3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Astrid
The next day is a blur of routine and, as I lock the clinic doors behind me, I can’t help but thank Malia. I have the next few days off work for the festival and I just need a break. Carrying the weight of my day, I trudge down the street. A heaviness has settled around me as I avoid cow patties, mud puddles, and anything else in the dirt road that could ruin my skirt. I occasionally pass farmers, their weary eyes over their masks mirror the droop of their overworked bodies as they trudge home. Shadow Guards are few in number, but the ones who are present try to hide their silhouettes against the dimming light of green moss above. I can feel their eyes as they follow me, and I try to shake it off. It's not curfew yet. Concern flutters in my stomach. A realization that makes me pause in the middle of the street; I haven’t crossed paths with a single familiar face yet. Masks hide the lower part of their faces, but they don’t make people unrecognizable.
My concern eases as I crest a hill, and a greenhouse that houses the Farm District’s secret market comes into view. Fireflies buzz in my stomach as I approach. The black market is one of my favorite places in the district. I managed to befriend a foreign vendor a few years ago who always finds her way into the hidden marketplace. The fluttering in my stomach picks up in my anticipation . I hope I haven't missed her . Through the walls of cloudy glass separated by thin pieces of black metal, I can only see a couple of harvesters milling through the rows. To the left of the door is an old woman, her long gray hair dangling in twin braids. A scrap of green cloth covers her nose and mouth. She grips knitting needles delicately between her fingers as they clack rhythmically with each stitch. To an outsider, it would look like any other greenhouse, and it is… unless you have the password.
“What’re you looking to harvest today?” she asks as I approach, her eyes glued to her work.
“Thistlewood,” I whisper confidently. The old woman’s hands still, she sets her project to the side, then ushers me into the greenhouse. She leads me to the center of the structure, the foliage blocking us from view of the fogged glass walls as I glance around at the plants that hide the market’s newest location.
“Can you help me with this, dear?” the elderly woman asks, brushing away some of the dirt and grass on the ground to reveal a hatch. “You just pull on it there.” She points to a circular metal ring embedded into the wood. It takes me a few tries, but it finally gives and I’m able to lift the trap door. The opening isn’t dark like one would assume, there is green light emanating up along with the warm smell of vanilla and the hum of voices. A smile stretches across my face. This is one of my favorite places in the district. As I descend the ladder, the hatch door creaks closed behind me.
The ladder ends in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the black market. Vendors and their tables line the concrete, windowless walls. There are ladders and hatches scattered throughout the room leading to secret locations within the district just in case escape is needed. I search each face for the person I have been waiting on for weeks.
A flash of chestnut locs and a beautiful warm complexion of a deep burnt sienna catches my attention, and I'm shoving through the crowd toward my friend’s booth.
“Effie! I was worried I missed you.” The happiness radiating through me shines from my face as I feel my cheeks tense into a smile. I wonder what she's been up to outside of Demendia's walls since the last time she visited. A desire to ask her to take me with her the next time she leaves reverberates through me. I push it down. I have too many goals and duties here to allow myself the luxury of escape.
“It’s not quite time for me to pack up.” Effie’s smile is hidden under her mask, but her eyes light up. “I’m glad you made it.” She doesn’t hesitate to pull me into a hug.
“What news do you have from the outside?” I ask, leaning back and grasping Effie’s hands, trying to ignore the impulse to squeal. She visits once every two weeks, and she always brings the most outlandish stories.
“Erothea’s royalty is still acting as if they are the leaders of the Empire, and Itagan is fighting them. Nothing new at least,” Effie says, rolling her eyes before waving at a passing customer. Effie is a regular vendor here, and over the past three years she has gotten to know many people in the market. Me included. She’s the only friend I don’t have to share with Embla constantly.
“Doesn’t someone need to be in charge? If Erothea wants to take on the burden, why not let them?” I ask, frowning.
“The people,” Effie says simply. “They will only follow their royalty, and each royal family is vying for a power that is not rightfully theirs. After all these years, they’ve still not found a way to work together.” Effie shakes her head in disappointment.
“What about movies? Have you seen any lately?” I ask, changing the subject to the topic I am most curious about. While we have electricity throughout the city, the price of using it frivolously is too much. Effie told me about movies during one of our first conversations , and I’ve been intrigued since.
“I did see a new one recently about a woman who falls in love with a prince.” Effie turns to a pile of handmade sweaters, straightening the stack, a blushing smile raises her cheeks under her mask before she continues, “It just goes to show that maybe there is such a thing as mates.”
I can’t help the swell in my breast as I envision what life could be like outside of the walls, and what it would be like to fall in love rather than be forced into a marriage by the god we worship. Religion and Malia’s commandments make me skeptical, but the idea of someone out in the world being truly made for me warms my soul. If the goals I have for myself were easier I might have given into the role Malia demands of women, that would have been simple. But I would never be happy with something I consider easier. There’s no point in finding love here.
My entire life has been centered around becoming a rancher and being a productive member of the Farm. I have proven over the years that I can work as hard as the men by taking any job the council can throw at me, but that has ostracized me from the rest of the community. Especially the other women. Many of them whisper behind my back about a working woman being nothing but garbage beneath them. The men in this District want an obedient house slave who opens her legs whenever he demands and gives him male children. The husbands work all day while their wives are trapped at home, never getting a break. I wonder if the men in other districts are the same. It doesn't matter, I want more than that. The question my mind always turns to is if being a rancher and settling down will be enough. My mind says yes, but the longing in my heart that I have tried to ignore and push down for years, whispers no . I want to explore the world. Maybe find a partner, a companion. Not a master. My desires can’t be a sin. To me it seems reasonable to need something more. I’m lucky Papa hasn’t succeded in forcing an arranged marriage on me like he has threatened to many times before. Not that he hasn’t tried, he just never got past the Oracle, each suitor rejected by the matchmaker herself.
“What I wouldn’t dream to find something like that,” my voice comes out breathy. A longing I have known my entire existence bubbles to life under my skin. A want to be away from all the rules, dress code, and religion of the city I will never escape.
“How’re things here?” Effie asks, observing the crowd. “There’s more people here today.”
“King Daemon isn’t letting anyone from the Farm District travel to the Market District without special permission.” I frown, running a finger down a finely crafted sweater on the table.
“That seems necessary if it wasn’t for this market.” Concern crosses Effie’s face at her words as she looks me up and down. As if I can visually reveal what is truly wrong with the district.
“We’re not supposed to tell outsiders, but …" I trail off glancing around to see if anyone is eavesdropping. “There’s an illness in the district, the king doesn't care. The Oracle is forcing us to throw a festival to appease Malia in hopes it will magically cure everyone. Masks aren’t just a fashion statement. The physicians in training and their instructors don’t know what this illness is or how to treat it. More and more people fall ill every day.” Panic slips into my tone.
Masks are the new tactic from the Institute of Health to protect the districts from the plague that is running rampant through the farm district. It wasn’t something that changed the world overnight, it started as a handful of elderly people getting sick and dying. Many of the healers blamed the deaths on Peanaria pox, and the proximity the districts keep to each other. Until it kept spreading to people who have and haven’t had pox. No one survived. Six months later and this is where we’ve ended up, still unsure where the plague came from, and how to treat it. None of the remedies that student physicians, as well as their instructors, tried have worked. If anything, they make the illness worse and no one knows why. According to science it should be curable.
The raid-warning horn sounds from somewhere within the market , cutting off what Effie is about to say. My heart stops, they couldn’t have found us. Silence blankets the space, and every person stills. Heaviness coats the air as the crowd listens, waiting. My heart thuds rapidly in my ears as I strain to hear anything. It’ll pass, they just moved the market. There’s no way the guards could have found it so easily.
“Find the entrance. I know it’s here,” a muffled voice from high above us shouts. I freeze, unable to do anything except pick at my fingernails until my hand moves to my locket. One of the hatches creaks open, and my heart stops as the only sound to be heard are rubber soles descending metal rungs. This can't be happening. They can't be raiding the market today of all days. Effie meets my eyes and in them I see the same panic I feel rising in myself.
“The Shadows,” we whisper in unison. If they find us it would mean execution for me, and banishment from Demendia for Effie. Blood drains from her face as black-leather clad men fill the enclosed space. Vendors scurry to collect their wares and escape up one of the ladders. Effie struggles to carry piles of the sweaters as I follow her to the nearest exit. Effie goes first, somehow managing to climb the rungs with the sweaters she saved. I get up the first few feet of the ladder when a black leather gloved hand shoots out, grabbing my ankle and wrenching me back down into the market.
A groan escapes me as I land on the ground hard, the thud echoing through my body. Desperation seizes my chest as I kick out trying to keep his hands and manacles away from me. I have too much I haven't accomplished to be executed. I haven't even found my purpose for being alive. I don’t see Effie jump from the ladder but suddenly she’s there, lashing out at the guard. Blood dribbles from the guard ’ s eyebrow where one of her many rings cut him, and he staggers backward from the sudden assault.
“Run,” she says between her teeth before the guard is on her and they are grappling for the upper hand. Without another thought, I turn my back on my friend, and scramble up the ladder. My skirt snags, ripping under my feet as I take off into the night.
I sprint through the streets. The hatch let out behind the Northern Compound, and I don’t stop running until I’ve put a good amount of distance between myself and the wooden door in the ground. Fear grips my heart as I maneuver down the dirt road. Sorrow stabbing into my chest with the knowledge that I left Effie behind. I’m nearly home before my stamina fails, and my feet slow to a walk. I haven’t passed a single person as I make my way home to Lumin’s manor, and my mind turns to Effie. She’ll be fine, the rules around foreign vendors are looser than Demendia’s citizens. My heart still drops when I realize I may never see my friend again, but as long as she’s alive that’s what matters.
Instead of letting my mind replay Effie’s last word to me, I close my eyes and let my imagination turn in a different direction. Fantasies of what it would be like to step foot outside of the walls play through my mind. I long to see an unbroken sky, instead of just my sliver of clouds that peak through the space between the dome and the mountain. To think– my dreams will be coming true during the hunt in a couple of days. Not only am I making history as the first woman to participate, but I’ll be able to experience what it is to be outside this prison for the first time in my life.
As I get closer to home, I try to shove my longing to leave Demendia back into the small box it escaped from. But, now that it's free, the feeling doesn’t want to be hidden.
Privately owned, woolly cows sleep standing in their fields, confined behind the wood fencing lined with barbed wire. I’m as trapped as they are. Except there are more rules. Judgements. Whispers about the damaged daughters of their great district leader, Lumin Leif. Dirt crunches under my steps, my mind returning to the market and the friend I left behind. Worry burrows into my chest, exacerbated by the unusual emptiness of the street. I force my shoulders to relax, take in a deep breath and try to calm myself with the reminder it is also much later than I usually walk home.
I shake my thoughts off before turning my attention back to the dirt roads that crisscross the farm. I should’ve run into Reyna by now. A few farmers trickle through the streets, heading to the Northern Compound barracks reeking of cheap moonshine served at the Helhole, the speakeasy hidden deep within the district. Alcohol was outlawed when Malia came into power within the city, but just like the black market, the farmers found a way. I continue to pass harvesters, no one I have grown to look forward to seeing on my walks home. The only good thing about working second shift for my current practicum is seeing Reyna and being able to catch up on the day's events. My oldest friend is nowhere to be found. I can’t wait around for her either with curfew looming. No woman will let herself be caught outside after. They become fodder for the Shadow Guards. Women who wander around late at night usually aren’t seen again. I’m bursting at the seams to tell her of my evening of adventure, but it would have to wait.
Worry burrows deeper into my stomach , and I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. I fidget with my locket as I search each passing face for a spark of recognition. Worry and fear threaten to send me into a downward spiral when my home comes into view.
The large, one-story house is overflowing with the crowd of farmers that loiter around the meeting pit—the fire pit used only for district meetings. Harvesters, ranchers, curators, and every sect of the farmer’s guild is present. I catch sight of the familiar faces I was looking for amongst the crowd. Papa usually gives a week’s notice before these meetings. A large green fire blazes, and my heart stops in my chest. An emergency meeting: something awful happened.
Women and children squish together on the log benches. My stomach bottoms out as I rush to the edge of the crowd. I shove through them as I search each of the faces for my father. Even the masks can’t hide the tears that run from each person’s eyes. Women huddle close together with their children clutching at their skirts. The men speak in hushed tones, but a few stand stoically by the emerald flame.
After a few minutes of frantic searching, I hear Papa’s baritone voice, locating him in the crowd. I need to know what happened. I pick up bits and pieces of solemn conversations as I wade through the crowd.
“No one survived second shift.”
“Michael’s dead! What am I going to do now?” A woman wails over the rest of the voices. Each word is like a stone against my heart. I may not be welcomed by everyone in the district, but I love the way our community comes together to take care of each other. My head swivels, taking sight of the spread of food the wives laid out across a circular table off to the side and out of the way. Only one thing could make my people as scared as they are tonight. The plague is spreading.
“What’s happened?” I demand, interrupting Papa and his second, Bjorn. He’s a man of few words, but his eyes are keen. A large scar stretches from his right ear down his cheek to his chin. A reminder of a war long over, and what fae can do to a human. His curly hair is long enough for ringlets to form, tangling with the breeze.
“Lumin Leif, I’ll give you some privacy,” Bjorn says with a slight bow before he walks off quickly getting lost in the crowd.
“You can’t be out here. Get inside,” Leif growls.
“The masks were supposed to help. What has happened?”
I ignore Papa’s demand, waiting for an answer to my own question. His eyes gleam with anger as he steps in close.
“You’re late,” Papa says , his baritone voice taking on a gravelly tone as he whispers, “And you’re not wearing your fucking mask. Get in the house before I have you flogged again."
Papa lays Embla on her bed, shutting the door soundly before turning on me.
"You had one job, and you let this happen? How could you be so irresponsible?" Venom drips from his words as he lunges. His hand circles my wrist, and I can’t free myself from his clutch as he drags me outside. The fresh stitches around my eye are so tight that they pull with any movement of my mouth, sending small twinges of pain through my face.
"She snuck off, I didn't mean for this to happen," I scream, yanking on my wrist harder, trying to pull it from his hold. I know what comes next. I've witnessed it a few times throughout the community. It’s never happened to me before. Wrenching my arm, he drags me across the field to the stable. Papa doesn't say a word as he ties my hands with rope, securing them to a hook on the outside of the structure.
"Papa, please," I plead, trying to free my hands from the rope as he walks into the stable returning with the whip he uses to break horses. At that sight I start to use my teeth, standing on the tips of my toes, trying to chew through the old worn fibers of the rope. “I’m a good daughter,” I cry, going back to pulling, hoping the rope will snap.
"This is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you," Papa says, raising his arm. I try not to brace myself, but I can't help it as the sound of the whip slices through the air before flaying open my back with a crack. I don't want to, but I scream as pain explodes through my body as it lashes against my back over and over. I don't want to hold myself up by the time he has finished. I don’t think I’m physically capable of standing by myself by the time he’s finished. When he releases my arms, I find an audience gathered around the community fire watching from behind Papa. I can see the pity written across each face, and an anger I’ve never known before spills into me like molten lava. Boiling in my chest as it merges with my desire to leave the city and never return.
The scars on my back sear white-hot at the memory. Papa flicks the mask dangling from my ear. His large hand clasps around my upper arm as he hauls me to the door of the house, and I have to work hard not to flinch away from him. “We’ll talk later, but you need to get inside for your safety.” Papa flings the door to the house open, shoving me inside, and I stumble as the door slams closed behind me.