1. Inspection
Inspection
Larissa
T he mara always struck at night, feeding on nightmares and fears.
Larissa bit her pillow. The taste of cotton muffled her scream. One glance revealed her sister, Halla, sleeping peacefully in the bed next to her. Twice, shudders ran through Larissa’s body, lingering in the muscles between her shoulders and neck, leaving her weak and shaky.
It was always the same. Those monsters called mara would come, and Larissa would free herself from the prison of sleep. But each time, the struggle took longer than before.
She forced her throbbing jaw to unclench and counted her breaths. Mamma had taught her how to ease the pounding of the blood in her ears, to slow the racing of the blood in her veins. But even those tricks couldn’t stop the trembling in her hands.
Those would have to run their course.
Though the mara was always the same, the nightmares changed every night.
Pappa encouraged her to try and remember.
Dreams held meanings, especially nightmares.
Even as Larissa chalked up the pain in her chest to Pappa’s ever-growing superstitions, she couldn’t ignore the pressure that squeezed the air from her lungs.
Fighting the weight of her arms, Larissa swept her hands through the air above her chest as if brushing away cobwebs to banish the creature of the night.
The pressure remained, as she knew it would.
Experience taught Larissa that the feeling would only dissipate with time. There would be no more sleep tonight.
Careful to not disturb Halla, Larissa sat up from beneath the covers and rested her back against the headboard.
The well-worn bed creaked in protest against her movement.
She shoved her head between her knees at the familiar onslaught of dizziness.
The shock of chilled air seeping in through her damp shirt quickly chased away the remnants of sleep.
Morning air flowed in from the screen-covered window beside her bed; dark blue hues colored the black of the night.
With dawn still on its way, Larissa needed light, something to chase away the remnants of her nightmares.
Stretching up, she felt for the cold metallic chain hanging from the ceiling and yanked on it.
The bulb flickered twice, swaying. Shadows danced along the wall before the light’s brilliance chased them away.
A small, annoyed voice broke the silence. “Lara, why?”
The side of Larissa’s mouth tilted up. On the bed beside her, the pile of blankets shifted. Bright green eyes appeared, peeking between the layers of cotton. Squinting against the light, they glared at Larissa.
“Sorry, bebe, “ Larissa said, rubbing her sister’s back through the thick blankets.
“Don’t call me that.” Halla huffed, but Larissa knew she didn’t mean it. Halla must have noticed the remnants of the nightmare in Larissa’s eyes because her next words had lost all trace of irritation. “Was it the mara again?”
Larissa’s smile vanished. “Just a dream.”
Blankets rustled as Halla settled next to Larissa.
Their legs stretched out before them, although Halla’s were much shorter than her sister’s.
Her small frame was swallowed by the blankets pulled up to her chin.
Although she would be thirteen soon, others would guess Halla was nine or ten based on her size. Not that anyone ever saw Halla.
Technically, she didn’t exist.
Halla leaned forward. “That’s what the mara cause, Lara. They sit on your chest at night and feed off your bad dreams.”
“That’s just one of Pappa’s stories, Halla.” In the yellow electric light, it was easier to believe that the mara weren’t real, that the pain in Larissa’s chest was all in her mind. Besides, Halla already believed in Pappa’s stories too easily, and Pappa’s stories made Halla brave.
Too brave for a second-born.
Larissa rose from the bed, her bare feet protesting against the freezing floor. She searched for the boots under her bed, then yanked out the socks tucked in the toes. “We’re both up; might as well get this day started.”
Produce Day.
Every harvest, Dal’s Berry Farm made regular deliveries of their produce within the walls of the city.
These deliveries were the only thing that allowed Larissa’s family the smallest bit of freedom in living outside the Wall.
That freedom was necessary to keep Halla safe.
She wouldn’t make it a day within the Wall without being caught by the sentries or, worse, by the thraell , slavers whose business thrived off of second-borns.
Halla’s head turned toward the window, her eyes watching the rising sun. “I want to go.”
“You know you can’t.” Larissa paused, regretting the fear that bled through and sharpened her words. Softening her voice, she tried again. “I can try and bring you something back.”
Halla piled the blankets high on her lap. “Like what? Another pebble?”
Larissa’s eyes glanced at the rocks lined up across their dresser.
Smooth and polished by waves, they nearly glowed in the early morning light.
Years ago, Pappa would stop by the shore after his dropoff to the Wall and bring back a pebble from its rocky beaches.
Larissa had continued the tradition only recently, but she’d spent hours searching for the perfect addition to Halla’s collection.
“If you’d like.”
Halla snorted. “Pass.”
Larissa bit down her own retort. She was simply the target of Halla’s frustration, not the cause. Every Produce Day, Halla grew more and more restless.
Larissa dressed in silence, pulling on worn jeans and shoving the thick work gloves into her back pocket. The morning air wafting through the screen sent goosebumps running along the exposed skin of her neck. It signaled the change of seasons and the coming of fall.
Ignoring the blanketed bundle of indignation on the bed behind her, Larissa tugged her brush through her own tangled hair.
Strands of pale, white hair floated to the floor.
With practiced fingers, Larissa braided her hair closely on each side of her head.
All the while, Halla’s resentment seeped into the air.
Larissa opened the door, wishing beyond anything that she could take Halla with her.
Then Halla’s hand shot up, yanking the light’s chain and plunging the room into gray darkness. Larissa stepped out and closed the door behind her. There was no use repeating to Halla what she already knew.
It wasn’t safe for her to leave the house.
It wasn’t safe for any second-born child to be seen in public, especially not within sight of the Wall.
In the main room, Mamma was already awake, washing vegetables in the cracking porcelain sink with her worn apron tied around her waist. A stool sat beside her, ready should Mamma need to grab anything from the shelves.
Halla had clearly gotten her height from Mamma.
Both girls had Mamma’s pale coloring. Though Halla often wished for Pappa’s olive skin that protected him from the sun in the summers, she was every bit a replica of Mamma.
“Morning, bebe, ” Mamma called over her shoulder, removing the kettle from where it whistled on the stove. Some residents within the Wall were blessed with electric kettles, while Larissa’s family made do with scalding tongues. “Did you sleep well?”
Larissa shrugged. “Well enough.”
Mamma dried her hands, surveying Larissa. “Is Halla still asleep?”
Grabbing an apple from the basket on the table, Larissa joined her at the counter. “No, she’s awake and pouting. She wants to come with me today.”
Mamma nodded, still drying her hands on the damp wash rag. Although she said nothing, her silence unlocked the words from Larissa like a well-cut key.
“She lives like a prisoner,” Larissa continued, picking at the apple and leaving crescent-shaped wounds in its green skin. “It’s hard on her. Produce Days make it worse. It doesn’t help that Pappa fills her head with the mara and AEsir .”
“Bad dream, again?”
“That’s not the point.” Larissa knew Mamma wouldn’t understand.
Like Pappa, Halla, and all of those in the commonwealth of Safír, Mamma loved the stories of old.
The runes carved into their home and the amulet of Njorer sitting between Mamma’s collarbones only emphasized their faith.
To believe in the gods was one thing, Larissa supposed, but it was another to trust in them so blindly.
Even before the wars, diseases, and natural disasters that crippled mankind long ago, the people had stopped believing in things like mara , Norn, and the AEsir .
Those ideas belonged to an old mythology from a long-dead culture, and yet society’s fascination with them grew every day.
Even from her brief visits within the Wall, Larissa had seen charms of the gods—symbols of luck, wealth, and prosperity—hanging around the necks of farmers, citizens, slaves, and sentry alike.
Some had gone so far as to tattoo runes on their skin.
Larissa imagined the city was a lot like home, where Pappa’s stories were an additional member of their family.
Halla’s faith rivaled Pappa’s, but then again, so had Larissa’s.
That was before she’d realized just how useless the gods truly were.
Perhaps they were out there, but Larissa knew the truth.
Every Inspection only solidified Larissa’s opinion.
The gods didn’t listen to prayers. It wasn’t the gods that kept Halla safely hidden.
It wasn’t the gods that held Halla when she woke up shaking from her nightmares.
No, Larissa could not rely on the AEsir .
Mamma grabbed the apple from Larissa’s hands, slicing it into eight pieces and wrapping those in a napkin. “Halla will be alright. I’ll see if she can help me in the garden. Some dirt on her hands ought to cheer her up.”
“Is Pappa already outside?” Larissa asked.
“He was up before the sun.” Mamma’s smile was strained, drawing tight lines around her hazel eyes. “He wants to make sure your delivery goes well.”