The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 31

I stand stock-still as the quiet Waster woman, Ayana, moves around me and patiently adjusts the soft, sand-coloured fabric draping my torso. I am swathed in several protective layers of clothing, including an oversized scarf that can be used to cover my telltale hair. When Ayana arrived in my chambers this morning, her arms laden with endless folds of the light material I at first balked, protesting that I would overheat. The dark, wild-haired woman simply smiled softly and indicated that I should undress.

My sighs of exasperation were stifled when I realized the freedom of movement the Waster clothes afforded me. By utilizing long strips of tightly-wound material to cover my arms and legs, I am protected from the sun's unforgiving rays as well as the the sharp, blowing shards of sand.

Sera enters the bedroom and places an assortment of feathers and leather on my bed. She picks through the pile dutifully as Ayana points out which pieces they will use to complete my outfit.

I shut my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to quiet the anxious patter of my heart as the women weave my hair into thick ropes, pulling any wayward strands away from my my face and tying off the ends with long feathers. They cover my eyes with a heavy coating of kohl, smearing the powder dramatically across my brows and down to my cheekbones.

My wrists and knuckles are wrapped in strips of worn leather so that my hands won't get calloused. A long, faded tunic is slipped over my head and cinched at my waist and I slip my feet into an ankle-high pair of soft leather boots.

As a final touch I trade in my trusty belt for a pack that fits snugly over both of my shoulders and sits high against my spine. My dagger remains within easy reach, fitted into one of the straps crisscrossing my chest. When the women are satisfied I am finally released, placing a hand on Ayana's arm in thanks and shooting Sera what I hope is a reassuring smile as I stride from the room.

The flexible boots muffle my footsteps and I am able to descend the stairs and pad down the hall soundlessly. The soldiers and warriors, most of whom I recognize from our journey on Phoenix are gathered in the expansive hallway, two dozen men and women speaking in low tones as though there is some impoliteness in raising their voices prior to dawn.

The Wasters are dressed similarly to me. Their faces painted into ferocious masks, heavy paint striping across their eyes, chins and cheeks, each person clutching a staff or spear in their leather-clad fist. Will's soldiers are decked out in full army regalia with a variety of knives and swords affixed to their belts. As I sidle up next to Marc I don't miss the unmistakable atmosphere of restlessness surrounding the group.

I roll my eyes at my friend's exaggerated double-take of my appearance. "Hey, Red." Marc's normally clear brown eyes are shadowed but his familiar grin is unchanged. "You look amazing."

"Thanks." I glance down at my unfamiliar clothes and back up. "I have to say, this is a hell of a lot more comfortable than that scratchy City wear."

"Well, look who's suddenly too good for our modest fashion." Marc teases, flicking one of the feathers dangling off of my hair and laughing when I shove him back.

The murmurs of conversation die off as one by one we turn our focus towards the couple approaching from the far end of the hall.

Meg and Jaron stride forward purposefully, their shoulders aligned and their chins held high. I subconsciously adjust my own posture at seeing them, feeling a swell of pride bloom across my breast at their approach. Around me the soldiers and warriors shift slightly, each person standing at once to attention. Surrounded by these old friends and near-strangers I have never felt a stronger sense of camaraderie. Whatever mistakes we have made, whatever flaws we possess, at least we share this one grain of unwavering loyalty to our leaders.