Chapter 13 #2
I take a deep breath and grab them—a brown tunic, dark pants, and a thin, threadbare cloak. I try not to think about the fact I’m stealing from someone who probably needs these clothes as much as I do. Maybe I can repay them in some way later.
Where can I change? I need somewhere private, hidden, where no one will see me. I don’t want to go back to the alley I woke up in. The main streets are out of the question. I need to find somewhere with lots of shadows, deep enough to provide cover and protection.
I look around and find a narrow gap between two buildings. It’s barely wide enough for one person, but it goes far back enough to provide some privacy. It’s not perfect. If someone really wanted to find me, they’d see me. But it’s better than being in the open.
I change as fast as I can, my hands shaking so badly I can barely work the fastenings. Being vulnerable out here, stripping out of my clothes and into these new ones, makes my heart race even faster.
What if someone comes around the corner? What if someone sees me?
I fumble with the ties on the tunic. It takes three attempts to get them right, and by the time I’m done my palms are slick with sweat, and my breath is coming in short, sharp gasps.
I bundle my jeans and sweater into the smallest possible package and take them as far down as the narrow path allows me.
I don’t think anyone will bother squeezing their way down here.
The only thing I can’t do anything about is my sneakers.
The pants cover the tops, so I have to hope that no one will pay much attention to my feet.
At least I’ve fixed one problem. Now I need to find somewhere I can hide, and figure out where I am. I give a second’s thought to staying where I am, but the space is too narrow for comfort and if I’m caught here, there will be no way for me to escape.
I creep along the streets, trying to stay in the shadows, and look for a building that could be an inn or a tavern.
Any place where I can try and figure out where I am.
I don’t see either of those things, but as I turn a corner into an area where the buildings aren’t quite as tightly packed, and in the spaces between them, I catch sight of something in the distance that makes my stomach drop.
Rising above the buildings, gleaming in the moonlight, is a tower. I stop walking, every thought about being hidden wiped away by what I’m seeing. The shape. The height. The way it catches the light and seems to glow against the dark sky.
No. It can’t be.
I know that tower. I’ve seen it before, up close.
No. No. No.
I’m in Ashenvale. The Authority’s stronghold. The worst possible place I could have ended up. And before me rises the Lirien Spire.
Terror hits me so hard that my knees buckle, and I have to catch myself against a wall. My vision goes dark around the edges. I can’t breathe. Of all the places in Meridian … all the cities, the towns, even the empty wilderness … the ritual sent me here. To the heart of Authority rule.
This is where Sacha was High Prince before they took everything from him. Where Sereven sits on a throne that isn’t his. Where Authority soldiers patrol every street.
I’m going to die here. There’s no way I can survive this place. I don’t know the streets well enough. I don’t know who can be trusted. I’m wearing stolen clothes. And I have power that wants to announce itself every time I’m scared.
And right now, I’m scared all the time.
The thought of what they’ll do to me if they catch me makes bile rise in my throat. I saw the aftermath of what Sereven did to Sacha. I know what they’re capable of.
I can’t give up! I can’t curl up in an alley and wait for them to find me. I have to keep moving. Standing still means getting caught, and getting caught means death or worse.
I straighten and push away from the wall, every step feeling like I’m walking deeper into a trap, and then I hear the sound of a patrol marching toward me. And this time, there’s nowhere I can hide.
“You there!” A voice calls out, sharp with suspicion. “Stop where you are.”
Six Authority soldiers emerge from a side street, their crimson cloaks bright against the gray stone of the buildings. The leader points directly at me, with the kind of confidence that comes from years of absolute power.
My heart is slamming against my ribs so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t burst. I keep my eyes lowered as they approach, falling into the subservient pose Mira and Sacha showed me during our last visit here.
Don’t make eye contact. Don’t look like you’re challenging their authority.
“Yes, sir?” I keep my voice as steady and as meek as I can manage.
“What are you doing out after curfew?”
I don’t know anything about a curfew, but it explains why I haven’t seen anyone other than Authority patrols on the streets. I scramble for a plausible lie.
“I was visiting my mother. She’s sick, sir. She lives in one of the outer districts. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
The patrol leader’s eyes narrow as he studies me. “Which household?”
My mind races. I don’t have enough knowledge to be questioned too deeply. “The large house with the blue shutters, sir. Near the fountain.” I don’t even know if there are any fountains in Ashenvale. I hold my breath.
“What’s her name?”
“V-Veridia.” I grasp at a name that sounds like it could be from Meridian.
“Never heard of her.” He steps closer. “I think you’re lying.”
My chest tightens, throat closing with terror.
“We … we only moved to Ashenvale recently, sir.” It’s weak, and we both know it.
“Show me your papers.”
Oh no.
I don’t have papers. I don’t have anything that proves I belong here.
“I … they’re back at the house, sir.”
The soldiers exchange glances, and the captain’s hand moves toward his weapon. The rest of the patrol shift to surround me.
“That’s not how it works, and you know it. Everyone carries identification. Always.”
Every lie I tell is making things worse. They know I’m lying. They know something is wrong. And they’re not going to let me walk away.
Fear destroys what’s left of my control, and the lightning I’ve been desperately suppressing bursts free with a force I have no hope of stopping. Silver light explodes from my skin, and the sky responds, storm clouds forming with sudden, violent fury.
“What in the name of—” The captain’s voice breaks.
Lightning strikes.
It’s not a small, controlled discharge. No, this is a streak of forked lighting that comes down like the wrath of angry gods, slamming into the street less than twenty-feet away, and with enough force to shake the foundations of nearby buildings.
The bolt illuminates everything for one frozen second—the soldiers faces, their hands raised to shield their eyes, weapons forgotten. Thunder crashes over us, a warning that comes seconds before a second lightning bolt strikes. The soldiers dive for cover, as shattered stone rains down around us.
The confusion gives me the opening I desperately need and I bolt before they can move to stop me. Voices shout orders, but I don’t look back. I just keep running while thunder and lightning fill the space between us.
Shock and horror wage war inside me. I lost control. I let fear override every lesson I’ve learned. I could have brought down buildings and killed people while they slept.
When my lungs are burning and I can’t run anymore, I collapse against a doorway.
I almost killed them. Six men who were just doing their jobs. But they would have taken me prisoner, or worse. I can’t let guilt take me over.
The next few hours blur together in an exhausting pattern of fear and movement.
I hide when I hear footsteps, and there are always footsteps now, more than before as patrols search for me.
I wait in doorways and duck into shadows, holding my breath and praying they don’t look too closely.
I listen for the all-clear when they’ve moved on, and then run to a new hiding place, trying to stay ahead of the searches.
My nerves are frayed beyond repair, hyper-tuned to every sound that might indicate approaching danger.
Eventually, the first hints of light touch the sky, and people begin to stir. Early risers come out of buildings, market vendors start setting up stalls, and the city wakes up.
Now people are moving around, it’s easier to blend in without drawing attention. I watch everyone carefully. How they react when patrols pass. Who shows tension, who shows respect. The same behavior I remember from when I was last here. Maybe there’s someone here who I can trust.
An elderly woman steps out of a building near the market district.
She moves slowly, scanning the streets as she walks toward a stall where the vendor sells fresh bread.
What captures my attention is her reaction when an Authority patrol passes.
Most people duck their heads. She doesn’t.
Her spine visibly tenses, her fingers clench into fists, and she mutters something beneath her breath.
A small act of defiance. Something I might be able to use.
But I still have to be cautious. Approaching anyone will be a risk. Just because she’s showing a lack of respect, it doesn’t mean she won’t report a stranger. So, I wait, watching her behavior and looking for more signs that she might be someone I can trust.
She purchases a single loaf, and walks to the next vendor where she picks out a small amount of sliced meat, before heading to a third for a basket of vegetables.
She doesn’t linger at any long, and she doesn’t hold lengthy conversations, but she holds her head a little higher than most people, and she chooses her path carefully to minimize contact with any Authority soldiers.
These are the behaviors of someone who cooperates because she has to, not because she believes in what the Authority represents.
When a patrol cuts through the market, crossing her path, I watch to see how she behaves. She deliberately turns away, stepping into an alcove and pretending to examine something in a window until they pass.
I wait until the soldiers disappear, and then I move toward her slowly, trying to project need rather than threat. My appearance probably helps. I’m sure I look like someone who’s had a very bad night.
When she notices me getting closer to her, her expression changes. There’s wariness in her eyes, but also curiosity, and maybe recognition that I’m clearly in some kind of trouble.
This is it. It’s my one chance to find help. Everything depends on the next few seconds. I stop beside her, and duck my head.
I lick my lips, and take a deep breath. “Varamek nul’tor,” I whisper.
She frowns at me. “I’m sorry? Did you say something?”
My heart sinks. Maybe she doesn’t know the phrase. Maybe I misread the signs. Maybe …
But then I catch something in her eyes. A flicker of … something. Something that makes me repeat the words in a firmer voice.
“Varamek nul’tor.”
She looks over my shoulder, then back at me.
“Where did you learn those words?” Her voice is sharp.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. She either recognizes them as an ally or as an enemy, and I have no choice now but to push forward.
“From someone who trusted me with them. I need help. I have nowhere to go. Please, will you help me?”
My heart hammers against my ribs while she looks at me. I keep my eyes open, and hold still, while every instinct in me screams for me to run. But then, she nods.
“Yes. I’ll help you.”