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

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СКАЧАТЬ wisdom and legacy lived on within us all. I just needed to harness it.

      ‘When I was a child, I thought he meant the seeds blown into the valley of Arafel. But now I’m older, I realize he was talking about seeds far closer to home. He was talking about us.’

      I stared back at their solemn faces. Watching me. I had their full attention now.

      ‘He meant for us to take care of one another, and I don’t think he meant just the people living here, in Arafel. Grandpa knew the day was coming when the tables would be turned, when the Insiders needed us. And maybe, just maybe, that day is here.

      ‘The people who have asked for our help are like us. They come from a world inside Isca Pantheon that is made up of the discarded and rejected, a world where living beings are designed to work until they drop, and a world where they are always …’

      I scanned the faces, feeling their fear. Feeling Max watching me, willing me through.

      ‘… afraid. And now they’ve done the single most brave thing of their lives, and escaped their prison – Pantheon. They are hiding – men, women and children, just like our own – in the ruins of the Dead City with barely enough to eat because of the myth of an Eden – here – on the outside.’

      A sudden gust of wind echoed down the connecting rocky corridor, almost as though it was adding its own objection.

      ‘They are desperate, and will die without our help. And two of them risked their lives crossing the North Mountains just to find us … and ask for help.’

      My voice trembled as the full force of my own words began to sink in, and the very worst possible explanation for Aelia’s absence reared its head. My throat dried and I tried to swallow, scanning the crowd once again. Every face but Aelia’s looked back.

      And in a breath, I knew it wasn’t just my fanciful imagination; that my fear was a materialization of the worst kind; the type of knowledge that comes with really knowing a person’s spirit and capabilities. Aelia hadn’t come to the meeting because a better idea altogether had presented itself – and in Arafel the choice was pretty limited.

      I didn’t make the decision to run, I was just conscious of a sea of bemused faces as I leapt from the platform. My suspicions rang as loudly as the Ring alarm, although I was aware of Max’s voice reaching through the clamour of my anxiety. I shook my head fiercely, before flying through the entrance archway and down the narrow stone corridor leading outside. And I didn’t hesitate as my light feet left the bamboo market huts and storehouses for the obscurity of the candle-lit trees. My only thought was to reach home as fast as I could, praying Jas had been her reliable, unsociable self.

      The forest reached out like an old friend as a few errant chickens flew up in fright. Then I was flying like my life depended on it, ducking between thick, twisted tree roots and swinging through a banyan, not even pausing beside the meat-curing huts to hiss at an inquisitive honey badger. I barely allowed myself to breathe. All of our fates would hang in the balance if my suspicion was correct. How could I have been so stupid?

      Finally, I reached a length of pecan tree that entwined with our white oak treehouse, and froze, listening intently. The treehouse was lit only by Pacha’s beeswax candle jars, and a small outdoor lantern Eli had fashioned from some dry willow. It creaked stiffly every time the wind rustled through the leaves. Usually the noise was friendly and welcoming, but tonight it grated like a rusty saw.

      With pounding ears, I leapt to the floor and scaled our twisted rope ladder, willing Jas to greet me as usual at the trapdoor entrance. The familiar cosiness reached out, but Jas was ominously absent, while her bed was dishevelled and empty.

      My chest tightened as I flew across the floor, telling myself there was no way Aelia or Rajid could have known where the Book of Arafel was hidden, and that Jas would never have let them move her bed, let alone root around in the empty space beneath. Then the small hiding hole at the back of Aelia’s cave in the Prolet world materialized in my head.

      Aelia knew how to hide. Hadn’t she hidden her true identity from most people from the day she was born?

      The special fuss Rajid made of Jas at dinner crowded my brain, as the remainder of my calm evaporated. Had it all been for a purpose should Arafel not be able to help? I yanked aside Jas’s bed to prise up the old wooden floor plank beneath. It was worn and slotted together in a way that didn’t require old-world metal nails, but tonight I wished I’d had the foresight to add some of the pine sap glue Max used in his building work.

      ‘Do you want some help?’ Max’s whisper in the dark made me jump. I’d tuned out the telltale creaks of the floor.

      I flashed him a look. His face was full of shadows – and questions.

      I’d never told Max the whole: that the Book of Arafel contained Thomas’s secret research into the Voynich Manuscript; a genetic blueprint for mythological creatures, though I’d often wondered if he’d worked it out anyway. He’d listened to Aelia and August’s excitement about Thomas’s cipher. But as far as I knew, he’d never connected the Book of Arafel, the sacred book charting Arafel’s emergence from the dust clouds of the Great War, with the Voynich Manuscript. At least, not openly.

      ‘It’s OK. I guessed you’d hidden the Book of Arafel in here somewhere, after your grandpa …’

      I nodded swiftly, not wanting him to say the words, even now.

      He reached forward and with one deft movement, prised up one of the uneven floorboards. I peered inside, and immediately felt my world contract to the size of a corn kernel. The space was dark and empty.

      ‘They’ve stolen it!’ I whispered, struggling to force the words over my lips.

      ‘But why? What can they possibly want with it?’ Max responded in confusion.

      I stared at him, dread creeping through me like a mountain mist.

      ‘Cassius! She’s taken the Book to Cassius … to negotiate for the insurgents! Perhaps even August?’

      Even in the dusky light I was aware of the sudden anger in Max’s eyes. I’d deliberately avoided speaking August’s name for twelve whole months, and now I’d managed it twice in the same day. But it was a farce anyway; Max knew me inside out. And he’d sensed the charge from the start.

      ‘But why? What possible interest could our village book hold for Cassius? And what makes you think Aelia wants to negotiate for him at all? Perhaps he’s not missing,’ he added. ‘Perhaps he made it outside and decided to disappear! Who could blame him? He had the perfect opportunity – you knew he always wanted more. Maybe Cassius gave him the opportunity to change it all, an opportunity too good to resist!’

      I stiffened. It suited Max for this to be August’s choice. It made it reasonable for him to hate him.

      ‘He saved us, Max,’ I snapped, ‘in the Flavium, remember? You may have forgotten that, but I definitely haven’t. He rode out alone when—’

      ‘I know, I know – like a knight in frickin’ futuristic armour and defied the might of Pantheon!’ he scathed. ‘I was there, beside you, remember? And how does a forest builder ever compare with that?’ he continued, his eyes narrowing. ‘Isn’t that what it comes down to? And while we’re being honest, how about you share with me exactly why the Book of Arafel is so precious to everyone else? This isn’t just about the cipher on the floor, СКАЧАТЬ