Star of Hope
Page 25
Harkin helps me live with that guilt.
Ishbel steps forward to greet me.
‘Sorlie, how are you? You look well.’
‘I am well, Madam President.’ I accept her outstretched hand and kiss it. She laughs, something rare from Ishbel. I notice the pain of Dawdle’s death lingers in the lines around her mouth.
‘No need for such pomp.’ She beckons me to sit by her. ‘And soon there will be elections,’ she continues. ‘I may not be President for much longer.’
‘I doubt that will happen,’ says the small figure who moves to her side.
‘Sorlie, have you met my Vice President, Keats?’
‘Yes, we’ve met.’ I shake his hand. ‘Good to see you again, sir.’
The small man bows. ‘And you, Sorlie. We haven’t seen each other since we set up the outpost on the Bieberville border with that rogue Merj.’
‘Is he still there?’
‘Yes, and doing a grand job. The outpost seems to suit him.’ He frowns. ‘He is still a worry but we keep him busy with environmental projects. He has his own kingdom there and it suits him fine. If he leaves we’ll know immediately. And now that we have trade deals with the Eastern Zone our Bieberville border is a busy trade route. I think Merj is happy there.’
‘And Jake?’
He shakes his head. ‘Ah, not such a happy story. But let’s not ruin this joyous event.’
A fanfare sounds close by and huge screens show an image of the President with me sitting beside her. This image will be beamed to all the newly formed Federations created after the census collated the whereabouts of all Esperaneo’s citizens. There might still be some hidden communities out there but the Federations will eventually find them and care for them. And when they do they too will be linked up to FuB2, the news channel created by Ishbel’s Communications Officer, Skelf.
‘I have a birthday surprise for you, Sorlie,’ Ishbel announces. I’d forgotten – it’s my birthday today. Birthdays are for spoiled brats who live on a Military Base and have a native to care for their every need. She had never forgotten my birthday when I was small and nothing had changed on that front.
My mouth blots with nerves and I’m shocked to realise I’m starstruck. I can’t stop staring at this magnificent President with her thick amber hair coiled in a neat round at the nape of her neck. A rich emerald green coat drapes over her shoulders and small enamelled studs, shaped like Celtic knots, pierce her ears. She looks nothing like that native Ishbel of old. And yet she still stands on tiptoes as she towers above us.
Kathleen tugs at my sleeve, but Ishbel reaches out and takes her hand.
‘Kathleen.’ She says the name of her sister with a catch of sorrow in her voice. ‘Come and sit by me.’
‘But you’re the President.’ Although Kathleen shrinks into my side, she speaks with force and does not let go of Ishbel’s hand. Ishbel laughs again. ‘And you’re kin.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Your Pa will tell you later.’ Ishbel lifts her up to sit on her knee. Kathleen for once is speechless. She looks around and when she seems to realise what’s happening she sticks her thumb in her mouth and coories into the President.
‘And now your Pa’s birthday present.’ Ishbel rings a little bell that sits on the side table. The crowd fall silent. In the distance I hear the mouth whistle of a familiar tune I first heard at the Base. One Ishbel used to sing to me in her own native language. But this whistling is familiar too. First heard in Black Rock Prison where whistling was forbidden by the authorities, so when I had asked to be taught it never happened. A lump knots in my throat, a hum of melodic voices joins the whistle and drift from the back of the stage. Two women appear from behind the scenes. My pulse bounces when I recognise Reinya, her red hair flaming. Her eyes seek mine and her smile grows so huge it’s a wonder she can hold a note. The other woman is Noni, her matted black hair stands on end and her face crumples with concentration. They lead a procession of children. I guess at over a hundred, all ages, size, colour and gene pool; Native, Privileged, Special, Neanderthal. Their sweet song soars and grows louder as yet more children come into view, their harmonies blend in perfect pitch. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end with the beauty of the sound and the spectacle and the realisation that this is the Black Rock School Choir. Something great and wonderful born out of the horrors of that place. This is the result of the education programme set up by Reinya and Scud.
This is the future.
When the singing stops the whistle continues and the last to enter the stage is my old friend Scud. He strides towards me and hugs me like a father and pat me on the back. Tears roll down both our faces.
‘Happy birthday, wee man.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing a full trilogy is a hard task. It would not have been possible without the help of many generous, talented people.
I am especially grateful to my regular early readers Frances Wright and Colin Baird. To Rachel Davidson, Claire Watts and Miranda Moore who read the full manuscript and scrutinised every word. Thanks also to the rest of my YA crit group who have encouraged and supported me throughout the writing of these books and to everyone in the SCBWI network who have helped me along the way. I would also like to thank my adult crit group, FK8, for venturing into my future world to give some insightful feedback.
Many thanks are due to everyone at Fledgling, in particular Clare Cain who took this project under her wing at a particularly difficult time.
Lastly I would like to thank my family for their constant support. And of course love and thanks to my husband Colin. Without his expert knowledge and truthful comments none of this would have happened.
STAR OF HOPE
Moira McPartlin
© Moira McPartlin 2019
The author asserts the moral right to be identified
as the author of the work in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
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Fledgling Press Ltd,
Cover illustration: Graeme Clarke
Published by:
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www.fledglingpress.co.uk
Print ISBN 9781912280247
eBook ISBN 9781912280254