City of Dust: Completely gripping YA dystopian fiction packed with edge of your seat suspense. Michelle Kenney

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       Chapter 4

      The rustle of the trees seemed to echo my promise, as I trod the short distance towards the torch-lit cavern we called the Ring. I couldn’t understand myself, or my impulsiveness, only that my aversion to hurting him had become suddenly and painfully overwhelming. He’d risked his life so many times in Pantheon, just so he could protect me. And it was reason enough. Wasn’t it?

       Why run when you can fly?

      I bit my lip. Our childhood tree-running mantra had come to mean so much more following Isca Pantheon. We’d won a victory of nature over the most advanced biotechnological world, a world I hated with every fibre of my being. It had stained my hands with deceit and desire, and yet it still wasn’t a stain I wanted to fade. Not completely. So why had I just promised Max everything?

      My pace slowed as I approached the cavern; it looked as though the alarm had done its work and the entire village had turned out. I could tell by their pallid faces most were panicked about the sudden roll call, and I felt more than a little guilty as I scanned the queue for Aelia.

      I cursed softly. What I was about to ask fell into one of the most difficult and challenging questions ever asked of the Arafel community, and Aelia was nowhere to be seen.

      Seconds later, I spotted Eli and Mum, and wound my way through the crowds to take Mum’s arm before filtering inside, like everyone else.

      There was already a formal semicircle gathered around the wide, raised boulder that served as a platform, and once we were inside Art gave the signal for the thick woollen hangings to be let down. It was part of the procedure that usually made me smile, as though he expected the trees and animals themselves to be capable of spying on us. Tonight though, I didn’t feel like smiling.

      ‘Friends, I apologize for the intrusion to your evening; but we are called together as a matter of urgency.’

      There was a murmur around the crowd.

      ‘We have received a plea for help. And it doesn’t come from within Arafel, but instead from people – our kind of people – outside this mountainous valley.’

      This time there was a stony silence. And I understood why completely. Whispers about the Insiders had been told, and retold, since my childhood. And now they were fleshed out by the story that had accompanied our return from Pantheon a year ago, like a noxious cloud.

      We’d relayed a scant version of the truth at Art’s request, but Grandpa’s murder had been felt by each and every member of Arafel. He’d been a much-loved, trusted leader of the Arafel community for many years, as well as the last direct link to Thomas’s original Council through his own grandfather.

      When news of his death at Octavia’s own hand had broken, many had wanted a task force to storm Pantheon to demand justice. Only Art’s diplomatic tongue had persuaded them it would be tantamount to taking a torch to Arafel.

      And now, we were asking them to look on a party of Insiders kindly, with pity even. I doubted there was room in their hearts.

      I scanned the crowd covertly. Aelia was still nowhere to be seen.

      ‘Insiders can never be our kind of people!’ Bereg, one of the head butchers, jeered from the back of the cave.

      There was a noisy outbreak of support for the thickset, respected hunter before Art held up his hand. A slow hush swept across the space. Art had never commanded the same love as Grandpa, but he was still Arafel’s experienced and trusted leader.

      ‘My friends, I feel the same doubt, but let me beg your indulgence a little longer while I present one of the Insiders who asks for our help. A young Prolet who has risked her life on a hazardous journey over Arafel’s very own North Mountains, to find us … Aelia? And Talia? Where are you both?’ Art’s venerable voice echoed oddly around the cavernous space.

      I stood up, feeling the weight of my mother’s anxiety as I weaved through the crowd towards the dais. Art smiled, but my own facial muscles felt stiff, and I knew this was going to be hard. I turned slowly and surveyed my friends, their usual affable expressions replaced with suspicion and fear. They already bore a hatred of Pantheon.

      What would Aelia say if we turned her down?

      I glanced at Max, who’d taken one of the watch guard’s posts beside the Ring entrance. He shook his head and I tried not to frown.

      Where on earth was she?

      ‘I don’t stand here with any … expectation,’ I began haltingly. ‘We all know what’s at stake every time we leave the valley … every time we cross paths with a Sweeper or Insider – and have to run for our lives.’

      The silence was heavy and oppressive. I surveyed the crowd; it was so quiet I could almost hear the lemurs in the outside forest.

      ‘But we run because … because we have somewhere to run to …’

      Someone coughed, and I swallowed. This was so much harder than I expected.

      ‘A home that I know we have created and nurtured, but also one that has nurtured us right back … Grandpa used to say: “care for the seed and it will care for you.”’

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