[The Tempest trilogy: Book 2] After the incident in Ostrava's Neoclash arena, Zoya faces dangerous challenges. Nightingale's uprising threatens to destroy the whole Europe, the racist Yeomen movement steps up their campaing against Castaways and Rya...
After the massive riots and anarchy we witnessed in the past weeks, we came to the only available solution for the problem of rampart gun violence. Starting today, a law that affects all the states of Europe prohibits its citizens from owning a lethal firearm, owned neither legally or illegally. The only acceptable alternatives are non-lethal, electricity-based weapons. The citizens who possess a firearm have one year to hand in the weapons they own in exchange for a financial compensation.
A decree banning lethal firearms in Europe, abridged
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12 years ago
I look at the humble settlement of my mostly nomadic Tribe. However, now we inhabit this small territory on the Southeast for several months now since there is a source of uncontaminated water. The settlement consists of numerous large tents from everything we can find and sew together between unstable, run-down row houses which are dangerous to inhabit. They can collapse at any given moment.
I admire the guardians of our settlement who come by armed with various makeshift weapons, mostly spears consisting of a long, straight stick with something sharp and pointy attached to its end. They are chosen from the ranks of the most physically capable members of our Tribe. They lead us and get the biggest share of resources when we manage to find some.
"Look! This will be enough for the whole Tribe!" one of them hollers. Together with one more guardian, they carry a dead animal they hunted, probably a pig or a small cow. Once we remove the tumors growing all over its body, it will make a great dinner for all of us.
"Birdie is hungry," another guardian smirks as he notices me looking at the fresh meat. "Don't worry, you'll also get a piece. But keep in mind that once we run out of food, we will eat you first! You can't blame you. You look like chicken." The guardians laugh at this joke, repeated for a hundredth time already.
"Come on, leave her alone," another guardian defends me. "I wouldn't mock her if I were you, Mr. Cauliflower Ear." He's referring to the Castaway's face whose left side is consumed by a spongy tumor tissue.
I turn away and leave. The truth is that I would love to join their ranks - the Castaways don't discriminate, so even a woman has a chance of becoming a guardian if she's capable enough. However, this isn't my case. I look down at my atrophied legs which don't allow me to walk fast - my walk is similar to a bird; another reason for my nickname "Birdie" which is used even more frequently than my real name.
As if my legs weren't enough, my arms resemble featherless wings and my nose would make a beatiful beak. The ragged clothing I wear doesn't cover much, so everyone is free to look at my hideous figure, weird even for a Castaway. I think it's understandable that I spend most of my time in the background.
I come back into my tent where I do what can I do the best - pretend I don't exist and turn part of the meat the guardians bring into jerky, so we have something to eat when the hunt won't be successful. There aren't many ways I can be beneficial to my Tribe. It would be understandable if they just killed me and used me as food, even though there wouldn't be much meat from me.
