Windrunner's Daughter (28 page)

Wren rattled her bars to get his attention. “Get the Runners out, you idiot.”

He goggled for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Then he ran towards his family and started trying to loosen their chains. As if an order had been shouted, all the Runners started to heave at their posts.

Wren watched, as though the intensity of her gaze would make a difference. Most of the Runners were still wearing their masks, so the smoke would not suffocate them, but how long did they have before the floor beneath them collapsed.

A dull boom and another explosion made the walls shake. Dust rattled down from the rafters and made Wren cough.

There was a beat of horror, as the Runners waited to see if they were dead or not. Then their efforts became frantic. Finally Adler roared in triumph and lifted his post high above his head. He was free. Quickly he unhooked his chain and ran to help Orel, rocking Genna’s stake as hard as he could.

Another, a few down from Jay bellowed his success and Wren tightened her grip on her bars. The Runners were going to get away.

Wren’s brothers were still chained, but Colm and Jay were working together with the red-head, shoving their mast between them, loosening its grip on the floor.

“Wren.”

The voice was so quiet that for a moment she thought she was imagining it.

“Wren!”

She doubled her focus on her brothers.

“Wren, turn around.”

Annoyed that her imagination was distracting her from Colm’s efforts, she turned. The hooded figure from the settlement was right behind her cage. His hood still covered his face and the cage threw fire-darkened shadow-stripes over his tunic. His hands lingered in the glow, reddened as if with blood. Death had come for her. How could she have imagined that they would all forget?

He started to pat the fibres that held the cage together; he was trying to get in.

“P-please.” Wren held her hands up, as if she could stop him hurting her. And the figure hesitated. Then he pushed his hood back.

She gasped and if the bars hadn’t been there would have thrown herself forward. A weight disappeared from her shoulders. Raw was alive. He was trying to save her. “How did you -”

“Quiet.” He crouched low to the ground and held her cage to stop it swinging. “We have to get you out of here.” His scars twisted as he glared at the cage. “I need a knife.”

Wren shook her head. “
I
haven’t got one.”

“I know,” he growled. His knuckles bunched. “I’ve an idea." He reached through the bars and grabbed her discarded breast band. "I’ll be back.”

“Raw -” Wren stammered, but he had slipped away. Her cage, released from his hold, started to swing. Quickly she checked on the Runners. More were free and helping the others. None seemed to have noticed her visitor.

Raw returned. This time he was holding a piece of metal with her flaming breast band tied around it to make a torch. “What’re you -?”

“Get back.”

Wren scuttled to the other side of the cage and held her throbbing head.

Another explosion. Genna’s scream echoed to the rafters and Wren’s cage swung wildly. A fissure appeared in the centre of the floor: a patch of darkness with a glowing centre, it began to radiate cracks like black fingers. They spread towards the Runners with the sound of crackling metal and splintering stone.

“They’ve got to get
out
!” Wren cried.

“They will.” Raw held his torch to a bunch of rope at one corner of her cage. It resisted for a moment before finally bursting into flame. He moved the torch around the side, burning as he went. When the fibres turned to tatters, thick black smoke filled the air in front of her, chemically toxic. It obscured her view of the struggling Runners, but she could hear the floor continuing to fracture.

Popping and hissing. Through the smoke, Wren saw spurts of flame, reaching through the fractured floor. “The fire’s reached the Power Cells!” Raw shouted. He stepped back and pulled the hooded tunic from his head. Underneath he wore his ordinary clothes, still showing damp patches from the river.

He turned to toss his disguise and Wren saw his back. Her hand tightened over her halfie. His shirt was shredded and stiff with drying blood. The skin beneath was torn so badly in some places that she could see bone.

That was how he got out of the cave - he had dragged himself through the tunnel under the wall.

“Raw!” She reached through the bars, but he jerked away from her and started to pull at the rope rags. With a few tugs, they disintegrated. Then he grabbed the bars on either side of the broken seam and started to tear the cage apart.

The bars moved beneath her feet. Dazed, Wren tumbled into his arms. He pulled her close. “It’s going to be OK.” He spoke into the filthy mess coating her hair. “Let’s get out of here before they see us.”

“I-I can’t go.” Wren wrestled free of his arms.

“What?” Raw’s green eyes caught the flame.  

“I made a promise - my life for theirs.” Wren gestured towards the Runners. “If I escape, the Vaikunthans will kill my brothers and take back the cure.” She tried to find Colm and Jay through the clearing smoke. “I have to stay.”

“No.” Raw tried to pull her away.

Wren resisted. “I can’t let them die.”

“And I won’t let
you
die.”

They glared at each other until a glowing shred of ash landed on Raw’s cheek. He cuffed it off with a wince. “More fuel tanks could go up any second.” His eyes glittered and he looked at her. “What if you never escaped from your cage?”

“What do you mean?”

“If this place goes up, no-one will know if you were inside or not. They’ll assume you died in the explosion.”

Realisation dawned and Wren nodded. As if that first piece of ash had been a signal, a sleet of sparkling charcoal blew in through the windows. Raw slapped at her hands as they were coated. “We have to go.”

“What about Colm and Jay? I’m not leaving them.”

Raw spun her to face him.

“What don’t you understand? If the Runners catch you they’ll tear you apart.” He sneered. “They’re as angry with you as the settlers.
They
need to think you’re dead too.”

“But my brothers -”

Raw shook the torch. “Colm might kill you himself. And if he doesn’t – do you want them to die defending you? We
have
to go.”

Wren’s eyes filled with tears. “They’re not free yet. The floor …”

Heat from the burning floor burned her cheeks and the tube to her halfie felt soft, as if it was melting.

“I’ll get your brothers out.” Raw shoved at her. “Go and get your wings. I’ll follow.” He didn’t stop to watch her go, but simply ran to her brothers, his back bleeding through the tattered remains of his shirt.

Despite Raw’s warning, Wren lingered. If he thought the Runners would be angry with her, what would they do to Raw once Colm recognised him? He was risking his life.

Colm and Jay stared at Raw as if he had sprouted from the floor, then Jay growled his recognition and grabbed Raw’s arm. Colm pulled his fist back. But before his punch could land, a cinder singed his hair. Colm slapped it out, then dragged Jay from Raw with a shake of his head. They needed Raw’s strength.

With Raw’s help it took only a few more bursts of effort for her brothers to haul the post that was trapping them, free from the weakening floor. Wren backed towards the far door as Raw threw the stake to one side.

Then another of the fuel tanks exploded. This concussion felt almost soft. Like a rubber hammer to her chest it slammed into her and Wren was thrown backwards off the platform, to land against a door with a thud, her head ringing.

When the smoke cleared she gasped. There was an enormous hole where the stage had been. Fire raged inches from her feet and her cage had been completely incinerated. If Raw hadn’t got her out …

She heard Jay cry her name.

Wren leaped to her feet, but he wasn’t looking at her; his eyes were fixed on the place where her cage had been.

Wren’s mouth shaped words, desperate to tell Jay that she was all right, but this was what Raw had wanted: his best case scenario. If everyone thought she was dead, no-one would be trying to kill her; not the religious colonists and not the rule-oriented Runners.

As the fire burned higher, Wren fell through the door and began to run deeper into the Council building. She had to find her wings.

Chapter twenty-three

The corridor was windowless and smoke free. But Wren knew the floor beneath her could vanish at any moment. She had to get moving. Her wings were in a room near the main entrance, but she was disoriented.  

Picking a direction at random, she started to run. Dizzily she focused on at her feet flashing beneath her. Each time her toes hit the ground, her sore legs protested and her whole body shook with tiredness. Not knowing if she was even heading the right way, she slowed to a limping jog.  

    Anxious voices sounded ahead. Heart racing, Wren sought a place to hide, but the corridor stretched without blemish until it curved out of sight. She skidded to a stop, preparing to run back the other way and the voices faded.

Carefully Wren continued along the corridor. Not far ahead she saw what had been hidden by the curve of the wall – an old shuttle door. Now she had a choice: continue down the corridor, or follow the voices. Would the doorway lead to her wings, or her death?

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. She dug her nails into her palms and stared up and down the passage as if a sign would somehow appear.

There were people behind the door, which made it a dangerous choice. But if she stuck to the corridor and someone else decided to take the same route, she would have nowhere to conceal herself.

She should at least open the door and see what was behind.

    Holding her breath, she placed her hand on the mechanism as if to find a pulse, then leaned in close. No sound tickled her ears. She leaned her forehead on the still cool metal, still hoping somehow for a sign, and her body sagged. She was so very tired. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she was on her knees, one arm resting on the frame.

She shook her head and her ears felt full of water. Then her chest tightened and her lungs contracted. A feather light irritation grew harsher until it ripped through her throat and she had to cough.

One cough wasn’t enough; she bent over her knees in a vicious fit that made her ribs ache. She must have swallowed the chemical smoke from the ropes.

Wren blinked. She had to stop coughing, or someone would hear. She fumbled her sleeve inside-out, the only way to find a clean spot, and stuffed it into her mouth, muffling her barking.

Finally her fit petered to nothing and she dragged herself to her feet. She needed to move on. Her mother was waiting. She listened at the door for three more long breaths then opened it.

For a moment she thought her eyesight had been affected by her coughing, because the walls of the passage before her shimmered and shifted like shadows on a screen. Then she saw the smoke rolling in through narrow windows above her head.

She pressed her forearm harder over her mouth and stepped forward. The door slid closed behind her, but she ignored the thud. The floor of the corridor felt hot even through her boots, but it looked familiar. She edged further in. To her left was the Lister’s study, with its door to the street, which meant the storeroom had to be on her right.

Heart racing, she turned and relief made her stagger: she had found her wings. With renewed energy she ran through the archway. Inside, her chest tightened anew at the way the precious items had been treated. The sharp tang of urine cut through even Wren’s own stink and close up she could see dangerously bent struts on the wings at the bottom of the pile.

Her fingers twitched with an impulse to just grab a pair and Run, but she knew she had to get her own. Not only were her wings trainers, and therefore unsuitable for any of the full grown Runners who would soon be leaving the arena, but they were
her
wings.

She remembered exactly where they had fallen and her eyes followed their remembered trajectory. There, right at the back, her wings lay waiting.

She resisted the urge to scramble over the pile and edged carefully around, pushing wings to one side with her hands and knees rather than risk treading on the delicate membranes and bone-like struts.

The wings rustled at her touch and whispering silver material fluttered as if gasping for the missing air.

“They’re coming back.” Wren murmured as her back rubbed against the wall that hemmed the restless pile. “They’re coming for you.”

Finally she was at the back of the room and could get no closer to her wings without disturbing the whole bank.

As she stood thinking how best to reach them, voices rang in the corridor.

“I’m sure our wings were this way.”

Wren’s eyes widened. The wall hid her from view, but for how long? The Runners were coming for their wings and she was completely exposed.

Instinct took over. Wren wasn’t going to leave her wings for anyone else. She dived over the silver drift and her hand closed over the straps. Her ears strained for the sound of cracking struts, but the mound of silver slid beneath her and did not break.

Dragging her wings she slithered to the rear of the pile just as the voice echoed in the doorway. A large storage chest was half buried beneath the wings. It was half full of tools and wire, but there looked like just enough room.

She swiftly slid inside, hugged her wings close to her and pulled the lid down. Sharp edges dug into her hip and back and she hoped the Runners wouldn’t take long finding their wings.

“Look how they’ve treated them!”  

As the leader raged, Wren ducked lower and squeezed her eyes closed. What if someone looked inside the chest?

Whether the Runners believed that she had brought the plague or not, it didn’t matter. The Runners would kill her without a second thought.

She bit the knuckles of one hand to muffle her terrified panting. With the other fist she pulled her wings closer. She curled herself as small as she could and listened.