four areas at the same time. The
towers are our main trade hubs with each other.
On the train journey from Martindale to Windsor, I saw them from the ground, soaring so high that I couldn’t see the top. Even from a distance, the way the towers are lit makes it look as
if they are touching the sky; a true testament to what we can achieve as a people if we really want to. As it is, their magnificence overshadows in all ways the towns and villages which have been
burned to the ground on our journey to get here. Many people around the country starve on meagre rations, away from their homes and packed into city centres, even though we still have the
capability to produce something like the towers.
They are both hideous and beautiful – a perfect tribute to our King’s regime.
The light spreads for miles in all directions, meaning there is little point in us moving much closer. Our chances of finding Rom during the night seem minimal too, but Imrin spots some
buildings at the bottom of the hill we are standing on. They are partially caved in – four piles of bricks and tiles in a row that would once have been small houses. A path runs along in
front, connecting the derelict properties, but there are rough overgrown patches of grass on the other side, cutting them off from the edge of the inhabited areas that lead to the towers. At first
I am wary of straying too close to where other people might be, but the surroundings seem quiet and everyone could do with a night under a roof – even one that isn’t completely
intact.
Most of our tinned food has gone but Faith sets a line of snare traps on the edge of the field in the hope that something may stumble into them overnight. The way she ties her knots is so much
more advanced than anything I managed in Martindale and I find myself trying to memorise the movements of her hands as she zigzags and crosses the ropes intricately before expertly concealing the
tripwires and triggers.
Of the four homes, we pick the one that seems to be the most upright. I am convinced we are wasting our time and that there will not be enough space for us, but Imrin points to the corners of
the house which are still in place. We move a few pieces of wood aside and slide through a gap in the rubble until there is enough room for everyone, including Hart, to fit through. Inside, Imrin
is proven correct. Although the edges of the rooms are filled with dust, tiny stones and broken furniture, the centre of what would once have been a living room provides a large enough area for us
to rest in relative safety and comfort.
I want to find a moment alone with Imrin to talk through everything that has happened but it is so cold that we all huddle together under the blankets, using our body heat for warmth. Faith is
the only exception; she curls up silently in a corner away from the rest of us.
As I snuggle close to Imrin, so much of my body aches that it is difficult to know if it is solely from the walking or because my injuries haven’t yet healed. At the other end of the line,
I can hear Hart coughing gently but he is so adept at stifling it, no one but him notices how bad it is.
I close my eyes, wanting to drift off to sleep, but the memory of what Faith’s parents did and the way she wrapped herself around me in despair is so fresh that it feels as if her pain is
my own.
Imrin’s breathing quickly changes into the long gulps of sleep as I slowly feel my mind drifting back to the familiarity of the woods outside Martindale.
As I lie on the banks of the gully staring at the sky, I can hear Opie’s lumbering footsteps snapping twigs and scuffing across leaves. It is the day before the Reckoning and he is going
to ask me if I can help him cheat because he doesn’t want to risk being a Trog. He thinks he is sneaking up on me but has never had a gentle way of moving around.
Suddenly, I realise I am half-awake, aware of the room and Imrin’s arm across me and yet Opie’s footsteps
towers are our main trade hubs with each other.
On the train journey from Martindale to Windsor, I saw them from the ground, soaring so high that I couldn’t see the top. Even from a distance, the way the towers are lit makes it look as
if they are touching the sky; a true testament to what we can achieve as a people if we really want to. As it is, their magnificence overshadows in all ways the towns and villages which have been
burned to the ground on our journey to get here. Many people around the country starve on meagre rations, away from their homes and packed into city centres, even though we still have the
capability to produce something like the towers.
They are both hideous and beautiful – a perfect tribute to our King’s regime.
The light spreads for miles in all directions, meaning there is little point in us moving much closer. Our chances of finding Rom during the night seem minimal too, but Imrin spots some
buildings at the bottom of the hill we are standing on. They are partially caved in – four piles of bricks and tiles in a row that would once have been small houses. A path runs along in
front, connecting the derelict properties, but there are rough overgrown patches of grass on the other side, cutting them off from the edge of the inhabited areas that lead to the towers. At first
I am wary of straying too close to where other people might be, but the surroundings seem quiet and everyone could do with a night under a roof – even one that isn’t completely
intact.
Most of our tinned food has gone but Faith sets a line of snare traps on the edge of the field in the hope that something may stumble into them overnight. The way she ties her knots is so much
more advanced than anything I managed in Martindale and I find myself trying to memorise the movements of her hands as she zigzags and crosses the ropes intricately before expertly concealing the
tripwires and triggers.
Of the four homes, we pick the one that seems to be the most upright. I am convinced we are wasting our time and that there will not be enough space for us, but Imrin points to the corners of
the house which are still in place. We move a few pieces of wood aside and slide through a gap in the rubble until there is enough room for everyone, including Hart, to fit through. Inside, Imrin
is proven correct. Although the edges of the rooms are filled with dust, tiny stones and broken furniture, the centre of what would once have been a living room provides a large enough area for us
to rest in relative safety and comfort.
I want to find a moment alone with Imrin to talk through everything that has happened but it is so cold that we all huddle together under the blankets, using our body heat for warmth. Faith is
the only exception; she curls up silently in a corner away from the rest of us.
As I snuggle close to Imrin, so much of my body aches that it is difficult to know if it is solely from the walking or because my injuries haven’t yet healed. At the other end of the line,
I can hear Hart coughing gently but he is so adept at stifling it, no one but him notices how bad it is.
I close my eyes, wanting to drift off to sleep, but the memory of what Faith’s parents did and the way she wrapped herself around me in despair is so fresh that it feels as if her pain is
my own.
Imrin’s breathing quickly changes into the long gulps of sleep as I slowly feel my mind drifting back to the familiarity of the woods outside Martindale.
As I lie on the banks of the gully staring at the sky, I can hear Opie’s lumbering footsteps snapping twigs and scuffing across leaves. It is the day before the Reckoning and he is going
to ask me if I can help him cheat because he doesn’t want to risk being a Trog. He thinks he is sneaking up on me but has never had a gentle way of moving around.
Suddenly, I realise I am half-awake, aware of the room and Imrin’s arm across me and yet Opie’s footsteps
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