27. Return of the Stowaway
Return of the Stowaway
Darien
T heir gas indicator was undeniably low. Darien would see if they could get more while in Perle. He ran his hand down the steering wheel, taking comfort in its rough grip.
It’s just like any other Produce Day .
From the passenger seat, Anara offered directions. “Turn right here.” “Right again.” “Left and then straight to the Wall.”
At the last set of instructions, Anara shifted.
Her skin quivered and darkened as feathers sprouted from her pores.
The next moment, a raven with sharp, beady eyes gazed in Darien’s direction.
Anara blinked once, as though offering encouragement, then flapped her wings, taking flight through the window.
She would be scouting from above and watching for complications.
In the distance, the trees thinned and a line of trucks waited to enter the gates of Lystheim.
All too soon, the Wall loomed before them.
Darien took his spot in the queue. His first impression was one of déjà vu; it was so much like the Wall back in Safír, except fewer sentries walked the top of the Wall and manned the entrance.
That was most likely a byproduct of the reduced population.
Anara claimed the Empress had halved the people of Perle in her great purge while searching for Lovisa.
Darien’s hands squeezed around the steering wheel. The Empress had already taken Aeron; he wouldn’t let her take Larissa too.
The line moved along both agonizingly slowly and far too quickly for Darien’s liking.
The familiar trickle of sweat gathered in his hairline and ran down his spine.
He recognized Anara, perched on the wall, scanning the trucks as they entered the city.
Outside the gates of the Wall, a statue had been erected of an aging goddess carrying a small ashen box in one hand and a loose blindfold in the other.
On a plaque beneath the statue, Darien could just make out the words: “The Knowing One.”
Vor, the goddess of wisdom.
The statue’s eyes locked onto Helga, as if it knew the secret cargo carried in the bed of the truck. A small smile played on Vor’s wrinkled lips. Whether that boded well for Darien’s chances, he couldn’t say.
Only one truck remained in front of them. Their window of escape had passed; either Darien’s galdr would work, or they would be running for their lives. The statue no longer seemed to be smiling. A black-garbed sentry motioned him forward.
As per protocol, the sentry stood at the gate, a handgun on one side of his waist and a large hunting knife on the other. He held out a hand. “Paperwork.”
Darien bent over the passenger seat, his hands reaching for Larissa’s crumpled identification papers on the floor.
He wished for a moment he had his own, but he’d left them behind with Aagen.
Besides, if all went well, it wouldn’t matter what he held in his hands.
He smoothed them out over the dash before handing them off to the sentry. “Must have sat on them at some point.”
The sentry huffed in frustration as his eyes scanned the papers. Annoyance colored his voice as he threw the papers back at Darien. “What game are you playing, slápr ?”
In his anger, the sentry’s eyes met Darien’s gaze. It was the opening Darien needed. The guard was frustrated, hot, and annoyed—all emotions that Darien could grasp with ease. He slipped into the man’s mind, careful to hold on to the edges and cautious to not dive too deep.
“No game.” Darien’s calm words contrasted the sharp thump of his heart. “My papers are in order; send me through the gate.”
For just a moment, the sentry stared, his eyebrows pulled together in anger, then all expression fled his face. The sentry nodded, his blank eyes unfocused as he waved Darien through. “Follow the previous truck into the unloading area. Once you’re finished, you may collect your family’s rations.”
Darien nodded, worried that anything he might say would prolong the conversation or break their connection.
Releasing his pent-up breath, he passed through the gates.
In the rearview, the sentry shook his head before harassing the occupants of the next truck.
Darien had succeeded at the first stage, but the next would be far more difficult.
He parked at the Intake docks, leaving the key in and the engine running.
Like in the Safír commonwealth, the loading bay was a large dirt yard filled with trucks, sentries, and confusion.
Unlike Safír, slaves with clinking metal restraints outnumbered the day laborers, running from truck to truck.
Beyond the loading area was another smaller wall and gate that led into the industrial section of the city.
Just beyond it, Darien could see the tops of buildings rising from the city within.
He jumped from the truck and meandered toward the back.
He needed to grab the attention of a single sentry without alerting the rest. He took his time unlocking the tailgate and popping it open, allowing the full squeal of hinges to grate against his nerves.
A flurry of feathers crossed his vision as Anara glided into the back of the truck, landing on the crates that hid Larissa and Halla.
She cawed loudly enough that several farm hands nearby looked, probably wondering why Darien didn’t shoo the creature, but the sentries continued to ignore him.
Darien stepped away from the truck, then stretched and yawned—once, twice.
Nearby the sentries stood talking; perhaps they were truly as incompetent as Anara had suggested. But the third yawn got a response.
“Move it along, slápr. ”
Turning toward the high voice, Darien was surprised to find himself facing a boy dressed in sentry’s armor.
He had to be even younger than Darien. The boy was gangly, his armor hanging on his slim frame, and acne broke out across his too-large nose.
Where was the Empress recruiting such young sentries?
He noticed Darien staring and placed his hand on the gun at his side. “Did you hear me, or do I need to make you hear me?”
Embarrassment, pride, arrogance. Darien latched onto the emotions, entering the boy’s mind before he could notice the lack of produce in the back of the truck.
“Be quiet,” he said. But further words died in his throat. The boy’s eyes were not glazed over but wide with fear. Although he could not speak, he was aware of Darien’s intrusion in his mind; worse, he seemed to be fighting back.
Like a hammer in his mind, pain pulsated through Darien’s brain as the boy revolted against Darien’s presence. He could feel the boy’s fear like it was his own. It soured in his mouth, but fear was an emotion he knew all too well.
With a not-so-gentle mental push, Darien regained control, and the boy’s face went mercifully slack. In his peripheral vision, Darien saw Anara hop onto the truck’s slatted sides; she would alert him if anyone was coming, but he had to move quickly.
Careful to keep his gaze steady, Darien lowered his voice, appealing to the boy as if he would a friend. “We need your help. Lead us out of the loading zone, take us into the city, and hide us somewhere the other sentries won’t look.”
He nodded in response, as though he’d chosen to take Darien’s side instead of being persuaded into it. “I’ll tell the sentries I’ve confiscated this vehicle. They won’t bother us if they think I’m taking you prisoner.”
Distrust flooded Darien, but no, his galdr was holding.
Anara croaked in the back of her throat. Someone was coming.
“Fine,” Darien said, “but I’m sitting up front with you.”
A harsh caw from Anara signaled that their time was running out. Darien thrust out his hands, exposing his wrists to the sentry’s restraints. Just as the metal snapped, another sentry appeared.
“What’s going on here?”
The young sentry grabbed Darien by the crook of his arm. “This one gave me an attitude. I’m confiscating his truck and taking him to confinement. He can think through his actions there for a few days.”
“Teach that worthless slápr a lesson.” The other sentry slammed the tailgate; the lock clicked.
Darien allowed the younger sentry to drag him toward the passenger seat and shove him inside the cab.
As the sentry walked around the front of the truck, Darien watched, careful to catch if his galdr should slip from the young sentry’s mind.
To Darien’s relief, the boy entered the driver seat with the same blank look in his eyes as before.
Pulling out of the loading dock, he drove further in toward the city gates where another pair of sentries, upon recognizing the driver, waved Helga through.
Black spots colored Darien’s vision as weariness sat heavy behind his eyes. His connection to the young sentry’s mind wavered, but Darien held tight. He could not risk letting go now. Even so, his head dropped lower, his chin nearly touching his chest.
A dark blur crossed his sight as a raven flew in from the open window. In the next moment, Anara sat on the bench tightly squished in between the sentry and Darien. Still held under Darien’s galdr , the boy did not so much as flinch at Anara’s arrival.
Darien’s vision wavered. “Anara, I can’t—”
His connection to the sentry snapped. Through his darkened vision, Darien couldn’t see the boy’s reaction, but he heard his words. “How in Hel—”
A soft thump was followed by the swerve of Helga’s tires. Then, just as abruptly, Helga straightened out. Darien forced his eyes to open, blinking until his vision cleared. The sentry lay slumped against the door while Anara, half in his lap, directed the truck down a side alley.
“Don’t forget to breathe, Darien; I can’t have you passing out on me.”
“Who? Me?” But his words were weaker than his bravado as his galdr took its toll.