Moira Young - Raging Star

Blood Red Road

Rebel Heart

Copyright 2014 Dustlands Limited

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system without the prior written consent of the publisheror in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, license from the Canadian Copyright Licensing agencyis an infringement of the copyright law.

Doubleday Canada and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House of Canada Limited.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Young, Moira, author
Raging star / Moira Young.

(Dust lands)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-0-385-67924-4 (bound).ISBN 978-0-385-67926-8 (pbk.).
ISBN 978-0-385-67925-1 (epub)
I. Title. II. Series: Young, Moira. Dustlands.

PS8647.O76R35 2014 jC813.6 C2013-906271-8
C2013-906272-6

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover photos of models copyright 2014 by Michael Frost
Cover photo of desert from Thinkstock/Getty Images
Cover design by Russell Gordon

Published in Canada by Doubleday Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House company

www.randomhouse.ca

v3.1

IN LOVING MEMORY OF
J OHN E LGIN S TARK
DREAMER, ARTIST, TEACHER

I bin dreamin of my long-dead mother.

I used to every night

when I was nine,

ten.

Her life bled out birthin Emmi,

Pas grief more than awful to see.

He set her on the pyre,

her funeral pyre,

that he built with his heartbroke hands.

Over an over, he wept her, he kissed her,

her face, her lips, her hair.

Dont die, dont leave me, sweet Allis dont go.

My golden beauty.

My life.

Then he lit the fire to send her,

his heartsoul,

back to the stars.

What was best in us burned to ash.

She walked in my dreams,

my sunlight mother,

every night fer them first two years.

An the same fer Lugh.

Lugh an me, the same.

It was some kinda comfert,

I guess.

As her light faded our darkness grew an she walked in

my dreams no more.

But now, she walks agin.

In the dark of my dreams,

she lives

agin.

W E RUN. T HROUGH THE NIGHT . T HE FIVE OF US. T HROUGH the white night-time woods of New Eden. Lugh an Tommo an Ash an Creed an me. The five of us. We run.

Dry tree litter cushions the ground. Hushes the pound of our boots. Our breath puffs steam in the chill. Were all sharp, tight with intent.

Lughs got the rope, slung around his chest. I carry the blastpack. Swaddled in cloth, tucked in my sack, along with my meagre gear.

Long-looker. Sleepkit. Flint. Waterskin. Salt twist. Cooktin. Shirt. Medicine bag. Knife in my boot sheath. Bolt shooter. Ammo belt. My whiteoak bow an a full quiver. An the heartstone hangs at my neck. Cool in the hollow of my throat. Thats pretty well it. It aint much.

Guerillas travel light. An fast. An thats what we are. Were the Free Hawks, reborn. Set to fight fer the right to live in New Eden. Good land an clean waters scarce in this world. But its here in New Eden. An its the birthright of all. Weak an strong. Old an young. People an beasts an all that share the earth. Not jest him an his Chosen ones.

Him. DeMalo. The Pathfinder. His Chosen ones, the Stewards of the Earth. Pure young people. Strong an healthy. Breeders, workers fer his shiny new world. Forced to his service at gunpoint. To be flattered an wooed by him. Convinced an overcome an bent to his will. Kept in line by his Tonton militia.

Tonight we thread through the trees. We each map our own course. We leap over streams. Over rocks. Then a sudden slowdown to pick-pick safe passage through a gangle of overground roots. We caint afford no injury. No slips or twists or breaks.

Were at the dreg edge of New Eden. In the far southeast corner, where it bleeds to the bleak of the Raze. This is dead-bone country. No settlement or farms. Its ridges an hollows an hills. Here the land holds itself close. The earth spreads thin over rock. The trees root wily an tough.

As much as we can, we keep to the high ground. Our forest worlds clear-lit. Washed cold white by the moon. We move outta the shadows. Into the light. Then back to the shadows agin. In an out, over an over. Were silvered. Whitewashed. Ghosts on the run.

An Trackers my ghostly wolfdog. Rough-haired lord of the woods, his great body skims at my side. High above, Nero crow-surfs the night. Ridin the wind on a sea of stars. A sea of restless stars.

Its star time. Star season. In these short days of the year when the light fails early an things perish, the stars streak through the night. Theyre the unquiet souls of the dead. Returnin to earth on unfinished business.

I run at the front fer the most part. But I slip back now an then to save my breath. East, thats our course, due east by the Plough. It warnt my plan we should run all the way. Its jest what we did, what happened. As we left the cave where wed stopped to rest, I started off a quick walk pace. A few strides later, we was runnin. Were too wired, too buzzed to go slower.

I keep sharp-eyed from the off. Im lookin fer Jacks first waymark. The start of his white spruce trail. White spruce, a tree like no other. Stunted an twisted. Easy to spot, night or day. When I clock the first tree, his first mark, I smile. Hes done jest like we said. On the trees north side, on a shoulder-height branch, hes hung a twist of root. Hes tagged me this shortcut every half-league. Its our secret. His an mine.

An Jacks my secret. Everybody else believes him to be dead. They think he got killed a month ago. When we blasted the Tonton stronghold, Resurrection. An thats how it must be. Hes gotta stay dead. Jack has few friends among us. Them I run with tonight in these woods aint his friends.

Ash an Creed hate him fer his time in the Tonton. Jack joined the enemy, sure. To work aginst them, though, not with em. But he got tainted by blood. He was there that night, at the Darktrees slaughter when the Tonton killed our friends. The Free Hawks an the Raiders. He took no part in that bloody deed. In fact, he saved their lives. Creed an Ash, that is. Maev too. An he helped us at Resurrection. He was the one who blew the place up. His quick thinkin spared Emmis life.

None of that stands to his credit. Not with Ash an Creed. They lost their tribes at Darktrees that night. Their souls was cut deep an fer always. Jack rode with the killers, thats enough to damn him. If they know hes alive, theyll betray him fer sure.

Lughs got the biggest hate fer Jack. Tommo comes a close second. Both of em fer reasons to do with me. Slim dont know Jack. Molly an Emmi love him. As always with Jack, it aint simple. So we decided, him an me. We caint trust all of em, so its safest we tell none. To them, he has to be dead.

If only they knew. Jacks on our side. Hes my scout, my spy. Busy workin his tiny network of New Eden rebels. Hes got a few insiders, clear-eyed Stewards who share our aims. An some outcasts. So-called Treedogs, becuz they went to ground in the woods. When DeMalo seized their land, they chose to stay. To stay hidden an cause him trouble.