other plans for escape and about where your friend made his escape.”

It doesn’t make sense. “They’re the ones who know where,” I say. “They were the ones who caught him. Why would anyone want to escape after what happened to Alex?”

He puts his hand up. “Like I said before, things are not always what they seem.”

I want to stamp my foot in frustration. I turn away, take a step, and then turn back to him. My patience is wearing thin. I am tired of him being cryptic. I want answers; no, I
need
answers to everything that has happened. “What does that mean?”

Once more he looks around. The streets are much busier now. People are hurrying around us, as if they are late. A few give us looks and I know they are marking us, a shiner and a cadet, hiding in the shadows, deep in conversation. It is not an everyday occurrence. There will be talk of it. The filchers will hear of it. They have spies everywhere.

“I can’t explain it just now. If I’m late they’ll want to know why. Can you meet me somewhere? Somewhere where we can talk?”

“Why?”

“I need to know if there’s going to be another attempt.”

“Why would I tell you if there was? Why would someone want to escape if all there is out there is fire?”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” He moves closer to me. So close that I can see each and every one of his incredibly long and dark eyelashes. His eyes are upon my face, intent. The blue iris of his eye is outlined with black. It gives his eyes an unsettling depth. What does he see when he stares at mine? Does he see the shine? Can he tell that beyond the shine my eyes are brown?

“Isn’t Alex proof of that?” I ask.

He looks upward. We can’t see the dome from where we stand because the overhang of the roof shelters us, but I know where he’s looking. It’s full day now and we are surrounded by light. He keeps his eyes upward as he speaks. “If there are flames why can’t we see them? Why is there night and day? Why is it cool to the touch?”

“You’ve touched it?” I look at him in awe. It has always been my wish to touch it, but I do not know of a place where it is reachable. Only the cleaners with their long-handled mops have any contact with it.

“I have,” he says as he looks into my eyes once more. “And I wonder, after all these years, what else is out there that’s left to burn?”

I study his face and his eyes in the hope that somehow I’ll see the answers there, but all I see is his questions and realize that he’s searching my face for the same.

“I have to go,” he says. “If I’m late they’ll think something is wrong. Will you meet me, Wren?”

The mention of my name frightens me. “How do you know my name?”

“They have ways of knowing everything.”

“They? Who are they?” Everything he says is more confusing than before. “How do I know it’s not a trap? How can I be sure that you won’t turn me over to the filchers?”

“I won’t.” His blue eyes are intent, willing me to believe him. “You decide where and when. You pick out a place where you can see that it’s not a trap.”

My mind spins. I should walk away. I should never come to the surface again. I shouldn’t talk to him, ever. Yet he has answers, he knows something …

“What’s your name?” I look at his jacket and his name badge. P. Bratton.

He smiles, fleetingly, so quick that I would have missed it had I not looked up at that exact moment in hopes of finding some sort of sign to point me in the right direction.

“Pace. My name is Pace.”

“The roof of the library. At dawn tomorrow.”

Pace chews on his lower lip as if he’s thinking. “I will be there. Tomorrow at dawn.”

I step by him, anxious to be gone. I feel vulnerable, as if I am a target. My spine quivers as I am certain the filchers will be on me with my next step.

“Wren.” I slide my goggles over my eyes as I turn to look at him. “Be careful.”

“I always am,” I reply. At the moment, though, I’m not so sure.

6

Even though
I have never flown over the pit, I can imagine what it feels like. I’ve felt the wind on my face as it blows upward from the center of the earth. I’ve stretched out my arms and felt the violent push of the force it brings. I’ve closed my eyes and felt my consciousness depart, as if the entire world was centered inside of me, a tiny yet brilliant dot buried someplace within my mind.

I feel the exact same way now. I could blame it on the lack of sleep as I’ve gone two days without. I did try to sleep after venturing out but it was impossible. My thoughts gave me no relief and I once more fell into a restless state full of dreams of Alex and flames.

My return trip to the lift set my nerves on edge as I was certain I was followed at every step. My body remained tense with the expectation of the filchers grabbing me at any minute. I hurried through the streets after I left Pace and prayed that the filchers were not watching for me. I dared not compromise another escape route. Doing so would have resulted in being called before the council, with certain punishment to follow.

Luckily my grandfather was asleep when I slipped into my bed and he was gone when I finally gave up. I must have gotten
some
sleep as I did not hear him leave. Our place is very small; just room enough for two people. Our beds are on opposite sides of our small cave and we both have curtains around them for privacy. It’s hard to believe I did not hear him leave.

I finally give up on sleep and crawl wearily from my bed. I stagger to the pitcher of water waiting for me on the washstand. The water feels cool against my face and soothes the dryness that fills my eyes after my restless night. The eyes that stare back at me from the mirror over the washstand surprise me. I see the fear in them, along with the unanswered questions. I take a deep breath and look at my reflection again.

It used to bother me that I was not pretty. I’ve been told often enough that I am and that I look just like my mother, but I don’t see it. When I was younger I would often stare into the same mirror and wonder if my eyes were the exact dark brown as hers or if her nose flared as wide as mine at the bottom. Was our hair the exact same shade of brown and did it have the same wild curls that could never be tamed? I never see pretty when I look in the mirror. I only see questions without answers. If I look just like her do I also act just like her? Is that why I constantly stare at the unseen sky above the dome and wonder what it is like beyond?

Did her eyes ever betray her fear as mine are now?

With the tragedy of the day before I’ve neglected my chores. The laundry basket by my bed is my grandfather’s way of reminding me. With a sigh I gather everything up and make my way to the stream.

It’s the middle of the day so most of the village is either at work or sleeping. It’s strange that my grandfather left his bed so early. Something must have happened. Several cats follow me as I reach the bottom of our steps, each one coming forth from its perch with a yawn and a stretch, all curious to learn what I’m up to while hoping for some tidbit of food to come their way. I always set bits of food out for them to supplement their usual diet of vermin.

Toddlers play while their mothers gossip in the center of our village. I pass on through with a quick nod as I am certain I, along with Lucy and Alex, are the subjects of their talk. They grow quiet and I feel their eyes upon me as I move onward. As I near the stream I notice that Abner is once more outside the council chamber. That is why my grandfather is awake. Another council has been called. The few women around the stream watch my approach without subtlety. I kneel down by the water and separate the clothes while my mind races.

The filchers
 … It has to be about me. What else could it be? Pace said I was wanted for questioning and a reward was being offered. A sense of dread fills me as I bend to my task. If it is about me, I will know soon enough, so I go about the laundry, keeping my head down so the others will not see my face. I do not want my fear to show.

On the inside I am screaming. My hands tremble as I pick up the washboard and soap and go to work on the clothes. I wring out my grandfather’s shirt and watch the trail of soap disappear beneath the wall of the cavern.

The filchers are notorious. Parents threaten their children with capture by them if they do anything wrong. They are the monster that hides beneath our beds, the bogeyman who hides in the shadows. They will sell anyone for money. Young girls and boys have been known to disappear off the streets, taken by the filchers to fulfill the more perverse fantasies of the privileged. The bluecoats offer them rewards to bring in the more violent criminals, such as murderers and rapists. The sentence is always the same, death by fire as there is no room for prison cells.

The filchers are outcasts of our society, both above and below. Most come from the scarabs. They come to adulthood desperate and strong, which they have to be to survive. There is nothing they will not do for money and will torture anyone they think may have information that will lead to their gain.

What do they want from me? They think I know something about Alex’s escape attempt. They will not care that I don’t know anything. The only thing that drives them is the offer of a reward.

My grandfather’s pants are worn and the knees black with coal dust and dirt. I use a heavy brush on the stains. I scrub with a purpose, challenging the fabric to stay strong as I move the brush back and forth, back and forth. I clench it so hard that my hand cramps and finally I let go.

The pounding of the water and the creak of the wheel drown out my grandfather’s approach. It isn’t until he touches me on the shoulder that I realize he is there. I look beyond and see the members of the council staring at us from across the stream. My grandfather holds a piece of paper in his hand.

Paper is a valuable commodity in our society. Every scrap of it is collected after use, washed until it is pulp, and then re-formed again. Any time paper is used it has an impact because it is used only for the most serious of matters.

My grandfather places the paper in my hand. It trembles as I look at the banner.

WANTED FOR MURDER

CADET PACE BRATTON