Scar

by Alice Broadway

  And I have wings.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  One year later

  I am woken by a kiss on the back of my hand. His is the first face I see and, although it hurts a little, I can’t help but smile.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Oscar whispers. “Your mum said it would be OK to come and say hi.”

  Oscar was there every day I spent in the hospital and we’ve been together every day since. He tells me that he and Fenn have grand plans to go back to Featherstone one day and start using the bricks that were left from the wall. They want to build a pathway through the forest, joining our towns. But there’s time for that. For now, we are adjusting to how everything has changed.

  We’ve been waiting for the next attack. There has been no sign of Sana or her gang, and some say they’re gone for good. But I know they’re out there, somewhere. We have learned not to be so foolish – we are not the strongest or the greatest. We are just us.

  And us is a strange bunch.

  Jack Minnow’s body was never found, and although there were rumours for a while that he was seen running from the burning town, those have died down. I still wake from dreams where I see his face before he fell. With Minnow gone, we needed a new leader. Someone chosen by the people.

  There are signs that we might have something like a government again soon. It turned out that Mel was the one who put her arms around me and leapt out of the museum’s window. She could see people below holding a blanket calling at us to jump. She had spent months in the room with the books of the storytellers, locked away, being kept alive by Minnow, who knows why. But once she recovered, the vote was clear – Mel is in charge of things here in Saintstone.

  Oscar climbs under the covers with me and we lie nose to nose whispering about our plans for the day. He runs his fingers up my arm.

  “Did you feel that?” he asks when I shiver. Biting my lip, I nod – my nerve damage is improving all the time. His hand moves higher and I quiver again. The warmth of his body makes my cheeks flush and I press closer. His brown eyes close and I plant kisses across his jaw. His sigh switches something in me and I am greedy for his skin, his chest, his mouth. There is no space between us. Finally, I am home.

  There has been so much to change, so much to disagree on. How do you bring blanks and marked together after all these years? After all this hatred? I think we’re still trying to work that out. Tanya and Solomon live nearby now, on the outskirts of Saintstone. It’s not easy, but they told Mum that nowhere felt quite like home any more. At least this way they can be close to Obel and Gull. Fenn flits from place to place, always on the lookout for a new challenge and thrill. The Whitworths have been kind, gracious and wise. The people of Saintstone are slowly warming to them and accepting them as the good people they are. Julia went to Tanya for advice last week – I think she’s worried about Seb’s growing desire for independence – and Tanya’s joy at being asked was beautiful. I’m learning something about patience from them.

  I’m glad Seb is pestering his parents about being more independent. He proved himself to be clear-thinking and careful when he took care of Mum – and his kindness… well, if I can become more like him I will be proud. He was the bravest of us all when he had nothing to gain from it.

  Living with Mum is calmer than I expected it to be. Her motto of “keep your head down” is long gone, and I feel like I’m seeing the true her for the first time. She is still a reader, in the fullest sense of the word. People come to her for counsel now – her insights, whether they come from people’s ink or their words, are life-giving and full of peace. She blooms.

  Gull is … Gull. She seems at home with herself for the first time. We spend time together playing card games – it’s been the safest way for us to rebuild the bridges between us. I think we both try to let the other win. I made her laugh yesterday – that helpless gulping giggle – and I thought it sounded like hope. When the three of us spent the evening together recently, Verity asked Gull what she believed. I was afraid that the question would trigger terrible memories, but Gull was thoughtful and she told us that she didn’t know and that she was happy that way. She has fought for faith and I’ve seen her so broken as she has been trying to recover. She is healthy today, and for now, that is because she is staying clear of landing herself on any one thing. She makes me smile every day.

  Karl and Obel work together in the studio. Some days they fight but I think they’re more like brothers than colleagues. Obel has had his hand reset and is dutiful in his therapy. Both his recovery and the business are going well. Karl comes and tells me the news; I like it.

  Obel once told me that there was always redemption. It sounded so noble when he said it and it gave me hope. But my resolve has been tested over this last year – do I really believe in second, third, fourth chances?

  He apologized for marking me that morning in the hall of judgment. When he reopened the studio, he asked me to pay a visit. It took a lot out of me, but, with Verity’s help, I made it. He had the chair ready and, confusingly, clippers set up too. Verity smiled and I knew she was in on whatever plans Obel had been making.

  “You know, Leora – it’s not done to double up with ink.” He smiled. “I’ve already done one crow tattoo on you – two is just greedy. Besides, it’s not quite right for you – not your style.” My hair is still short from being burned away and I didn’t mind him shaving the back of my head again.

  I am much better with pain these days – I barely registered the needle as he worked and Verity distracted me by speaking animatedly about a boy she likes. I was glad when Obel was finished though, eager to see what he’d done. I looked in the mirror and he held up another, so I could see what the mark was. Verity gasped. I could still see parts of the crow – blackened claws and feathers, but this was no crow, not any more. From the charred remains Obel made grow plumes of orange, red and teal. A phoenix stands guard behind me now.

  “When you rise from the ashes, nothing can keep you down. You, girl, you’re on fire.”

  I am glad to be alive; at least, I am now. I love my new skin, which has been stretched to fit me. There are glimpses of the old me between the cracks and I sometimes smile when I notice some ink I’ve not spotted before. The mark of the sisters is gone, and I miss them, but I am getting used to being the patchwork girl. Some people say I am an emblem: a picture of the future, of marks that exist and don’t exist all at once. I am tired of being anything but Leora, though, and I tell them so. I have regular appointments to help me get movement and sensation and flexibility back – I will be an inker again. I will.

  I met a child in the hospital waiting room yesterday and she asked me whether I was sad about all my scars.

  I looked at my arms and saw the puckered edges, the shine of burned skin, the zig-zag mending of grafted skin. I am all scar tissue.

  I told the girl that I loved my scars. And I do. My scars tell my story more clearly than any ink. I was broken and now I am whole. But the cracks still show – lightning flashes that say, “You can’t keep me down.”

  Because there’s redemption. There is always redemption.

  And with redemption comes the freedom to fly.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you, Jo Unwin and all at JULA.

  Thank you to the brilliant team at Scholastic for making this book happen:

  Gen Herr, Lauren Fortune, Andrew Biscomb, Jamie Gregory, Harriet Dunlea, Tanya Harris-Brown, Emily Landy, Pete Matthews, Jessica White, Emma Jobling and Olivia Horrox.

  Scholastic has been a wonderful home for this trilogy, and I have been nurtured with such kindness and expertise. Thank you for making my publishing journey so special; I couldn’t have wished for a better place to belong.

  Thank you to friends and family for your love, patience and support. I am lucky to have you in my life. Heartfelt thanks to the nurses of Ward 8 at Royal Preston Hospital, where I wrote some of this book, marvelling at how you cared for my kid. Long live the NHS.

&
nbsp; Thanks to Jenny Salisbury and Sheila Irvine who each shared their expertise with me. Thanks to Dave Winn at Market Quarter Tattoo: I finally know what it feels like.

  Mikey, Dan and Jemima: books are nice, but you three are my true treasures. Your stories are going to be so, so beautiful.

  ALICE BROADWAY

  Alice’s first book, Ink, was one of the bestselling YA debuts of 2017 and was shortlisted for many prizes, including the Books Are My Bag YA category and the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize Older Fiction category.

  Alice drinks more tea than is really necessary and loves writing in her yellow camper van.

  Scholastic Children’s Books

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  SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2019

  This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd, 2019

  Text copyright © Alice Broadway, 2019

  The right of Alice Broadway to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

  eISBN 978 1407 19341 0

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

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