209 A.B.

(4 months after the Runner's Rebellion)

I burst into consciousness gasping and soaked with sweat.

My head throbs, pounding as ferociously as a wardrum. I grimace and try to raise my hand to my brow, only to find my arm strapped tightly to the surface below. The ache moves from my head to my chest as panic begins to set in. I jerk my arms fiercely, muscles straining as I vainly attempt to free myself. It is no use; I am stuck fast.

My eyes stretch wide while I fight to make sense of my surroundings. The colour white is everywhere, practically blinding in its brightness. I am assaulted by the curtains surrounding my cot and the blankets below me, as well as the heavy linen wrapped around my left leg. The only stain in the sea of blankness is the brown-red blood seeping through the layers of bandage. I grit my teeth and attempt to raise my injured limb, releasing a frustrated, pained growl when I find both my ankles lashed securely to the bedframe.

There is a hurried tapping of feet against stone and the curtain is swept aside. My hands ball into fists and I feel myself tense, every sinew as poised as a coiled spring. A weathered face appears above me and a pair of drawn-on eyebrows rise to meet the bleached cap covering her head. My lip curls as the old woman visibly struggles to compose herself, stretching a watery smile across her face and taking a tentative step towards me.

"Finally, you're awake." The false chipperness in her voice causes my aching temple to throb anew. "How are you feeling?"

I glare at her. Is this my healer? The hazy events of how I came to arrive here begin to return. I was on the Wall...I was unleashing my arrows upon the Miner warriors. Jaron's catapult fired, the wall crumbled. I deliberately went against Jaron's orders and stayed behind enemy lines for longer than I should have. I recall falling, my always-trusty fingers losing their grip as I tumbled head over heels.

And there was something else... a spot of red on the fringes of my vision.

The old woman reaches out her hand and I snap, throwing myself at her with all the ferocity I can muster. The ties binding my hands and feet hold firm and a lightening bolt of pain races up my torn leg, but my sudden reaction has the desired effect. The woman screams and falls back against the curtain, batting comically amongst its folds before finally managing to free herself and fairly sprinting away. A rueful grin escapes my lips and I sink back against the cushions. For all of their ferocity on the battlefield, these Miners are laughably skittish within their own camp.

The sound of the healer's frenzied retreat is replaced by a heavier tread and I sit up a little straighter, squaring my shoulders as best I can. I draw from Rowan's training and force myself into a state of calm, willing my heartbeat to slow and my breaths to even. Despite my readiness when my next visitor pushes his way through the curtain, it is a fight to keep my face expressionless.

I know this man.

I cannot place him immediately, but the intensity of his gaze is enough to stir some darker memory, an unwelcome reminder of years spent under cover of darkness with a blood-soaked dagger clutched in each fist. I keep my eyes locked with his, hoping that my confusion and lingering fear read as something fiercer.

"Do you know where you are?" The dark man asks. His tone is clipped and refined; clearly this is a person accustomed to giving orders. His brisk demeanor reminds me of Jaron.

I take my time in responding, using the opportunity to study my kidnapper. His brows furrow further and a pinched line appears between them. It does not take a trained assassin to recognize his barely-concealed rage. I wonder if this means that Jaron was successful in bringing down the wall.

"This is your camp, is it not?" I cast my gaze around my shoddy, curtained-off quarters. "Small and cramped, just as I imagined."

He ignores my barb. "You are a patient in our infirmary. The Queen insisted that your injuries be tended to as carefully as one of our own's."

Does this Miner actually expect me to be grateful?

"What is your name?" He demands.

I keep my mouth clenched tightly shut. My name would be of no consequence to this Miner, but I do not wish to give him the satisfaction.

A muscle twitches near his jaw. "There is no need for such hostility."

"No? Then perhaps you could loosen these ties." I gesture to the bindings around my wrists. "And return me to my people."

"How we treat you depends on how cooperative you are." He responds and I do not bother to hide my snarl.

These Miners believe that they can kill and capture my kin, my own brother, and receive cooperation from me? The only wisdom they show is in keeping me tied down. I wonder fleetingly where my weapons have been stowed and imagine how satisfying it would be to cut the smug expression from this man's face.

He tries again. "My name is Will Cain. I am Commander of her Majesty Queen Megra's army. You were found behind our city walls during a hostile attack by the Wastelanders and as such, will be held here for as long as the Queen desires. Your stay with us can either be made pleasant or very, very uncomfortable." He takes a step closer, unflinching as my hands ball into fists and my teeth gnash together. "What I want from you is very simple. How did you cross the wall?"

I nearly laugh out loud.

A reddish hue creeps up his neck as he tries again. "It is unwise to test my patience, Waster. Tell me how you penetrated our defenses."

"Your precious wall is nothing to us." I drawl. "My people will return in greater numbers and tear your city into pieces. I hope that you sleep well, Commander, knowing that you have failed in your duty." I draw my mouth into a wicked grin, delighting in the way his face reddens further. The temptation to reveal that I scaled the Miner's wall and executed nearly all of their lookouts single-handedly is almost too great.

"So be it." The Commander shakes his head disgustedly. "You'd best hope that the Queen is more lenient towards your fate than I would be."

"I think that you will find that a Waster does not frighten so easily, Commander." I cannot resist getting the last word as he sweeps through the curtain, pulling the linen forcibly closed behind him. The hammering in my chest eases somewhat as the sounds surrounding my bed fall into a distant murmur.

I do not know what these Miners will do with me or why they bothered to heal my leg, but I do not need to understand their strange ways. I am alive, for the time being, and so long as I still breathe there is a chance that I can find Noah.

* * * * *

The Miners do not return for me for several hours.

I use the time to work at the ties binding my wrists and ankles, growling in frustration when they refuse to give. Not that it matters; I doubt that I would be able make it very far with my leg bandaged so heavily. Under the circumstances I rationalize that my best course of action is to remain alive and uncooperative for as long as it takes me to heal. Sooner or later an opportunity for escape will present itself.

I recognize the Commander's heavy footsteps before he reaches me, managing to adjust my position and adopt a look of savage disdain in the instant before the curtain is pulled aside.

My expression wavers when I recognize one of the people standing at the foot of my bed.

It is the runner from the wall.

She stares at me curiously, her head tilted and a lock of fiery red hair brushing against her shoulder. I drag my gaze from her to the woman standing by her side; a statuesque blonde wearing a shimmering gown. This must be the much-talked-about Queen.

The Commander positions himself by my side, making a show of keeping his hand near the hilt of his sword.

The Queen speaks first, offering up a small smile. "How are you feeling?"

I have had enough of these Miners and their false concern for my well-being. I shoot her my fiercest look, flashing my teeth in an attempt to intimidate her.

The Commander shifts, his fingers twitching closer to his weapon. "The Queen asked you a question."

"This is no queen of mine." I bark.

"I suppose you're right about that." The runner says simply, almost reasonably. I take advantage of the opportunity to study her more closely. A bruise colours her temple and a bandage is wrapped around her upper arm but she obviously fared better during the fall of the wall than I did. She seems amused by my predicament and I feel a jolt of annoyance. If only she knew that I had the opportunity to kill her last night and it was only a temporary moment of weakness that stayed my hand.

"Nonetheless," She continues, "She is a nice lady who has done you a kind service and it isn't much to ask that you treat her with respect."

I blink. Respect? After everything the Miners have put my people through? So, the foolhardy display I witnessed at the wall was not an act; this runner is as ignorant as the rest of her comrades.

"What is it that you want?" I ask dismissively, absently straining at my bindings.

"We want to end this war." The Queen speaks up. "I want your assistance in meeting with your leader so that we may negotiate peace."

Lies and tricks. This woman must think me a fool if she believes that I will even consider her suggestion.

I force a humourless laugh. "You are cowards."

"We see no point in fighting with you." She presses on but I do not miss the slight strain in her voice. "Neither of us stand to gain anything but death."

I understand how it is. The Miners have killed and kidnapped our people and now that we have displayed our strength and toppled their wall, they wish to draw back. Jaron would not stand for such weakness and neither shall I.

"Death is what you deserve." I say darkly. My eyes flick back to the runner. "You may as well kill me now, I will not be helping you."

"We can help each other." The Queen's hands are clenched tightly together to quell their shaking. I grin; I have the upper-hand, now. "All I want is to talk, lay down our weapons and share a peaceful conversation with your leader."

"My chief will crush you beneath the heel of his boot." I lurch upright suddenly, my smile widening when she falls back a step.

"You must see reason." She tries again. I will give her credit for being persistent, but I am the Choice Warrior. I cannot and will not be swayed by such gutless tactics. "I don't wish to harm anyone."

I lower my voice a decibel, summoning all of the ferocity I can manage. "But we do." I laugh pointedly, letting spittle fly free of my mouth.

The Queen's pale cheeks flush crimson and she spins on her heel, disappearing in a swirl of brightly-coloured fabric and pale hair. The runner lingers for a moment longer, studying me with unusually sharp eyes until the Commander steps up and tugs her from the room. I wonder what her relationship is to the Queen and to the Commander. There is an intriguing strangeness to a girl who runs across rooftops and throws herself into the path of a catapult and I find myself watching the place she has vacated long after she has vanished. What role could the runner play within this deceitful camp?

There will be time to learn more. For all of their lies, the Miners seem to think that it is worthwhile to keep me alive.

I laugh louder. The Miners want a savage? They will have one.

* * * * *

This seat on the flying machine is no more comfortable than the bed.

Rope cuts into my arms, securely me tightly to the chair. I pull against them, grunting when the rough fibers cut into my skin. The Miners dressed me in their insensible clothes and bundled me into their death contraption with very little ceremony. The scratchy fabric feels stiff and unnatural and I miss my Waster rags acutely. I have only been a captive for a few short days but I already miss everything about my home. My aching muscles fairly twitch with the impulse to run and I bite down a groan of frustration.

Before I was trussed and loaded like so much cargo, the Commander visited me once again. He explained that I was to be used as a peace offering between our two camps and urged me, for an exhausting number of hours, to tell him where they could locate Jaron. I upped my 'snarling and savage Waster' routine, mocking him openly, all-the-while waiting for the blows to fall.

But the Commander never turned violent. He remained calm and composed, patiently reiterating his points, stressing his plan in a manner so infuriatingly reasonable that I found myself hating him with a blinding passion. A million questions about Noah and the others swirled in my mind but I bit them back, not wanting to give the Commander the satisfaction of having rattled me.

It was somewhere between the second and third hour of my interogation that I was finally worn down enough to remember how the Commander and I have met before.

He is the soldier that survived.

Roughly two years past; I was a doe-eyed Choice Warrior in the midst of one of my earliest slaughters. I remember the night being filled with smoke...the Commander fought me off and set fire to the camp, at one point nearly escaping. He was a hair's breadth from death when he revealed a Waster talisman, defiantly proclaiming its protection. Against my better judgement I let him live.

The Commander was meant to be my fifty-eighth kill.

Instead, he will be my three-hundred and seventy-third.

I count myself lucky that the Commander displays no hint of having recognized me. If I had not covered my face on that dark night, my interrogation would almost certainly have proceeded differently.

I blink to clear the memory and settle back against the air machine's hard wooden bench. The Miner soldiers are gathered near the front of the ship, hooting after some event occurring below. The Commander and the runner appear a moment later, both red-faced amongst the companionable ribbing. So, these two are lovers. My chest gives an unexpected lurch and I avert my eyes, instead focusing on the strange structures outside and the open desert in the distance.

It is not long before the ground below my feet shudders and the earth begins to fall away. I stare wide-eyed at the remarkable sight, scarcely comprehending the speed at which we ascend. The ship climbs ever-higher, turning the city buildings into ant hills and transforming the desert into infinity. The familiar hum of freedom sings through me, despite the scratchiness of the ropes holding me in place.

I feel a smile tug at my lips and sit up straighter, turning to look out the other window.

The runner is sitting across from me, an identical grin plastered over her own features. We lock eyes for the barest of moments before I catch myself and spin back around to glower in the opposite direction, once again.

After a time we cease to rise and instead drift forward, heading deeper into the Wastelands. We aim West and I fight to keep my expression impassive, not wanting to give the Miners any hint as to where they might find Jaron and the others.

The runner has abandoned her seat and gone to join the Commander at the front of the ship. I note the way she has left her sword and scabbard discarded beneath the bench. A soldier would never treat their weapons so carelessly; whatever strengths the runner may possess, it is clear that they do not lie in battle.

I can tell that they are talking about me by the way her eyes continually dart in my direction. I pretend not to see, staring blankly out the window until she returns to sit near me.

She does not say anything immediately and I take my time in turning to face her. I flare my nostrils and bare my teeth but she does not flinch, instead studying me with that strange, practiced curiosity.

"I think that you and I might understand one another." She speaks suddenly and I start.

I release a sigh through my nose, annoyed that I have shown my surprise. "Why would you think that I have anything in common with a Miner?" I ask, keeping a derisive tone to my voice.

"Miner?" She cocks her head. "Is that what you call us?"

"Earth killer." I clarify, spitting over my shoulder for good measure. "Rebuilding your precious city by digging up the ground. The Burn did not teach you anything, you have to repeat all of the past mistakes."

"That's what you think of us? I had no idea." She appears more interested than offended. "Is that why you're fighting with us? Because of our digging?"

"Why should we Wasters care what a Miner does with the earth? It is only your fate that you tamper with. We have our own ways." This hard bench is mercilessly uncomfortable. I shift in place, forgetting momentarily about my injured leg and grimacing when it seizes.

Her eyes flick down and back up. "Does it hurt very much?"

Instantly, I wipe all traces of unease from my expression. "Pain is only a physical reaction. My mind remains strong." I flinch, wishing I had chosen my words differently.

"Right." She sits back in her seat and pushes her hair behind her ear. "What's your name?"

"Luca." My name slips unchecked from my lips and I clamp my jaw shut tight, cursing inwardly. This girl has proven extremely adept at throwing me off-balance. If Rowan could see me, now she would be disgusted. I need to gather my wits.

"Luca. A pleasure." She quirks a friendly grin, no trace of triumph evident across her freckled features. "I'm Kay."

"Kay is a letter, not a name." I say, confused.

Something mischievous pulls at her mouth. "For me, it's both."

This conversation has veered wildly out of control. I roll my shoulders back, injecting some scorn into my words. "What is it that you want from me?"

"Nothing." She seems surprised by my question. "I just wanted to explain something to you."

I stay silent, waiting.

She rattles off more-or-less the same story that was fed to me by the Commander, only with an earnestness that her lover lacked. For the first time, I find myself wondering if there is any truth to the tale. If the Miner city has recently undergone a rebellion, it stands to reason that the Queen and her underlings are wholly unaware of our kidnappings. Before I can give my thoughts away I adopt a look of measured disdain and lean back in my seat, ignoring the protestation from my injured leg.

"I have heard enough." I say, rolling my shoulders as if bored. "You Miners hold too much loyalty in your hearts, you can hardly see your own way, anymore."

Her eyes flash. "Our loyalty makes us stronger than your flake of a chief could ever hope for his own people." There is something familiar in her temper and she stalks away, shooting me a look over her shoulder.

Only when she is gone do I release a breath, leaning my head back against the knotted wood behind me. Something about this Miner sets my nerves on edge; years of discipline and relentless training are undone within the span of a single conversation. The aggravation of captivity is clearly beginning to wear on me. I must gather my strength and prepare for the off-chance that these savages actually manage to locate Jaron and Pic dil Cir.

I am the Choice Warrior and I will not be distracted by a pair of green eyes.

Resolute in my decision, I settle back to wait for the hours to pass. The air machine follows the path of the river, cutting across the sky as lethal and efficient as an arrow. For as much as I despise the Miners, I have to admire their ingenuity. The air machine is truly a remarkable device. My eyes dart to the floor and I consider the metal-rimmed hatch door. After her now-legendary scuffle with the Miners that took Noah, Rowan theorized that the kidnapped Wasters are kept below the air machine's floorboards. When I was brought aboard I took note of the ship's depth and now I compare the height of the walls to the information that I gathered while in the outbuilding. For as much as I respect Rowan, I have to wager that the only thing waiting beneath that hatch is wide, open sky.

Under-stimulated and bordering on unconsciousness, I jerk to attention when a strange, ominous sound catches my ear. I sit up straight, eyes widening as I register the noise.

A split-second later my suspicions are confirmed. A Miner woman staggers back from the ledge of the ship, grappling madly at the arrow lodged in her throat. I recognize the feathers adorning the shaft of Rowan's arrow and ready myself for what is to come.

Pandemonium erupts around me as the Commander shouts orders and the Miners scramble to take up their positions. I watch the proceedings carefully, waiting to see how they will release the poisoned smoke. Curiously, the Miners instead dash to the edges of the ship and draw out several bulky folds of white linen.

"So much for your peaceful mission, Commander!" I call out, laughing. "My people are here for you."

The Commander ignores me, instead barking instructions to his crew. The Miners position the white linen over the air machine's sides, releasing them as one and unfurling the white flags down the outer walls.

For several agonizing, heart-stopping seconds there is no response. I catch a glimpse of the hopeful look alighting Kay's face and for a moment share her optimism. Perhaps Rowan is permitting us to land. While I look forward to the Miner's inevitable defeat, I have no desire to join them in a bloody crater.

Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, Rowan chooses to err on the side of crater.

The oversized arrow impacts the air machine with a resounding thunk and we are sent spinning on our axis, careening wildly through the blue abyss. For once, I am thankful to be tethered to my chair, gritting my teeth against the maelstrom as Miners are tossed in every direction. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the nightmarish sense of dread shuddering through my chest. When I last fell I survived with only a busted leg but this time, I fear I will not be so lucky.

Just as the ship begins to level out my ears are assaulted once again by the whistling of the imminent bolt. My eldest brother's passion for reconstructing ancient siege weaponry has proven devastatingly effective. The ballista performs with terrifying accuracy as the bolt pierces one of the ropes tethering the air machine's balloon.

We list heavily to one side. The view drifts from blue sky to golden sand and I realize with a jolt just how far we have to plummet.

At the front of the ship, the Commander is already organizing his next tactic. Kay is standing before him, waiting grim-faced as a length of thick rope is tied across her shoulders. She leans over the ledge, looking up at the fractured tie.

I frown. She cannot possibly mean to...

In one smooth motion, Kay swings around the ship's rigging and clambers up towards the balloon.

I wait tensely with the rest of the Miners, scarcely breathing as my eyes trace the ceiling. I can imagine the exhilaration she must feel at being above, buffeted by the winds while we buck and sway. No Waster would ever dare to attempt a stunt as mad as this.

No one but me.

When the ship jerks again I at first assume that Rowan has scored her final, deadly hit but instead, we straighten and begin to smoothly ascend. Kay leaps down from the rigging a moment later, grinning broadly amongst the cheers and accolades. I shake my head despite myself. She may be a prying, naive barbarian, but Kay is undoubtedly skilled.

The Miner's celebrations are short-lived as the ballista is fired again. This time, the bolt hits its target dead-center, finally succeeding in piercing the balloon. Slowly, gas begins to leak out of its wound and the air is filled with an ominous hissing as the ship releases its final death-cries.

The Commander does not waste a moment, ordering the hatch door to be flung open and handing out lines of rope to each of his crew members. The Miners jump one-by-one through the hole, the whites of their eyes plainly visible in the moments before they fall. I begin to pull desperately at the ropes binding me, fear and my rising panic knotting tightly within my chest.

I glance up at the sound of a dull thud. Only Kay and the Commander remain aboard, but the latter now lies slumped over with a trickle of blood gathering in his dark hair. Kay releases a strangled cry and scrambles towards him, at once lashing a rope around his waist and knotting it securely. She somehow manages to heave him towards the ship's opening, scanning the ground carefully before pushing the Commander out.

We are near the crests of the dunes, now. I thrash and buck in my seat, offering up a thousand pleas and curses to whatever god of earth, wind or sky might be listening. Blinking through the sweat pouring down my face I catch sight of Kay once more, poised and ready for her leap to freedom.

Her eyes dart over to meet mine and she freezes in place, her expression wild.

"Help me." I sputter.

An indistinguishable sound tears from her lips and she casts her line aside, fighting against the pull of the plummeting ship and clambering towards me. A dagger appears in her hands and she saws madly at my bonds. Bit by bit the ropes fall away and I am finally free, gasping from a combination of the fall and blood returning to my extremities.

"Come on!" She shouts against the howling wind, shoving me towards the ledge. We heave ourselves through the window, standing and clutching the ship's rigging with all our might.

The ground is close. Impossibly close. I know that mere seconds remain before the ship buries itself in the dunes below.

Kay and I exchange a single, knowing look before we leap, throwing ourselves as far from the near-wreckage as we possibly can. For a moment I hang suspended, just another piece of the sky before the earth rushes up to meet my feet, catching me and sending me into another violent tumble.

I desperately try to cover my head as I roll, squeezing my eyes shut tight against the spray of sand. I am vaguely aware of the wound in my leg tearing anew before a blinding pain pulls me towards unconsciousness. At that moment the rough, biting sand may as well be a cushion and I feel a great sense of peace envelope me as I slip away into the darkness.

I am home.