Resurgence (21 page)

In theory, it sounds fool-proof – especially if they can get down the stairs at anything like the speed each of them climbed. It is finding a way for Jela, Pietra and myself to get out
that created the problem . . .

My image fills the four monitors simultaneously and Pietra gives me a thumbs-up from behind the camera. I am live.

‘Hi . . .’ I begin, deliberately tossing the silver part of my hair away from my face just in case anyone is in any doubt about who I am. I lean on the lectern and lick my lips.
‘My name is Silver Blackthorn and today is my seventeenth birthday. This time last year I was with my friends and family. They saved up their rations for weeks to make sure my friend and I
could share one small birthday bun. It was wonderful, full of currants. I know you will all do things like that – you’ll save little bits over time in order to get presents for your
children and each other.’

I glance quickly towards the monitors to see that all four are still showing my face, then stand slightly straighter, trying to make sure I am staring directly into the camera, imagining it is a
person I am talking to face to face.

‘A lot has happened since then. I took the Reckoning and was chosen as an Offering. At first I didn’t know what to think – I was as proud as anyone would be, but Windsor Castle
is a very different place to what you might imagine. On my first day I met this kid named Wray. He was a Trog from the North. His disabled mother told him that him being chosen as an Offering was
the proudest moment of her life. He
wanted
to be there, he
wanted
to serve King Victor. On our first night, he was killed – murdered – by that very same King. Our King. I
spent years growing up watching him on our screens like you’re watching me now. I thought he was noble and brave, but he isn’t. He killed Wray for no reason other than the fact he
could.’

I stop to let the pause sell it but can feel an all-too-familiar lump forming in my throat. It is the first time I have spoken about Wray in a while. I didn’t even have the chance to get
to know him. If his mother is watching, she will finally know what happened to her son. It’s such a shame it had to be this way.

‘We are used to the Offerings not returning. We’ve always been told it is because they are serving the country, but this isn’t true. They don’t return because
they’ve been killed, or traded with other countries. It’s nothing to do with rebuilding the country – we are all given menial roles around the castle.’

I pause for a breath.

‘I spoke about that birthday bun earlier. I’m like you. I grew up in a tiny village far in the Northern Realm called Martindale. It will always be my home. There were cobbled
streets, little houses, an inn, a bakery. You all saw the village hall. We struggled for things to eat; we went some weeks without rations. We helped to create a community. My mother is brilliant
with her hands. She fixed clothes for people and they would give us small bits of food. On the night before the Reckoning, she gave me a small pot of jam that she and my little brother Colt had
saved for. That’s who I am. I’m Silver Blackthorn and I’m you – I’m your daughter.’

I raise my shirt to show the ribs sticking through my skin and roll up my sleeve to show how thin my arms are.

‘This is me. I’m not some warrior. You saw me wearing Kingsman’s armour but that was a one-off disguise because I didn’t want to get myself killed.’

Pietra takes the cue and zooms the camera out as I step to the side of the lectern and hold my arms out, allowing everyone to see what I look like. I glance towards the monitors and am stunned
by how thin I seem.

I return to the lectern as Pietra refocuses the camera. I don’t know how long I’ve been talking but it is a relief to see all four monitors still working.

‘You’ve all heard a lot about me, mainly bad things. Some of that is my fault. In Oxford I said I had a bomb. I know that’s what it looked like but it was meant to. They were
old pipes that me and one of my friends painted and fixed together.’

I allow myself a small grin, knowing the Minister Prime will be furious.

‘There was no bomb. I would never have taken anything dangerous into a place where there were so many people. The reason I said that is because I knew the King would let me go.
That’s why I’m here today. He isn’t interested in your safety, or anyone else’s other than his own. He released me to save himself. My friends thought I was crazy, they
thought I was walking into my own funeral, but I knew what the King was going to do.’

I take a breath. ‘Bullies are so predictable.’

I think about Imrin’s advice – ‘Talk about yourself ’. I hope that what I am saying has some effect.

‘Out,’ I hear in my ear. It is only one word but Knave’s voice makes me want to punch the air. Two to go. Keep talking.

‘Many of you will look at your lives. You’ll wonder why you are stuck doing something you hate when you are capable of so much more. You’ll think of the Reckoning and wonder if
that is all you’re good for. I met the person who designed the Reckoning – he was named Xyalis and he was the first Minister Prime. He designed it in his own image because he
didn’t recognise that people who could write, draw, sing, dance, act, speak or do anything creative were worthwhile. I had a beautiful friend named Faith. She was a Trog – worthless to
many – but she was good at different things. She could climb, she could think a step ahead of most others. More than any of that, you could trust her with your life. Xyalis didn’t
recognise that as a quality because he didn’t trust anyone. How many of you feel wasted and useless because the Reckoning has made you a Trog or an Inter? The idea behind the Reckoning, and
even the Offering, was to help us do the things we’re best at to try to put the country back together after the war. None of us can think that’s a bad idea – but the system we
have doesn’t work. Faith is testament to that and she died trying to do something about it.’

I have spoken so quickly that I need to stop for air, but I finish by adding, ‘I really miss her.’

One of the four monitors flashes black and I think a Realm has been lost, but it reappears as quickly as it went away.

‘I’ve got to be quick,’ I say. ‘I’m on the eighty-ninth floor of the North Tower in Middle England. We’ve got the most beautiful view of the country from here
–
our
country. My village was destroyed because the people there dared to protect me. Most of them are dead, the others are locked up. The Offering is supposed to be random, yet my
brother was chosen for this year’s second Offering and the North had more under-sixteens picked than anywhere. This isn’t a regime interested in your well-being; these are vindictive
people without mercy. I’ve walked the length of the country and seen so many places destroyed because their people were self-sufficient. The King wants you to rely on him – and your
town, city or village will be next if you don’t.’

A bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck, making me shiver. I can hear someone banging on the elevator. It won’t be long before they arrive.

‘Out.’ It’s Hart this time. Just Opie to go.

‘If you’re watching this and feeling angry, or confused, then good. All I ask is that you don’t do anything stupid – not yet. Go about your daily lives. Go to work and
only talk about any feelings you have with those you really trust. Don’t go onto the streets, don’t fight back. At the moment, you’re only going to get yourselves killed and far
too many people have died for no good reason.’

As I finish the sentence, the screen controlling the South feed switches to black. I know it won’t be long before the others go but I have said the most important thing. This was never
about starting a war; it was about stopping one – at least for now.

Words, not weapons.

I’m thinking ‘Come on, Opie’ so much that I almost say it out loud. There is another bang on the lift door.

‘There are Kingsmen coming for us now, but look at me. I’m a seventeen-year-old girl being bullied by much older men.’ I hold my arms out wide again. ‘They’re
terrified of me, not because I’m particularly strong but because I know who they are and how they think. I’ve walked in and out of Windsor Castle twice. I was one of a dozen Offerings
who escaped – and then I went back to free another twenty-nine after they stole more of your children. I walked through tens of thousands of people in Oxford and walked out unharmed with my
friend. He’s safe and well if you’re watching, Mr and Mrs Kapoor.’

Another screen goes – just the North and East left.

‘When I escaped from Windsor Castle the first time, I did it because I communicated with other people. The same is true of you. We are weaker divided and stronger together. You’re
hungry, you’re thirsty. You see your children being taken and not returned. You hear about the Offerings being used to make your lives better but it doesn’t happen. You
still
don’t have enough food. I’m not the person who can do anything about that, not on my own. The only way that’s going to change is if everyone works together.’

The third screen goes black just as I hear Opie say ‘out’ in my ear. This time I cannot stop myself. The only Realm left is the North – my people.

I step around the lectern and walk closer to the camera, stopping as there is an enormous crash against the door, sending the deadbolt spinning across the floor. Jela crouches ready as the door
hangs from a single hinge.

I blow a kiss. ‘I love you, Mum.’

Then the Kingsmen come.

The first Kingsman through the door hits the ground almost instantly as an arrow fizzes through one side of his neck and out the other. He crashes backwards, taking another
Kingsman to the ground with him. Jela dashes across the room towards us and shoots a second arrow into the knee of the next Kingsman who tries his luck. He shrieks in agony, stumbling over the
first fallen man and accidentally bashing the door closed behind him.

‘Now!’ I shout, but Jela knows what she is doing, scrabbling on the floor for Frank’s equipment that we brought with us. Pietra and I exchange a concerned look, knowing we have
one shot and that there is every chance it won’t work. It is dark outside but Jela stares out of the window, using the spotlights to guide her, and then fires the razor-sharp arrow through
the glass. There is a massive crash as the entire window pane explodes outwards. A freezing gust blisters inwards and for a second it feels as if the air has been sucked from the room. I am gasping
for breath while Jela is calmness personified. The powerful steel cable connected to the end of the arrow whistles from the floor through gaping space that was once the window, sizzling into the
distance.

Jela is like a person possessed. The arrow almost knocked her backwards but she soon recovers, skipping sideways and picking up a regular arrow in order to take out a third advancing Kingsman
all in one movement.

I finally catch my breath as the zip line locks into place. Frank told us he had forged the arrow with a point fierce enough to pierce more or less any material. If Jela used the crossbow
correctly, it would be fired with enough force to embed itself in the ground many storeys below. I left them to figure out the finer points, but wherever Jela was aiming, she did it perfectly. The
other end of the metal cord is attached to a hook fastened to the floor at our feet. Between us we yank the remainder of the twine and secure it tightly. A mixture of the night’s darkness and
the white lights of the towers makes it hard to see anything.

Frank has assured us the reinforced rope will take our weight, but I don’t blame Pietra for looking at me nervously as she sits on the edge of the shattered window and hooks an arched
piece of metal around the cable.

‘See you at the bottom,’ I say, but the howl of the wind means there is every chance she doesn’t hear me.

With a flick of her legs and a yelp, she jumps and is out of view within a second, sliding along the line.

‘You next,’ I call to Jela, who is backing towards the rope.

There is a thunk as another arrow finds its target and Jela grabs a second piece of metal from the floor, leaping onto the zip line without a word.

There are goosebumps on my arm as I take the final hook and get ready. Although Frank said the cable would take our combined weight, I am not particularly keen to test it. I count the seconds
out loud, listening to the stomp of feet and bellows of annoyance from Kingsmen somewhere behind me. When I get to six, I leap too.

The harsh metal of the clasp digs into my palms as the initial rush steals my breath. It is a blast of pure ice that has me coughing and clinging on desperately. I close my eyes and focus,
trying to count. I only get to one before something whips by my ear. It might just be the wind but my eyes rocket open and it feels as if I am travelling faster. There are towers on either side but
then I make the mistake of looking down. For a second, it feels as if I am falling and, in an effort to correct myself, I start rocking from side to side. I close my eyes again, feeling the
pressure increase around my fingers. I slide faster until I pass the towers. The white light below is so intense that I am still seeing stars but it is dimmer on the far side of the plaza. The
moonlight and the haze from the plaza overlaps, allowing me to see the ground I am hurtling towards. Jela and Pietra are standing at the bottom, watching with hands across their brows, shielding
their eyes from the glare.

Suddenly, I am enjoying the ride. The breeze whips my face, stinging my eyes, but the overwhelming sensation I can feel is freedom. I hear a noise and realise it is me laughing. I haven’t
felt like this since I jumped out of the top window at Windsor Castle. I wonder if this is what it is like to be a bird, to swoop, to soar.

‘Woo!’

If it was an option, I would go again – even if I had to walk up eighty-nine floors. This is the greatest feeling ever.

And then, just as I am thinking it is almost time to land, the rope goes limp. There is nothing to take my weight and I plunge relentlessly towards the ground.