ashen city (Black Tiger Series Book 2)

by Sara Baysinger

Rain leads me through the abandoned streets, now covered in a fresh blanket of snow. “You really did pick an awful time of day to go to the river. It’s too dark to see anything and cold as the deepest pits of hell.”

  “Well, if it takes four hours to get there, it should be dawn by the time we arrive, right?” I have no idea what time it is, but I’m assuming it’s early morning.

  “Ember. Ever the optimist.”

  I grin. Elijah would have something to say about my optimism. How I wouldn’t have the incentive to change anything if I always saw the glass as half full. The beak of regret pecks at me for not inviting him along. He would have liked to come, the little adventurer that he is. But too late now. Besides, by entering his tent, I might have woken Dad up. And Dad would not have let me go see the bridge. Nor would Walker. They’ve refused to bring me out here this whole time out of fear that I would dart across and leave them behind.

  At least Rain, of all people, trusts me.

  It’s strange seeing him play the part of a rebel when he was the snottiest Patrician I knew. But, here he is, wearing the same newsboy cap he wore when he was taking me to prison. Yes, he has the same mocking voice, the same arrogance, the same steel-hearted concepts. But there’s something different about him. Like not being surrounded by Patricians has taken an edge off. Like he actually has the freedom to be himself.

  He’s real.

  We walk and walk toward the cluster of tall buildings miles ahead of us. As we walk, the buildings around us become taller, less weed-eaten, and the wind begins dying down. The streets are quiet. Foreboding. The buildings are empty and abandoned. The vacant windows hold ghosts of memories. A shudder rushes down my spine at the eeriness, and I stumble closer to Rain.

  “So what made you change your mind?” Rain asks, looking down at me. “About helping the Resurgence?”

  I chew my lip. “I had…a dream.”

  “A dream?” He laughs in obvious disbelief. “Your own father couldn’t persuade you, but a dream makes you change your mind completely? Unbelievable. You are undeniably crazy.”

  Angry heat creeps up my neck and I ball my hands into fists. Why did I tell Rain of all people that I had a dream? I guess I didn’t really realize how ridiculous it would sound out loud. I’m still trembling from the effects of the dream—a dream that was so incredibly real. Me, myself—or was it Mom?—telling me to hang back and save Ky. Or prepare the way. Whatever the shoddy rot that means.

  If you leave, you’ll be free. But if you leave, you’ll regret your decision forever.

  And one little dream is all it took to convince me to help the Resurgence. Rain is right.

  I am undeniably crazy.

  But dreams have a strange way of making people crazy. They play on our emotions. They reach into the deepest corners of our minds and pull out the more compelling feelings, and they paint a picture, a story, a memory that never happened. They make it so incredibly real that all we can do is follow along, believe every bit of it, and in the end, succumb to the power of the dream.

  Which is exactly what I’ve done.

  Besides, if I go back, I’ll be able to see Forest. Maybe seeing him will erase these strange emotions Rain stirred over the past week. Maybe seeing him will reassure me that what I’m about to do is the right thing.

  Except. He probably won’t condone my taking down Chief Whitcomb.

  “Why the heavy sigh?” Rain asks. “Getting tired already? We’re not even a quarter of the way there.”

  “Just…thinking of Forest. And what he will make of me taking down the chief.”

  “Hm. No way to know until we get back.”

  Get back. To Frankfort. To Forest. To Titus and his shattered pride. A sick feeling curls in my stomach at the thought of going back at all, knowing Titus wants to kill me. Knowing I will probably die this time. What am I doing?

  “So…are you going back with me?” I ask.

  “Of course. I have people to see. Not to mention, I’m dying to eat real food. No more scraps for me, please.”

  I roll my eyes. “Be grateful you grew up on that rich food. For some of us, scraps have been all we knew all our lives.”

  “Of course, Cinderella. Always kind of you to remind me of the poor living conditions you grew up with.”

  I frown at yet another one of Rain’s references to a person I’ve never heard of.

  “And I am grateful,” he continues. “The question is, how are the rest of the Patricians going to react when you rise as a leader and start distributing their food among the rest of the nation? When they no longer have fresh meat and vegetables, but have to eat barley and crackers like you did?” He locks his hands behind his back and stares ahead. “For some reason, I can’t see them applauding your leadership if you strip them of their comforts.”

  “You’re not helping your case. I don’t want to be leader. I don’t want to be the one to cause a revolution…or whatever.”

  “And yet, here you are. The Chosen One. The godsend. And you want nothing to do with your fate.”

  My nails bite into my palms. “Some godsend. If there is a God, he should have sent someone else.”

  “But there is a God, and he did send you. Didn’t he?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Did he?”

  I stare ahead, wondering if I should mention that vision I had when I was burning on the Rebels Circle, since Rain pretty much just laughed in my face about the dream I had last night. Prepare the way, the Light had said.

  Nope. I can’t tell Rain about the vision.

  “Ember?”

  I clear my throat and swallow hard as we turn down onto a larger abandoned highway. “I don’t know if God called me or not.”

  “You hesitated.”

  I look at him. “What?”

  “You hesitated before answering. Which means you do believe in God, and you do believe he sent you. Yes?”

  I bite my lip. Refuse to give Rain the satisfaction of laughing at me. Again.

  “Oh,” he says. And, as predicted, he laughs. “Oh my word. No way. You had a dream about that, too, didn’t you?”

  I grit my teeth, but don’t say anything.

  “Holy Crawford, Ember. If someone could just create a dream machine to make you do what they wanted, you’d be as robotic as the brainless Proletariats.” He snorts. “You think God called you because of a dream?”

  “It was a vision, Rain,” I seethe through clenched teeth. “And it’s because of that vision that I’m doing exactly what you want, okay?”

  “That’s comforting. A dream has more persuasion than your own father.” He looks at me. “Or maybe it’s because he’s not your father that you won’t listen to him. Tell me, Ember, is there some bitterness building up inside? Are you a little angry that your own father never told you the truth?”

  “Shut up, Rain.” I shove him hard and sprint ahead. I’m so done talking to him. Why does he always have to bring up the touchiest subjects? And why does he have to be so mocking about it?

  But worst of all, why does he always have to be so right? Because I am bitter. I’m pissed that Dad never had the balls to tell me the truth. He was just going to let me get my career, without even letting me know that I’m the chief’s sister. What else is he holding back? My entire upbringing has been a lie.

  Tears burn my eyes against the bitter cold, but I blink them away. If I’m to be a part of the Resurgence, I mean, a really big part, then I need to shove down my brittle emotions and be strong.

  I don’t know where I’m going, so I slow down, wait for Rain to catch up so he can lead. We’re close to the tall cluster of buildings now. The towering skeletons. The vines have only journeyed halfway up the buildings because they’re so tall. The sky has lightened to dark gray, and I can see the tops of the buildings. One building has a dome at the top, making it look arcane and almost…beautiful. Rain catches up and blows out a breath, but doesn’t say anything as he begins walking ahead of me. Thank God. I can only t
ake his snarkiness in small bites.

  We mount an overpass where we can see the entire ashen city at a glance. And I gasp. Because in the distance I catch my first glimpse of the bridge with iron arches. The only standing bridge in all of Ky. It’s so close, only about a mile away, and I want to run. I want to sprint to this threshold, race across the border, but Rain stops.

  “Hey,” Rain says. “Can we take a…quick detour? I want to show you something.”

  “What could you possibly suddenly want to show me that you couldn’t show me in the past two weeks?”

  He tilts his head and offers his signature half grin. “Come and see. I think it might just change your life.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I hesitate, then nod. We have all day, after all, and I’m honestly in no hurry to get back to the nagging questions and judgy stares of the Resurgence. We descend the overpass, take a turn down a smaller street, through all the buildings that look as eerie and blown out as the rest of Louisville. Finally, Rain stops at a simple plaque on the corner of the sidewalk. The vines have been stripped away, and I wonder if Rain took it upon himself to do that. Snow gathers in the carved out letters and Rain drags his arm across the surface to wipe it away. The plaque is small, but it’s one of the few things still standing whole in this dead city. It’s not even chipped. And I can just barely read the words in the pale morning light.

  On the top of the plaque is a circle with a man and woman standing in the center. The words around the circle say COMMONWEALTH OF KENTUCKY. Below the circle reads THOMAS MERTON (1915~68) and then it says, Trappist monk, poet, social critic, and spiritual writer, then goes on to say a few more things about whoever this Thomas Merton was. So like Rain to know every single historical artifact in Louisville. And he usually has a reason for bringing them up to me. But what is a monk, and who is this Merton that Rain would walk a good mile out of his way to show me?

  “Is it, like, a memorial of some sort?” I ask, testing the waters.

  “I guess you could say that. Merton was an icon who lived in Kentucky long before the plague broke out. Come, look at this side.”

  I walk around to the other side while Rain begins reading. “A revelation,” he reads. “Merton had a sudden insight at this corner that led him to redefine his monastic identity with greater involvement in social justice issues. He was ‘suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all these people…’ He found them ‘walking around shining like the sun.’” Rain stops reading. He looks at me.

  And I look back at the plaque. I loved all these people…walking around shining like the sun. Reaching out, I run my fingers along the carved letters, rough and cold beneath my fingertips. I loved all these people.

  What would this Merton think if he saw Ky how it is now? If he saw Louisville crumbling and broken and abandoned? If he knew the descendants of these people he loved—these people he saw shining like the sun—have either died from the White Plague, or are now working like brainless slaves in the rest of Ky?

  Grief weaves into my chest until it aches, and I release a shuddering sigh. “So, what, Rain?” I look at the storm clouds that are his eyes. “Why did you want to show me this?”

  “Because Merton,” he says, “saw in people what few see. He saw diversity and embraced it. He took note of everyone’s uniqueness, and knew that was what made them beautiful.” He steps toward me, all mockery gone from his features until all that’s left is a passionate, raging fire in his eyes. “What’s happening in Ky is the complete opposite of what God intended,” Rain says. “People conforming to society, becoming one boring race of a brainless population—that’s not what God wants. That’s not what Merton would have wanted. It’s all wrong. It’s backward. It’s completely unnatural. But for the first time, Ember, for the very first time, the people of Ky finally have a glimmer of hope.”

  His convictions strike me to my core. They shake me. They make me realize that what I’m about to do by working with the Resurgence to reclaim Ky is the best decision I’ll ever make in my sorry, pathetic life.

  And it’s terrifying and thrilling all at once.

  He stares at me a moment longer than necessary, the thunderclouds in his eyes raging, raging, raging with his imperceptible concepts, and then he says, “Be like Merton, Ember. Embrace diversity. Fight for justice.”

  Then he turns around.

  And walks back down the street we came on.

  I guess he’s done with his lecture.

  But I can’t seem to shake Merton’s words from my head. And I can almost hear him, Thomas Merton himself, speaking the words aloud to me, as if he were here.

  I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all these people walking around shining like the sun.

  I loved all these people…

  I loved all these people…

  I loved all these people walking around shining like the sun.

  And I feel that pull again, and I know—I know—it’s God. The Light. The Sower. The Maker Rain said chose each person specifically and placed them on this planet with much affection and love.

  I loved all these people.

  And, Lord, how I love the people of Ky. I didn’t realize how much until now. But the love is expanding, swelling, flourishing into something vast and unyielding and consuming. And now. Now I feel a profound aching, a firm longing for things to be different. Improved. Corrected.

  Justified.

  I told Dad two weeks ago that these weren’t my people. But I was wrong. These are my people. Charlie and Illene’s deaths need to be avenged. They were my neighbors, and Titus killed them for no reason other than they were getting older. Leaf’s and his family’s deaths need to be avenged. All the Defenders who are killing people without even knowing it need to be given the antitoxin, and all of Ky need their minds to be Patrician clear. Because the way Ky is being run right now is completely twisted. Titus is getting away with things that should never happen anywhere. And if I can do anything to help redeem this country that’s so hopelessly flawed, I will.

  Even if it means losing my life in the process.

  I jog to catch up to Rain, a new purpose stirring in my bones and a million questions humming in my brain. “So the sign said Merton was a spiritual writer. Did he believe in…God?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, just to be clear, you believe in God, right?”

  He looks down at me and smirks. “Yes.”

  So strange to hear him admit to believing in something as bizarre as God. “Okay. So…I had this mystical experience when I was dying on the Rebels Circle. A vision of a bright Being telling me to prepare the way. And I think it was God.”

  “Prepare the way?” Rain frowns.

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting. Okay. Go on.”

  “So let’s say that was God. Do you think he’s, um, commanding me to save Ky?”

  “Hm. I’m no theologian, Ember. And I’m in no place to be interpreting dreams or visions or whatever, because that’s all I think they are. Do I think God commanded you specifically to rescue Ky? Honestly, no. But I do think that whatever you’re doing, as long as it’s good and right, you’re doing exactly what God wants.”

  And what could be more right than saving millions of people from slavery?

  The sun peeks beyond the city horizon by the time we reach the iron bridge. Coral sunlight reflects off the river’s surface, making it look like liquid gold. The river moves like a slug on its course, slow and persistent. This is the biggest body of water I’ve ever seen.

  Not that I’ve seen much.

  As for the bridge…the iron rods are still standing. Vines creep through the triangular gaps of the arches, making their way across to the other side, as though seeking refuge from Ky. But the vines are dead, the leaves have fallen off from the brutal cold of winter. Even through the thin layer of snow, I can see that the pavement of the bridge is cracked. The steel is old and bending, but the metal frame still stands strong, while the remai
ns of the other bridges have crumbled into the river. A gust of freezing wind blasts in from the river.

  We mount a round, winding ramp leading up to the bridge, and stop on a podium. And from my place on the podium, I can see straight through the bridge’s arches to the other side of the river. Indy. It’s right in front of me. For a brief moment I wonder why Titus hasn’t chose to guard the bridge—it being the only way out of Ky without a boat—but then I remember the fear I used to feel at the mere thought of leaving Ky. Titus has everyone—including Forest—terrified of whatever lies on the other side of the river.

  “There it is,” Rain says in a musical voice. “The paved road to freedom. The one bridge still standing between Ky and the rest of the world.” He looks at me, the wind tussling the auburn hair that peeks out from beneath his cap. “You sure you don’t want to go?”

  I step past him and stare at the land across the river. I can’t lie. It is tempting. Here I am, just a few hundred steps from freedom, and I already promised myself I wouldn’t cross. Oh, but how often have I dreamed of this moment? Ever since Rain told me about the one bridge crossing out of Ky, I’ve wanted to take it.

  And. Here. I. am. How many people would kill to be standing right here right now?

  “You could leave, you know,” Rain whispers behind me.

  “But Dad—”

  “Dad and baby brother have made their choices. They could have left, but they decided to stay. This is your decision, your choice alone. What do you want?”

  I look up at Rain. He’s dead serious. His eyes are cold steel, his lips drawn in a firm, hard line. He arches a brow and gestures ahead. “I won’t hold you back. I won’t.”

  And I believe him. He’ll let me go. Without a word, he’ll watch me cross this iron bridge and abandon my people.

  I tear my eyes from his persistent gaze and look across the wide, slow-moving river to Indy Territory. You could leave, he says. I could leave. I could leave my nightmare of a past behind. I could leave Leaf’s death behind. I could leave Titus and his cruel games behind. He’ll never be able to touch me once I cross the river.