Flight

Chapter 1: Enslaved

A scream tore through the Master's gardens. Max stiffened, willing the physical clenching of his shoulders to also block out the scream. He clutched tighter at the weed he'd been struggling to pull from underneath a hedge.

The scream repeated, a wild, agonizing cry that fractured the silence of the afternoon.

Max ripped the weed out of the ground then he curled over his knees. The seventeen-year-old dug his fingers into the dirt, anchoring himself there—anything to keep himself from running toward the screams.

He knew he was supposed to ignore them, let the screams channel through him like water in a stream. But today he couldn't. Not when he knew them.

A fresh scream replaced the echo of the first.

"Lucy," Max whispered hoarsely. He yanked at the closest cluster of weeds. He drew back a fistful of plants, copper skin whitening as his fingers squeezed the leaves tighter. He forced out a long, shaky breath and fought to keep steadily working. He couldn't slow down. If the taskmaster were to catch him, he'd be the next one screaming as the whip slashed across his back.

Max shuddered and moved to the next weed. He continued to work but couldn't stop the images from flooding his head as yet another scream punctured the air.

There would be a clearing near the great black wall: a brown patch of grass-less soil. There would be a thick wooden post twice his own height and a man standing in front of it with a whip. His sister would be tied back-out to this post, a child of hardly seven years with stubborn silver eyes and long, ebony hair.

Max gritted his teeth and paused to place a hand on his side where the stolen parchment lay hidden beneath his clothes.

Movement to his left caught his eye, and Max focused on the pedestal and bird cage that rose out of a pool of asters. A songbird sat inside the cage, its feathers a shimmering yellow as though sunlight had been woven into them. It glanced at him for a second then cocked its head toward the sky. A flock of sparrows soared high up above, almost seeming to dance as they flitted around each other in the azure expanse. In unison they dipped down toward the gardens, to the far northern end where red and orange leafed trees poked above the walking trails.

The sparrows disappeared and the songbird turned away.

Max returned to his chore of wrestling weeds. The bird was kept there as a crowning ornament: the object of the Master's boasting when he showed his guests down this way. He'd even gone as far as placing the bird's pedestal in the exact center of the gardens, ribbons of flowers and hedges encircling it like ripples in a pond.

Max added another handful of weeds to the pile behind him then glanced back at the beautiful yellow bird in the black wire cage.

It had been bought for its song, but Max had never once heard it speak. Not that this surprised him—birds only sang when they were free. But maybe only the Elder knew that. The humans certainly didn't.

A final scream hit his ears. Max gritted his teeth. I'll get you out of here, Lucy. I promise.

The tell-tale clopping of horse-hooves drowned out the end of her screams, and Max froze. His hands shook as though they'd been plunged into snow.

The taskmaster.

Max lurched forward, scrambling to pull out weeds, any weeds, all the weeds, pulling and clawing and yanking—wildly. Desperately. Prying, tugging, tossing, twisting, jerking . . .

The horse-hooves receded, and the boy stopped, arms still shaking, heart still racing. Max directed a hand back to the barely perceivable lump beneath his clothes.