202 A.B.

(7 years before the Runner's Rebellion)

As predicted, Lucie loved the library.

"Incredible." She breathes as she spins in place. "Simply astounding."

Jaron and I hang back near the narrow entryway, watching silently as Ian grips Lucie by the hand and tows her from shelf to shelf. She exclaims repeatedly over the volumes, her delighted shouts of laughter intermingling with Ian's.

"I suppose that is it." Jaron's voice is low. "We have no secrets left, now."

"We do not need secrets." I tell him. "Lucie trusted us, and so we do the same."

"It is a mistake."

I wait a beat, mulling over his words before giving a small nod. "That is certainly a possibility."

"Then why do you take the chance?" He hisses. "If you hold any doubt, why risk it?"

"Because something has to change." I turn to look at him fully. "This war between us and them, all of the killing, what has it brought us?"

Jaron starts, his green eyes flashing. I sense a shift and so I grip his elbow and pull him away from the door, into the hall where we will not be overheard.

"This war has brought us justice." Jaron yanks his arm free of my grasp. "The Miners began this fight. They have taken our food, our water, and I have heard rumours of Wasters disappearing into their midst. We must stand up against them, to show our strength."

I choose my words carefully, speaking slowly so that even in his agitated state, Jaron will be compelled to understand. "There are other ways to resolve this."

He stares at me, shoulders heaving. I wait, but for once he seems willing to listen.

I continue. "Think of it, Jaron. Since the Burn, we have known nothing but animosity with these strangers. With each passing year our wars grow more bloody and our understanding of one another becomes more fraught. We repeat the same patterns over and over, and nothing gets resolved."

"They do not want resolution." Jaron protests. His hands clench into fists at his sides. "They want to strike us down."

"Are you so certain of that?" I tilt my head. "Have you spoken with them?"

He reddens. "We do not need to speak. We have learned enough from their actions."

"And how do you suppose our actions appear to them?" I press. "We are murderous rogues, also. We have created a culture around victory and ferocity in battle. We sometimes employ a Choice warrior, a literal harbinger of death."

"This is who the Wasters are, who we have always been."

"Always? For barely two hundred years, we have been this way. That is nothing. A grain of sand in a vast desert of existence." I raise my eyebrows at him. "Think of the courage it must have taken for Lucie to approach us. For all she knew, we would have killed her on the spot."

"She was injured. She had no choice." He grumbles.

"But we do." I say, with finality. "We, as Chieftains, have the sacred duty of shaping the arc of the Wasters' story. Right now, we are at the part of the story where a lone Miner woman asks us for aid. We can either help her, or turn her away. We can stagnate, or we can grow. The choice was mine and when you are Chief, the choice will be yours."

Jaron is silent for a long moment. I wait patiently, listening to the distant sound of Lucie and Ian as they rifle through the bookshelves.

When Jaron finally speaks, he utters an unexpected question. "What would my mother have chosen?"

I cannot help the smile escaping my lips. "You knew her as well as I. What do you think?"

He glances towards the library door. "She would have helped."

"Yes, I believe so, too." I nod, slowly. "But you are not your mother, you are not your father, you are not me. You are Jaron and ultimately, you must tell your own story."

Jaron releases an indistinguishable growl as he runs his hand through his unruly hair. I wait patiently, studying him.

"What if I choose wrong?" He meets my eyes reluctantly and I feel an unconscious tug of my heart.

I smile, shrugging. "What if you choose right?"

* * * * *

It is several months before the full impact of my decision makes itself known.

The heat of the bonfire warms my face. I sit off to the side, watching as Jaron receives the marking that will signify him as Chieftain. The low rumble of a hundred Wasters humming in synch rattles my bones and sets my teeth on edge.

For his part, Jaron appears calm. He accepts the needle's stinging pinprick with nary a flinch, his jaw clenched tightly. Luca and Noah sit on either side of him, their young faces set in similar grim expressions. Despite their tender ages the three boys are a force united, ready and willing to lead our tribe into the next chapter. Ready to succeed where I have failed.

My chest pinches painfully and I cast my gaze down. Grains of sand catch in my fists as my mind drifts away, back to the night before. Back to my last night as Chief.

For most of us, Lucie was a distant memory. A brief period in our history, a time punctuated with the presence of a friendly, one-handed Miner. When she left of us all those months ago, I sent her off with good wishes and a sackful of provisions. I never expected to see her again and eventually, she faded from our collective thoughts.

It is the instant we allow ourselves to forget, that we leave ourselves vulnerable to a cruel reminder.

They come for us during the night. Young Luca races into camp, out of breath and red-faced. He gasps and sputters, gesturing madly at the night sky.

"What is it, brother?" Jaron grips Luca by the shoulder, looking as though it is taking every reserve of his self-control to keep from shaking the boy in his impatience.

"Sky machines." Luca finally manages. He swallows, eyes stretched wide as he stares up at us. "Headed this way."

Jaron straightens, whipping around to look at me. I find myself frozen in place, for a moment aware of nothing but a great, gaping pit of fear.

"They'll see us." I hear myself saying. "We must get everyone underground, now."

Jaron spring into action, calling for the bonfires to be extinguished and herding everyone inside. Noah and Luca scramble after him while I cast my gaze around wildly, squinting into the twilight sky.

Then, I see it. The dreaded silver bubble, appearing over the rim of a dune and making its way steadily towards us.

I join the throng of Wasters retreating below, making my way to the front of the pack while Jaron brings up the rear. The air belowground is heavy with tension and buzzes with the nervous murmurings of a hundred people. I seek out Noah and Luca, pulling the boys to my side as I continue to scan the crowd for Ian. It is easy to spot Jaron's oversized frame towering above the wary group. He hovers near the tube's entrance, his gaze trained on our woefully inadequate door. I am suddenly acutely aware of how vulnerable our home truly is; our camp is designed to blend into the landscape, not to withstand the forces outside of it.

The desert will be no defence against poison.

Jaron shouts for silence and at once every person ceases their chattering. I jerk to attention, holding my breath along with the hundred other men, women and children.

An endless second passes, then another. I strain to listen and eventually, I pick up on the steady hum of churning machinery, gradually growing louder. I tighten my grip on Noah and Luca's shoulders, squeezing my eyes shut as I offer up a silent wish.

Please, no smoke.

Please, no smoke.

Please...

My eyelids snap open at the dreaded sound of poisoned air escaping it's chamber.

"Everyone, into the tunnels!" Jaron bellows the order before I can connect the sound with the reality of the situation. The faint outline of vapour has begun to pool in front of the tube's entryway, curling and growing, unfolding endlessly.

I pull Luca and Noah before me, steering them in the direction of the stairs. The crowd presses in on all sides as I continue to search for Ian. My eyes strain but there is still no sign of him. I swallow the lump that rises in my throat and concentrate on helping the elders towards the tunnels, pulling my scarf up over my face in a vain attempt to block some of the encroaching smoke.

My lungs tighten, burning with warning. When Jaron finally draws up alongside I find myself needing to lean against him, barely able to grope my way through the haze and down the stairs.

We spiral down to the lowest level, emerging on the track platform. There is less smoke down here, but I know that it is only a matter of time before the entire camp is overrun with the unforgiving poison. Wasters have already begun pooling into the gap carved out by the ancient train tracks, with the younger people helping the less able to jump down onto the uneven path. Luca reaches up a hand to help me but I wave him off, releasing my hold on Jaron as I stare at the figure rushing along the platform towards me.

"Ian." I embrace him tightly, relief turning my knees weak. "You are all right." I cough, tugging the scarf off of my face.

He offers up a tight smile. "I am fine. We are fine. Come, there is no time to waste. Let us get you into the tunnels."

I concentrate on drawing slow, shallow breaths as I am helped down the edge of the platform. With each step it becomes more clear that I stayed above for too long; the smoke has already begun to seep it's way into my system.

My legs shake and nearly give out when I land on the tracks. Luca helps me to stand and makes to pull me towards the shadowed tunnel, but I remain rooted in place, extending a hand to Ian.

He pauses for the barest of instants, studying me intently before taking a step back.

My brow furrows. "Come, Ian. Quickly."

He casts his gaze once over his shoulder, then back at me. "There is a chance that I can save a few of my books. I still have time."

Panic grips me and I swallow, coughing again. "Do not be foolish. You must come."

He shakes his head and takes another step back. "I cannot let them fall into the wrong hands. I must hide them. You will know where to find them, again."

"They are just books." I wheeze. "Please. Think of what is important."

There is the barest hint of a smile. "I am."

And just like that, he is gone.

I am pulled along with the throng, my vision swimming as we cross from the flickering lamplight of the station to the pitch-blackness of the tunnels. My feet drag and scrape against the rough surface below and my head rolls loosely on my neck. We pass from dark to light and back to dark, the blurry scenery punctuated by the rumble of Jaron's voice and the nervous murmuring of a hundred Wasters. My eyelids grow heavy and repeatedly flutter closed, each time showing me Ian's parting gaze and the heel of his boot as he sprinted back into the camp.

Noah's grip tightens around me while I sag against him. My movements become sluggish as I sink lower and lower, eventually succumbing to a welcoming sleep.

* * * * *

Our attackers' movements are planned and precise.

We remain underground for a full day, huddled together in one of the seldom-used stations. Jaron orders a rotating shift of warriors to remain at track level and takes it upon himself to head several scouting trips up to the surface. A sky machine remains firmly perched outside the entrance to our camp, docked impassively while the enemy lugs crateful after crateful of our precious belongings aboard.

The poisonous gas sticks to my lungs and lingers in my throat. My voice is raspy and my head aches from a combination of toxin and dread. I do my best to stay out from underfoot and watch with a kind of measured indifference while Jaron takes up his rightful place as leader. His tone is crisp and measured, his stride sure and strong. When Jaron gives a command, it is followed to the letter. I expected my quick-tempered, former apprentice to order an attack on the sky machine and the intruders currently ransacking our camp, but he has instead insisted that everyone remain out of sight. He understands that our numbers and weapons are useless against the enemy's toxic smoke clouds. Despite this, the tight set of Jaron's shoulders and a telltale clenching of his jaws tells me that it physically pains him to stay out of the battle.

It is his decision to stay when he wishes to go that shows me why Jaron will make a better Chief than I ever could. Jaron is not guided by his feelings; he will rule our tribe with a judicious heart and the shrewd clarity that always eluded me.

It is never explicitly said, but the looks thrown in my direction - some pitying, but most disappointed - tell me that my time as a respected elder is over. Resigned to my failures and my losses, I remain sitting with my back against the wall of a dingy tube station and rocking slowly back and forth. I glance up at the sound of every footstep that passes me by, each time hoping that I will see Ian's smiling face looking down at me.

Another day passes before Jaron declares it safe to return to camp. I join the small group of volunteers and together we trudge back through the tube tunnels, back to what was once our home. As we draw closer I feel my lungs begin to tighten. Trace amounts of the noxious gas still linger in the narrow passageways, but it is the sense of impending discovery that turns my breath ragged.

I keep my gaze trained on the backs of the people in front of me, completely oblivious to my surroundings until I find myself standing in front of the ruined door to the library.

"You do not have to go in there, alone." Jaron appears next to me with a silence that belies his size.

I don't answer immediately. I take in the ancient metal door, knocked loose of its hinges and dented by countless kicks to its exterior. It had been braced from within, but now lies broken and useless.

"It is all right." I hear myself say. I pat the heavy hand placed on my shoulder. "I will only be a moment."

I step forward, unconsciously holding my breath as I step around the debris and into the darkened remnants of the library.

My torchlight shows me shelves stripped bare. Pages torn loose from their bindings lie scattered about my feet, fluttering pathetically when I walk by. I sweep my torch before me in a slow arc, my heart sinking into hollowness as I register the full extent of the thievery.

They are gone. They are all gone.

Ian's vast collection books, so carefully restored and preserved, have been stolen. What was once a warm, inviting house of knowledge is now a barren shell of a room. The air still feels raw from the recent violation. My heartbeat echoes off the walls of the newly-cavernous space as I make my way towards the back of the room, slowing to a stop when I draw up in front of a fallen shelf.

Suspicious red puddles stain the floor beneath my feet. I furrow my brow, considering the scene before me. The bookcase has toppled forward, thrown to the ground as if pushed by an unseen hand. My chest tightens. Throwing a shelf full of his precious books on top of the intruders is a desperate maneuver. A last-ditch effort.

I step carefully around the ruined furniture, keeping my torch raised and my eyes averted from the gory sight below. Eventually, the flickering light reveals a crumpled form lying lost and forgotten against the wall ahead of me. The room is ominously silent as my heart ceases its beat.

My vision blurs and my knees creak as I lower myself into a crouched position. Gingerly, I place a hand on his shoulder, the chill sending a shudder through me as I turn him over onto his back.

He is so incredibly still. I run my trembling fingers lightly over his face, moving to brush his silver hair from his eyes. I hum a low tune under my breath, rocking back and forth as his features swim before me.

"Days passed and stories told." I cradle his head in my hands as I murmur the words. "The lives we live are the hands we hold."

I do not have to turn around to know that Jaron is standing behind me, waiting patiently as I pay the last respects to my friend, my partner and my life's greatest love.

"Return, dear soul unto the night." My voice is barely a whisper. "Give up this body, this life, this fight."

I choke on the last words and Jaron steps forward, kneeling down next to me and completing the ritual.

"Though our paths diverge, this is not the end." Alone amongst the remnants of Ian's ravaged and blood-stained library, Jaron's chiefly voice finally breaks. "We will speak of it all, when I see you again."

We remain silent for a long time, an old fool and a promising young Chief, each adrift in our own thoughts. I stare down at Ian's once-familiar face, wondering at the pale hue of his skin and how strange his mouth looks when devoid of the easy smile I loved so well.

"You know who did this." Jaron's voice is jarring after the prolonged silence. "The rest of the camp is untouched, Cade. She came back for the books."

It is then that notice the item peeking out of Ian's vest. I reach forward and tug it free, only half-listening to Jaron as I turn the book over in my hands.

"Peter Pan." I furrow my brow as I flip through the pages. A folded corner has marked a place and I crack the book open further, holding my torch to read the indicated passage. "Hook was not his true name. To reveal who he really was would even at this date set the country in a blaze."

I glance up, locking eyes with Jaron. Any doubt that may have existed about who is to blame for this atrocity is at once dashed. Ian's final message was to warn us of a one-handed villain.

"I chose wrong." I say, hollowly. "I never should have trusted Lucie. She was not who she claimed to be. She played me for a fool."

Jaron does not disagree. He watches me carefully, waiting.

"You told me that I was making a mistake." I swallow, forcing my voice to steady. "Your instincts are better than mine, Jaron. You will make a strong Chief."

He reddens. "I will make her pay for what she has done to Ian. You have my word."

I nod, tucking the tattered book into the folds of my robe and gathering the oversized youth into a tight embrace. Jaron hesitates momentarily, then slowly snakes his arms around me.

His voice is muffled. "I will make you proud."

"I have no doubt that you will," I give his expansive shoulders a mighty squeeze. "I am sorry that I was not a better Chieftain."

"You were always more than a Chief to me, Cade."

Eventually, we recover the few books Ian managed to save and leave the destroyed library. We pack up the remains of our former home and bury my partner beneath a sun-dappled dune, retreating into the desert to set up camp as night falls.

Now, I stare into the flames of the bonfire, watching my meal slowly crisp and blacken while I half-listen to the talk of battle stemming from behind me. I hear snippets of Jaron's plans for the construction of war machines and the re-instatement of our tribe's Choice warrior, but the words barely register. My mind drifts to the countless conversations I shared with Ian, our talk and far-fetched ideas about peace and prosperity, pulled from the pages of fiction.

I shake my head to clear it. Those days are over; those foolish plans were never suited for this world. I am old man; a healer, only. I was never suited to lead a tribe of battle-hardened Wasters.

My time is over.

The reign of Jaron has begun.

=====

Author's Note:

Hello, my runners! Apologies for taking so long to post Cade's story, I hope it was worth the wait! A lot of you already guessed that Lucie is the Madam, you're all too smart for your own good. Any requests for the next story?

In other fun news, I created a "Which Character from the Runner Series are you?" quiz! Check out my profile for a link, it's at the bottom of my "About" section.

Finally, for those of you asking when I will be posting The Rain, I'm sorry to say that I don't have a release date, yet. I need a few 'life' things to line up, then the Runner will be back in action. Sorry for all the waiting!

That's it :) If you're still reading, just know that I love you very much and I am so flattered that you would delve this deeply into a silly little story. I can't tell you how much your votes and comments mean to me, you've made this entire process really special. I would never have been able to keep the Runner series going if it wasn't for your support <3

xx

Kate

P.S. In case you haven't seen it, I've posted the trailer that the supremely talented @bubblegum000hj made for The Runner:

https://youtu.be/9BULsuw2UQU