He smiled at me and I nodded, painfully aware he was a much better human being than I could ever be. Then the full force of his words hit home. I grabbed his forearm.
The one thing she knows will create a reaction.
‘Actually, I don’t think Aelia has ever been wrong about much. Max, what if she didn’t steal the Book of Arafel to trade with Cassius, but as an act of deliberate provocation?’
He looked down at me in confusion.
‘A deliberate act of provocation? To who? To what end?’
A sudden chill, like winter ivy, coiled around my core. August had forbidden Aelia to use me as proof of an outside world, but now he was gone, and she was desperate to mobilize her threatened Prolet world. Perhaps Aelia wasn’t thinking of negotiation at all. Perhaps she needed a spark to start her Prolet revolution.
I stared up into Max’s darkening scowl. He suspected it too, I could tell.
‘To draw me,’ I whispered, as a heavy thud filled the silent night.
***
I turned as though in slow motion. The silhouetted road was empty. My breath was patchy and jagged. Eli had completely disappeared.
‘No!’ I gasped, my voice sounding oddly disembodied.
I forced my legs into a sprint back to the place I’d last seen him and whirled around, real panic clawing up my throat.
‘Eli! Eli! Max! Where is he?’
Max started running towards me.
‘He was there just a second ago, where in the name of Araf … Aarrgh!’
His shocked yell tore through the night as a large pale limb suddenly twisted up out of the ground, and wrapped itself around his right leg.
‘Aarrgh! Get off me! You son of a bastard …! Get off!’
The whole street started to shrink, as Max buckled under the sudden pressure of assault, half of his right leg disappearing into a gaping hole I’d not noticed before.
‘Max!’
I pelted forward, not caring about the noise I was making, just as a second thick limb reached up and wound around Max’s other leg. He slammed to the ground, grappling for one of his hunting knives, but whatever had gripped him was far too strong. And in one raw breath, half of Max’s body disappeared into a black hole, leaving only his chest and head exposed.
‘Tal,’ he yelled hoarsely, his face paling to ashen as it squeezed the breath from his body, ‘whatever happens … I …’
But what he was going to say was lost as he disappeared from sight, leaving me completely and utterly alone in the City of Dust.
‘No! No! No!’
I flew over the last few metres, my feet barely touching the ground, and threw myself down beside the hole.
‘Take me too!’ I screamed furiously into the black. ‘You can’t take them and leave me here! You underground son of a cave bitch! Take me too!’
The edges of my voice grated like sandpaper, while my chest felt like it was being anchored to my feet with a vice. I hadn’t told him. He was gone and I hadn’t told him.
And then nothing. The desolate street was quiet, save for the faint hissing of the vultures, watching from a nearby rooftop, and the wind. Moaning. Always moaning.
‘This isn’t how it’s meant to be,’ I whispered into the dust.
Then the pale limb reached up, and took me too.
***
I was dimly aware of a metallic object being dragged, extinguishing any remaining light through the sour-smelling tunnel. Then I was set on my feet, and as I fought a momentary dizziness, my eyes were drawn by a tiny flicker of light.
It was only a small lantern, but enough to illuminate the glistening rock walls weakly. I swallowed my panic, knowing I needed to stay calm. To think. But my new companions stole all my attention anyway, and I gazed in wonder at a towering snow-white satyr and a small grubby child in a headscarf and smoke-grey tunic.
To my intense relief, both Eli and Max were seated behind the satyr, their hands bound and mouths gagged, but otherwise unharmed. Instinctively, my hand closed over my catapult, as we all stared at one another in some doubtful sort of stand-off. Then I peeled my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
‘Prolets, by any chance?’
‘I’m Lake, and this is Pan – as in the god, not the dish!’
The small girl laughed at her own joke, before clamping a white hand over her mouth.
‘We’re not supposed to laugh. Sound travels a looooong way underground,’ she whispered, her eyes wide and dramatic.
I smiled cautiously. Her cheekbones gleamed tightly in the half-light, while her arms looked pitifully thin, lending weight to Max’s theory about survival in this barren place. Then I looked from her to the imposing white satyr, its broad muscular chest defined by the hollows between its ribs, and inspiration struck.
‘Untie my brother and friend, and we’ll give you all the food we have.’
There was a poignant silence while the satyr looked meaningfully at the child, starvation written all over its broad white face. After a beat she relented, sighing.
‘OK, but not a word to the others.’
I reached into my leather ration pack and withdrew a wrap of cape gooseberries, two bananas, a round of goat’s cheese and a wedge of rye bread. It was everything I had, but I could see they needed it more than I did.
Lake turned the proffered food over in awe, before nodding at her pale companion who in turn reached to pull off Max and Eli’s gags. Then, withdrawing an ugly-looking blade from a sling, he freed them of their bindings with a single upwards slice.
‘Well of all the jungle ways to introduce yourselves. I thought you wanted to eat us!’ Max joked.
Lake was across the tunnel in a heartbeat, a short stubby knife from the rope around her waist pressed forcefully against Max’s throat.
‘And we might still if you don’t learn some respect! We’ve not eaten in a long while, and Pan here is pretty hungry!’
She spoke fiercely, her short curly brown hair escaping her dirty headscarf and black circles accentuating her fine green eyes. And all at once I was filled with awe for this steely child who’d managed to survive beneath this eerie shell of a city against all the odds.
Max drew back in confusion, while Pan’s thick white eyebrows forked sharply. He looked down at his snow-white hoof-feet, clearly not wishing to undermine his small, fiery friend.
‘We’re friends, Lake,’ I intervened gently. ‘We’ve come to help you. At Aelia’s request.’
Aelia’s name bought us the instant credit we needed.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her brow puckering as she lowered her knife and stepped closer.
Now she was within a hair’s breadth, I could see she was even younger than I first thought, no more than about ten or eleven years old. She was also a true child of Pantheon, and regarded me suspiciously from beneath double eyelids. They gave her a narrow, serpentine expression that somehow suited her emerald eye colour. What experimental genetic creation was she?
I smiled gently. A tiny bloom had crept into her cheeks as a result of the food, betraying her need.
‘Lake, I think your people may be looking for me. I’m Talia.’
***
The claustrophobic rock corridor took me back to Pantheon’s underground tunnels in a breath. And to the desiccating dread I only recalled in my dreams. I told myself these tunnels were friendly, that the strix and Cerberus were many kilometres away, but in truth they were closer than any of us cared to think about. And Aelia had already mentioned Cassius’s threat to flush the Prolets out.
I forced myself to focus straight ahead, on the dim silhouette of our guides’ backs. And the first thing to strike me was that Pan wasn’t a satyr at all. His ears were too elongated and covered in white fur; while a long tail swung rhythmically from his behind as his tufted feet padded along the stone floor.
Racking my memory, I recalled a mythical ancestor of the satyr. It was one of the oldest creatures classical writers had recorded, but I was sure the physiology of this cre
ature was related. It was also legendary for its guardianship of the young and weak; although this particular individual looked no older than Max or me.
‘Silenus?’ I asked as he turned to gesticulate before disappearing around a dark corner.
A cursory nod was all the answer I received, although his eyes were laden with care when they rested on the child. I suppressed a frown. They seemed such unlikely companions.
Lake was clearly on high alert as she led us through the damp, mouldy walls. These tunnels were much colder and tighter than those beneath Pantheon, and it wasn’t long before I was missing even the Dead City above our heads. At least it looked at the sky.
I flicked a cautionary look at her pallid skin. Born underground, she was accustomed to a lack of sun, but the Prolet underworld was warm and dry. The dank atmosphere of this new underground maze had to be a breeding ground for disease.
‘Old Roman tunnels?’ Eli signed by the light of Lake’s flickering lantern.
I nodded. It was the only plausible explanation, and it made absolute sense that the Prolet people, forced to live underground in Pantheon, would take refuge in the environment they knew best. Even so, as Pan led the way down a red earthen slope, I found myself fighting a sense of impending doom, a feeling that we were descending right into the heart of hell.
Max’s athletic step echoed behind me, and a new cocktail of relief and guilt infused my cold limbs afresh. Even when I’d come so close to losing Max, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about him.
‘That’s it, isn’t it? I’m just not him.’
His furious words echoed in my head, and somewhere in the walled-up tissues of my heart, a drop of water formed and froze. An ice tear. Because the worst part of all was that he was one hundred per cent right. It was absolutely nothing to do with him, and absolutely everything to do with him not being August. And how could I explain that?
Or my promise.
Was it too much? Could he tell? Would he even want me still?
An image of us lying naked and entwined on my reed mattress at home flickered through my head, making me grateful for the meagre light thrown out by the lantern. We’d managed to forget the world that night. Could we do it again? For ever? Could I finally leave the ghost girl behind: the imposter who looked and acted like me, but who’d actually left her real self behind in Pantheon? And if not, would a ghost girl be enough for a boy who deserved the sun, the moon and the stars? Because it couldn’t get more real than that.
We progressed through the tunnels swiftly, only just keeping up with our seasoned guides. Briefly, I wondered at the choice of such a young member as lookout, and whether Pan was the real authority, or if they’d formed a small breakaway group from the main rebellious party.
Somehow, I couldn’t shake the feeling it was none of the above.
After a good twenty minutes hard walking, Lake’s pace slowed, and I sensed we were finally approaching the Prolets’ base camp. She held a thin white finger to her lips, and then gesticulated swiftly for Pan to go ahead and check the way. He was as dutiful as any foot soldier; and his pale, muscular frame disappeared around the mouldy corner without question, only to reappear seconds later. His brief nod, pricked ears and relaxed facial expression cleared the way, and I drew a deep breath. This was it.
‘Ready?’ Eli signed with a brief rise of his bushy eyebrows.
I nodded, confident we now stood a chance.
Then we rounded the corner.
And I couldn’t have been more unprepared for the view that rose up to greet us. The claustrophobic tunnel ballooned out into some sort of crumbling underground ruin. The central forum was large, about the size of Arafel’s market square, and peppered with small stone rises that looked like the remains of some sort of ancient water or heating system. Patchy, ancient frescoed mosaics adorned the top half of each mottled wall, and there were numerous doorways beneath decaying archways.
But it was the curious eyes that stole my breath. I scanned the room, my suspicions racing like wildfire. There were small hammocks hanging inside every arched inset, corroborating Aelia’s approximation of the insurgent numbers. And the group were together, and seemingly intact.
She’d just failed to mention they were all children.
Slowly the fog concealing the rebel group’s motivation began to lift. Aelia’s urgency to find them, Cassius’s fury that they were missing – even their reputed idealistic belief that a girl on the outside could be found if you looked long enough – became suddenly, terrifyingly clear. They were all too young to know any better. Or worse.
Max stepped up beside me, his golden skin paling as he surveyed the scene before us.
‘What in the name of Arafel?’
A strange silence descended as sixty pairs of hollowed, inquisitive eyes assessed our friendliness. Then a cheer erupted throughout the room, and we were surrounded.
‘Hey, take a chill pill! Told you I’d bring home the goods, didn’t I? You can’t eat them, but trust me, they’re useful.’
I glanced down at Lake, who was flushed with triumph and now seemed quite old in comparison to some of the others.
‘Lake, where …? Who is your leader?’ Max asked, in a troubled voice.
Rapid thoughts cross-fired through my head. This young Prolet group had to represent a good proportion of Cassius’s future workforce, which meant our assistance was going to reap the worst possible vengeance upon Arafel. Cassius would never let such a valuable commodity go without a fight.
Where were their parents? And why hadn’t Aelia told us the full story?
My head whirled as I frowned at Eli. This was complicated beyond everything.
‘Atticus!’ Lake called, seemingly unaware of any tension.
She scanned the chamber until a young adolescent boy, around fifteen years of age, skulked out from beneath one of the arched antechambers set into the wall.
He surveyed us all with a faint scowl before making his way towards us, the young excited crowd parting to let him through. And as they moved I noticed there was far more variety of life than I first realized. These weren’t just a group of young human Prolets, there was a pretty good cross-representation of all Prolet life gathered here. Just very juvenile in years.
Five young satyrs, one holding a three-legged dog with a pig snout, stared at us with wonder etched on their gaunt faces. To their left was an elfin boy with a pair of gold-brown feathered wings stretching and retracting rhythmically. And when he reached down to pet a tiny, perfectly proportioned griffin, I noticed his entire back was covered in the same burnished down. Towards the back of the crowd, two young girls with white hair held hands together, while a monkey with bright cerulean eyes chattered effusively, as it leapt around the towers of flat stones.
I thought at once of Isca Pantheon’s laboratories, of their cruel experimental purpose, and my stomach lurched. These children and creatures were the product of Octavia’s reign. What horrors had they endured already through their short lives? And how had they ended up here, all alone, at the mercy of whatever nightmare Cassius chose to dispatch through the tunnels?
‘Welcome to our humble abode.’ Atticus bowed with an exaggerated flourish, his eyes sharp and questioning.
He was easily the tallest after Pan, with opal-black eyes and short raven hair fashioned into two spiky horns at the front. It gave him a bold look, which together with his calculating smile, felt oddly familiar. I wondered if he’d orchestrated the whole escape; the whole group seemed to hold him in such respect.
‘Good to meet you, Atticus.’ Max stepped forward to hold out his broad, brown hand. ‘We’ve come here, at Aelia’s request, to bring you safe escort to your new home … Arafel?’
There was a low mutter of excitement around the young crowd. Clearly, the name of our village carried mysterious promise, and my heart sank a little further. Atticus raised a slim white hand, exposing a fine Pantheon dagger dangling at his side, before settling his gaze on Max. I stared, trying not to frown. If
a Prolet boy had seized the chance to steal an expensive Pantheon dagger and lead a band of renegade children this far, he deserved respect.
There was a moment of silence as each considered the other. Max was by far the older and heavier, but the spiky boy held his nerve, running his eye over Max critically, before offering his own hand. I watched as a curious light crept into his coal eyes, a new doubt firing through my own veins. His manner was altogether too casual, his mood indifferent, and when he finally spoke, his voice was surprisingly authoritative.
‘We thank you for your trouble, but I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. You see, we’re already home.’
Chapter 7
I pondered over a tin dish of chewy snail and nettle broth, washed down with boiled water from the run-off at the base of the mouldy walls.
Aelia hadn’t told us the whole story, and perhaps she’d guessed a party of child insurgents would have been far harder to welcome into Arafel. Not because we wouldn’t want to help, but because of the trouble that would surely follow them. If there weren’t any biological parents, Cassius was hardly like to sign off his future workforce without a fight.
My brain whirred like Arafel’s grain crusher at harvest time. How had sixty young Prolets managed to escape the detection of greater Pantheon, make it all the way here to this graveyard, and survive these past few weeks? And how could Atticus possibly call it home? I cast my mind back to the heart of the underground Prolet world, the genetic rubbish tip of Pantheon and most vibrant array of life I’d ever come across. It wasn’t a free world, but there was food, warmth and decent shelter at the very least.
And what would August make of so many Prolet children being stranded beneath the Dead City, alone?
‘There are so many possible recriminations: people who won’t welcome the change, those who will hold us – you – responsible for every good and bad consequence. We have to face facts. It might just be that the safest thing I can do is to leave Arafel, and the outside … alone.’
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