Erhalten Sie Zugang zu diesem und mehr als 300000 Büchern ab EUR 5,99 monatlich.
- Herausgeber: Little Tiger Press
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Serie: Where the World Turns Wild
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
Having escaped their city, Juniper Greene and her brother Bear have settled in Ennerdale with their dad and his family. Every day the wild introduces them to a new wonder, but Juniper can't stop worrying about her grandmother and best friend left behind. When she hears news that disease has entered the city, she's determined to bring her loved ones to safety. Trapped in a city riddled with disease and run by a ruthless leader, Etienne longs for the wild. With the guards becoming more aggressive to counteract the growing rebellion, Etienne's prepared to fight for his freedom. But will he be able to protect himself and keep those around him safe until Juniper returns from the wild?
Sie lesen das E-Book in den Legimi-Apps auf:
Seitenzahl: 272
Das E-Book (TTS) können Sie hören im Abo „Legimi Premium” in Legimi-Apps auf:
Ähnliche
2
3
To everyone who asked what happens next
Contents
“A triumph of a sequel. Emotional punch and ecological awareness wrapped up in an exciting adventure. It was a joy to return.”
Hannah Gold, author of The Last Bear
“Brave, insightful and beautifully written.”
Zillah Bethell, author of TheSharkCaller
“A brilliant and thoughtfully written ecological adventure … Love, love, loved it!”
A M Howell, author of PerilontheAtlantic
“Penfold’s writing is startling. It delivers such a crucial eco message, raw in its honesty, poetic and heartfelt, and ultimately sings with hope.”
Jasbinder Bilan, author of AartiandtheBlueGods
“Alive with dystopian danger, but shining with hope too.”
Piers Torday, author of TheLastWild
“Wonderful, wild and warm-hearted – a thought-provoking read with a deep love of nature nestled at its core. Perfect for earth-conscious, adventure-thirsty young readers.”
Sophie Kirtley, author of TheWildWay Home
“Moving, climate change dystopias that leave the reader with a sense of hope.”
Rashmi Sirdeshpande, author of GoodNews
“A gripping dystopian tale … Nicola is brilliant at telling important stories and filling them with heart and hope.”
Judith Eagle, author of TheAccidentalStowaway
“Nicola writes dramatic dystopia that’s lit up with hope” 8
Karen McCombie, author of Little Bird Flies
Another beautiful and thought-provoking story that really gets under your skin and stays with you.”
Emma Finlayson-Palmer, author of AutumnMoonbeam
“This story is a wake up call for the way we live our lives and shows the true fragility of the world we live in. I absolutely loved it!”
Jo Clarke, author of LibbyandtheParisianPuzzle
“Moving novel about our connection not only with the wild, but also with humanity.”
Darren Simpson, author of TheMemoryThieves
“Beautifully written, with unforgettable characters and heart-in-mouth action … a treasure of a book.”
Sinéad O’Hart, author of TheTimeTider
“A beautifully written story of friendship, bravery and our connection to the wilderness. Penfold’s heartfelt stories are the ones our planet needs. I loved it.”
Tamsin Winter, author of BeingMissNobody
“Nicola really is the queen of dystopian climate fiction.”
Lou Abercrombie, author of ComingUpForAir
Chapter One - Juniper
The journey winds through me, twisted and turned, like a difficult second spine.
I dream of our glasshouse, impossibly beautiful, on the South Edge of the city, just before you reach the Buffer Zone. A dome of light and green in the dark cage that’s Portia Steel’s dominion. Our home for all those years, Bear’s and mine.
There’s a figure moving through the pots and shadows. Annie-Rose, our grandmother. She’s older now. Only a few months have passed but she misses us so much it’s stooped her shoulders and slowed her walk.
“We’ll find a way back to you,” I want to shout through the glass, but something stops me. I’m terrified of going back to that place.
There’s a rapping on our door and I’m pulled from my 10sleep. I glance at the empty bed opposite. Bear’s already slipped away. He’s still not over the joy of being here. Even on the coldest of mornings, when my breath billows out before me and my boots cut crisp shapes in the frost, Bear will be off somewhere. He can’t get enough of this place.
The rapping sounds again, louder.
I stumble to the door, wiping sleep from my eyes. Morgan’s outside. One of the Ennerdale women who seems least happy to have us. “I need a word with that brother of yours.”
I step backwards. Why’s Morgan rapping at our door so early in the morning? And why does she want Bear?
“Well, I’m waiting,” she goes on, spitting out the words. She pushes into our hut and stands on the rush mat that Willow helped me weave from the reeds that grow round the edges of the lake. I don’t like seeing Morgan’s dirty boots on it, her laces done up in angry knots.
“Bear’s not here,” I tell her.
“I lost three chickens last night. Three!” Morgan exclaims.
I try to wake up my brain, to find the link between lost chickens and her standing here, shouting in my face.
“Do you want us to find them?” I ask, imagining Bear and me trailing chickens through the trees. He’d like that kind of chase.
Morgan’s snarl stretches out of her face. “Do you find this funny?” 11
“No, but I don’t understand,” I say honestly, pushing my hair behind my ears. It’s tangled in the night. I knew I should have plaited it.
“The fox got in, of course!” Morgan forces the words through her teeth so that each syllable comes with a globule of spit.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my heart ramming faster inside my ribcage. “What’s it got to do with my brother?”
“He let the fox in, didn’t he? I’ve warned him about going inside the coop. He bothers them, and I’ve told him a million times about the latch. I don’t know why he can’t leave them alone.”
“He just wants to see them. Your chickens. He loves them,” I say. There’s something about the coop that draws him in – the soft clucking birds, all beautiful and alive. He’s got names for each of them. He takes them pink wriggling worms that he digs up from the Ennerdale compost heap.
“Bear’ll be devastated when he finds out,” I add, for good measure.
“I’m taking it to the council tonight,” Morgan continues, the rage visible in her throat and a flare of it across her cheeks.
“But what can the council do? If he did let the fox in, it was an accident. He’s only little.”
Morgan looks at me with contempt. “Whatever age you are, living here comes with responsibility. It’s a privilege 12you earn every single day. We can’t have recklessness.”
“We know that.”
“I said we shouldn’t let in outsiders,” Morgan hisses. A thick globule lands in the corner of my eye. “I’ll be talking to your father.”
I wipe away Morgan’s spit and watch her storm through the emerald mossy-roofed cabins, back to the main hub of the village.
“Oh, Bear!” I groan, grabbing my coat from the hooks over our stove and stumbling into the early morning cold to find him.
Chapter Two - Juniper
The February air’s sharp and icy. I gulp it in, my mind alert now and my senses thrumming. The crunch of footsteps on the frozen ground. The tang of woodsmoke from Ennerdale’s morning fires. A robin singing its heart out on a branch above our hut. The red-breasted bird jumps lower when he sees me.
“Not now, Red,” I say apologetically. “I’ll find some scraps for you later.”
I circle the village. I’m too shy to knock on hut doors. Morgan’s not entirely wrong about us being outsiders. People have been nice on the whole, we’ve made friends, yet some days it seems we’re as out of place here as we were in the city. Like our hearts beat out of sync with everyone else’s. Or we have a different way of seeing things – bug-eyed, thousands of tiny light detectors, checking for danger. 14
Though this place is safe really. Morgan would be an aberration anywhere.
I call to some kids I pass. “You seen my brother?”
“He’s hiding,” one of them says. It’s a boy of seven or so, Piper, who’s one of Bear’s little crew. “Morgan’s on the warpath.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not fair,” I mutter, as I carry on by. “Bear didn’t do anything, did he?”
My eyes stray to the treeline, panic squashing up inside me. Bear wouldn’t run away, would he? He wouldn’t leave this place, because he’s scared of Morgan’s wrath, and sad at the loss of three chickens?
I pick up pace towards the lake, to the peninsula bit everyone calls the island.
“Bear!” I cry, my voice echoing over the water. There’s a crust of ice with trapped frozen leaves inside like outstretched hands, and the reeds breaking out like swords.
Willow says this is where she’ll teach me and Bear to swim when it’s warm enough. In summer, the Ennerdale kids take trips to the sea and stay overnight on a beach called St Bees, camping out on the sand. We have to be able to swim by then, so we can go with them.
I loop between the trees. “Bear!” I scream, frustrated now. Whydidyouhavetodisappear?Whydidyouhavetogoinwiththosechickens,whenyouknowhowmuchMorgandislikesus?Andwhycouldn’tyouputthelatchbackon,like15sheshowedyou?
It’s pointless. I can feel the emptiness of this place. There’s just the heron, still and silent, watching for fish.
I turn back to the village.
Fern’s cry floats on the air from Gael and Willow’s hut. Her voice has got that note to it that goes straight to your heart. I push through the door.
I stop in surprise at the sight of Gael and Bear together. Gael’s on the big chair, rocking Fern in his arms in a panicked way. Bear’s standing over her, making the faces that usually get her beaming. But not today – can’t they see? – she’s way beyond that. Her squashed-up face, scrunched fists flying all over the place.
“Bear! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” I yell, turning to him first.
He frowns. “You didn’t try here.”
I frown back crossly, wondering why this didn’t occur to me. Gael’s our father. If there had been room in his and Willow’s cabin, Bear and I would be living here instead.
“Where’s Willow?” I ask Dad, my attention back on the baby.
“Out for a swim,” he answers.
“I just came from the lake,” I tell him, shivering at the thought of Willow in the icy water. But Willow’s tough. She swam the whole way through winter. Even days after giving birth, she swam. 16
“You must have missed her,” Dad says, getting to his feet. “She’ll have stopped at Rosie’s place. Juniper, could you take young Fern while I run over? This baby’s hungry.”
“Of course,” I say, happy to scoop Fern’s flailing body from him, to wrap her in my arms and hush into her ears.
She’s scratched her face, poor mite. No wonder she’s bawling. There’s a thin red line on her cheek where she’s caught it with her fingernail.
I wrap her closer. She smells of lavender and milk.
Bear looks sheepish as Dad flies out of the door. I walk the space of the hut with Fern, intent on the shushing.
“I know about the chickens,” I say after a couple of minutes, when Fern’s sobs have quietened and her eyes start shutting, her body heavier in my arms.
“I didn’t do anything, I promise!” Bear says, his eyes rushing to my face.
“You went to see them last night?” I ask, still hoping he’ll deny it. It would be easier if Morgan’s dead chickens were down to something else. The wind or a faulty latch or anything that isn’t Bear.
He looks at the ground miserably.
“Bear!” I cry, collapsing into the rocking chair, letting that do the movement that helps Fern drift into her slumber.
“I thought I locked them up. I promise, Ju. But maybe I got distracted. I saw that lynx again, like I told you.”
His cheeks are flushed. I stare at him, remembering 17last night. I was distracted too, deep in a book, when he came in.
I should have double-checked about the chicken-coop latch. Bear was so excited about the lynx he said he saw. Not our Ghost, the lynx who trailed us from pretty much outside our city. He swears he’s seen a new one.
I sigh. “We can’t make mistakes. It’s important that people like us.”
“They do!” he says, puffing out his chest. “They do, Ju. We ran races up the shore yesterday with Piper’s dad, and everyone says I was the fastest, by rights.”
“By rights?”
Bear tilts his head. “If the bigger kids hadn’t joined in. Lee was there and you know how long her legs are! That’s hardly fair, is it? And I was almost as fast.”
“Bear!” I laugh gently, lying back against the chair cushion. Fern’s eyelids flicker like moth wings. “It’s not always got to be some big competition. You don’t have to be proving yourself. You just got to be careful, like locking up the chickens so the fox doesn’t get in.”
Bear sits cross-legged by my feet and wraps his arms around himself. “I wonder which ones it was. I hope it wasn’t Pepper, or Fluffy.”
I reach down to squeeze his shoulder. “It will have been quick for them. You’ve seen fox teeth.”
“I don’t think it was a fox,” Bear goes on. “I think it was 18that lynx. I told you, Juniper. It’s bigger than Ghost even.”
I stare out of the window, still painted with its frost patterns from the night. Could there be another lynx in this valley? Has it scented Ghost? I get a tight feeling in my chest. What if she follows it away from us?
The door swings open and Willow rushes in, Dad pushing her forward. Willow stops when she sees Fern asleep in my arms. “Ah, Juniper, you’re so good with her.” She jostles Dad. “Anyone would have thought she was dying the way this one was going on!”
Willow’s face falls and she puts her fingers to her lips, as though to yank the words right back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
I shake my head. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter. I don’t…”
I stop, not knowing what I mean to say. Will I always think about Mum when someone mentions dying? Will I always think about Mum anyway, when I see Willow next to Dad like that, joined together as if they’re two separate parts of the same whole. Willow, when in another world, it might have been Mum. A world with no disease, where people hadn’t been locked up in cities and died. If Mum and Dad had stayed in their hometown and lived an ordinary life.
But that’s rolling back too many things. Too many ifs and maybes. 19
It’s rolling back humankind to a time before people’s greed got so out of control that someone would think releasing a deadly disease was the only way to save the world.
If we went back that far, I don’t suppose there’d still be Bear and me, and there definitely wouldn’t be this brand-new person, warm and soft against me.
“Let me take Fern anyway,” Willow says in a whisper. “She’ll be wanting feeding.”
I let Willow take my place on the rocking chair. It has a view up between the huts to the lake. The water shimmers silvery like fish.
“I’ll make pancakes,” Dad says, heading into the other half of their hut, where there’s a wood-burning stove throwing out heat, and shelves to store the crockery they’ve plundered from surrounding valleys. “Then we’ll discuss how to make it up to Morgan for her lost chickens!”
Bear buries his face in the rag rug.
“Oh, Gael!” Willow tuts, giving Dad a stern look. “It was an easy mistake, wasn’t it, Bear? It could even have been Morgan herself forgetting to put the latch on.”
Dad rolls his eyes at Willow but I smile, grateful for her excuses. “Morgan’s not an easy person to cross,” Dad says. “She’s well respected on the council.”
“By who?” Willow scoffs.
“Gill, Ben, Annie, Ade,” Dad replies. “We must respect 20the Ennerdale elders. They’ve lived through things we can only imagine.”
“We’ve lived through enough too, Gael,” Willow says quietly, stroking the hair on the back of Fern’s head. There’s just a sprinkling of it, like moss. “Juniper and Bear, Gael. They’ve lived through enough already. They don’t deserve Morgan.”
The pan’s sizzling now and I can smell the first pancake. Real eggs, milk and flour. Nothing like our old city food.
I’ll never forget the first time we tasted Dad’s pancakes. December 21st, the shortest day of the year. Willow was fretting because more snow was coming and Dad and Gill, his travelling companion, were due back to Ennerdale. When we arrived, they’d been away in a city north of here called Carlisle, talking about the disease and vaccines. Those conversations could be tense, Willow told us.
Despite thick snow and the falling night, Dad made it back for the winter solstice. His mouth hung open in disbelief when he saw Bear and me. He was happy, but he was sad too. Seeing us so much bigger than when we’d been sent away, and realizing how much he’d missed.
Anyway, even though he was tired after his journey and must have had a million emotions swirling round his head, he insisted he cook us his speciality.
The day after that, Willow went into labour. And the day after that, Fern was born. So in three days, Dad went from 21having no kids, to having three.
“You’ll have to write a note of apology to Morgan. Peace is important,” he says, dishing up the first pancake.
“You could draw her one of your pictures, Bear,” I say quickly, watching my brother’s face contort at the thought of writing letters.
Bear nods reluctantly. We can all agree on peace as a good thing to strive for.
“Now, who wants honey?” Willow says. I don’t know why she asks – as if either of us would say no to honey.
Chapter Three - Juniper
I have a heavy feeling as Bear and I make our way to the weekly council meeting. Dad caught me earlier to say I should get Bear to lie low. He didn’t explain how or why when I challenged him. Is he that worried what Morgan will say?
I’ve no chance of getting Bear to stay away. It wouldn’t be fair to. It’s not just the feast that comes with the meeting, it’s the sense of occasion, with everybody together round the big fire. The warmth and light in the expanse of darkness. Even on the coldest winter nights, the Ennerdale people wrap up to come out for this. To sit and discuss plans for the new year that’s already dawning, each day longer than the one before.
They talk about their dwindling winter stores and how they want to find more seeds, to grow a bigger range of 23vegetables and fruit. They want to build a water mill, where the river enters the lake, to power a wheel to grind their cereal crops.
They need to find more medicine too. Disease and infection lurk like old dragons at the edges of their world here, except, unlike dragons, they can start from inside and tear a community apart. It happened when I was small. That’s why I was sent away from Ennerdale in the first place. It’s why all the kids are younger and I stick out like a sore thumb.
The kids never listen to much of the council talk. The night sky and woodsmoke and the drone of conversation. It’s extended playtime for them. They only come back later, when all formal business is over and everyone’s slipped into telling stories.
I sense at once that something’s different tonight. The kids are hovering on the outside of the circle. We meet in a circle rather than a square, Dad told us at our first meeting, to show continuity and fellowship. They wanted to build their community according to new values.
There are three strangers on the inner benches, nearest the fire. A mixture of excitement and alarm runs through me.
“Where’ve they come from?” I ask, finding a place beside Willow. She’s got Fern in a long cloth, tied up against her front.
“They arrived last night. They’re from the south,” Willow 24tells me. “Your dad only found out earlier today. Gill had gone to meet them.”
I nod, knowing Dad will have been miffed not to have been part of that. He likes to know about everything that’s going on here, though Gill is Ennerdale’s leader, if they admitted to having hierarchies. He founded this place when he was a young man, along with Annie and Ade, who sit alongside him on the council of elders.
I scrutinize the new people – two women and one man. If they’re from the south, they might have passed near our old city and could give news. I’m kidding myself though. When did anything come in or out of Portia Steel’s city?
“Maybe they’ll distract from Morgan’s tirade,” Willow whispers.
A sour taste appears in my mouth at Morgan’s name. She’s here too, on the inner benches.
The fire’s burning bigger tonight, and extra food has been piled on the grill. Crayfish and three Arctic char with big red bellies. The fish will feed everyone round the campfire, but it makes me sad, seeing them slowly cooking, when they should be swimming in the deep water of the lake.
Gill told me and Bear about the journey upstream the char make every November, to mate and lay their eggs in the gravelly bed of the River Liza.
He gets to his feet now, surveying his audience proudly. “We have visitors tonight. I know everyone will join me in 25making them welcome.”
There’s a murmur of agreement, but it’s hesitant, or nervous.
“This is Star,” Gill says, and the woman beside him gets to her feet and smiles round at us. She looks about forty or so, a few years older than Dad.
Star introduces her companions as Moss and Orla. Moss is a similar age to Star and wearing a soft green coat, which fits with his name. Orla’s younger. She doesn’t smile and her eyes roam over us intensely. Her coat is beetroot red.
Bear runs by with Piper, laughing, and Dad catches their arms. “Not tonight, boys,” he says in a harsh tone.
Bear’s face falls and he tears off towards the trees, Piper in tow. I know I should follow, it’s pitch-black outside the hub of the council meeting, but I don’t want to miss anything.
Ennerdale might be beautiful but it’s a million miles from every place else. Here, surrounded by mountains and lakes, it’s hard to believe the rest of the world is still turning. Except for the weight I feel each morning, waking here. Sadness for the people we left behind, and a kind of guilt that we got away when they couldn’t.
Star, Moss and Orla call themselves aid workers. They don’t claim a particular home, they move around to different places. My ears prick up at that, but I quickly realize they don’t mean like Cam, Hester, Queenie and the others, the travellers Bear and I met on our journey here. 26Our friends move around too, but you can’t say they don’t have a home, they just take theirs with them.
Star talks about some people she wants to bring to Ennerdale. They escaped from a city south of here. They’ve set up camp at the bottom of the mountain.
“They only just survived,” Moss tells us, his eyes pressing into us. “Another couple of days and they’d have starved to death, if we hadn’t found them.”
My hand goes to my belly. I can still feel the hunger of mine and Bear’s journey. There were times it felt like our stomach acid was eating our own flesh because we weren’t giving our bodies enough to sustain them.
“They’ve nothing of the experience they need to survive out here,” Star says. “They’re only getting through the winter at all because of supplies we dropped off, and we can’t keep doing that. They need proper help.” She joins Moss in looking around the wider circle beseechingly. “And they won’t cope at all if any of them fall ill.”
“Except we heard you have vaccines to help with that,” the younger woman says. Orla.
The council members exchange glances and Willow stiffens beside me.
Star speaks up now. “We were told you brought vials of vaccine from Carlisle. That you’d helped develop them and would have spare.”
The atmosphere prickles. For a split second, Dad looks 27right at me. I blink in disbelief. I’ve quizzed and quizzed him about a vaccine for the tick disease, so we can work out a plan to rescue Annie-Rose and Etienne. He always says I need to be patient a while longer.
Dad clears his throat. “We have prototypes of an early vaccine. I wouldn’t want to bet on its success rate.”
“That’s not what we heard,” Orla bounces back bluntly.
“They’ve been through safety tests?” Star clarifies.
“Of a kind,” Dad says, putting up his hand to quieten the rousing chorus. I sit bolt upright. Dad exhales slowly. “It’s early days, like I say, and we don’t know how much protection it offers. I wouldn’t want to risk anyone’s life on it.” His eyes flash pointedly at me.
“The city of Carlisle seem confident. They’re vaccinating now. Even children are getting it,” Orla says, losing none of her swagger.
“Yes, but they’re not loosening restrictions, are they?” Dad says, exasperation creeping into his voice. “That’s the crucial bit.”
“If it’s safe and there’s a chance it works even slightly, and these people are already out here, at risk of disease every moment, then they should be given access to it,” Orla retorts.
Star nods in agreement. “We thought about bringing them straight to you, but we know you have strong feelings about newcomers.” 28
There’s an uncomfortable silence.
“So can we go ahead and bring them here?” Orla asks Dad directly.
There are whispers among the Ennerdale people. Some look away, not wanting to be having this conversation.
It’s Gill who speaks, in his quiet gentle voice that swims with authority. “We don’t have the resources to take in every stray person who decides they’ve had enough of their city.”
I stifle a gasp. Everystrayperson– isn’t that what Bear and I were? Or are? Is Gill really saying this? Gill, who showed us where to watch for red squirrels and told us about the red and gold Arctic char. How they’re relics from the last Ice Age, left behind in the deepest, coldest waters.
A few of the Ennerdalers nod their heads in agreement with Gill.
Star frowns. “These people are in a desperate way,” she pleads, moving round the circle, her hands outstretched. “You could teach them how to get started. How to survive out here. When they’re ready, they can move on and begin their own community. They could be your neighbours.”
“We don’t want neighbours!” a voice shouts. I don’t catch who it’s coming from. It could be any of them, I realize, looking round at the group.
“We’re not being unfriendly,” Gill’s partner Ben speaks up now. He’s a well-liked character here and made the 29benches we’re all sitting on, carving them with leaves and fish. “These people you talk of have our sympathy, but we protect our own community first. We’ve stayed secret for a reason.”
“We can send provisions to get them started. A couple of cows perhaps,” Gill says. My eyes stray to the trees, where the black woolly Galloway graze. Willow says they’ll be emerging soon with calves.
The murmurs from the Ennerdale people get louder.
“What if they want more and come looking for them? Those cities, turned in on themselves all these years, it does strange things to people. What if their ideas and ways infect what we have here? We can’t risk it,” a new voice says. My stomach turns over. It’s Rosie, the friend Willow swam with this morning in the lake.
“These are not city rulers. These are the people who escaped,” Star says, throwing up her hands in frustration. “They fled. They’ve turned their back on those ways. They deserve safety too.”
“Still, it’s dangerous to take in outsiders,” Rosie continues undeterred. “I say we send a share of our vaccines if they’re happy to take the risk, and a fixed amount of supplies, and then say no. Those people are not our problem.”
“Doesn’t that make us just the same as the cities then?” I ask, louder than I intend to.
What feels like a hundred faces seek me out in the 30firelight. Willow stirs beside me. Fern’s babbling in her wrap, waking up to the cold night air.
“What do you mean, Juniper?” Gill probes.
“She’s just a child. Don’t listen to her!” This time I know exactly who it is. Morgan. Of course. Anger flaps around in my ribcage.
Gill shakes his head at her in a disappointed way. “Come forward, Juniper,” he urges. “It does us good to listen to our young people.”
I creep to the centre of the circle, the heat of the fire on my face and Dad’s eyes too, boring into me. I freeze for a second. Why didn’t Dad tell me he had vaccine doses? Annie-Rose and Etienne have been in that hellhole all this time. He knows how much I wanted to go back for them. How it’s tormented me.
“Well then, Juniper,” Gill prompts.
“I mean,” I stumble, trying to think of the best way of phrasing it. “I mean, we came from a city, my brother and I. We came from one of the worst. Our city was sealed off and no new people ever came in, and look what happened. It was a prison. The regime could do whatever they liked, and no one even knew to question it because it had been like that for so long. We weren’t shown a better example.”
“You think a camp of people at the bottom of the mountain, who wouldn’t even have made it through the winter without aid, you think they can show us a better 31example?” Gill asks.
There’s something about his smile that rattles me. I take a deep breath. “We don’t know what they might know, do we? And what does it say about us, if we can’t help the people who need it most?”
Star looks at me with new curiosity. “What city were you from, Juniper?”
“Portia Steel’s city,” I reply, a strange kind of pride beating in my voice.
Star’s gaze intensifies. “Then you’ll need to stay for the next bit. We’ve had reports of people leaving there. You’ll know how hard it’s always been to escape?”
I nod, and Bear settles at my feet to listen. Morgan glares at him and opens her mouth to speak, but Star’s already continuing. “We’ve heard other things too. Tell them, Moss. You’re the one who heard it first-hand.”
Moss gets up beside her. “An acquaintance from the south saw birds over Steel’s city, with no guns blasting them away, or at least not quick enough to stop them.”
