Ravensborough Read online

  We were having breakfast together one morning before Mum and Rupert left for work.

  ‘I got a letter from your new school,’ Mum said as she sipped on a cup of coffee. ‘They sent a list of all the books you need, and the uniform you need to get.’

  ‘What colour is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Maroon,’ she said smiling.

  ‘That’s going to go great with my hair,’ I complained.

  ‘I’m sure it will look fine,’ she replied soothingly.’ We can head in tomorrow after work and pick up everything you need.’

  ‘Can I not pick them up myself?’ I asked. ‘It would give me something to do, rather than sit around here reading all day.’ The idea of spending yet another day alone in the house was not appealing.

  ‘I don’t know, you haven’t been into the city yet,’ Mum said worriedly. ‘You mightn’t be able to find your way around.’

  ‘There’s a large shopping centre in the city that’s really easy to get to,’ Rupert said to Mum, unexpectedly coming to my defence. ‘She’ll probably get everything she needs there.’

  ‘See?’ I said to Mum as I took a bite out of my toast. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Armed with the lists, a guidebook and a heavy duty jacket I braved the outside world. The air outside was cool and crisp, and dark green conifers contrasted with the stark grey sky above. I found the Chesterfield underground station relatively easily and managed to buy a ticket to the Ravensborough central area without too much difficulty, struggling with the coins of Avalonian krone. I hadn’t managed to make head or tail of the currency yet.

  I got a seat on the train, and it slid through a series of stations with names that I’d never heard of. Bessborough I recognised, because the school that I was going to was called Bessborough High School. Chesterfield Academy, the school nearest to Rupert’s house, was a fee-paying institution that you had to enrol in years in advance. There was no chance that I could get a place there at this stage, so I was going to the next best place a school in the nearby suburb of Bessborough.

  I wondered what my friends back home were doing. They were probably making the most of their last few days of their summer holidays before returning to school in September.

  I got off the train at Guinevere Plaza, a wide open square with an ornate fountain at its centre. Yellowstone buildings, around five stories tall, surrounded the square and the pavements were crowded with people hurrying to various places, trying not to trip over buskers and street performers. The shops in the square all looked expensive, and one or two of the building held flags of European countries. I guessed that they were embassies.

  I followed the directions that Rupert had given to get to the shopping centre. When I got there I found that the uniform was as bad as I had imagined it would be. The red shade did indeed clash with my hair, while the jumper looked frumpy and heavy. At least it seemed warm, which I supposed was a bonus here. I got all the textbooks I would need, and a flick through the textbook on Avalonian history made me feel a little woozy. I knew none of this. I guessed that I wouldn’t have to look too hard to find something to do with my free time until school started.

  I paid for the items, stumbling again as I tried to work out which note was which. I’d planned on doing some exploring to get a feel for the city, but the bags were really heavy. Still, I knew how to get here now. I could come in and explore another day.

  On my way to the underground station to return home, I saw a protest rally outside a police station. There were around thirty people outside, each holding a placard that bore various slogans such as ‘Stop This Injustice’ and ‘Protect Pagans Rights’. A trestle table was set up at the front of the protest, decorated with the same slogans that were on the posters. Glossy leaflets were piled high on its surface weighed down under large stones, and a guy around my age was standing behind with a clipboard trying to get signatures from people walking by.

  I walked over to the table to see what the protest was about.

  ‘Would you like to sign the petition?’ he asked, smiling at me.

  He was cute, with lightly tanned skin that looked strangely exotic in the gloomy grey winter light. His hair was jet black and his eyes were dark and almost the same colour as his hair.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve just arrived here, I don’t really know much about it’, I explained. ‘I’ll take a leaflet though.’

  ‘Sure’, he said smiling at me again. He was taller than me by a good five inches, and his hair was tousled by the sharp wind. His face was too angular to be conventionally handsome, and his mouth was a little too large. Despite this, I was unable to look away. There was something faintly hypnotic about him.

  He handed me a leaflet. ‘You’re not from around here are you?’ he asked.

  I smiled. ‘Is the accent that much of a give away?’

  ‘Ireland is it?’

  ‘Yep. I just arrived here a few days ago.’

  ‘Are you here on holiday?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’ve moved here to live.’ I held up the bags containing my school supplies. ‘I’m just getting my stuff ready to start school next week.

  ‘Oh, don’t talk about that’, he grimaced. ‘I’m back next week too. My name is Gethan Ellis.’ He held out his hand to shake mine.

  ‘I’m Scarlett, Scarlett Edwards,’ I shook his gloved hand. It felt strangely formal. He didn’t let go of my hand and our eyes locked together. For the first time since I’d left the house I forgot about the cold and about how much I missed home.

  An elderly lady came by, looking for information on the petition. ‘I’d better go’, he said reluctantly, taking his hand away.

  ‘Of course...I’ll read this’ I waved the leaflet at him.

  ‘You do that,’ he said smiling at me again.

  I blushed to the roots of my hair as I walked away with a feeling of butterflies in my stomach. I wished I knew where to meet him again. I looked at the leaflet in my hand. I could always contact him through the organisation. I shook myself. He was just a random guy that I’d met. And besides, I already had a boyfriend, even if he was a few hundred miles away. Nevertheless, I decided to read over the campaign leaflet that he’d given me on the train ride home.

  It appeared that a policewoman had been denied the right to wear protection charm bracelets, a symbol of following a Pagan religion, to work. The protesters felt that this was yet another part of the Rationalist conspiracy to suppress the Pagan element of society, and they were campaigning to try to make the station change their decision.

  I reread the leaflet, confused. I knew that there were a lot of crazy people in Avalonia who believed in magic. I didn’t know what a Rationalist was, but I presumed that if this Gethan guy was handing out fliers for the Pagans he was either one himself or at the very least thought that they were telling the truth. Did that mean that he thought that magic was real? Great, I though: I meet a nice guy, the first person my own age that I’ve talked to since I arrived, and he turns out to be delusional.

  Not that it mattered. There were a few million people in Ravensborough. I wasn’t likely to meet him again. And even if I did see him again, Sam and I were trying to make a long distance relationship work. I was already spoken for.

  When Mum and Rupert got home that evening, I was busy looking through my text books. I needn’t have been so worried. The syllabus for biology, maths and German were pretty much the same as they had been back home. The English course covered similar enough topics as back home, with an additional module on Avalonian literature. History looked to be the biggest problem. It covered general European history, which I was familiar with, but it also covered Avalonian history, which I knew nothing about. I would also have a lot to catch up on with Avalonian politics.

  ‘How are you?’ Mum asked giving me a kiss on the head.

  ‘I’m good, thanks.’

  ‘Did you manage to get all your things for school?’

  ‘Yep, I’m all set for next week.’

  Rupert pi
cked up the leaflet from the table and looked at it. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Outside a police station off Guinevere Plaza,’ I explained. ‘There was a Pagan group staging a protest there.’

  ‘Be very careful, Scarlett. Those kinds of people are dangerous,’ Rupert said seriously.

  ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘How so? Doesn’t Pagan just mean that they follow a certain religion?’

  ‘It does mean that, but this particular group is more political than religious. They just use their religion as cover, and hide behind ‘freedom of worship’ legislation. All religions get freedom of worship here.’

  ‘Are they really a threat though?’ I asked. ‘I thought that they were just slightly wacky people who liked to hug trees, wear a lot of hippy clothes and believed in magic.’

  ‘There is that element, true,’ he agreed. ‘But because of that, a lot of people make the mistake of not taking them seriously. When people think of Avalonia, they think that we’re all just as you described, and that affects the way we do business abroad. Also, messing around with the occult is a bad idea. And groups of Pagans, in organisations such as this one, want to overthrow the current Rationalist government and rule the country for themselves. Some groups have no problem with using violence in order to achieve this aim. So yes, Scarlett. They can be very dangerous indeed.’

  ‘What are Rationalists?’ I asked.

  ‘Rationalists, like me, believe in this world only. Some believe in an afterlife, but we don’t believe in magic, superstition and the so-called "unseen world.". Rationalists live in certain designated suburbs, and Pagans live in theirs. After nightfall, we aren’t allowed into each other’s areas. Some places, such as the city itself, are neutral.’

  ‘It’s important that you stay in Rationalist or neutral areas,’ said Mum. ‘They’re the safe areas.’

  ‘So Chesterfield is Rationalist?’

  ‘Yes. Most of Ravensborough this side of the Starling-Bird Bridge is Rationalist.’

  It was a lot to take in and I realised that I didn’t know very much at all about my new home country.

  After dinner I went up to my room and switched on my laptop. While I was waiting for it to gurgle to life I opened another packing box. At the top of it were a few books on archaeology which I lifted out and placed on a shelf. Archaeology was a geeky interest of mine. I liked the detective work, how archaeologists used artefacts as clues to piece together the past. Underneath the books lay a photo of me with my arms around Lindsay. It had been taken a few months ago at a small gig where Sam’s band had been playing. I put the photo frame on the windowsill. I wondered what Sam and Lindsay were doing now. When I’d told Sam that I was going to move to Avalonia with Mum, he hadn’t been too happy. We’d been together for around a year, he’d argued, how could we be separated now? I’d told him that it wouldn’t be forever. I was planning to go back to Dublin for college, and hopefully I could fly over to see my friends after Christmas. But it was only September now...

  When my computer was ready I connected to the internet and opened my email account. I had two emails, one from Sam and one from Lindsay, both filling me in on what was happening in their lives. I replied quickly to both and opened another tab. I typed ‘Avalonia’ into the search bar. The search came up with some results that I didn’t really understand, and pages on the country itself. I remembered looking at pages like this before, but I had skimmed over them, too upset about leaving to really take much in. I certainly hadn’t read anything about Rationalists.

  Eventually I found what I was looking for. It appeared that, during the European witch trials between 1500 and 1800, many people who were persecuted didn’t practice witchcraft, but many who fled admitted that they did. Once they were safe in Avalonia they practiced their craft openly. In the nineteenth century, however, lots of European countries refused to trade with Avalonia because they thought that it was the Devil’s Island, a place full of black magic and deception. A group of influential businessmen were anxious to downplay the Pagan element in Avalonia so they could make money from trading with the rest of Europe. They got together and came up with a plan to isolate Pagans by pushing them into their own areas, banning them from having jobs in the government, the police force or the army. Nowadays, Pagans were permitted to hold public office, but so much enmity had grown up between the two groups that they were now in constant conflict. Fringe terrorist groups had broken out on both sides desperate to have control over Avalonia. These groups were responsible for rioting, killings and general disorder which explained why the country had an obvious army presence. The army checkpoint that we’d came through on the night that we had arrived suddenly made a lot more sense.

  It looked like fitting in here was going to be more difficult than I thought.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Finally, the first day of school came along. I’d been looking forward to starting ever since I’d arrived. Since I knew nobody here except Mum and Rupert, my social life was non-existent. I was fed up sitting at home looking at the walls with no one to talk to and nothing to do, trying not to break any of Rupert’s perfect and expensive possessions. I’d done a lot of reading, but there was only so much of that that I could do. The only interaction I’d hand with a person my own age since I’d left Dublin two weeks ago was talking to that cute but crazy guy at the protest stall.

  When the day finally came, I found that I was a lot more nervous than I had expected. It was important to make a good first impression, and I wasn’t good at doing that. Sam and Lindsay had been the outgoing ones in our group of friends, fun-loving and always ready to meet new people. I was quieter, and tended to blend into the background. I couldn’t even reassure myself that at least I looked well: there was no way on earth that anyone with red hair could look attractive in a maroon uniform. My only consolation was that on my way to school I could at least cover the whole thing with my big padded jacket.

  When I walked outside, the first thing I saw was a crowd of black crows perched in the trees. The combination of the birds and the overcast sky made me feel like I was in the middle of an emo music video. It would be quicker for me to take the underground to Bessborough, but I knew that the hot airlessness of it would exacerbate my nerves. Hopefully, the walk to school would calm me down and eradicate the butterflies that were currently fluttering around my stomach.

  The wind was blowing from the north, icy and cold, and hands were still numb despite my heavy wool gloves.

  The school was a two storey red brick building and the architecture was gothic revival, all arches and points. The main entrance was a set of double wooden doors, with a plaque above declaring that the building had been constructed in 1842. The outside was a bit grubby. The grounds of the school were teeming with girls and boys my own age, all of whom seemed to know each other. They gathered in groups under a concrete shelter that went some way to lessening the strength of the icy north wind.

  I didn’t know where to go. I pulled my timetable out of my schoolbag to see where I needed to go for my first class. A sudden gust of wind pulled the sheet of paper out of my hand and it blew away, over to the other side of the yard. Some of the kids started to laugh as I ran after it, cursing myself for being such an idiot. A boy around my age picked it up, as I turned a shade of red that matched my uniform almost perfectly.

  ‘So you think this school is so great that you chuck your timetable away on your first day?’ he teased, still holding the sheet. ‘Well you’ll fit right in here’.

  ‘Is it that obvious that it’s my first day here?’ I asked. There were hundreds of students here; I hadn’t thought that I stood out that much.

  ‘In a word, yes,’ he answered, raising an eyebrow at me.

  ‘Stop being such a jerk,’ said a small, elfin looking girl standing beside him. Her hair and eyes were a deep brown, and her skin had a Mediterranean olive tinge. The girl grabbed the timetable out of his hand and had a look at it. ‘Oh cool, you’re in my year. I’m Catalina, but everyone calls
me Cat. This joker is Ben’. She put her hand out, and I shook it.

  ‘Hey, I’m Scarlett, I’ve just moved here from Ireland’.

  ‘Ireland, eh?’ said Ben, leaning against the shelter wall. His hair was light blonde, just a little bit long, as if he’d let it grow too much between cuts. His eyes were a cold ice blue. I couldn’t make up my mind whether he was good-looking, or whether he slightly unnerved me. Possibly both. ‘How are you finding Avalonia?’

  ‘Cold’, I said, wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck. ‘Please don’t tell me it gets worse than this.’

  ‘Much worse, we’re way tougher up here than you guys down south’, said Ben, breaking into a smile for the first time. He nodded to Cat as the bell rang. ‘See you after school.’

  Cat looked wistfully after Ben as he loped off into the distance. Then she picked up her bag, slung it over one shoulder, and linked her other arm through mine. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around.’

  School turned out to be much less daunting than I’d thought it would be. Cat knew just about everyone, and introduced me with a good deal of pride, pleased to have gotten to know the new girl first. The first day wasn’t very taxing; the teachers mostly just gave out lesson plans outlining what we would be covering during the year. Despite the differences between here and home, I was fairly confident that I'd get decent grades if I stuck at it.

  Cat spent most of the time that we weren’t in glasses grilling me about my life.

  ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ Cat asked as we made our way to maths class.

  ‘Yeah, I do.’

  She nodded in approval, obviously glad that I wasn’t going to be any competition for the Bessborough guys.

  Lunchtime passed in a myriad of new faces and names that I forgot almost as soon as I heard them. Cat introduced me to a girl called Mei. She was calmer and more easygoing than Cat, who I was beginning to discover was a bit intense.

  When school ended I walked out with Cat. I noticed that above the doorway was printed in small, clear letters ‘Let the Light of Thought Combat Dark Superstition’.