The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2) (38 page)

“Smuggling,” Dal
suggests.

“Too much security,”
Timofei argues.

“No,” Yosiah says.
“The security in some Forgotten Towns has been upgraded. There’s
more technology and less men. It could be hacked, in theory.”

I lean over the wall
and look at the drop to the sea. I could break my neck if I
fell.

“I heard that too,”
Dalmar agrees. “They’re bringing in heavy tech for the bigger
Forgotten Towns. Maybe they don’t want them turning out like we
did.”

“How
do you know that?” I raise my head instinctively at the sharpness
in Timofei’s voice. He whirls from Dal to Yosiah. “Actually how
do
you
know
that?”

“I overhear
things.”

“And I’m told things.”
Dalmar turns the collar of his coat up against the wind. “Guardian
leader now, remember?”

“As if I can forget.”
Timofei slices through the light atmosphere with a serrated edge.
He opens his mouth, closes it, and walks away from us.

Yosiah runs after him,
listing to one side.

I pull up my hood to
block out rain that came from nowhere and rest a hand on Dal’s
shoulder. He looks at his feet. Neither of us mentions Alba.

The slap of feet on
the road is the first sound in ten minutes. Hele’s shiny green
blouse fans out behind her as she darts across the street, pale red
hair dyed dark on the ends by fat drops of rain.

She stumbles to a
stop, catching Dalmar’s hand.

“What?” He touches her
face, her hair, her neck. His worry is clear in the small, frantic
caresses. “What is it?”

Hele looks between us
with wide blue eyes. Between heaving breaths, she says, “Forgotten
Paris has Fallen.”

***

Yosiah

16:54. 04.11.2040. The
Free Lands, Southlands, Plymouth.

“Tim,” I yell.
“Wait!”

“What do you want?” he
snarls. The dark circles under his eyes make him look ill.

“I was gonna ask if
you were okay but you’re clearly not.”

“And?” He throws his
arms out. “So what if I’m not?”

I don’t answer. I grab
the sleeve of his coat and pull him close. He struggles
half-heartedly. I know the strength Tim has in his arms, his fists.
He’s not trying to get away.

“I feel like I’m
betraying her,” he wheezes. “Every time I look at you.”

I apologise. It’s not
enough but I don’t have anything else.

“I love her,” he says.
“And I love you. And you love Miya.”

I don’t apologise this
time. I can’t.

He gasps for air,
says, “I really hate you sometimes.”

“I know.”

Timofei stops talking,
just lets the howl of the wind and rain drown everything out.
Eventually he pulls away from me. The sudden cold is enough that my
fingers twitch, wanting him back. I force them still. He’s not mine
and I’m not his.

“I don’t have
anything,” he forces out. “Not now she’s gone.”

I tear my eyes away,
look at the bricks on the floor. “You have your sister.”

I think he might nod
but I don’t see it. He speaks the words I don’t want to. “But I
don’t have you.”

“No.”

His hand pushes
through my wet hair and he kisses me but I can tell it’s for the
last time. Even though it shouldn’t make a knife twist in my heart,
it does. This is closing a door that was opened again when I found
him in the Guardians’ base. This is giving up one possible future
for another. This is goodbye, surrender. I can’t stand it, but I
stand it anyway because this is the last time. The last time he’ll
kiss me and the last time I’ll love him.

He drops his hand and
walks away, and that’s it. It’s over.

I
breathe in sea air, shivering. I can live without Timofei—I
did
live without him—but
I won’t survive the coming hell without Miya. She makes me strong,
makes me a person I actually like. I feel more like myself when I’m
with her than when I’m on my own.

If I’m going to live
through this war with States, if I’m going to survive the
revelation everyone will have about me, about us, I have to be
myself. I have to be in control.

I need Miya.

Besides—I love
her.

I walk fast, on a
mission to find her so she can stabilise me. I’m on edge. I’m not
thinking, not acting right. My body is too hot, my hands
shaking.

“Yosiah?”

An unfamiliar
voice.

“What?” I snap.
Why can’t everyone
just leave me alone?

But when I turn,
there’s nothing there. No voice or person hounding me. There’s
nothing but the ash caught in the wind, sickly grey.

Oh God.

Oh God.

“Siah. I’ve been
looking for you all over!”

Now a voice I do know.
Miya. My heart is pounding—I’m falling apart. She can’t see me
now.

“Livy said she saw you
with …” She trails off, seeing me. “Your eyes are weird.” She
stands on her tiptoes to look directly into my eyes. Thank God she
makes my heart stop, my emotions flutter out of control, because it
masks my fear. “They’re more golden,” she decides.

A weight sits on my
chest; it feels like pure, unadorned terror. “It must be the
light.”

“Yeah.”

She grins then, like
she can’t tell my world had dissolved into a mess of ash and
accidents. “Come on,” she says. “I got us food.”

***

Bennet

19:15. 04.11.2040.
Bharat, Delhi.

When we leave for
Nanda Devi, Delhi is twinkling. Fireworks burst across the sky like
watercolour added to a wet page, seeping and growing until the sky
is nothing but colour and light. Tonight is Diwali, the festival of
light, and I would give anything to stay and watch the painted
evening sky, but I’ve been given a task. We all have.

I
know I’m not the only one of us who wishes to stay. I can see the
longing written in Garima’s eyes. Before we left, they lit
diyas
along the hallways
of the Guardians’ home, the lamps burning so bright my eyes stung
if I looked at them too hard. I don’t know how Bharatians usually
celebrate Diwali, but I doubt it was as rushed as the dinner and
prayers of the New Delhi Guardians.

It makes me sad that
my friends weren’t able to stay longer, to revel in the
festivities. But Vast said tonight would be the safest for us to
leave. Nobody would notice as we wove our way through the squares
and roads, not on this night. Most people are tucked away inside,
in prayers or feasts with their families, and those who aren’t are
bewitched by the fireworks.

The streets are
cloying with the scent of explosive powder and the saccharine
fragrance of desserts and candies, but it fades as we walk further
and further out of the city, into the less inhabited lands. A
vehicle waits for us a mile or so outside Delhi but we have no
option but to walk until we reach it, secretive as we’re trying to
be.

The closer we get to
the city border the more often Garima sighs with weariness, hefting
the straps of her backpack up her arms. I myself have only a
lightweight bag on my back. It holds what little possessions I
brought with me and the food, drink, and essential items the
Guardians supplied me with.

Garima and Devika have
what bare essentials they could put together of their scientific
equipment, though it still seems very heavy. The two Black Cats
carry the bulk of our supplies—tents, tins of food, stores of
water, a small army of blankets, torches, matches, a compass, and a
handful of tablets that we’re supposed to take just before we reach
the Nanda Devi park. Vast says they’ll protect us against most
illnesses that might find us in the wilderness, though I’m not sure
how possible that is.

We also have weapons,
should anyone try to hurt us. Garima and I have twin small
knives—and I have my familiar dagger. Devika has a wickedly curved
blade strapped to her back, hidden by a thick coat. The Black Cats,
our masculine protection against anyone that might intercept us in
the hopes of foiling our plans, could have any number of weapons.
They may have none—they may be able to kill a man with only their
hands. I know nothing about them. They might be our security but I
don’t trust them a single bit.

The vehicle is waiting
for us where we were told it’d be. My legs are pulsing with a deep
rooted ache by the time I climb into the metal cart attached to the
car, a dark grey-green I should think will blend into any
surroundings. Garima hefts herself up with her last remaining
strength, tumbling into the cart. The two of us turn our eyes to
the Black Cats, waiting to see what they will do.

The older of the Black
Cats—Amil—strolls around the vehicle to climb into the front with
Devika. Rasendra hops into the back with us, dropping his heavy
backpack onto the metal crate. The machine rumbles beneath us and
we begin to move. The car bumps and jars me with every movement but
at least the assault I’ve been waging on my feet has ended. My
soles are stinging, my legs sore, but I feel something exciting
beginning and it brightens the first hour of the rocky trip.

By the second hour,
I’ve become frustrated with the constant rocking, the bruises that
are surely forming along my body.

I don’t know what I’m
doing here. At first I guessed Vast was sending me to Nanda Devi
because I knew what the Miracle looked like, but now that Garima
and Devika are here … what purpose am I serving?

It feels like a trap
now that I am fully engaged in this journey but there’s nothing I
can do about those fears unless I plan on jumping out of this cart.
Besides, Garima is here. If she weren’t, I might have risked the
jump.

At least I have my
back up plan, my insurance in the event that something terrible
happens and I lose my tether to Vast and his promises. The piece of
paper from V, the Guardian ally I met in a grimy diner. I put my
hand into my coat pocket to touch the note. It says only a
telephone number and the answer to a question I presume to be asked
upon calling, but it’s reassuring. V wants something from me, thus
when I need her help she’ll be happy to provide it. For a price.
But if I’m desperate and alone and utterly hopeless, I know I’ll
pay anything.

I feel safer knowing
that I have an escape route.

I tip my head back
against the side of the car and let the jolts and hiccups lull my
fears into silence.

***

Branwell

13:16. 05.11.2040. The
Free Lands, Southlands, Plymouth.

I lost my morning in
one of Plymouth’s laboratories. The people were nice enough to
introduce me to the different areas and rooms of the building,
explaining the purpose of each department—anything from artificial
food production to massive panes of glass said to soak up the
energy of the sun. Hours passed in my amazement.

I’ve been given a
department of my own, and an assistant. I’m sure Dalmar’s new
position at the head of the Guardians hierarchy granted me this
privilege. I was speaking to him a couple of days ago about my wish
to fully investigate the mechanisms and paraphernalia that makes my
bracelet function, so when the time comes I’ll be able to go home.
He must have mentioned it to one of Plymouth’s ambassadors.

Whatever and whoever
is responsible for me having this opportunity to investigate my
time manipulating device, I’m grateful. Maybe now I will finally
get answers. Maybe I’ll be able to reach the deep calm that comes
over me when my mind is fixed on a task. So far, I and my
assistant, Samantha Bryall—the first girl I ever saw in the
Guardians’ base, the girl who convinced the other Guardians to give
me the benefit of the doubt when they thought I was an Official
spy, the girl who coincidentally happens to be a gifted
technologist—have only managed to get through the exterior metal
band. It took a laser, which I’m warned could easily cut through my
flesh and bone if I got in the way.

Tomorrow, or if
there’s time after the meeting Dalmar is holding this afternoon,
we’re going to start analysing the components that were inside the
casing. It’s a change from the way of things I’m used to. I’m not
usually so involved with physical matters; my father was the
tinkerer of our family. He spent his life surrounded by odds and
ends that could come together to make bewildering machines. I on
the other hand was more involved with the biology area of science,
though most of my last year was spent singularly obsessed with the
development and progression of disease.

Suffice it to say, it
was a far cry from using fatal beams of light to cut into
metal.

This room is full of
all manner of paraphernalia, some of which I’m sure could hurt me
as successfully as the laser, others I’m itching to know the
function of. For the first time since we left the Guardians’ home
in Forgotten London, I’m immersed in the bright reality of the
future. I can believe now, much more than when I was trudging
through the countryside, that I am centuries after my era. The
technology alone is sharp proof, and it entices me.

I’ve always been told
my curiosity would get me killed.

I tuck my hands close
to my sides as I follow Samantha Bryall through the winding
corridors past walls of glass and the thriving experiments beyond
them. I thought Manchester felt alive but it was a speck of life
compared to this place.

Samantha pivots on her
heel to frown at me. “We’re gonna be late.”

I quicken my pace,
leaving the scent of pungent cleanliness and chemicals behind me,
my hope and calm along with it. I have the bracelet tucked into my
satchel, the casing pieced back together and secured by wire until
we can return to the lab to analyse each component; the bangle is
the one thing I will never leave in this building of silent
technologists. I could never leave it anywhere. It’s my only hope
of going home.