The Ashen Wrath (Watty's SHORTLIST recipient 2018) CHAPTERED VERSION

*9

I woke up with a jolt sometime in the early morning.

"Danth, come with me...quickly and quietly."

It was my grandfather.

"Pop? What about the stilstries?"

"Lately, the stilt striders have been leaving the village ahead of dawn, well before the airdrones arrive from The Walled City. While they're away, the zone's not being watched."

Granddad had been observing the machines too. I was aware of the hour gap during certain nights of the month, but not the one in the early mornings. I was likely asleep when it happened.

"Hurry, into the partition!" Judging from the urgency in granddad's voice, the morning gap wasn't as long.

"We're not allowed into other people's partitions," I said, nervously.

"Come!" said Granddad, holding open the flap. Once we were inside, he zipped it up tight again.

I gasped when granddad turned up his kerosene lamp, illuminating the canvas walls. They were covered in loose pages filled with blocks of writing I couldn't read. Thousands of words, some of it handwritten, some of it looking as if it had been stamped by machines. Inscrutable photos were interspersed with the pages—pictures of people from a forgotten age. The only other photos I had ever seen were in The Ten Tomes. "What is all this?" I asked, fascinated.

"It's our people's history, boy. The real deal, not hazy rumors recollected by buffoons who've lost the ability to discern magic from science. The stories told during the Interaction Periods are even worse—fictionalized hero worship sanctioned by the Privus."

"These papers on your wall are stories?" I asked.

"No, they're facts. Shortly after the war ended, the Privus assigned me to scavenger duty. While scouring the blackened wastes of ruined cities in search of objects the Privus desired, I secretly collected as many remnants from the past as I could and hid them away. I've been condensing these notes as well as my memories into a compendium—a history book."

"But only those with Care Cards can read, and only from The Ten Tomes."

Grandfather grunted. "Bah, The Ten Tomes are nothing but lies. I've known how to read since I was Annie's age. Before all...this...happened. Now, I'm going to teach you."

I was stunned. "But why?"

"Danth, I'm not long for this world. As much as I fight against it, my body is giving out and I won't survive another brush with the Rake. When I'm gone, I'm leaving it up to you to finish this book." Granddad pulled out a large, hand-bound volume from beneath his bedroll. "These notes on my wall will help you write the last chapter of our people's history—the moments leading up to the Final Lesson. The night your mother and father died."

"But why? Why is this book so important?"

"People need to understand that their situation can change. They have to see how the world once was. Only then will they start to believe things can be better—should be better."

I flipped through the pages, spellbound. "Incredible. But granddad, I can't learn to read...can I?"

My grandfather nodded. "You're smart as a tack and bored as hell. You'll learn it in no time." He looked at his watch. "Speaking of time, we don't have a lot left."

"What about Marta? She'd older than me, and she can already read."

"Marta is steadfast and fastidious. She'll become the head of this family after I'm gone. She has enough to worry about—I won't trouble her with my act of subversion."

I didn't see the use in arguing. "I'll do whatever you say, Granddad. Can you tell me some of what the book says before I have to go back to my partition?"

Granddad nodded. "We weren't always cowering in the shadows of crumbled buildings, scraping by on what little we could farm from scorched plots of earth. Your parents' generation had hearts full of hope. They rose up to fight their oppressors, but their efforts were futile. Bolstered by preposterous amounts of wealth and weaponry, the ruling class could not be stopped by the will of the people alone. Millions upon millions died. By the time you were born, the class war was nearly over."

"Class war?" I asked, confused. "What about the great plague? The cannibalistic hordes?"

"It's all lies," said Granddad, shaking his head. "The only enemies of The Walled City were people just like you and me. People who desired—and deserved—freedom."

I took a deep breath. "So, Mom and Dad weren't diseased? You've never told us much about them."

"Your mother and father were proud people. Strong. I don't blame them for joining the resistance. One can only take so much injustice before anger overrides fear—before violence seems like the only answer." Granddad wiped his eyes. "When Helena and Ankor died in The Final Lesson, the only thing keeping my hope alive was a belief in the cyclical nature of life. Although the survivors had no hope of fighting back, perhaps our children's children could."

"Mom and dad were killed by the Privus?"

"Yes, but they weren't called that yet. After the war, the nation reverted to a caste system consisting of two groups: the Privus and the Thrall. As much as the Privus may deny it, we are all human beings."

I had a million questions. "Granddad, so much of the food we grow and the fish we catch is taken away. Where do the elders deliver it at the end of each season?"

"The Privus allow the denizens of the zones to keep what little food and materials they need to survive. The rest is hauled by donkey cart to the black gate in the west. There, the bounty of each zone is loaded onto the Privus' massive, tracked transports and shipped to The Walled City."

"Have you ever been inside the walls?"

"No. Only a privileged few Thrall are allowed inside The Walled City. Some labor to construct towers, while others are chosen to attend to the needs of those who have undergone Synaptic Rejuvenation."

I was completely lost. "What?"

"We'll talk more later," said Granddad, opening the flap. "Now, back to your partition. The airdrones are on the way."