Reckoning (3 page)

I knew he would say that; he always does. Technically he is right – the piles of unwanted, unusable electronics that fill our abandoned lake certainly aren't mine.

‘Everything belongs to the King,' I remind him.

‘What are you looking for anyway?' he says, ignoring my point. I know he is hoping I will answer the question he has come to ask before he even gets to it.

‘The usual,' I reply, pushing myself up onto my elbows, still holding his hand and acting as if I don't know what he is up to.

Opie raises himself up too and we lean into each other, back-to-back. ‘How are you so good with this stuff?' he asks.

I'm not sure I know why myself. I have grown up with all of this around me and, for whatever reason, I find technology easy.

When it's clear I don't have an answer, Opie lets my hand go and shows me his thinkwatch. ‘What do you think it was like before these?' he asks.

It's hard to imagine life without them and as an adult they will define who we are. Before you take the Reckoning, the face of everyone's thinkwatch is a dull white-grey, in contrast to the silver metal circle around it. Once your place in society has been decided your thinkwatch becomes coloured and branded. If you are an Elite, the face turns black with the faint symbol of a crown to show that you belong to the top section of society. If you are a Member, the front becomes orange with a lightning bolt to symbolise industry and productivity. Inters have blue watch faces marked with a sword, while those in the lowest band of society – the Trogs – have yellow watches inscribed with a small sickle. I look at the piles of orphaned electrical items in front of us. ‘Probably not that different,' I say. ‘They just used other things then.'

‘I can't imagine one of those on my wrist,' Opie replies, nodding towards an old screen, but he has missed the point. Perhaps that's why I'm good with this type of thing and he isn't.

I stand and walk towards where he indicated, picking up the remains of an old thinkpad. It is light as the back has been pulled off, the battery removed. The screen is scratched, although I can still see fingerprints from where someone would have typed and swished their fingers across. Opie joins me, running his hands through his hair in an effort to clear the muck from the ground.

He still hasn't asked me what he came to.

The panel comes apart easily as I reach into where the battery would have once been and pull. It exposes a near see-through board that is wedged underneath the screen. I sit on the floor and hand it to Opie.

‘Can you pull that out?' I ask.

He sits beside me and easily wrenches it free, even though he struggles to fit his grimy nail in between the layers. Handing it back, he asks if I'm nervous, although he knows the Reckoning is far more of a worry for him than it is for me.

‘Who isn't?' I reply, trying to make him feel better.

Gently balancing the screen, I reach in and pull out the tiny springs that hold it together. I feel Opie watching me, his blue eyes absorbing the movements of my fingers, before I put them in my pocket.

‘What are they for?' he asks.

I hold out my white-grey thinkwatch for him to see. ‘The last time I opened mine up, I broke one of the springs. It's always useful to have a backup.'

His eyebrows angle downwards in disapproval. They are thicker than I remember, one of them caked in a smattering of sand from where we were play-fighting.

‘You know you shouldn't be messing with it,' he scolds, although he doesn't mean it. He pauses, before adding: ‘You're not trying to cheat, are you?'

His tone is suddenly nervous and I know he is close to getting to the point.

I turn to face him but he can't meet my eyes; instead he stares out over the rest of the gully, where the deepest depths of the lake would have once been. It stretches as far as I can see, rusting old vehicles, engines, and many things I don't recognise. Miles and miles of rubbish.

‘No one in their right mind would try to fix something as big as tomorrow,' I say as delicately as I can, deciding to give him the answer before he is forced to ask. Extra rations now and again is one thing but someone's entire future is too big to go unnoticed.

Opie nods an acceptance as I rest my head on his shoulder, watching the clouds drift slowly overhead and trying to see shapes that don't exist. The air smells of rain, although it remains dry for now. Soon, Opie sits, scratching at his scalp, trying to remove the dust but making it worse as he doesn't realise how dirty his hands are. I can see his shoulders twitching as they always do when there's something on his mind. Perhaps he is more nervous about tomorrow than I thought? Or maybe he is worried that this will be our last afternoon together? I stare straight at him, waiting for him to ask the other question he has been holding back.

‘What if you're chosen?' he asks.

We both know our lives are going to be different whatever happens after the Reckoning but being an Elite or a Member has risks as well as benefits. The King requires that each of the four Realms offer him four Elites – two boys and two girls – and two Members, one from each gender, every year as an Offering. Your remaining family are showered with credits, rations and gifts in exchange, but you never see them again as you spend the rest of your life in service to the King. He only takes one Inter from each area and two Trogs in total, alternating between the districts. No one wants to be a Trog though, even if it reduces your probability of becoming an Offering.

‘If I'm chosen, I'd have no choice,' I say, although that isn't what he is really asking. Because it is the North's turn to send a male Inter this year, I could have my way out if I could fix it.

‘It's a great honour,' he adds, sounding the way his grandmother used to speak before she died. She was always a big supporter of the King, although most people who lived through the war are.

All of a sudden, I am wondering if that's why he wants to be an Inter so badly – because it will give him a chance of becoming an Offering. Both of our families could certainly do with the riches it would bring, despite the price. The fact none of us knows what being an Offering entails is seemingly lost on everyone. It's one of the things people never talk about. When I asked my mother, she told me not to ask questions. That is always her reply when you mention something she doesn't know the answer to, or feels uncomfortable speaking about. Even when we are at home, she will look around as if someone else is watching, then tell me to hush.

Perhaps it is just because of the age she grew up in: war, famine, mistrust and death.

I hear the gentle pitter-patter of rain before I feel it, the slow drizzle licking the leaves of the trees behind us as I lift myself up before the dirt becomes mud. I haul Opie to his feet, although he doesn't need my help. He continues to hold my hand as we run up the muddying bank from the gully. His grip is strong, although he allows me to lead. The rain grows stronger but I pick my way along a different route to usual, telling Opie it is because the branches are thicker and will keep us drier. If he suspects it is because I don't want to let him go quite yet then he plays along without saying anything.

All too soon we reach the edge of the trees. I can feel the looser strands of hair sticking to my face and it is genuinely soothing as Opie reaches towards me, stroking them away from my eyes. He laughs as he tells me he has accidentally left a smear of dirt across my forehead and I playfully slap his hand away before scrubbing at my skin. We stand together, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder. Our hair sticks together but neither of us minds.

We each stare out towards Martindale, watching the thin wafts of smoke beginning to drift upwards as people light the logs in their fireplaces to try to warm their houses. I can just about see the roof of my house through the thin mist which is descending, although Opie's is obscured, even though it is only across the road. I squint to look at the patch next to our chimney stack which Opie helped to fix last winter, using his hands to seal the gap with a skill that can't be measured by tests.

I go to speak but he pulls me tighter and gets in first. ‘I'm going to miss you, Silver Blackthorn,' he says, and I can't tell if he is trying to hold back tears.

I have spent months, maybe years, thinking the day wouldn't come but now there is no avoiding it. As the water drips from my forehead, I realise we could be sent our separate ways in a matter of hours.

*   *   *

I gasp as the memory flutters out of my mind but I can still feel the thinkpad holding me. That spot on the banks of the gully is something that should belong only to Opie and me. At first it feels like a violation but then I realise the Reckoning isn't interested anyway – it only wanted to examine my feelings, not know the exact memory. No sooner can I catch my breath than I feel it pulling at me again. I want to fight back, to deny it access to my most private memories, but I cannot stop it.

4

ONE YEAR AGO

I have never understood how something can seem close and yet it ends up being such a long way away. I have lived in Martindale for my entire life, waking each morning and walking onto the streets to stare up at the hill in the distance. I have always believed I could walk there one day. When I was very young, I remember asking my father about it and he always promised we would make the trip when I was older. I asked how long it would take and he grinned in the way only my daddy could, telling me it would take as long as it needed to.

As I walk towards the hill now, I know I am not going to get close. My legs feel sluggish and I know I have slowed down. If anything, the destination seems to be retreating further, the hazy sunshine making it shimmer in the distance.

Opie has dropped his pace to stay by my side. We have been walking all morning. At first we chatted and laughed, speaking about when we were younger and telling stories about the people we know. Now I can feel a slight shortness of breath, knowing I am going to have to rest soon. We got up as the sun was rising, sitting on the grassy banks outside of Martindale and watching the gentle orange glow fill the sky until a beautiful blue enveloped everything above us. We have been looking forward to this day for months now, telling ourselves we would do something different for our fifteenth birthdays.

For at least an hour, all we have seen are endless lush grassy fields, trees, squirrels scurrying in and out of the hedgerows, pheasants and pigeons chirping to each other and, of course, that hill towering on the horizon – as far away as it ever was.

The sun is at its highest and I know I cannot continue. We could walk for the rest of the afternoon and not reach our target but even if we turn around, we are still hours from home.

Opie is a few steps past me when he realises I have stopped. He turns around, his blonde hair ruffling in the breeze, but, if anything, its untidiness makes him more appealing. His head is tilted as he grins lopsidedly.

I love it when he looks at me like that.

He scratches the back of his neck, unsure what to say, but I sit on the ground, relaxing into the luxurious grass and taking a breath.

‘I could just leave you here,' Opie says, half-turning away as if heading back to our village. He must have known for as long as I have that we were not going to get to the hill.

‘Go on then, Opie Cotton,' I dare him, knowing he won't.

He takes two steps away but I don't budge. ‘Are you coming?'

‘No.'

‘You can't stay here forever.'

‘I can.'

Opie sighs. ‘What about your mum?'

‘She'll blame you for leaving me.'

He snorts at the suggestion. ‘Don't you want to see Colt again?'

‘He'll blame you too. He'll say, “Why, Opie? Why? Why would you leave my only sister out in the open?” His little face will be all upset and it will be your fault.'

Opie shakes his head. ‘You can't blackmail me.'

‘Want to bet?'

He smiles again and it is magical – he makes me like being me. ‘What do you want?'

‘A piggyback. You're all big and strong and male. I'm a little girl. Look at me.'

I can feel the breeze in my hair too, whipping it across my face as the silver streak at the front that gave me my name separates from the longer, darker strands at the back.

‘I'm not carrying you all the way home,' he says.

I smile, knowing I am winning. ‘You don't have to take me all the way back – just most of it. I need a rest.'

‘It's too far.'

‘Think of poor Imp. He might be your brother but he looks at me like a sister. Who's he going to fight with if you leave me here?'

Opie shakes his head and starts walking away. I run the grass between my fingers, plucking individual blades and counting under my breath. I get to eight before he turns and screams my name. It disappears into the vast open space as he runs back towards me, throwing himself onto the ground as we roll around, giggling uncontrollably. His big arms are wrapped around me as I cradle my head into his neck.

‘You're a menace, Silver Blackthorn,' he says.

‘I'm
your
menace,' I correct him, knowing today is a day I will never forget.

*   *   *

The experience feels so real that it takes me a few seconds to realise where I am. I start to count in my head, reminding myself that this is the fifteenth annual Reckoning. Many sixteen-year-olds have gone through this before. Now I can understand why no two people have the same story to tell about it – I'm not sure what it is myself, even when I'm in the middle of taking it. Its mystery is the biggest reason why the day is so fearsome for us, that and the fact that our results are pooled together across the country. Our Northern Realm is ranked against the East, South and West to determine who gets the most supplies for the next twelve months. We are taking part not just for ourselves but for everyone around us too. I can feel it skimming through my memories, but it doesn't seem particularly focused on the exact contents, more on how I respond to things. Am I emotional? Impulsive? Strong?