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stupider than you have to be.” The rebel hit him in the throat
so fast Saffron barely saw the blow. The Tagger jerked back and
slumped unconscious at his feet.
    “Get up,” the
girl barked at Aaron. He pushed to his feet, bewildered “Now run,
idiot.”
    She vaulted off
the roof of a car and onto a balcony. The thud of her boots on the
metal reverberated. Aaron made a move in the same direction but an
arrow prevented him from following her. The green fletching
quivered an inch from his nose, embedded deep into a tree trunk. He
was fighting to keep his balance and his eyes open at the same
time.
    “Other way,”
the man suggested, using the rope to tie the Taggers together.
Aaron stayed where he was, swaying. “Shit, boy,” the man said.
“Don’t you have any sense?”
    He grabbed
Aaron under the arm and half-carried, half-dragged him deeper into
the alley. Saffron and Killian followed along the roof border. They
could just see the rebel pushing Aaron into a dumpster. “You’ll be
safe enough there until you wake up.”
    He was gone
within seconds, leaving Aaron buried in garbage and Saffron with a
strange feeling in her belly.
    Killian was
grinning. Saffron turned away from the rebels. “It must be nice to
think this City is worth saving.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 6
    Jane
     
    Jane woke up at
dawn to go for a run; even in foul weather she loved the steady
beat of her shoes on the ground, and the burn of air in her lungs.
Even this morning, with the blood throbbing in her bruises. She
stopped for the usual Oracle ritual: a tea made from anise seeds
and the mantra she’d been taught: I am the earth where seeds of
wisdom grow .
    Afterwards, she
crossed the Collegium grounds, between the sacred star anise
bushes, passed the classrooms, the white student Cella temple, and
the Beekeepers tending to the hives. They wore white, their faces
covered with veils. She circled the snake-crowned Pythia statue,
the matron of oracles. She was over fifteen feet tall, a serpent
coiled around her shoulders and her throat. Jane stopped to touch
her fingertips to her brow in honour. She couldn’t help the feeling
that someone watching her. She tried to act normal.
    She continued
past the lighting-struck ash tree the Weather Witches circled for
their rites, and the Seedsinger statue of an entwined Green Jack
and Jill wearing mostly leaves. Jane was never sure if she should
blush, it was such a private moment at which to pray. She preferred
the Pythia and her steady gaze. She went through the front gates,
following her usual route. The Enclave was pale and perfect, like
the inside of a pearl. The light was misty, softening the edges of
the houses she loved, and the tidy streets, the red front doors,
the trees standing guard, branches bare and bright as swords. She
passed Lee’s mansion-of-many-houses, rickshaws painted to look like
candy, and solar lanterns strung like stars. She kept running,
trying to make sense of the night before and of the headaches that
she needed to control, now more than ever. She ran until her breath
was fire in her throat but she was no closer to a solution.
    She found
herself back at the old house. No one else had moved in and she
liked the feel of the empty quiet rooms. The parapet loomed over
it, casting constant shadows that had frustrated her mother’s
attempts at growing flowers. Nothing showed prosperity like flowers
you couldn’t eat, beautiful orchids and oleander bushes with no
discernable value beyond their beauty. The garden was weedy
now—dandelions always found a way to thrive.
    The paint was
peeling off the walls inside and dust had rolled into the corners
like tumbleweeds. Some of her childhood books were still piled
against the mildewing curtains of her old bedroom. The pages were
damp and tattered, at odds with the delicate and fussy artwork.
Detailed renditions of the Cataclysms and