ashen city (Black Tiger Series Book 2)

by Sara Baysinger

  Table of Contents

  PART I

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PART II

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  PART III

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  PART IV

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ASHEN CITY PLAYLIST

  ashen city

  ashen city

  the black tiger series—book two

  SARA BAYSINGER

  Star Finder Press

  ashen city

  Copyright 2017 Sara Baysinger.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

  Published by StarFinder Press

  Martinsville, Indiana

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events is strictly coincidental.

  Ember written by David Baysinger (SESAC). Used with permission.

  Excerpts from CONJECTURES OF A GUILTY BYSTANDER by Thomas Merton, copyright © 1965, 1966 by The Abbey of Gethsemani. Used by permission of Doubleday, an imprint of the

  Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights

  reserved.

  Cover Design by Sara Baysinger

  Manuscript edited by Sarah Grimm

  Typesetting and formatting done by Perry Elisabeth Design

  Printed in the United States of America.

  For Jonah and Elijah.

  Your belief in this book made it possible.

  I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people,

  that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another

  even though we were total strangers. Now I realize what we all are.

  And if only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained.

  There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around

  shining like the sun.

  - Thomas Merton

  PART I

  the dirt

  CHAPTER ONE

  I’ve been having that dream again. The one where I’m dying.

  I can’t breathe. My arms are flailing, reaching out to grasp anything, but there’s nothing there. Kind of like when I fell from the Rebels Circle. And just before I hit the ground, I wake up.

  I’ve had that dream every night since I returned to the Community Garden. Except I’m not falling from the Rebels Circle. I’m falling from the bridge in Louisville. And it’s not Forest who catches me.

  It’s Rain.

  And he’s holding me and telling me I should have worked with him and asking me what sort of mess have I got myself into now. He’s telling me that I can still change things, and then I hear that Voice—that Pull that wouldn’t leave me alone for weeks. I hear it calling out to me to prepare the way, and I don’t know what the shoddy rot it’s talking about.

  I used to look forward to nighttime, when I could finally let my body relax and let my mind go blank for a little while. Now I hate it.

  But days are wonderful.

  Because Titus forgave any wrongs he thought I committed, and he let me come back to the orchard. He doesn’t suspect that I’m working with the Resurgence anymore—the rebel group that threatens to overthrow him. My career title includes being a work hand on the orchard, which means I get to live with Dad and Elijah. And Elijah is here. He’s healthy, and he’s still the instigating little brother that I missed profusely while I lived in Frankfort.

  But mostly, my days are perfect because Forest is here. He’s been staying at the hotel in the town square for the past two weeks. He’s had food and blankets delivered to our house while we wait on the resources Titus promised. And my feelings for Forest have evolved into something stronger, deeper, more real. He’s my comfort. My base. My rock. My one constant in this crazy, unpredictable world.

  And I don’t really know what I’ll do when he returns to Frankfort tomorrow. I haven’t even mentioned my plan to leave Ky behind to find help to restore this country. I’m not entirely sure he’ll approve.

  Forest and I are walking down the gravel road toward the orchard. The sun is hidden behind a cloak of gray winter clouds, and flurries fill the air. It’s nothing like the beautiful Frankfort weather inside the cupola that stays a perfect seventy-two degrees, but I don’t care. After experiencing the nightmare of Frankfort, I’m just glad to be home, snow and all. Even though I used to hate the snow, right now it’s a sign that I’m really home. The wet cold is a warm welcome from the hell that was Frankfort. I will take three hundred and sixty-five days of winter over one day of perfect Frankfort sunshine.

  A brisk wind sweeps in, and I pull my coat tighter around my shoulders to fight off the chill. Forest wraps his arm around me as we head home. I just finished taking him to the heartbeat of the Community Garden, The Tap, where he met all the people I grew up with and all the people I love.

  “That was…nice,” he says.

  I grimace at the way he says “nice.” Like my life here is a cute little story full of pathetic Proletariats and commoners. I mean, Forest is compassionate, but sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever be able to adopt the mindset that we’re all equal—that Proletariats aren’t below him. Or, at least, they shouldn’t be.

  Nice.

  “I especially liked Old John,” he says with a laugh.

  I look at him and smirk. “I mean, he could use a few more teeth,” I say, thinking of John’s toothless smile. Then my humor fades. “I wish…I wish yo
u could have met Leaf and his family too.”

  Forest stops in the middle of the road and turns to face me. The look in his eyes makes my heart heavy. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about Leaf and…and his parents.”

  I swallow the burning in my throat and look toward the mowed-down corn field, now run by another Proletariat family. It wasn’t until the day after my return that Dad let me in on what happened while I was gone. Leaf put a target on his family when he stood up against the government like he did. When he was brainwashed, the authorities compelled him into letting them know exactly what his parents were doing—like keeping Jonah Walker undercover in their house while he was on the run. It wasn’t even a week after I left that Leaf’s family was arrested. They must have been sent to prison after I was taken out. While I was dealing with my shallow problems in Frankfort, Leaf’s parents were being burned on the Rebels Circle.

  And I didn’t even know. Neither did Forest, apparently.

  But Titus knew all along.

  I wonder if Leaf thought that far ahead. If he would have gone through with his treasonous speech if he knew it would get his family killed.

  “I can’t believe Titus killed them,” I mutter.

  Forest looks down at his hands and fiddles with a piece of straw. “They were rebels, Ember.”

  My stomach drops and I step back from him. His arm drops to his side. He presses his lips together and looks at me, the look in his eyes pleading with me to not have this argument again.

  “I don’t like that they were executed any more than you do,” he says. “But they did help Walker escape. And everyone knows that helping rebels is a crime punishable by death.”

  I shake my head. “Walker is trying to make this country a better place, Forest. Ky is flawed and needs to be redeemed.”

  “Yes,” Forest whispers. He reaches out and gently touches my cheek. “Yes. You’re absolutely right. Changes do need to be made.” His knuckles slide down my cheek to my chin, and he tips it up. “But, Ember, if changes are made too quickly, anarchy can and will follow. Lives will be lost. A plan needs to be made, and slowly executed. What Walker is planning will only bring more chaos than order.”

  How long will a plan you come up with take? How many lives will be lost while you take your time executing it? I want to ask. But I don’t. Because these sort of conversations never end well with Forest. I know his eyes will be opened eventually. Some day. Maybe when it’s his brother burning on the Rebels Circle for attempting to assassinate Titus Whitcomb like he claims he wants to do.

  But right now, I don’t want to talk about how we need to take action against Titus immediately, and not wait, wait, wait for him to suddenly decide to put his starving, brainwashed citizens higher up on his priority list.

  But maybe.

  Maybe when Forest sees how serious I am about making change, he will support me.

  “So…” Forest says as we resume walking. “It’s been two weeks. And I know you need time to adjust and think about, well, everything. But—”

  Oh. No. Here it is. His goodbye. I knew it was coming. I just hoped he’d change his mind, and, I don’t know, maybe decide to stick by my side.

  “The New Year parade is in two days,” he continues. “And—Titus, he’s already phone-banding me, asking me if we’ll be back by tomorrow.”

  “We?” I ask.

  “Yes.” Forest furrows his brows. “He wants you in the parade, too. Remember?”

  I do now. Ever since I was supposed to be executed, pretty much all future plans for me were forgotten. Then I returned to the Garden, and I assumed all my future responsibilities were no longer expected. But the annual parade…does Titus really expect me to be a part of it? After he nearly killed me? After he killed Leaf and his family? Surely not. But then, why would he contact Forest about it? And how long, exactly has Titus been in contact with Forest? I guess, way out here, I finally feel free of his constant supervision.

  But I don’t think anyone living in Ky will ever be free of Titus.

  Which is why I really don’t want to linger in Ky any longer than necessary. And I definitely don’t want to be in Titus’s shoddy parade.

  “So, Ember?” Forest stops, turns to face me, and touches my cheek. His touch used to make me lose my mind. His touch used to make me melt. But right now, when he wants to talk about our future and Titus and Frankfort, and when he’s defending the chief’s decision to kill Leaf and his family, I’m annoyed. As long as he keeps putting Titus on a pedestal, I don’t know if I can ever fully trust him. “Do you want to come to Frankfort with me?” he asks again.

  “For—for the parade?”

  “To live.”

  Whoa. What? My heart stops completely, and I quickly look down to hide my shock. Does he really think I want to return to that hellhole? I grit my teeth, because I thought he would at least respect my hatred of Frankfort. I mean, I don’t really ever want to see, much less live in, Frankfort again. But how am I supposed to tell Forest that, when it’s his home? I just introduced him to all my friends as though I’m expecting him to leave his friends, his career, his comfortable life behind. But I can’t really see Forest, with his long, manicured fingers and pressed slacks and freshly shaved chin, living a rugged life in the Community Garden.

  But could I see him leaving Ky with me? Would he—would he leave Titus, his best friend, to be with…me?

  “Ember,” he whispers. “Say something.”

  I blink and look past him to think. But all my thoughts vanish like a flame in the wind, because behind him—behind Forest—rising toward the sky right above the apple orchard, is a thick, black mass of smoke. And there’s so much of it appearing all at once—so much smoke billowing toward the sky like a black monster—that I. Can’t. Breathe. “No.”

  “No…what?” Forest asks.

  I shove past him, my heart sinking into my gut and then lodging into my throat, as I stumble toward the black cloud hovering directly above my house.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Ember, wait!” Forest shouts behind me.

  I’m already sprinting toward my home. Dad and Elijah were there when we left hours ago. Are they still inside the house? Freezing wind whips into my face. Hot tears sting my eyes, and I blink them out of my vision.

  Running. Being quick of foot. It’s really the only thing I have to my name. But right now, my speed just doesn’t seem to be enough, because I can’t get to my home fast enough.

  My lungs scream for air by the time I arrive at the orchard, but air is the least of my concerns as I stare at the charcoaled mess before me. And I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think, because the shock, the horror, the grief is all too much to take in right now.

  My house.

  My house has been set on fire. It’s all burnt wood and black soot and flames, flames, flames licking out every window. The door has been busted down. The roof collapses, sending a burst of ash and smoke into the air. Behind the house, every single tree, and even the grass, is burning like the raging flames of hell.

  Dad. Elijah. I have to get them.

  My legs remember how to work, and I numbly stumble toward the house.

  “Ember!” Forest shouts behind me.

  I don’t really know why he’s calling my name. I think maybe he wants to stop me. So I run faster. A wave of heat hits me as I run closer. The heat is a stark contrast to the winter cold. And it wraps around my body and singes my eyes and my face, and I have to blink several times to keep the heat out. And smoke. It’s everywhere. Filling my nostrils and my lungs and making me cough, and I’m burning on the Rebels Circle all over again.

  Strong arms wrap around me just as I reach the front step, and I fight them—I fight them because I have to get inside that house and find Dad and Elijah, but the arms are strong as they sweep me off my feet and carry me away from the fire.

  “No,” I say between coughs. “I—I have to find…Dad…”

  “If you go in there, you’ll die,” Forest shouts.


  “But…Elijah—”

  “I’m sure they got away.”

  Sure? Sure isn’t good enough. I have to know. I struggle in his grasp but his viselike grip wraps around my body, offering zero mercy. So I look behind him as he carries me away from the smoking, flaming mess that was once my home. I look through my tears. And it’s one big blur of orange fire and black smoke and ash everywhere. It’s hopelessness and despair all in one chaotic disaster. And my grief rises up. It chokes me until it’s almost too hard to breathe.

  Forest sets me down on the road, and I crumple to my knees and weep.

  “I have to—I have to go find them,” I say between sobs.

  “I’ll go.”

  Before I can object, he stands and races toward the cabin, and I watch through my tears as he approaches the house, but just before he reaches the porch, a beam collapses and crashes right in front of the doorway, blocking him off. That’s our only door. All the windows have flames licking out of them.

  Forest can’t get in.

  Dad and Elijah can’t get out.

  Forest jogs around to the back of the house, then appears a moment later on the other side. Dejected, defeated, he walks back to where I’m sitting. He pulls me into his arms, and I cry into his chest. I cry and sob until I can hardly breathe. I don’t know how long we sit like that. By the time I pull away and glance at my house, the fire has dwindled, leaving only a shell of what was once my home.

  Forest follows my gaze. “They probably got out.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I mean, they would have seen the fire, smelled the smoke before it consumed the house, right?”

  I’m not so sure. That smoke appeared in seconds. There was no warning. None.

  “So—if they’re not inside—where are they?” I ask. “Why aren’t they here waiting for us?”

  “Maybe they ran to the fields.”

  I look past the smoking house to the orchard. The trees were all up in flames. Every single one of them. But now, the fire has died down, though smoke still curls from the ground. Maybe Forest is right. Maybe Dad and Elijah are out there. I rise to my feet, but Forest grabs my hand.