Young Writers Society

The last light of the setting sun slips through the window pane, landing on the floor in a pattern of overlapping squares. I peer through the glass. Across the small courtyard is another window that looks into the room of one of the palace guards. He’s lying down now; as far as I can tell he’s a heavy sleeper, but I wait several minutes anyway, watching him.

By the time I get to my feet the sun has set; as much as I can see with the dim light suggests no movement in his room. I pull on all-black clothing and cover that with a cloak, the hood of which I put down to cover my face.

The window slides open easily, and I climb out into the cool night air, balancing on the sill. I reach up and grasp the edge of the roof with one hand, then swing myself out, grabbing the overhang with the other. I hang over empty space for a second, looking down at the courtyard far below. Once I steady myself, I let go with my right hand and reach up to grab the ridge, then do the same with my left. Now I have enough leverage to, with a grunt, heave myself over the edge and onto the roof, sharp pain searing my hands from the pressure of my grip. I let go and lie back for a second, staring up at the sky, where stars are just beginning to come out.

After a few minutes I rise and begin to make my way across the roof, the shingles sharp against my bare feet. From here I can see much of the city, dark except for the fires. There are hundreds burning on a cold March night like tonight.

I reach the edge of the roof. A few feet below is a balcony, so I jump down, landing in a crouch. The glass door looks in to another guard’s room; night has completely fallen now, so I can’t see in at all. I can only hope anyone inside is asleep.

I unwind a thick rope from around my waist and tie one end to the balcony railing. The other end I toss over the edge; after a moment I climb over the rail and slide down the rope, jumping the last few feet to land on the soft earth. I leave the rope, it being my only way back in save the front door, which would not be my method of choice, and begin to walk toward the edge of the city.

Here the ground is covered by pavement; all of the city was once paved, but now a lot is torn up or cracked. As I make my way through the city I stick to the back ways and alleys, keeping away from any houses with fires. Soon the inhabited houses become fewer and fewer, and then there’s the wall and before me is the Undeveloped Land.

I take my shoes from their pocket in my cloak and slip them on; there’s all kinds of glass and debris littering the streets out here. I quickly scale the wall; the stone it’s made of is decaying, leaving plenty of handholds.

When I jump down to the other side, I begin to walk. Out here, the houses were never fixed up after the Fall. Roofs have fallen in, walls have collapsed, broken beams jut out at odd angles. During the day you can see that most of the houses are burnt and blackened with soot. If you look in to some of them you can see bodies still intact enough to be recognizable.

And many of the buildings have simply crumbled to piles of rubble, with no indication that once, these were places where people spent their lives. Here the memories decay with the houses, and eventually there will be no trace of either.

I walk along these empty streets. They are torn up and filled with potholes, and debris is scattered along them, glass and wood and metal scraps, and a lot of bullet casings as well. For a while this is all that I do, pacing the streets, looking at much but seeing little, letting my mind wander to whatever whims it wishes. It is what I do every night; maybe it has a purpose, and maybe it doesn't, but I do it anyway.

My mind is so clear out here, in the cool night air, in a city of forgotten people.

Soon it is getting late, and I do have to sleep, so I begin to make my way back to the palace.

As I near the wall, I hear traces of far-off shouts. I begin to pick up my pace, curious. I scale the wall quickly, and take my same path back through the city, but quicker this time, with less caution. As I approach the palace, I see a large cluster of light in front of it. Torches. There is more shouting, and what sounds like the clash of metal.

I notice a group of three cloaked forms running toward me. I turn to find a hiding place, but they are too close. The one in front grabs my arm. “Come!” he hisses.

Moonlight catches his face, and I recognize him as one of the palace guards.

“What happened?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

“Your father’s been killed.”

“Wha—”

“The Shan are looking for you. We must flee.”

He says nothing more, just pulls me after him and the others into the dark night.