Page 1 of Storm of Shadows
Chapter One
Briony
Snowflakes swirl in the gray sky, catching in my hair and my eyelashes and the cold is biting. I blink them away and hug my bag more tightly to my chest, trying to ignore the stiffness in my fingers, the wetness creeping in through my boots and the ache in my chest.
I can’t decide if I’m pleased to be leaving Slate Quarter for the academy or really pretty furious about it.
It doesn’t matter either way. I’m going. I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter.
I glance down the platform at the other kids my age, surrounded by family and friends – hugging each other close, wiping tears from their eyes, laughing and joking.
There’s a sense of anticipation in the air, of excitement. I can practically taste it on the end of my tongue. These kids actually believe this is their ticket out of here. Their tickets to better things.
I snap my head away.
They’re fucking deluded.
And, actually, not kids anymore either.
Young adults – that’s what they call us when we hit twenty-one and that’s why we’re all lined up waiting for the train that’s going to whisk us away to the Firestone Academy.
The old clock on the wall, its face cracked, ticks another minute.
Monday, January 3rd. 8:57am.
The train will be here in three.
My dad isn’t coming to see me off.
Why am I even surprised?
He makes all sorts of promises in the evening, rarely keeps them in the morning. I know that, so why the hell did I think this time would be any different? Just because I’m leaving. Just because he swore on his life. The pull of the tavern has always been more alluring than the pull of his only daughter.
Onlyremainingdaughter.
I swallow hard, trying not to think of that. Of the last time I stood on this platform waiting for this train. That day had been filled with glorious sunshine – rare out here in Slate Quarter – and my stomach had been full of that same excitement and anticipation that’s buzzing around today.
I don’t think it’s full of anything today. Mostly because Muriel refused me breakfast. Partly because it’s been years since I felt anything at all.
In front of me, the rail tracks vibrate, then rattle and then the station fills with the roar of the train. The people down the platform pick up bags, grab last-minute embraces, and kiss each other’s cheeks.
I simply clutch my rucksack and wait as the train slides into the station, halting with a hiss like a giant silver snake, the blacked-out windows of the engine like soulless eyes. It’s eerie and, as the doors part and an announcement instructs all youngSlate Quarter adults to board, I can’t help but feel like we’re about to step inside the stomach of a monster.
I’ve no one to hug. No one to say my goodbyes to. Not even someone to wave to. So I climb on board, walking as far down the carriages as I can until I’m right at the front of the train and there’s nowhere else to go. I pick a bench on the far side from the platform and slide along to the window.
I’ve no interest in watching any more of the spectacle out there on the platform – a reminder that others have people who actually give a damn about them. I’m more than aware of that.
It takes a few more minutes and another announcement over the loudspeaker, and then the others board the train – a trickle at first, just one or two. Then groups of friends, chatting away animatedly, talking over one another, so damn excited. The noise makes me wince.
No one picks the seat next to me on the bench, but I keep my bag on my lap anyway, clinging it tightly to my chest. I lean my head against the frigid pane of glass and close my eyes.
Soon, the train jolts and then slithers forward. I don’t bother to open my eyes, to watch my home slip away from sight. It hasn’t felt like home for a long time. I don’t care if I’m leaving, even if I have no desire at all to go where we’re headed.
Around me, the other kids keep right on chattering like monkeys locked in a cage. I wish I had a way to block out all the noise. I wish I was out in the forest, away from everything and everyone. I’ve never ‘peopled’ very well.
Or maybe I did once.
Then things changed.
