by Farah Cook
I can’t stop thinking about what’s going to become of me, and to ease my mind I take out the picture of my dad. I’ve never seen it before. He looks young and handsome, in clothes that resemble what Dan and Lars are wearing. He’s pushing a wagon with a baby in it, and it can only be me, although I’ve never seen myself as baby until now. Round pale face and rosy cheeks.
The background in the picture is unfamiliar, with high-rise buildings and beautiful brownstone townhouses surrounded by lush green trees and neatly color-coordinated flower baskets. The sun is beaming into the street looking pretty and dreamy. This picture is not taken in the East.
Standing next to my dad in the picture is not my mom, but a woman who looks similar to me – except she has honey blond hair and piercing blue eyes. I turn the picture around. My mom’s handwriting is awful and I almost feel the panic in every word. Karen, it says, with a six-digit number next to the name. Frustrated, I shove the picture into my cotton carrier bag, which is the only valuable thing I’ve got with me from home, and of course my bowie knife and Gustav’s necklace, which my fingers fiddle with nervously. The warm impression from Gustav’s soft lips still burns my skin. My hope of seeing Gustav again has not faded away. I will see him again.
Outside, the dry climate appears – red rocky hills and dirt roads. The blazing sun is getting hotter against my skin, and we can only be heading for the West division. In school I learned City of Skies is a sophisticated futuristic-looking place with endless tall, grandiose steel-and-glass buildings, and there are meant to be curling roads and sleek arrow-like cars. The City of Skies is the fairy-tale land I’ve always secretly admired – dreamy and unreal.
We drive across rocky roads and I am regular jolted from my seat. The jeep is not modern, and the seats are worn out. Maybe the recruiters don’t want to inflict a culture shock to those they take away. Though it’s not culture shock, but weather shock I’m dreading. The West it’s meant to be a sunny division with beaches, parks and other recreations. My pallid skin hates the sun, and has adapted to the sunless climate in the East.
The East used to be a free and a flourishing place. But that all disintegrated when the West gained control of the divisions and introduced the recruitment assessments. Raiders have a privileged allocation, and conform to the West acting like cursed dogs, ever searching for the mystical Shadowislands.
My dad was an impressive Elite Raider in the Jarl Dynasty, which is the highest band of Raiders knighted by the monarchy. Elite Raiders are not like ordinary Raiders. They have supreme skills and master the art of several secret disciplines that helps them fight against the deadly monsters and beasts living in the Forbidden Areas. It is believed that the flesh-eating giants have undefeatable powers and strength.
The powers I possess, I’ve kept concealed for so long that I have no idea how to use them. I know my strength, intellect and beauty surpass that of anyone else in the East, but will the same apply in the West? And will there be other extraordinary people?
The car stops and we’re at the harbor, where the white ferry is waiting. I pop my head out to feel the air. It’s warm and humid. The jeep is the only car that boards the ferry. No one from the East comes this far out to the border unless they’re leaving.
I step out of the car and take in the fancy-looking ferry. It’s large, with three decks. I’ve never been on one before, and feel the wobbly movements as we sail off. Dan walks in my direction and hands me a sealed white bag. He leads me to the cabin on the second floor. It’s reasonably sized and luxurious with a double bed and bathroom.
“You’ll be staying here. I suggest you get some rest, it’s a day’s travel to get to the West,” he says. “Everything you need for now is in the white bag.”
“You’re taking me to the West? Why?” I demand. Of course there’s no answer. Instead a dead acid stare lacking pity and regret. Dan is not a man of many words, and it frustrates me.
“Try and see this as a positive thing,” he suddenly says, convincingly. But how can this traumatic incident be positive? Does he lack empathy too? Anger boils inside me, but I hold my tongue. Saying something offensive to Dan is not going to help me, he’s just doing his job – a miserable job that is, to unplug someone from their division. I have no idea why they’re taking me to the West and where I will be allocated. What is my destiny?
Dan closes the door firmly and I hear his footsteps heavy against the ground. I rip open the bag and toss out the contents on the bed – electric toothbrush, clothes, tweezers, wipes, cosmetics and other unnecessary beauty items. Angrily I clear the bed with my arm, and all the things scatter on the floor.
I bury my head in the pillow, and feel sleepy and curl up under the gray blanket and shut my eyes. I long for my mat. The springs in the mattress are pinching my spine. I hate beds.
My mom’s last words plague me, and I can’t seem to shake what she said out of my head. You need to find your father, Nora. My father has been missing for nearly fourteen years. Does she really believe he’s still alive? If he is, then why hasn’t he returned to the East? Something strange is happening and I intend to find out what. Who’s that woman on the picture, and what is she doing with my dad? All the questions are driving me mad, and the answers are nowhere to be found.
The ferry shakes powerfully, and I drop my balance and nausea defeats me. I make it to the bathroom in time, and throw up in the toilet. Outside the black waves are strong, bashing against the vessel. I walk back to the bed, curling my body into a firm ball, tugging my knees close to my face. I swallow a scream and instead it rings inside my head. When the ferry shakes again it knocks me over so my head bangs against the wall, and suddenly I pass out from sheer anxiety.
When I wake, dawn is breaking. We’re still on the ferry and I smell food. There’s a tray on the table next to the bed. I lift the lid – fresh fruit and a vegetable salad. I stuff my face savage-like from the rainbow-colored plate. The door creaks open.
“You’re hungry,” says Dan, pursing his lips. He stares at me like he’s afraid, but I ignore him. My fist is full of juicy strawberries and my mouth is chomping on a big red apple. “You should get ready, we’ll be approaching City of Skies in a few minutes.” I look out of the round cabin window and see dozens of lights in the sky, but it’s not twinkling stars, it’s light coming from endless tall, twirling buildings – they look magnificent, glowing bright over the black ocean.
I’ve entered the fairy-tale land of the West division. My stomach wrenches and I drop the food onto the tray. It’s not some part of my imagination – it’s real, and more beautiful than I had imagined. But the image of home still haunts me, and this day that hasn’t even begun yet begins to feel long, empty and daunting.
Some early mornings before I’d go hunting, Gustav and I would meet in the hub. He would bring a basket of twigs and pine cones to light the fireplace, and Argetha, a large woman with rosy cheeks, would prepare us her flavorsome pink tea, made of leaves specially grown in some of the wild fields of our division. I long for this moment, which doesn’t compare with what I’m looking at – the unknown, and the unfamiliar coldness of the West.
My face is stern and my emotions cold like a dead deer. The life I really long for drains out of my body – I’m in the darkness. The only light I see is shining from the City of Skies – the only ruling city of three divisions, with glistening buildings that swirl endlessly high into the sky.
“Is this really City of Skies?” I ask.
“It’s not that bad,” says Dan, and smiles carefully. “Is it?”
“No, it’s not,” I say, and smile hesitantly back. But I’m not happy. I’m terrified. I have no idea what’s going to happen to me from this point on.
End of Preview - City of Skies
We hope you enjoyed the first three chapters of City of Skies from the Shadowislands Saga. Be part of Nora's enthralling journey and sign up for Shadowislands on Facebook to receive the latest info about the upcoming launch.
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About the Author
Growing up in Denmark in the land of the Vikings she started writing when she was twelve, and wrote many short stories. Farah currently lives in London with her husband, Christopher and two sons. Benjamin and Noah.
With a background in Marketing from London's financial sector, Farah graduated from Lund University in Sweden with BA in Social Science and from London Metropolitan University with a Masters in Arts. She speaks six languages fluently including Danish, Swedish and German.