Young Writers Society

Umm.. I'm not sure if this is any good. What do you think?

This is just the first two chapters

Chapter 1

“Tag you’re it!” Amala ran up behind her mother, and playfully hit her on the shoulder. Her mother sighed. Amala may have been nine years old, but still she seemed to have no idea of the immediate danger that was about to befall her. Befall us.

“Not now, I’m busy,” she snapped, her expression turning cold as ice, as she stood up haughtily and began to walk sharply away. As soon as she did however Amala began to cry.

I’m sorry Amala I didn’t mean to shout. Please don’t cry. I just want to protect you.

Maisa bent down beside her tearful daughter and spoke gently “Don’t cry sweetie, princesses have to be strong.” Amala nodded, unsuccessfully trying to gulp down her tears. Maisa stood up, and continued to walk down the long golden hallway. She could hear Amala still sniffling behind her. She had a sudden urge to run up to Amala, hug her, tell her everything was going to be all right. But she didn’t. She gave up the freedom to love and to care for her daughter when she became queen. It was how her mother had raised her, and it was how Amala was to be raised too. Only that way did they have any chance of defeating the oncoming storm that was brewing right before their very eyes.

As she walked, she stared at the floor, desperately trying to block her daughters’ cries out of her head. Maybe Amala would soon laugh away the way she had shouted so viciously, but Maisa knew she could never forget.

“Queen Maisa!” someone exclaimed. She quickly looked up, only to see Richard Longhurst, her most trusted advisor and her best friend standing in front of her. He frowned and as he did Maisa sighed to herself. If Richard had one fault, it would be that he always assumed he knew what was right. And he almost always made things a lot worse. “What are you doing out here?” his voice dropped to a whisper “Shouldn’t you be working on the plan?”

Amala appeared between the two of them, interrupting whatever Maisa might’ve been about to say next. Her eyes were still brimming with tears, as she hid behind Richard and peered out of his long dark robes.

“What’s the matter honey?” he smiled down at Amala, then looked sharply at Maisa when Amala didn’t answer. Maisa looked down at her feet. “Run along Amala, I’ll be with you in a minute.” he ordered the little princess, whose tears had finally stopped. She hurried off, skipping down the hall as Maisa looked after her, a look of such sadness and such loss clouding her eyes.

Oh Amala, how quickly you forget. I’m so sorry.

She was so lost in her thoughts she barely noticed Richard glowering at her. But he was.

“You’re supposed to be looking after her! Our whole survival depends on that little girl!” he spoke in a hushed tone but his voice was as hard as steel. Maisa felt tired. So tired of this, of having the same speech over and over again. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be. He didn’t understand. He would never understand.

“Don’t you dare tell me how to raise my daughter!” she screamed in a sudden burst of rage, no longer bothering to keep her voice down. Amala would be long gone by now. She glared at him “All I want is to protect her. And you’re the one who told me she’ll never save us if she can’t face reality. This is all your fault! You make me treat her like this, then you tell me I’m doing everything wrong! Well I’m sick of it!”

“I never told you to ignore her,” he pointedly said “But if she’s not ready soon we’ll all die. And she’ll never be ready now. She’s going to kill us all!” he turned round ready to walk away, confident his point had been made and froze in his tracks as he say who was standing right in front of her.

“Amala,” he gasped but Amala didn’t even hear him. Her large dark eyes seemed so much wider and shinier as she stared at her mother, unblinking.

“Mummy?” she whispered, a single tear dropping onto her cheeks, now ghostly white. “Mummy I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“No, Amala, he didn’t mean it. You're not going to kill anyone. Your safe with me.” She turned to face Richard, her eyes pleading desperately with him. “Tell her it’s not true.”

Richard looked straight past Maisa, his eyes barely acknowledging her. He didn’t answer, only stared blankly into space as if he didn’t even know what was happening. His eyes were expressionless, his body rigid and unmoving. Maisa could see he would be no help now.

“Honey?” she stretched her arms out, beckoning Amala to her. Amala stood for a moment, completely still, as if she was frozen. Maisa looked fearfully first at her daughter, then at her best friend. Suddenly Amala spoke. So softly, and so quietly Maisa had to strain to hear her.

“I’m sorry mummy,” Maisa’s eyes widened, but still she continued, “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

And without warning, Amala dropped the diary clutched in her fist, and span around, pushing past Richard, as she fled.

“Come back!” Maisa cried, her heart breaking to see her only daughter escaping further and further from reach. The tears spilled over her cheeks and she collapsed to the floor and wept. As she did, Richard finally awoke from the trance he was in, only to find his queen lying on the floor sobbing her heart out. He bent down beside her and tenderly placed a hand on her arm. She looked up and he spoke to her, telling her only what he knew she needed to hear.

“She’ll be back. I promise. One day she’ll come back.”

Chapter 2

Nine days she had been running. Nine days with only the merest slither of food and water, from wherever and whenever she could find it, which wasn’t often. She had stowed away on a boat that had brought her over here to the cold, country of England. And it was so cold. How she missed the warm summers of Arabia. How she missed the hot sun beating down on her back. But at least she could be grateful to Richard for one thing. He had given her English lessons ever since she could talk. And now she was finally in a position to use it.

Many times the small girl had been stopped, asked if she was okay, did she need any help? And every time someone spoke to her, she would open her mouth to answer. It would only take a second to say no, please help me. I just want to go home. But each time she opened her mouth she remembered.

“She’ll never be ready now!” he had said, not even noticing her. “She’s going to kill us all!”

Amala’s eyes watered and filled with fear as she remembered. Fear for all the people she loved, all the people she knew. All the people she had never even met. She couldn’t possibly go home after what he had said. How could she be that selfish and heartless? To kill her friends and family. To kill them all.

And so she ran on. Shouts and screams had chased her down the winding streets, but not one person accompanied them. No one cared quite enough to go after her. No one cared quite enough. But maybe that was a good thing? No followers meant she couldn’t hurt anyone. If she was gone, wouldn’t that mean they were all safe? Safe in a world without her?

She turned down a narrow side alley, only to run headfirst into a middle-aged man.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled into the folds of her dress. Not the most practical outfit for running, but she hadn’t exactly had time to think about it.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, so warm and friendly that Amala couldn’t help but smile back. It had been days since she had said a word to anyone. And for the past day, since she had got out of the large, crowded city of London, no one had spoken to her either.

“You’re a little young to be out here on your own aren’t you? Looking for someone? Or just nowhere to go.”

Amala looked down at her gold encrusted shoes, but didn’t say anything. He looked at her knowingly and once again smiled.

“My name’s Marc. Come with me,” he said kindly “I can give you a drink, some food, and then you can decide what you want to do.”

Amala considered it. She couldn’t carry on like this. A few more days and she’d be dead. And she didn’t have to stay after she had eaten and drunk. She could take some rations, and then be on her way the following morning. Simple. No chance of anyone getting hurt.

That final notion decided it for her. She nodded, “I’ll come.” He took her hand and they walked off down the alleyway. Out of sight and out of mind. Out of the light and into the dark.

The next thing Amala knew, she was surrounded by people. She attempted to sit up, before realizing she was too weak. She could barely lift her head, and her eyes felt as though they were being weighed down. She was so tired.

She stared around her in alarm. Who were all these people? Mostly girls, but a few boys. Some maybe younger than herself. She hurriedly scanned the room for a familiar face, before her eyes met the kindly eyes of Marc. For the first time since she had woken she relaxed, just a little.

“Amala? Are you okay? You really scared us all when you didn’t wake up,” Amala shook her head weakly, trying to make sense of it all.

“W-where am I?” even after her many years of training to always conceal fear, even she couldn’t hide the shaking in her voice.

“Don’t you remember?” Marc looked worried for a minute, then his face relaxed into a smile. Smiling came as naturally to him, as the sun to the day. “You came with me back to my house, and just before we reached the door you collapsed. You’ve been asleep for four days. But it’s okay now. You can stay here with us. Forever.”

“No!” Terra shouted and one of the older girls gasped. Amala quickly tried to change what she had said. “No, I mean, you don’t understand. I can’t stay.”

“Out the room children,” Marc ordered, and then bent down beside Amala. She gulped, wondering what he might say next.

“Amala, I know what happened. I know why you're running. I know you're the princess of Arabia. And I know what he said.”

Amala’s eyes widened in panic. How could he know? He couldn’t. Now he would turn her into the police. She might even be executed…or worse-he would take her home.

Marc laughed at the look of distress on her face. “Don’t worry Amala, everyone here is just like you. None of them have a place to go-they can’t go home, they can’t be caught. So that’s why I’m here. To look after you all.”

And using that as his final note he stood up, and walked out the room as Amala gazed after him, the strangest look crossing her face. A mixture of relief, of panic, but mostly of heartache and misery.

She fell asleep shortly after that. A little boy and a little girl crept into her room as she slept peacefully. They scurried over to her bed and sat down beside her as the girl put her hand on Amala’s face.

Feeling the hand, Amala suddenly awoke, leaping out of bed quickly. She prepared herself to stand and fight whoever was here, but as she looked around she could see no one. A cough came from down below her and she looked curiously, only to see the two small children cowering under the bed. They stood up, eyeing her, as she studied them.

The girl must’ve only been about three and the boy couldn’t be much older, around eight or nine. Amala’s age. The girl held tightly onto his hand. It seemed obvious who looked after who here. He had such wise eyes, so much older than his time. She smiled at them.

“What’re your names?” she asked curiously and when they didn’t answer she said “I’m Amala.” Still they did not reply. “I ran away from home a few weeks ago.”

Without warning, the girl began to chatter excitedly. “Hi Amala, my names Tai and I don’t remember why I’m here because I was only little when I came. But I’m not little anymore, I’m almost four now. I think I came from China. That’s what Mukunda says anyway.”

“Mukunda?” asked Amala, turning to the boy. “Is that you?”

He nodded slowly and began to speak. He had a very distinctive accent, but Amala did not know where it came from. “Yes, my name’s Mukunda. I am eight. I moved here from India when I was five. I was only here a month, before Tai came. Now I look after her, and the house looks after me. But I will not need the house soon. I have a plan. A plan to set my people free.”

Amala smiled sadly, remembering when she used to think she could make a difference. It may’ve only been a few weeks since she had felt that way, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. Funny how quickly the little things that matter can be destroyed. Hope, family, her whole life. Things she had always taken for granted. At least until she lost them.

Remembering something, she reached into her pocket and drew out a small purple book.

“What’s that?” asked Tai, jumping around wildly, trying to see over her shoulder. She really was very sweet.

“It’s my book of names.” Amala explained, “I can look up a name in here, and it will tell me what it means.”

“Do me! Do me!” Tai squealed. Amala opened the book and quickly flicked through, searching for the name. She found it quickly and said, “It means great, Tai.”

“Hear that Mukunda? I’m great!” she giggled and danced around the two of them, laughing and tossing her long dark hair about.

Mukunda didn’t answer. Amala could tell he didn’t quite trust her and she could understand why.

“Your name means freedom fighter,” She told him. “You say you want to set your people free? Well I suppose your name proves it.”

He gave the slightest hint of a smile before saying “Amala.” he spoke softly and his voice had a relaxing, peaceful feel to it, “What does it mean?”

Amala looked down at her feet. For a second he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she looked up and said, her eyes brimming with tears “Hope. It means hope.”