Eos (The Eos Dawn Series Book 1)

by Jen Guberman

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Guberman

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN: 9781089216964

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Front cover image Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Guberman

  Printed by KDP Amazon in the United States of America

  Second printing edition 2019.

  www.UberGuberman.com

  For mom, who has read this book more

  times than even I have.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Click.

  After weeks of careful observation, I felt like I was actually going to get away with this. I moved out of my crouch for a moment and peered one more time over my shoulder, checking the dark barroom. I squatted and turned back to the ancient brass lock underneath the bar counter, once I was certain I was alone. Removing the lock carefully and silently, I placed it gingerly on the dingy red and white checkered tile floor beside me. The cabinet let out a quick squeak as I opened it, revealing a few palm-sized liquor bottles filled with caramel-colored liquid. Jackpot.

  For the past few weeks, I had spent my nights watching this bar from across the street, studying when the barkeeper would typically lock up and leave for the day. I knew that every day during the earlier hours of the night, he would leave for a while to go home to his family. He would always return late at night to spend some time tipping back the bottle himself before he would eventually lock up. At this point, I was certain of when he would be gone for the night and I knew it was my chance. I have gone in the bar before—I’m an in-city messenger. Within my city, Rockhallow, I’m hired out, typically by government officials. They pay me to deliver letters, documents, packages, or whatever else throughout Rockhallow, wherever they need me to go. I’m too young to be a cross-city messenger; the roads to the other few remaining cities in our country have become fairly dangerous since the war. The last time I was sent to deliver a letter to this bar, I overheard some men discussing some very old, very expensive liquor. I immediately wanted it.

  I’m underage, but only just. Rockhallow follows the laws of our country’s past in regards to alcohol, and we are not legally able to drink until we turn 21. I’m 20. I’ve only had a few drinks before, and always in secret. This time would be different—this liquor was special, from long before the war ever destroyed most of the country. These few bottles are some of the only remaining ones, and are said to be some of the sweetest rums that were ever made. I figured, if I snagged two bottles, I could drink one myself, and save the other for when I become a cross-city messenger at 25 to barter in one of the other cities. By then, no one should be looking for a little bottle of rum, but it could easily earn me a wad of cash.

  I wrapped my fingers around the first bottle I saw—a short, round bottle with the shape similar to that of a clamshell. It was full about three quarters of the way, and the caramel liquid sloshed as I stuffed it in my coat pocket. Just as I was reaching for the second, I heard the crash of a door being thrown open.

  “She’s behind the counter! I knew someone has been watching my shop for a long time now! I knew it was a thief!” a clumsy man with a red, bulbous nose shouted while stumbling into chairs as he made his way into the room—the barkeep.

  I swore under my breath, unsure of what to do. As I tried to scramble behind some of the boxes concealed by the counter, I heard two more people enter the bar as the lights flickered on, illuminating the room in an amber light. One of the newcomers, a thick-set man with close cropped black hair and a crooked nose, stepped behind the bar just as I was trying to wedge my way between two crates. He grabbed my arm with a strong grip and dragged me out of my hiding place, sending the crates around me crashing to the ground as I flailed my legs. The other newcomer, an unusually muscular woman with frizzy brown hair and a wide jaw, joined the man at his side. She tugged at my other arm, causing me to slide significantly faster than I could scramble away. Once they got me out from behind the counter, the woman reached into a pocket on her security vest and pulled out a syringe, jabbing me in the neck with it before I could even utter a word, sending me into blurred darkness.

  When I began to regain my vision, I could begin to make out the figures of my parents. They were talking to someone. Who are they talking to?

  “Mom... Dad?” I grumbled quietly, blinking through the bright fluorescent lights of the room. How long was I out? There’s sunlight… Where am I?

  My vision gradually grew clearer, and I could make out distinct voices. I was in a courtroom, that much I could tell. I could see the sparkle of white marble columns and floors, oak seats surrounding me. There were very few people in the room with us: me, my parents, the barkeep, and a handful of whom I could only assume were government officials. And then there was Redelle. Patrick Redelle, our city leader, was a man of average height, average weight, and above-average intelligence. His hair was a chestnut brown that grew no more than an inch above his head and was always styled and gelled without a hair out of place. He had a strong face, with what seemed to be a permanently stubbly goatee. Redelle was always fashionably dressed, and today was no exception. His brown suit was free of any blemishes or specks of dirt and was perfectly pressed as he stood stiff at the head of the room.

  “You’ve obviously made a mistake!” my mom shouted at the barkeep, her green eyes wide and reddened, filled with tears. “My daughter would never steal from anyone! Especially not rum! She’s too young to drink!”

  “We can reimburse you for any stolen or damaged goods, we just ask that you please give our daughter another chance,” my dad bartered, a stern but pleading look on his sharp face.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Redelle replied, from his position in the room. “She is no longer a minor, and therefore must be tried as an adult and unless substantial evidence is provided in her favor, she will be sentenced to exile to Avid.”

  “Avid?” I spoke up, trying to prop myself up, only to jerk forwards and find out I was handcuffed to a bench. “You can’t do this!”

  Ever since the four cities were built after the war, people began devising new ways to deal with criminals. It began with the old prison system, only to find out they couldn’t contain all the prisoners. Eventually, the exile system was put into place. Towns were developed for different crime groups, spread over a small region of the country, considering most of it was left in too much of ruins for even the criminals to live. Because of this, criminals were exiled from their cities into the appropriate towns.

  The thieves are sent to the junkyard town of Avid. Even though this was about to become my new home, there was very little I knew about it—people never really talked about what the exile towns were like.

  Those with violent habits are sentenced to the caverns of Bellicose. These include your murderers and psychopaths, but it also includes those who pick a lot of physical fights with others. Their caverns are located the furthest from any of the cities because the people in them are considered the biggest threat to the safety of the citizens.

  I knew a guy who used to be in my class when we were young who was fairly recently exiled to Delaisse because he was caught with a stash of drugs in his apartment. People who are vandals or drug abusers are lumped into the same group because of the statistical links between
the two at the time of the group’s creation, and these people are transported to the industrial fields called Delaisse.

  Extreme liars even have their own exile group in the heart of a forest somewhere around a lake. It wasn’t as if the cities would banish a person for telling a few white lies, but when lies get out of hand and drastically disturb a city, these people are exiled to the town of Equivox. Few people live in Equivox, but those that do are some of the most coldhearted liars that ever walked.

  As for the last exile group, there’s Clamorite. These “noise polluters”—rioters and general nuisances—are sent to live on a mountain. These people are treated the best of all the exile groups, with larger monthly rations delivered to them because their crimes are considered the most innocent—they simply caused too much public disturbance, often receiving complaints from citizens.

  “You can’t send me to Avid!” I protested, struggling against the cuffs. “I’m your messenger! You know me better than that!”

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t have much of a choice—there were witnesses, and Mr. Cantrell has a solid case against you. He has spotted you watching him closing his bar for the last couple weeks, and he notified me when he saw you picking his lock. I sent some of my officers to check it out immediately, and when they came back with you sedated claiming you were resisting arrest…well, you can see where my hands are tied here,” Redelle eyed my cuffs apologetically.

  A rail of a woman with short greying hair and spectacles grimaced at me before turning to Redelle.

  “Can we please proceed with the trial, Mr. Redelle?” she croaked.

  “Yes, yes, sorry Esther.”

  “Daughter of Mira and Troy Dawn. Twenty years of age. Accused of theft by a Mr. Grod Cantrell,” Esther read from a file. She clicked a button on a tiny remote in her palm and a large projection flickered into the middle of the room. I was staring into my own pale green eyes on the image. My fair skin and countless dark freckles, framed by my long black and platinum blonde streaked hair, displayed in an emotionless photograph of me in front of the people that were undoubtedly going to cast me out of the city I had grown up in. As I stared at the projection, Esther continued to read off the details of my crime.

  “Are there any council members or witnesses present who are able to provide evidence to prove the innocence of the accused?” questioned Esther.

  Silence.

  “Eos Dawn, you are hereby sentenced to exile to the town of Avid,” Redelle began, followed by the wailing cries of my mom as she threw herself at me, sobbing onto my shoulder as I squirmed uncomfortably, crushed by her but restrained by the handcuffs still. “Your exile is due to take place in three hours. You have this time to spend with your family and friends, as well as to pack five items you are permitted to bring with you to Avid. During this time, the same officers that took part in your arrest will accompany you. After your three hours have expired, you will be escorted to the city gate, where further information will be given to you before you depart.”

  At the word “depart,” my mom slid back onto her knees and looked me in the eyes, covering her mouth and nose with both hands, a look of surprise, shame, and disbelief on her face.

  “Mom, I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “This isn’t you,” she sputtered through sobs. “My E would never do something so stupid…”

  “Mom,” I started.

  “Stop. Please, honey. Just…let me go on with the image of my sweet, innocent little girl. I can’t be around you… I can’t have my last memory of my daughter be of a thief,” she sighed shakily as she stood unsteadily to her feet, steadying herself with my free hand, allowing her grasp to linger for a second before she gently squeezed my hand and pulled away as she turned and walked out of the courtroom doors.

  “Mom! Mom, come back!” I shouted in vain.

  “You know we both love you, Eos,” my dad said calmly. “Your mother is just in shock. She’ll come around before you leave. I’m going to try to catch up with her and keep her around the house if you want to spend any of your three hours with us. Don’t forget to pack your things before you have to go.”

  He walked out of the room without waiting for a response. City officials began filing slowly out of the room after the chitchat began to die down. When the two officers were the only other people left in the room, the woman who injected me with the tranquilizer pushed a miniature key into the lock of the cuffs chaining my arm to the bench.

  Click.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I made my way to my house on the eastern part of the city. Rockhallow isn’t the biggest of the four populated cities—it ranks as the second smallest: Fallmont, Eastmeade, Rockhallow, and then Nortown. In Rockhallow, I can easily cross from the western side to the eastern in about an hour by foot, despite the fact that the city is on hilly terrain. Luckily for me, considering my limited time, the courthouse happens to be located near the city center, so my walk didn’t have to use up too much of what little time I had before I would be forced to leave my home forever. Exiles aren’t given a second chance.

  By the time I got to my front door, I was already fed up with the officials following me. They hadn’t said much on the walk, aside from a few friendly greetings with other citizens they passed along the way—friendly, as if they weren’t playing a role in destroying my life.

  I wrapped my fingers around the knob of my front door and gave it a twist. The knob made a quiet thunk. I tried again. Thunk. I reached into my coat pockets for my key, but came back empty-handed. Great. They not only took the rum, but they took my keys and my parents locked me out of the house. Considering my parents left quite a while before I was even uncuffed, they should have made it back by now. I knocked on the door and waited patiently. No response.

  Knock knock knock.

  “Mom? Dad?” I pressed my ear to the door and listened intently.

  I can hear you! Let me in! I thought, my face growing warm.

  I could hear muffled voices, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying. Frankly, I didn’t care. They didn’t want me in the house, and no words would have meant anything to me at that point.

  Turning to the officials behind me, I asked in a snarky tone, “Does it count as stealing if the items belong to me? Or are you going to stab me with another needle?” I glared at the female official.

  “We’ll see,” she said, her grin rubbing her undeserved power in my face.

  Letting out a frustrated grunt, I turned on my heels and walked around to the side of the house. It was only ever my parents and me that lived at home, so we had a simple ranch style house. Fortunately for me, I usually kept my window unlocked for easier access in and out of the house without alerting my parents. I didn’t sneak out often, but when I did, I always came back with something—jewelry, money, and other little trinkets. I never stole anything that would draw attention to myself. Until now, apparently.

  I opened my window with ease and hoisted one leg over the windowsill, followed by the other in an almost fluid movement. I grinned to myself when I tried to picture the two large officers attempting to replicate the motion. To my surprise, they both stayed outside the window without even trying to step inside.

  “So, there’s some trust here?” I asked sarcastically as I began to dig through my desk drawers. You never really think about which five possessions in your life are most valuable until you have to pick or have them taken forever. This made me wonder what my parents would do with my other stuff once I was gone. What to bring…what to bring…

  While rifling through my belongings, my eyes met a shiny ring—the one my best friend, Fabian, gave me before his parents made him move with them to Fallmont about a year ago. Fabian’s father was asked to move for some work-related thing. He never really talked about his dad’s work, but we talked about practically everything else. We had been best friends from the time we could walk, and were nearly inseparable until he moved. The day before he left, he gave me a ring he bought from the market for me to remember hi
m by—it was copper, twisted into an intricate design set with a stunning sapphire gem fixed in the middle. I slid the ring on my finger as I have countless times, with the same result.

  Clunk.

  The wide ring fell back into the drawer, off of my thin finger. Considering I didn’t foresee the officials counting the clothes on my back in my item count, I was hoping it would fit just enough to wear instead of having it count as one of the five items. I had been meaning to get a chain to wear the ring on my neck. I guess it’s a bit late for that now. I dropped the ring into my coat pocket.

  I wonder if Avid has any kind of marketplace…I assume it would, so I had better bring some money. Unscrewing the lid on my glass money jar, I turned to the officials at the window.

  “If I took all of my money, would that count as just one item?” I asked with genuine, innocent curiosity.

  “Yes,” replied the man, leaning his head further into my window.

  At this, I stuffed what money I had into the other coat pocket. That’s one thing I’ve always loved about my black coat—it has two external pockets, and four internal pockets I tend to stash stuff in. I could try to slip something extra into my hidden pockets in hopes that I could skirt the rule, but if they found out, they’d probably just take everything from me. I can be greedy at times, sure, but I’m not stupid. I couldn’t resist though. I grabbed for my grandpa’s old pocketknife on my dresser and slid it quickly into my sleeve, pretending to be moving things on the dresser top around. Holding the knife in my palm, my hand shrunken back into my sleeve enough for the knife to be out of sight, I scratched a fake itch on my chest and let the knife fall into one of the hidden pockets.

  I still needed three more objects. I looked around my room. My eyes immediately went for the picture frame on my bedside table. Holding it at eyelevel, I made out the familiar figure of younger me riding piggyback on my dad, a frozen expression of laugher on both of our faces. My grandpa stood in the background, a goofy look on his face as he was caught in mid-bite with his hamburger from the annual summer barbeque my family hosted. I have always been closer to the men in my family, particularly my dad. I removed the picture from the frame and carefully tucked it into the same pocket as the ring from Fabian.