[Revolution]
an excerpt

The Wall ran from east to west. It stretched out in a long, dark line to either side, farther than Julian could see. In front of him, there was a break where the Uptown Boulevard passed through it. The opening was wide enough that it could have admitted two carts side by side, but it looked tighter, dwarfed by the high barrier of black stone that split Citté Montferre across its middle.

Julian had never understood why the Wall was there. He had always suspected that it had been built a long time ago, back when Montferre was still an active volcano. Perhaps the builders had thought that it would help shield the rest of the city from the lava, or at least buy people some time to cross the river to the south. But the wall was also wide enough for people to patrol along the top of it – not that anybody did. The few stairways that led to its crest were worn down and crumbling, some completely beyond the point where they could be of any use. Even had they been in better repair, it was still a fact that the city guard seldom ventured as far south as the Wall. More often, an adventurous urchin would make up his mind to climb the Wall, either showing off in front of his rivals, or else planning to ambush them from above with any substance that lent itself well to spilling or dropping. Pissing on enemies was also a favored tactic.

Julian himself had climbed the wall several times, when he was younger. Jacques was even better at it. Back then, Julian had thought the Wall was great fun – a challenge. Scaling the Wall had been an adventure, climbing up to the height of four or five men, wriggling your toes into the cracks and hoping that the weathered stones wouldn’t give way underneath your fingers. And then, to stand up to your full height on the top of it, looking out over the Old Square and the rest of the Beggar’s District spreading away below you, the streets curving and crossing like the zigzag seams in a patchwork quilt, all the way down to the jumbled, rickety ruins of Ferry’s Row and the docks at the edge of the river. It gave anyone a thrill, as if for just that moment, they were suddenly the king of everything they saw. The children of the Beggar’s District would never have a chance to explore the wooded sides of Montferre, hedged in as it was by the largest and finest of the noble estates. But the Wall was theirs, their mountain, their one small stolen breath of freedom.

Except, thought Julian, that it was only the merest taste. That moment was always wonderful, but when it came time for you to climb back down from the Wall again, there was just no way to keep your spirits atop it. These days, the Wall made him feel sick within, like all his insides were gathering themselves into a twisted knot. The stones that formed the Wall were big, heavy chunks of black and grey, sometimes streaked with a dull, brownish red. They made Julian think of the sky before a storm, when the clouds hang low and dark overhead, as if suffering from the weight of their own unshed rain. With their trailing red patches, the rocks looked as if they had long ago been stained with blood.

Julian ducked his head and walked quickly past the Wall. Every day, he passed between its looming stones. And every day, he hated it a little more.