The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 31

The Queen and the chief halt a few yards from us, their expressions set in identical looks of grim determination. A high colour has risen to Meg's cheeks and Jaron appears positively fearsome, painted and clutching a heavy wooden spear. Together, they are an unwavering force of strength, refusing to be reckoned with.

"Friends." Meg speaks first, unlacing her fingers and lifting her palms so that they face up. "I first wish to commend your bravery and your sense of honour. Myself, chief Jaron and all of our people owe you a great debt. It is my regret that I do not have the words to stress the proper amount of gratitude to which you are owed." Her blue eyes rest on each person in turn, acknowledging every individual man and woman.

"We go out into the Wastelands with the intention of avoiding combat." Jaron's voice contrasts Meg's smooth tone, reverberating off the walls around us. "But if pushed we will fight." The assorted Wasters let loose a sudden, booming cry of affirmation and I flinch.

"This is a single war and a single enemy." The chief continues with rising fervor. "In battle, there is no Waster and no Miner. We are one. We will protect one another. Each person is your sister, is your brother." His gaze darts momentarily to the fringes of the crowd, coming to rest on Luca. "Fight as though you are family."

This time we all shout out in solidarity, spears and staffs rattling in the air. My heart lifts in the same instant, feeling part of a beat larger than my own.

"Commander Cain and I will not lead you adrift." Jaron beats his fist against his thick chest, gesturing to Will standing at the forefront of the group. Will nods once sagely and returns the gesture. His jaw is clenched, his dark hair and beard newly-trimmed. "Trust in us. We will fight alongside you. Your risk is our risk, your death is our death, your triumph is our triumph!"

Three guttural cries from the crowd as we beat our chests. Palace employees and tenants, drawn out by our shouts gather in the archways dotting the hall, stoic expressions etched across their various faces.

"Travel safe, my friends." Meg's clear voice carries over the din. "This is the first day of a new war. Go forth, watch over one another and return victorious."

The assorted crowd joins in for our final war cry, casting a bone-shaking reverberation throughout the hall. On Will's command the soldiers turn and disappear down the servant's passageway, heading for the hidden entrance leading underground. I hang back, exchanging a tight greeting with Will when he brushes by me. I notice Rowan for the first time, her head ducked low as she skirts the fringes of the group.

Jaron is the last to enter the tunnel. I wait, averting my eyes when he brushes Meg's cheek softly, murmuring under his breath. He turns and maneuvers past me, clapping a heavy hand down on my shoulder as he strides past.

Meg quirks a small smile when I step up in front of her, wordlessly spreading her arms and pulling me to her. We remain that way for a long time, with my face buried in the crook of her neck and breathing in her safe, familiar scent. Neither of us says a word, content to remain together for as long as we have left.

When we draw apart my vision is blurred. Meg brandishes a white handkerchief seemingly from out of nowhere, dabbing her eyes before cupping my chin and touching the fabric gently around my kohl-smeared face.

"Enough, now. We can't have you ruining that lovely makeup." She tuts. The bright linen comes away ruined, covered in black stains.

"You're right, of course. Prioritees." I blink and straighten, peering up at her. She appears wan, tired but determined. I wonder briefly about the supplies of food we have rationed, knowing that Meg will have her work cut out for her while we are gone.