The Burn (A Runner Series Companion)

Chapter 1: Marc

204 A.B.

(5 years before the Runner's Rebellion)

Most of my friends think I'm lucky to have been drafted into the King's guardship, rather than as a soldier in the Wastelands.

The notice arrives at our home shortly after my eighteenth birthday. Every day for the past year my mother has approached the post with a mixture of fear and trepidation, knowing that at any moment I could be shipped off to the desert. It's not her fault, I am her only kid, after all. When my father was drafted the King never bothered to return his body to us.

Now, she clutches the unopened parchment in shaking hands, eyes already welling with tears and worry written all over her prematurely-lined face. I have to take the notice from her and tear it open myself, skimming the words and muttering under my breath.

"It's time, isn't it?" My mother sobs into a handkerchief. "My baby is going to war."

"Guardship." I say, dumbly, furrowing my brow as I give the notice another read-through. "I've been selected for guardship."

"What?" The handkerchief flutters to the ground.

I grin, handing the letter over to her. "It's going to be all right, Ma, you don't have to worry. I'll get to serve my year of service right here in the City."

"Oh, thank the gods!" She tosses the letter aside and envelopes me in a hug. I stand nearly a foot taller than her but she still manages to squeeze the breath out of me. That kind of strength comes only from working as a laundress seven days a week.

I force a laugh for her benefit, but inside I'm fuming. Guardship? I'd rather double my shifts down in the quarry. I know what those corrupt bastards get up to; arresting Fragments for the tiniest of transgressions and shaking down the merchants trying to make an honest living off their wares. The very thought of suiting up and joining their corrupt ranks turns my stomach.

I glance over Ma's shoulder at the unassuming slip of paper. For a moment I consider tearing it up and marching straight down to the barracks to receive my Wastelands deployment. Taking up arms in that crazy, confusing war would be infinitely preferable to this assignment.

But one look at Ma's happy, tear-stained face and I feel my resolve fly out the window. It's only one year. One year and then I can go back to the quarry and my normal life. How bad could it be?

* * * * *

Gods, this uniform is warm. Does no one realize the absurdity of wearing leather in the desert?

"Hey, newbie, focus up." The captain in charge of our orientation calls me out and I immediately straighten my shoulders. My fellow guards shoot me curious looks and I do my best to ignore them, internally cursing my tendency to colour easily.

"Apologies, sir." I say, trying with some effort to keep the disdain from my voice. "I was just wondering if there was a summer option for these outfits. Perhaps a kilt would be more practical?"

There is a titter of laughter and I grin. It's good to know that some Intacts have a sense of humour. As one of the few Fragments present at orientation, I am acutely aware that I am an object of curiosity.

"Save it for the mess hall, soldier." All right, so the captain is one of those 'serious' types. Good to know. "As I was saying, the ability to follow orders is the most important asset we look for in a King's guard. If you have a problem with that, then you are welcome to serve your year in the Wastelands."

Don't tempt me, Captain.

I glance around the training field, noting the smug expressions on the faces of the other recruits. Clearly, I am the only one here who thinks that being selected for guardship doesn't mean that the sun shines out my ass.