Dust and sand shiver beneath my feet as I walk, alone. The sky above the mountain is vicious purple swirled with grey, the colours smudged as though by clumsy fingers. Clouds tumble over each other and around my throat.

I can't breathe.

The pain is everything. Everywhere. I close my eyes against a swell of horror, as beads of sweat speckle across my temple. Running hasn't helped—you can't run from what I've just seen—and images flash unchecked under my eyelids as the rush of thunder fills my ears. My mouth falls open and a scream rips forth—

No.

I fall to my knees, my hands trembling in the dirt. The ruined ground of the mountain shakes back at my touch.

Then—a crack. Deep through the earth, under my thumb. Just a splinter at first, but then it grows, blossoming beneath my fingertips. I watch, eyes wide, as it flows from me, a river through the rock, splitting into a hundred tributaries, meandering streams—

'No!'

I bolt, but the ground begins to crumble. It gives way beneath my every step, cracks collapsing into chasms that yawn, and even though I know it won't do any good, I run and run, my eyes streaming against the biting winds—

It stops. Just like that. I stop too, my breath bursting out in shuddering gasps. My knees buckle and I fall, exhaustion heavy, dragging me down. I rest my cheek against the cool, trembling earth. A sob wells in my chest, breaking free unhindered; I cry until the purple clouds roll into the distance, leaving a dull grey residue in their place. Slowly, gently, the ground melts away, leaving me stranded, alone, in the debris. I surrender, letting unconsciousness envelop me in its arms. Take me away, I think.

And it does. For a few, short minutes, it does.

*

I remember the weeks that came . . . before. My upcoming birthday had been the talk of Quillin. It was my sixteenth, see, and as though the limelight wasn't special enough, my little sister, Kitty, insisted on treating me like a goddamn celebrity. It was cute, I guess, but too much. A bit like Kitty herself, really. She'd even pounce on my back just to stop me going in rooms containing "forbidden birthday secrets", her hands snaking over my eyes. Her giggles loud in my ear.

As I lie here, eyes closed on the mountain side, the memory of Kitty's laughter makes me smile.

'You're only sixteen once,' Mum reminded me, only yesterday evening. We were hanging up laundry on the rickety line outside our pod, my arms full of table linen and hole-pocked underwear, when the hurricane that was Kitty arrived. She hurtled towards us down the street, a suspiciously cake-shaped box in her arms, and barged us out of the way, slamming the front door behind her. Sheets and spotted socks went flying.

'Don't you dare come inside, Kass!'

Scowling, I bent down to gather up the fallen socks. 'Yeah, but she's acting like I'm frikkin' General Jinaka. It's not that big of a deal.' Dumping them back on the line, I leaned against our front door, picking at the flaking wood chips. Kitty was making such a racket inside; I could hear her thundering about through the walls.

Mum cuffed me across the head, lips twitching. 'Oh, shush, I know you love it. You should be flattered she cares; how many other little sisters idolise their brothers like Kitty does?'

I snorted. 'Yeah but there's making a big deal and there's whatever-the-heck Kitty's doing. It's too much.'

'She just wants you to have a good time.' Mum chuckled. 'Don't be such a grouch.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Guess I'll go to Niv's, then. See you later.'

'Don't be long, kiddo.' Mum ruffled my hair and sighed as I wriggled away to flatten it back down. 'I've got to make the most of calling you that. One more day and you're officially a man. My little Kass, my baby—'

She didn't know how right she was.

Mum's words rang in my ears as I slouched down the street to Niven's place. The lights inside his pod were on. I swept aside the Futurist flag (a cheap imitation but still the right shade of cerulean blue) that covered the window and peered inside, coughing as a stream of cooking smoke trickled through the cracks. I rapped on the glass with my knuckles; the window flew open.

'Kass?'

'Hey, man, what's up?'

My best mate, Niven, appeared at the window. He propped his elbows up on the frame, resting his pointed chin in his hands. 'It's kinda late. What are you doing here? It'll be curfew soon.'

'Not that soon. Aw come on, Kitty won't let me in at home. She's in full birthday-barmy mode.'

'Ah. Planning secret things for your sixteenth, huh?' Niv pushed his mop of curly hair off his face with a smirk, revealing the mischievous glint in his eyes. On his sixteenth, we all took a wormhole to the ancient canyons of Sǝhrazona. We spent the whole day there, everyone in the village, we all chipped in. When we got back, we partied in the streets until the sky turned purple and the curfew alarm rang; then we raced to Niv's pod to feast the night away on helium drinks and sugar-beet snacks. We'd saved ration tokens all year long. I was only fourteen. The thought of reaching sixteen blew my mind.

See, getting to sixteenth was a bit of a big deal on Tellus. Few kids made it, what with the toxic air, food shortages and lack of healthcare. . . But at sixteen, everything changed. You qualified for your adulthood-vaccinations and from then on, you could expect to live a long, healthy life.

Usually.

'Sorry man, come in. I was just watching the news. Have you seen what's going on?' Niven shuffled aside, letting me climb in through the window; I clambered unceremoniously over the ledge, falling flat on my ass on the floor.

'No?'

'Check it out.' We settled on Niv's bed to watch his fuzzy, lopsided TV; the rickety frame creaked under our weight. On the screen, a man in a startling-blue blazer and the Futurist badge frowned into an interviewer's microphone. It was some sort of press conference.

'For years, we've done everything in our power to locate the Elementalists, but it's no simple task. We fear that the closer they get to sixteen, the stronger their powers become—'

'It's the General!' My eyes widened and I leaned in closer, drinking him in: the great General Jinaka, leader of the FUTURE party, father of all Futurists. As though the nearer I was to the screen, the more he'd soak into my brain.

Niven grinned, nudging me with his shoulder. 'I knew you'd be interested.'

'But he never does press conferences! He's famous for it!'

'I know!' Niven was laughing now. 'I'm so glad I get to spend this monumental occasion with you.'

'He's so awesome.' I sighed, lying on my front and gazing at the cracked screen. It's weird; the General seems almost plain, at first. A balding middle-aged guy, bit short, kind of stocky. Scrubby beard. But when you look closer, you notice his expression. It's hard to explain. It's like when he smiles, you feel like he knows you're starving and is going to come to your pod and personally feed you dinner from a spoon. Just to make you feel better. Which isn't far from the truth; he's travelled the world handing out extra rations, and donates all his salary to fund health-care to the poor. My bedroom wall was covered with posters of the Futurist General; I could only imagine what it felt like to live in the same city as him. His city, Singavere. 'What's brought him out to the public?'

'Shut up fawning for a second and you'll find out.'

Grabbing a pillow, I smashed Niv's face, kicking my shoes off and pummelling his stomach with my feet. With a yelp, Niv grabbed my arms and wrenched them backwards. But even as we fought, I couldn't help keep an eye on General Jinaka, who was now appealing directly to the cameras. His eyes intense as ever.

'It is imperative that members of the public do not go out after curfew, however mild the weather might look. The atmosphere is at its highest level of toxicity in years, and we believe that this directly correlates with the imminent coming-of-age of the Elementalists. If you see anyone around sixteen acting suspiciously, you must report them to your local authorities. Let no-one be above suspicion. You will be rewarded greatly—if we want to stop these fugitives, we need your help. For the safety of our Futurist Nation, we must locate the Elementalists and stop their inevitable reign of terror—'

At some point, we lay down our pillows and flopped onto the bed. Niven was gazing at the General and sighed. 'He really cares about us, you know?'

'Yeah. If anyone can find them, he can.' The interviewer was now asking a scientist with Jinaka a complicated question about Elementalists. I'd learnt a bit about them back when I used to go to school, but it's one of those things that sounds like it's going to be interesting, but then lets you down by being really boring and complicated, physics kind of stuff. Without Jinaka in the spotlight, my interest waned. 'Niv, let's sneak in a round of Sandships before curfew!'

Last week, Niv got this virtual-reality chip as part of his cadet training; he'd just been accepted into the most elite space-training programme in Singavere. It was awesome, a wafer-thin disc that you slipped over your eye. I'd never seen anything like it. The technology in Singavere was on another level to anything we had in Quillin, so I'd been round Niven's pod every day since he got it for my video-games fix. We'd just got to level ten on Sandships of Vesta—we settled down together to tackle the boss.

I quickly lost track of time; it was dark when Niv's mum kicked me out. Darkness was dangerous. Curfew was due any minute and the streets were already deserted. Rows of off-white domes lined each side of broken cobbled roads, and as I walked between them, curtains drew closed and locks clicked. All the while, the familiar, musty-smelling mist that always hung in the air fanned between our domed-pod houses, and I glanced upwards. The sky was not yet completely purple, but it wouldn't be long. I accelerated into a run.

Our front door seemed impatient as I approached. 'Mum? Dad?' I pressed my palm to the plastic lock-panel; it glowed orange and the door slid open. I trudged in, shaking dew out of my hair and shrugging off my cloak. The thick folds fell to the floor with a soft flump. 'Kitty?'

'Kassius McKenzie! Where have you been?'

Goddammit. My dad's strong gravel-crunch voice sounded amazing when he was pleased with you. Except, right then he was not pleased with me. His rough farmer's hands dragged me into the pitch-black living room, and I stumbled over a chair leg.

'Dad? Why the hell are the lights out?'

'We ran out of power. And I asked you where you've been. You know it's dangerous to be out so late.' His stumpy fingers dug into my arms, and I wriggled out of their grasp.

'Jeez, Dad, relax! I was only at Niv's; I told Mum I was going. I tried to come home but Kitty wouldn't let me in.' I frowned at my dad's shadowed figure; if I squinted, I could just about make out his hands on his hips. 'How can we have used up the electricity already? We had a week's supply left this morning.'

'Never you mind,' Dad said through gritted teeth, and I grinned, safe, hidden in the dark. Whatever they were planning for my birthday must have used up all the power. My mind whirred with possibilities.

'There you are. I was getting worried.' Another shadow, more affectionate, joined us and pulled me close. 'How could you leave it so late to come home?'

'Sorry.' I eased Mum off my shoulders. 'I lost track of time. I was playing Niv's new game—'

Dad swatted me across the head. 'Late because of video games again, Kass? Come on. I thought when you started at the farm you'd grow out of this nonsense. You can be so damn irresponsible; what's it going to take?'

'Sorry.' Shame crept up the back of my neck. Dad was right; it was stupid. Right on cue, the curfew siren sliced the quiet of the night; my parents brought their hands to their ears. It sounded just like a wailing child. Suddenly Kitty was there, hugging me around the waist.

'Make it stop. . .'

'It's okay, Kitty-Kat. It's okay.' Her nose burrowed into my sweatshirt as thunder clapped louder than ever, and I rocked her gently in my arms. Together, we looked out of the window to watch the golden lightning slice through the night, the pavements glow purple and the mist alight.

Just another regular night on the Caeltanican Cloud Islands.

*

Someone was shaking me awake. It smelt like morning: damp sulphur and Mum's cinnamon porridge. I tugged my blanket over my head with a groan.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

'Wake up, sleepyhead. It's your birthday. . .'

Wait. . .

'My—' Bloody hell. I'm sixteen! My eyelids flickered, and still in a daze, I rubbed crust out of my eyes. 'What time is it?'

'Early, baby.' A hand stroked my hair; blearily, I opened my eyes but it was so dark. I could barely see a thing.

'Mum! It's the crack of dawn. Why'd you wake me up so early?'

'You need to leave, sweetheart. Now.'

I sat up. The sky outside my bedroom window had relaxed into a pale mauve and was weeping, droplets plopping soft to the ground. Kitty's sleeping frame rose and fell, huddled beneath her blanket. I looked up into my mother's face as she crouched beside my bed.

'I have to leave? What, now? But it's so early. . .'

'Yes. I'm sorry.' Mum's voice trembled. Her eyes full of tears.

'What's going on? I guessed there'd be surprises, but. . .'

'I'm sorry, Kass. I'm just—it's just—an emotional day. My boy, sixteen . . . I never thought . . .'

I cut her off with a hug . 'It's okay, I get it. My baby hit sixteen, wah, wah, boo, hoo. Get it all out of your system now, Mum—I want you happy by the time I get back. How long do you need me gone for?'

'A few hours at least.' She sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. 'Enough time for . . . Well. Enough time.'

I stumbled out of bed, trying not to disturb Kitty. She'd been clingy after the storm, not letting me banish her to her own bed for hours. Her breathing was heavy, strong enough to blow the seeds off a dandelion. I listened to her in silence whilst Mum bustled about.

'Here.' She shoved a bundle of warm shaggy wool into my hands. My cloak. 'Put these on.' She kicked my muddy boots towards me, then busied herself with Kitty's blanket. I pulled a jumper from the floor over my head then wrestled my boots over reluctant feet, straining on the heavy leather straps. Finally, I swung the cloak over my shoulders.

'I'm feeling a little unloved here. Chucking me out in the rain on my birthday—this wasn't quite what I was expecting.'

'Me either, Kassie. Me either.' Mum descended on me, clutching me to her body. 'I thought we'd be more prepared,' she mumbled into the folds of my cloak. 'We thought—we thought by the time this day came, we'd be ready. But now . . .' Her voice caught in her throat, and I blinked, utterly clueless. I'd never seen Mum like this before. 'Now. . .' Her shoulders shuddered against my chest. 'Now I just don't—I don't—'

'It's okay,' I said, patting her tentatively on the back. 'I don't mind if you're not ready. I'll come back in two hours, alright? Think you'll be ready by then?'

'Better make it three,' she whispered, finally letting go. I sprang backwards, wiping hot tears off my cheek with the back of my hand and scrunching up my nose.

'You're gross, you know that?'

'And you're perfect.' She touched the spot where her tears dusted my cheek, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. 'Go on then—get off with you. You better not come back before we're ready, though, or you'll ruin the surprise. I know—go to the farm and shear some wool for the market.'

I huffed. 'Making me work on my birthday? Slave driver.' We walked into the hallway together and I grabbed my mud-stained rucksack from the cubby hole in the wall. It had everything I needed: gloves, torch, shears, scissors. I slung it over my shoulder and opened the door to the howl of the wind, rain splattering across my face like tears. Mum called out to me as I left.

'See you soon!'

I ran off into the the mist without a backwards glance. The sooner I left, the sooner I could return.

*

My village was high up in the Quillin Hills, our pods speckled between irregular rock formations in a valley that snaked all the way down the mountain. The Cloud Islands of Caeltanica were once beautiful, as most places on Tellus were once, and I was lucky to have been brought up there, far from the dangers of the mainland. But still. It was a husk of how it used to be.

There was nothing to do, nothing but the vast emptiness of the world. You could travel for miles and still find nothing but barren rock and dirt. Every now and again, you might come across a tree. Niven and I loved climbing trees; higher and higher until we were on top of the world in a forest of branches, and there was something about it that just felt real. Alive.

But of course, the trees were all dead. Once we reached the top, we'd slide all the way down inside the trunks until our feet hit the bottom with a haunting echo. There were no leaves, no flashes of colour, no life. Just dead, brown bark, crisping in the cold.

It wasn't always like this. War left this world behind.

Still, it's not like we had to stay in Quillin all the time. At the bottom of the valley, we could teleport through Wormhole 2056 to anywhere within that Wormhole's database. Permissible places economically similar to Quillin. The authorities allowed us to trade between ourselves; we specialised in wool. We got all our ration tokens, water, and electricity by trading with the government, but could trade any extras we had, as well as tokens, for whatever we wanted in the foreign markets: food, gadgets, clothes, toys, books. But we got fewer and fewer coats of wool from our goats each month, and we knew they wouldn't be able to sustain us for much longer. Each night, we'd sit down to pray that the government would relocate us to another, better, planet.

Let it be Ra, I'd pray before bed. No one believed in the old Caeltanican gods anymore, but my parents were traditional and insisted we still pray. Kitty longed for Lares, but for me, it was always Ra. Please. Please.

The rain was heavy as I squelched down the valley towards the farm; it was miles away, a good few hours return trip. A smile played on my lips. It would be worth it. Still—the damn rain. It sizzled right through the fabric of my cloak. I pulled a hat from my rucksack and rammed it on under my hood for extra protection. The sulphurous smell leached from puddles that sprayed under foot, and I wrinkled my nose, tugging my cloak tighter around my shoulders.

I reached the farm at sunrise, as a strange mix of amethyst and orange flooded the sky. The goats were waiting for me by the fence, rearing up on their hind legs, bleating. They cantered between my legs, long fur draping in the mud; I knelt down beside them to stroke each one, before wrestling the huge comb and scissor set out of my satchel. Then, I looked around for a suitable goat.

'There you are.' A rather large, curly-haired male lurked on the other side of the paddock, hiding. 'You'll do.' It regarded me with resigned eyes, then settled into my lap. He knew the drill.

One hour moulded into two, and the weather showed no signs of clearing up. It was as though the sky was purging itself of a year's worth of acid—and soon, my mohair was soaked through. I shivered, shaking rivulets of rainwater and hair out of my eyes; the acrid sting brought tears to my lashes and I scrubbed them away.

'Quit wriggling, Duster.' I tried to coax the soggy creature under the paddock's flimsy tarpaulin shelter, but he was having none of it. The rains shouldn't have lasted so long—I'd look a mess on my birthday. With a huff, I forced my shears through his coat; it had gummed together into a sticky mulch that didn't—want—to—be—cut. Duster bleated balefully at me.

'Sorry. You know it's harder when you're wet. Hey, what do you think they're planning. . ? We haven't had a birthday since Niv. Celine didn't make it . . . I guess this will be hard on her parents.' I paused, prising apart some of Duster's more stubborn hairs. 'Still. Whatever it is, it'll be good. More than good.' I couldn't help breaking into a grin. 'I hope we're going to Paradise Park. That would be awesome.' I stopped talking, abruptly realising that I was having a conversation with a goat.

The journey back was harder with mounds of sodden wool weighing me down. My back ached and I started to sweat as I staggered along the hillside, cursing my family's lack of organisation. It didn't have to be Paradise Park, something small would do. Something crashed in the distance and I tripped, slicing the top layer of skin off my palm. Sucking it mutinously, I wrenched myself to my feet. 'Goddammit, Kit. This has to be your fault.'

The smell of sulphur usually faded at daybreak, once the acid rains subsided. But that morning—it was only this morning—the smell was getting stronger. I stopped a mile away from my village, gagging at the stench. What's going on? My chest tightened. I'd always been sensitive to sulphur, ever since I was a kid. Dropping my bag, I threw everything out until I found my inhaler. A few deep breaths later, I relaxed, letting myself slide down against the rocks, resting my forehead on my knees. I had to get home. I hadn't had an attack in ages; Mum would want to know. Struggling to catch my breath, I headed off once more.

But the smell kept growing stronger. I had to stop three more times—what the hell was going on? I screwed up my eyes against the rain, looking around for anything that could be causing it. . .

'Dammit.' I stomped forwards, splattering my trousers with mud. 'Why does it have to storm today?' But relief was starting to filter through, warming me through the cold. There, through the mist, was the cliff face I knew, and around that corner was the valley, my valley. Once I got there—my heart gave an excitable skip. What birthday surprise had they got in store for me?

I ran around the corner, wheezing with each step, but it was worth it, because—

Because. . .

My breathing slowed to a stop. My heart slowed to a stop.

Five blue tanks, bigger than three of our pods combined, were parked by the entrance to the valley. The villagers, my neighbours, were lined up outside their houses in a trail that ran all the way down the valley, their hands held up high behind their heads. I could see five-year-old Melody. See her shaking all the way from where I stood, dripping in the fog. In front of them were soldiers. In the soldiers hands were guns.

Someone shouted—I heard a yell. Then, shots.

My mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out. My chest collapsed in on itself, and all that emerged was a whisper of a wheeze.

The villagers of Quillin fell one by one. Dominoes. The sharp, high-pitched soldiers' commands were punctuated by a whoosh-ing noise; a drone whizzed over my head, followed quickly by a second, a third. They zoomed through the sky before swooping down to circle the soldiers. Vultures waiting to feast.

Run.

With a gasp, my chest expanded and my legs moved on auto-pilot; I had to find Niv and my family. The tanks were barring Quillin's main entrance but there were other ways in; staggering, I raced around to the other side of the hill and fled down a rocky passageway that I knew led straight to Niven's house.

The last time I'd run down that path, I'd been chasing Kitty, skidding over pebbles and laughing as we landed in a heap at the bottom. Bruised and giddy. Niven had come around the corner to greet us.

This time, nobody greeted me as I emerged from the passage. The tanks had beaten me to it; chunks of white plastic, that had once been our pods, our homes, were strewn across the ground. Melting. Steaming. Stinking.

Pale plastic doors that held our identification panels lay scattered in twisted pieces that belched black smoke into the air. The mist was worse—so much worse—the smoke mingling with the fog to form a thick blanket coating everything, everywhere. And all around—all around me—were bodies.

I choked, falling to my knees.

Lightning flashed. Rain danced on my shoulders. My heart beat in my ears—boom, boom, boom. Then I was on my feet, sprinting through the mess, with smoke in my hair, my lungs, my mouth—

Something caught my foot. I tripped, landing face down in the mud. 'No, no. . .'

A hand lay next to my foot. I knew that hand. I knew the woman attached to it. It was Niv's mum. With a bullet hole—a third, evil, eye—in the centre of her forehead.

'No, no, no, NO—'

I wrenched myself to my knees and clawed my way through the smoke.

'MUM?' I screamed. I could hear the not-so-far-off sounds of gunshots, but I couldn't stop myself. 'DAD? KITTY?'

No one answered. Just the silence of rain and the dead.

'Kitty? Muuuuum?'

'NIVEN?'

'No . . . no . . .'

My knees kept giving way and spots clouded my vision. But at last, I spotted someone on the ground outside where my pod used to be.

'Niven?' I collapsed beside my friend. My best friend, who made it to sixteen against all the odds, who was moving to Singavere in the summer, to the great Space Port. He was going to study with the Futurists, he was going to get away—

'Niven, wake up, wake up!' Except his face wasn't his anymore. Pale and blank, he stared up at the swirling sky above him, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. I swept his curls out of the way, and as hard as I could, coughed into his mouth what pitiful air I had left inside.

'Please, Niv, please—'

Kitty. Mum. Dad. Maybe . . . maybe—

I dropped Niven's head, and it banged against the ground. In an instant I was up and facing my pod. The soldiers had been; bullet holes spattered my front door. With a quivering hand, I pushed it open. The smell inside made me heave, and I spat vomit onto the hallway floor. The bright white floor was spotted with blood.

'MUM?'

No answer. I ran into the living room and cried out at the mess that was once my home: the television smashed across the floor; our meagre ornaments decorating the carpet in fragments; the table on its side, forlorn by the doorway. I pushed aside a pile of debris, blind in the dark—Mum, Kit, Dad—feeling my way through what used to feel so familiar but now felt so alien—

A balloon. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a balloon. Drifting lazily by. I watched it, boiling tears of silent hate spilling over and down my cheeks. It was my birthday. Across the floor were smears of chocolate sponge and frosty-white icing.

'K-Kass?'

Finally, a voice. A sparkler in the dark. I tore through the wreckage to find her—there. There, under our crooked old gas hob. It lay on top of her like a cage.

'Mum—'

It was her. Face streaked with blood, hair plastered to her face with sweat. And—my stomach lurched. The rest of her body. It was—it was—

'No,' Mum whispered. 'No.' Her voice cracked, bringing my own sobs to the surface; I couldn't swallow them down any longer. 'You're not supposed to be here. You were meant to be safe. . .'

'What—what happened? You—you're—'

'Shut—up.' Her lips were so pale. Her chest barely moving. I lowered myself as far as I could, hands splayed in a red, expanding pool. 'You must—listen—to me . . .'

Her hand found mine and she clenched it.

'You have to—get out of here. They—they came—I feared they would. But I never thought they would—do this. I—I'm so sorry. . .'

'I don't understand.' My tears were snowflakes on her cheeks. 'Please, Mum, tell me what to do.'

'They came . . . for you. I—thought—they would but . . . they didn't find you. I made sure.' Her eyes closed, a satisfied smile breaking through and lingering on her lips. 'But you—you cannot stay. They're still here. They might—find you—'

'Who might find me? Who are they?'

'Shh.' Her fingers found my cheek. 'You've got to go. You have so far to go, my boy, my sweet—sweet boy—'

'Mum?'

'In—my shoe. Take it . . . take it and run . . .'

My breath caught. Her hand went slack and her smile melted. Just like that.

Silence. Nothing.

Gone.

*

They came for you. I thought they would but they didn't find you. I made sure. They came. . . They came for YOU. . .

Her words swirled around in my head.

They came for you. . .

People died. . . Because of me?

Take it . . . In my shoe . . . Take it. . .

My fingers fumbled with the laces of her shoe. A bow-knot. Her boots, lined with fur. Now lined with blood.

Inside was a note and a small beige coin. Or maybe it was a button; I pressed it and maybe I was seeing things, but I could have sworn that it changed colour to black. I turned it over, pressing it again, but nothing happened. I turned instead to the note, my fingers trembling so much that it was almost impossible to hold it still enough to read.

'Sgùrr Amhlaidh,' the note said, in my mother's rushed scrawl. 'Find the peak. A box, your box. Inside is the truth.'

*

That was when I ran.

Faster and faster. The longer I ran, the more everything bubbled up. I couldn't breathe.

They came for you. They came for you.

They came for me?

Just run, Kass. Faster and faster and faster.

It was nearly impossibly getting out of the village unseen. I didn't know how many people had died, how many had survived, but I'd been told to run and that was all I could do—

For hours, I ran. It seemed like hours—hours, or days. Up the Quillin Hills. To the highest peak. I had to get there. I had to know.

They came for you. They came for you. Sgùrr Amhlaidh. Find the peak. Find the truth.

The highest peak. I slowed to a walk. Daylight dwindled, but still I walked. Who were they? Those dark blue soldiers. In their tanks of murder—

In that moment, on top of Quillin, something took over. My eyes rolled up inside my head and there was rumble deep in the depths of my belly. Slowly, my fingers, my arms, then my whole body, began to shake. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe.

I collapsed on all fours, eyes glowing in the purple night.

And then, under my hand, the ground cracked. I watched it spread, my eyes growing wider, and then once again I was on my feet, running, running . . .

Until finally, exhaustion overcame me, and everything stopped.

*

I passed out.

The realisation is slow, stunted. I can't have been out for long; my breath comes out in shudders as the memories, like ghosts, fade.

I broke the earth.

My eyelids flutter, hot and wet, against the ground.

Somehow . . . I broke the earth.

'Sgùrr Amhlaidh. . .' I whisper. The sun has started to sink behind the crooked peak of the mountain; soon, it will disappear completely. All that is left to see is a blur, a fading grey shadow, heading towards me, growing larger in the dwindling light. . .

'Kassius. . .'

Someone takes my hand.