The Burn (A Runner Series Companion)

Chapter 18: Luca (Part IV)

209 A.B.

(4 months after the Runner's Rebellion)

Red, everything is red.

It is some minutes or hours before I gain enough sense to blink, groggily coming to the realization that bright sun is filtering in through my eyelids. Pellets of sand scratch my throat and I cough, rolling over onto my side and hacking madly.

Vague images flit across my memory. I recall a great, stone wall shattering and crumbling into the village below. White curtains and endless questions. An air machine rising into the sky.

I jerk upright. A lightening bolt of pain races down my leg at the movement and red once again spots my vision. I clutch at my injured limb and bite back a groan, cursing. Stupid, useless bloody leg. How dare my own body betray me. I am meant to be deadly, untouchable, and now...

Suddenly remembering, I straighten and cast my gaze around, wildly. There, off to my right, a figure lies motionless. My various aches forgotten, I crawl across the sand towards her. Red hair is spilling across her face, obscuring her features and so I shove the tangled mane aside, searching for any signs of life.

A full second passes. Then another. Finally, a shallow breath escapes her lips.

I relax, smoothly shifting into the process of checking her for injury. I gently prod her arms and legs, feeling for broken bones. Finding nothing, I pry open her eyelids, watching her pupil dilate in response to the sun's rays. She is unharmed, then. Merely unconscious.

I roll her onto her side so that she will not be burnt by the sun, then begin to disarm her. I withdraw a sword from the scabbard at her back, casting it some distance away. In her boot I find a dagger, too small for my grip but deadly all the same. Finally satisfied I sit back to wait, turning the dagger over in my hands. The hilt is worn, the leather patched and faded. If I were to guess, I would say that this knife is older than she is. A memento, perhaps.

My eyes flick up to consider the figure lying prone in the sand beyond. Her features are unlike anything I have encountered in the Wastelands; pointed and bright where we are dark and honed. I find myself studying her intently, considering the unusual colours in her hair and the way her limbs tangle in the loose earth below.

Two days ago I never would have imagined that a person such as this was living amongst the Miners. Three years spent as Jaron's assassin and not once did I consider that someone so... alive could be on the other side of my blade.

A girl who flies solo across the rooftops.

Who favours a worn dagger over a warrior's sword.

Who is a companion to a queen and a lover to a Commander.

Who remains aboard a doomed air machine in order to save an enemy.

I thrust a hand through my tangled hair in an attempt to sort through my scattered thoughts. I must remember that not only have her people waged years of war against us, but that they have kidnapped my brother along with countless others.

Off to the side, Kay releases a small, choked sound and twitches in her sleep.

The story fed to me by both Kay and the Commander rattles within my skull. It is plausible that their new queen has no knowledge of her predecessor's dark intentions. However, if the Miners are indeed the lying scum Jaron and Rowan have always been made out to be, then I would be a fool to even consider their innocence.

Then again, if they are telling the truth... this war and my position as Choice Warrior might finally come to an end.

The questions crop up endlessly and still, one nagging problem persists above the rest.