The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2)

by Saruuh Kelsey

  THE LUX GUARDIANS

  ·book two·

  The Wandering

  Saruuh Kelsey

  www.saruuhkelsey.co.uk

  For Stasia.

  There are no pies in this book, but there are pancakes, so I hope you’ll forgive the atrocity.

  And for Nadia, who is insanely generous.

  Copyright © Saruuh Kelsey 2014

  Smashwords Edition

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

  The right of Saruuh Kelsey to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Lyrics from The Strength To Go On © 2008 Rise Against and DGC Records

  Cover photo © istock

  Cover and book design by Saruuh Kelsey

  Table of Contents

  Bennet

  The Madness of Wanderers

  Honour

  Miya

  Honour

  Branwell

  Miya

  Branwell

  Miya

  Honour

  Branwell

  Honour

  The Uncertainty of Now

  Bennet

  Yosiah

  Honour

  Miya

  Honour

  Bennet

  Branwell

  Bennet

  Miya

  Bennet

  Bennet

  Honour

  Miya

  Bennet

  Honour

  Branwell

  Miya

  Honour

  Bennet

  Miya

  Branwell

  Miya

  Yosiah

  Honour

  Miya

  The Promise of War

  Branwell

  Miya

  Honour

  Bennet

  Honour

  Branwell

  Miya

  Honour

  Branwell

  Honour

  Yosiah

  Bennet

  Branwell

  Miya

  Yosiah

  Honour

  Horatia

  Yosiah

  Horatia

  Thank you for reading!

  Acknowledgements

  Our shoulders bear an awful weight

  But still we trudge on just the same

  Our colours run, then leave a stain

  They blacken our once honest name

  But how can we argue

  Over the fury and the fire?

  What we are is the sum of a thousand lies

  What we know is almost nothing at all

  But we are what we are ‘till the day we die

  Or ‘till we don't have the strength to go on

  The Strength To Go On, Rise Against

  There are seasons, in human affairs, of inward and outward revolution, when new depths seem to be broken up in the soul, when new wants are unfolded in multitudes, and a new and undefined good is thirsted for. There are periods when ... to dare, is the highest wisdom.

  The Union, William Ellery Channing

  ***

  Bennet

  I expected the end to come with fire, not rain, but the heavens don’t seem to care as they pour their sorrows onto me.

  I always thought if the end came for me it would come for Branwell at the same time, but we are separated and death is nearing with each passing minute. I hoped he’d find me despite my own failed attempts to seek him out. I still hope for it but there isn’t much time left. Our buildings fall beneath us, the ground becomes nothing more than ash and a memory, and the people are lost to the quaking earth. But still there is no fire. Only rain.

  One day soon my brother and I will be reunited. No doubt I’ll yell at him for a decade and he will wear that crestfallen look of his until I forgive him—but nothing will mar my happiness because we’ll be together.

  Soon we will be reunited, in the life after death, but not today.

  I am told that today is the end—of this town, of this life, of my old self. It is the end of Bennet Ravel as I knew her but it is not the end of me. The Guardians say there are great plans mapped out in the constellations of fate, great plans for me and my life. They say if I were to die today it would be a great woe upon the Earth. I’m not sure if I believe in their words, or their destinies, but if I believe in just one thing it is life. Worlds are torn apart, people wither to nothing but bones in the dirt, but there is always one thing that continues to exist, one thing unwilling to bend to the will of ruination.

  I plan to be that one thing today.

  I stand in the middle of a damp plain, stricken land spreading out on either side of me, my eyes on a city that was thriving and living only hours ago. Now it sinks into the ground. I draw in a breath of foul Mumbai air and resolve myself. I am told this is my time to shine, but I have no desire to shine.

  I want to burn.

  I

  The Madness of Wanderers

  ***

  Honour

  23:27. 10.10.2040. The Free Lands, Southlands, Northey Island.

  My name is Honour Frie. I am fifteen years old. I have escaped Forgotten London.

  The free lands are not much more than a dead expanse of dust and burnt-out houses, occasionally broken up by a skeletal tree or row of brambles that look out of place in the epic nothingness. The island is so much bigger than I expected. We’ve walked for two days and we’re still weeks away from the top of the land. I thought Forgotten London was big but The Free Lands go on forever.

  We walked through the day, the high sun and cold wind arguing over the temperature, until we got to an island ringed by a grassy marsh that used to be clear waters. Brown grasses cover the surface of the island, serving as a makeshift mattress for those who sleep restlessly under the stars.

  I can’t sleep.

  My paranoia tells me that Officials hide in the long grass, that the wind that stirs my hair is caused by an army charging at me, that the gentle lapping of the swamp water is soldiers swimming to kill us. My fear keeps my eyes open.

  We haven’t come across any Officials yet, but Alba expects to. That’s why we’re sleeping where we are—far away from the cavern of what was Forgotten London, on a small circle of land that used to be called Northey Island. We’re moving gradually away from home, to a city in the north that will keep us safe—so I’m told.

  I should feel safe here but I feel worse than I ever did in Forgotten London. I’m the most vulnerable I’ve ever been and I hate feeling like this. I’m exposed by the island’s lack of buildings, freaked out by its absolute silence. Give me the noise of bars and the raised voices of drunken arguments and I would feel at ease. Because of the complete lack of noise, I hear sounds where there’s nothing, which only fuels my paranoia more.

  With every hour that passes I’m amazed I’m still alive.

  But I’m free.

  I escaped the Forgotten London border. I just don’t have the energy to be happy about it right now.

  Most people are sleeping so I have nothing to distract myself from my delusions. I roll onto my back and watch the unchanging sky for a few minute
s. When I’ve finally decided that there’s no chance of falling asleep, I tap Horatia on the shoulder to get her attention. She doesn’t acknowledge me but I know she’s awake. I’ve yet to see her sleep.

  “I’m going for a walk. I won’t be long, okay?”

  Tia doesn’t respond, but I didn’t expect her to. She stares ahead, unseeing. I brush the damp strands of hair from her forehead, trying valiantly not to let my smile flicker.

  Lumbering to my feet, I swallow my worry with a gulp of salty air and follow the edge of the island. I’m careful not to go so close to the edge, in case I trip into the water and drown. After an hour or so of walking I see a figure silhouetted against the inky sky. I almost turn back but I think I recognise the way he stands.

  “Yosiah?” I edge closer to the figure and it takes the definite shape of my friend.

  “Honour,” he says without turning. His voice sounds how I feel.

  I fold myself onto the grassy floor, running my fingers through the sharp, slick blades, and wait for Yosiah to join me. As Yosiah obliterates the grass beneath his feet with agitated fingers, I look across the water to the dark edge of the United Kingdom.

  “Do you think we’re safe here?” I ask.

  “No.” I think that’s all he’s going to reply, but then: “But we’re alive, and that’s a lot to ask for right now.”

  I rest my arms on my knees and my head on my arms. “How’s Miya?”

  It takes a few seconds for him to answer. “Bad.”

  “Sorry.”

  He stops ripping up grass abruptly. “I don’t know what to do.”

  I don’t know what to do either. I’ve nothing to suggest, to help, so I stay silent. He clears his throat and drags a slow hand through his knotted hair.

  “Has Horatia spoken yet?”

  “No.” My voice is stuck somewhere below my tonsils. “Not yet.”

  “She needs time.”

  My sigh is visible as a cloud of fog cut through with moonlight. “So everyone keeps saying.”

  “Loss can destroy anyone.” He glances at me. “How are you coping?”

  I wish I knew. “I can’t understand anything in my head.”

  “It gets better with time.” He heaves a deep breath, and then a gasp. “Look over there, across the sea.”

  There’s nothing but the blackness of the land. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Not the ground.” He points, and I squint in the dark to follow his attention to the sky.

  “Stars?” I ask.

  “Not stars. Do you see where the lights shine brighter? Where they look slightly blue?”

  I do. There’s a patch of sky where the spots of light are bigger and pale blue if I focus on them. “Is it normally like that?”

  “No. It’s an aircraft—a plane. The lights you’re seeing are windows.”

  I jerk to my feet, my heart lurching with my body. “Can they see us?” I’m ready to grab my sister and run. I don’t think I can outrun a plane but I can try.

  “No. The range of their sight is limited. I’m pretty sure they don’t have night vision.”

  I gawp at him as he struggles to his feet, unsteady on his right leg. “Pretty sure?”

  “Honour, calm down. It’s leaving.” His jaw is set, his chin sharp in the severe light of the moon.

  I give him a weak smile. “I’ll calm down when you do.”

  “They’ll be doing routine scans of the whole island for us. We’re okay here. They won’t search these small islands.”

  “What about the safe zones?” I search frantically for the spot of brighter lights. It’s smaller than it was before. It is going away. “Officials will find them.”

  “The safe zones have been set up for years. They know how to stay undetected.”

  “But they’re all kids! What if they—”

  “Honour.” He lays his hand on my shoulder. “They’ll be fine. Don’t you have enough to worry about, anyway, without another hundred children?”

  He’s right, I do. I need to find a safe place for Tia where she can grieve, get better, and live a happy life. I need to find a way to do what The Unnamed asked me to—to unite The Forgotten Lands. I need to find John and demand answers. I need to look after my friends. And I need, most of all, to make sure this never happens again. To stop States from killing more people.

  All of those things are impossible right now.

  “How do you survive, Honour? You worry so much I wonder why it hasn’t torn you apart.”

  “Are you sure it hasn’t?”

  “Yes.” His words are so strong that I look up. “You’re still living, still fighting.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Thanks. I think?” He doesn’t reply, so I fix my tired eyes on the sky again. “Are you sure it’s leaving?”

  “I’m sure.”

  I wait for my breathing to stop sprinting and then say, “They wouldn’t be able to land here anyway, would they? This island’s too small.”

  He gives me a long look. Then he says, “No. They wouldn’t be able to land.”

  I hear what he doesn’t say—they wouldn’t have to land to kill us.

  “I can’t see it anymore.” I try to watch every inch of the sky but it’s impossible. I don’t stop scanning the darkness, though. Every star is a plane. Every plane is a hundred Officials coming to kill us.

  “Yeah,” Yosiah says. “It’s gone.”

  For a long while we don’t speak. We just stare at the marsh and the land in the distance, the water around the island brushing against our boots. My nostrils fill with the tang of the sea. Standing up for so long, just staring in silence, I find a way to be tired again. I think maybe I could sleep now.

  “Yosiah!”

  I jump out of my skin, turning my head at the same time Yosiah stumbles forward a step. My body coils against the threat, my hand itching for a weapon. I sigh in exasperation. This paranoia is getting out of hand. It’s only Miya, her hands in fists and her eyes blazing. Yosiah gives me an apologetic glance and then he’s walking away with Miya cutting a tense shadow beside him.

  I settle down in the damp grass and watch the sky for aircrafts until I finally reunite with sleep.

  ***

  Miya

  00:13. 10.10.2040. The Free Lands, Southlands, Northey Island.

  When I was first on my own after my mum kicked me out, I had nightmares every night. They were always about losing Tom and Livy, and usually a shadowy figure snatched them away from me. I know that must have been a subconscious image of my mum, and that losing my brother and sister was less about them being taken from me than me being taken from them, but at the time I couldn’t make any sense of them. The loneliness and the cold and the hunger of being homeless messed with my head. All I knew was that something evil had taken my siblings and I had to get them back no matter what it cost me. I tried so hard in those dreams to get to them but no matter what I did, they’d pass right through my fingers. Every night I woke up shivering, sweating, and crying on whatever floor I’d slept on that night. Gripped by a terror that bit deeper than any other fear.

  This nightmare was nothing like the old ones.

  This nightmare was worse. Now I have more to lose.

  After my heart has given up hammering at my ribs, I sit up and take stock of the people around me. Olive sleeps on her side, one of her hands curled into a fist under her chin and her eyebrows lowered into a scowl. I don’t know what creature is haunting her dreams but she looks ready to kill it. I pull my jacket closer around my sister’s shoulders to keep out the cold and glance at Tom. He’s flat on his back, his limbs thrown so far out that he takes up three times as much room as Livy. The jacket that’s meant to be covering him is rumpled beneath him and the thought of Siah wearing a very creased jacket tomorrow makes me smile.

  And that’s when I realise he’s gone. Yosiah.

  He should be beside me, laid on his side with his long legs sprawled over the grass, but he’s nowhere near. The
long grass is flattened and rumpled so he must have lain here at some point, but not anymore. My gut squirms, something like acid clogging the back of my throat. Has he run away again?

  I shove up from the floor on clenched fists, my joints creaking from all the walking of the past few days. With a glance to confirm that Livy and Tom are still sleeping, I set off walking in a random direction. The circle of land is small enough that I have to run into Siah at some point. I think about swinging my fist into his face. It makes me feel better at first, but as I trample the wild grasses, my thoughts seep in their poison.

  What if he’s gone for good this time?

  What if he’s found a better offer?

  I stomp faster and faster, gritting my teeth as I follow the edge of the water. Eventually, I spot two dark shapes on the ground. One of them must be Siah, out for a nice walk and a chat with whoever the hell that is. Nails bite into my palms as I clench my hands tighter. I thought I’d lost him when Forgotten London was destroyed. I thought he had died. He must know what this disappearing act would do to me, what it would make me think.

  I snarl his name, not bothering to hide how pissed I am. Siah leans heavily on his right leg, clearly unsteady, which lessens the heat of my glare a little. With the sharp tip of my fury gone, I’m floored by relief that he’s still here. Alive.

  “Have a nice stroll?” I snap. It’s as calm as I’m going to get.

  Yosiah sighs under his breath but the empty silence of the island gives nothing to cover it up. I aim a sharp look at him as he changes our direction, leading us back to the camp site.

  “It’s too exposed here,” he mumbles. “I couldn’t sleep.”