The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2)
Read The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2) Online
Authors: Saruuh Kelsey
Tags: #lgbt, #young adult, #science fiction, #dystopia, #post apocalyptic, #sci fi, #survival, #dystopian, #yalit
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
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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
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 minutes.
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.
