Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
A bead of sweat streams down my temple as I reach for the next rung and question all the recent choices that led me here. Maybe sticking around for the Hunt wouldn’t be so bad; preferable, even, to climbing the utility staircase that’s more of a slanted steel ladder than true stairs.
I rub the back of my hand against my forehead and frown at the dark gray smudge staining my ashen skin.
Gem spent her past few kitchen shifts scrounging up a pail of soot from the oven, so we could dye my hair.
We’d hoped the ashes would darken my conspicuous tawny curls to a shade closer to the twins’ raven locks.
The actual result is more of a lifeless gray, but it should suffice as a temporary disguise long enough to get us into Deor.
If I can make it there.
Gem halts a whole flight above my head. Neither of us dares to speak a word aloud—not while our every move is reverberating through the unforgiving stone and steel surfaces—but I could swear I can hear her questioning in the silence whether I can keep going.
I respond by hoisting myself up, rung after rung.
This is fine.
I’m fine.
It’s not like the moist, moldy air from the adjacent water pipes is goading my stomach into joining the protest of my muscles. And my brain certainly isn’t threatening to implode if I don’t rest soon.
The ladder sways beneath my touch as a dizzy spell calls bullshit on my lies.
By the grace of the shadows, I glance up to see the top of the stairwell.
Just fifteen more steps. Gritting my teeth, my fingers grip more tightly on the rusted steel rungs.
Black orbs creep along the edges of my vision.
I hasten my ascent, climbing the remaining steps with as much vigor as I can muster.
When my hand latches onto the top ledge of the round platform, I heave myself up and sprawl stomach-side-down across the chilled metal floor.
Gem pushes off the rough limestone wall to kneel at my side. I hold up a single finger, and she nods, understanding that I need a minute.
The kiss of cool steel against my cheek and temple chases off my unsettled vision, but the acid along my tongue is slower to recede. Once the pasta salad I downed an hour ago is no longer threatening to make its way back up, I roll into a sitting position.
Gem pulls the wine bottle of water from her satchel. I snatch it and pluck the loosened cork, taking a swig.
“Ready?” Gem silently mouths.
I want to shake my head and tell her no. I’d rather go back to our cabin, pass out on my cot, and not wake until the selection ceremony is over. But if my name gets called and I’m not present, the cabin would be the first place Chancellor Bren’s men would look.
Although escaping to Deor isn’t a plan without flaws, it buys us time.
Once the henchmen come knocking, Taurance will be ready and waiting with my alibi: my new fiancé whisked me away to the north.
All we need is to divert their attention for twenty-four hours.
That’s how long it’s taken in past Hunts for new names to be chosen once the women who’d deserted weren’t found.
Of course, we’ll never be able to fully lower our guard, even after hours turn into days, weeks, and months.
Desertion is treason. If we’re ever found out, it’ll be a lifetime of imprisonment without parole.
So, my options are to return to our cabin and accept the likelihood that I’ll soon be sent above like a sacrificial lamb prime for the slaughter, or keep going and pray to the merciful shadows we don’t get caught.
One leads to an imminent death. The other, an inhibited life.
My shoulders roll back as I stuff the wine bottle into my own satchel and finally offer Gem a nod.
She helps me to my feet, then cracks open the sliding steel door.
Having a few extra inches over Gem’s five-foot frame, I peek over her shoulder at the compacted clay walls and rusted rail lines bathed in dim purple light by interspersed sconces.
Thanks to a brief fling with a maintenance technician around last year’s Hunt, I’ve gleaned that stationed guards keep tabs on all the primary entrances to the transport tunnels around the clock, but none should be present during daylight hours to monitor the seldom-used utility doors.
As expected, nothing stirs within the violet darkness.
We slip through the doorway, keeping to the raised pathway along the tunnel’s edge to avoid the central trench and its five-foot drop-off. The cool metal beneath my tattered sandals shifts into something more pleasant. Not warm, but almost.
I tilt my neck as my amber eyes drift to the clay ceiling.
The tunnel runs just below the surface, leaving only a few feet to separate us from the world above.
A world opposite our own. A world of light and heat—a contrast to these suffocating walls and bitter air.
Perhaps a world that could chase away the ice in my soul, or the pulse in my heart.
Gem, who’s ten steps ahead, checks on the miniature sand clock I stashed in her bag.
I hasten my pace, focus returning to the path. We fall into a rhythm, the sconces creating an ebb and flow between light and shadow.
As we pass the first mile marker, a low rumble carries through the tunnel.
Gem glances over her shoulder. “Earthquake?”
Given the last one was three nights ago, we’re past due.
We bend into a crouch to wait out the tremors for the usual thirty seconds, but the groaning grows louder as the seconds pass. Loosened rocks cascade over the platform’s edge into the trench. The low groan sharpens into the whining shriek of metal against metal.
“The train!” I say, pulse accelerating in tandem with the growing screech.
Gem curses under her breath. “But it’s hours past curfew! Who’d be traveling this late?”
“Maybe Chancellor Bren called in more guards for the selection ceremony.”
My head whips side to side, searching for an alcove to conceal us from any eyes peering through the train’s windows, but the nearest recessed corner I can recall is by the utility stairwell’s entrance a mile back.
I tug on the brown sleeve of Gem’s oversized jacket, pulling us into the cloaking darkness between the scattered light of the sconces. Then, after pulling a black wool shawl from my satchel, I stretch the fabric over our hunched forms and pray to the merciful shadows it’ll be enough.
Seconds later, the eastbound train comes around the bend ahead.
Though the thick wool is nearly impossible to see through, there’s a tear in the fabric.
I squint through it, holding my breath as the locomotive approaches.
Its brakes scream their protest while they try to slow the rapidly rotating wheels.
Unlike the usual train that transports residents between the two brother cities, this cart is shorter, yet wider.
Its side windows have been painted over, and platforms protrude from its ends where four armed guards stand patrol: a pair in front, the other in back.
But instead of directing their attention outward, the guards angle themselves towards the cart, as if the real threat lurks within.
A prisoner transfer.
They must be sending someone from Deor into the Abyss—prison cells at the lowest level of Caligo. But why arrange the transfer during daylight hours?
A reverberating crack emanates from the rear window as the cart passes in front of us. A shadowy profile refracts through splinters in the glass.
Gem winces, letting out a small squeal.
All four guards stand straighter as they swivel around.
My whole body tenses, preparing to bolt.
“That one of you boys?” asks a gravelly-toned guard stationed at the front of the cart. He scoffs. “Sounded like a scared little girl.”
The shorter of the two guards in back replies with a grunt, while the other folds his arms against his chest, flexing his muscles. “Wasn’t me. You sure you can hack it, old man?”
“I’ve been doing this since you were in diapers, son. It’s gonna take a whole lot more than that to rattle me. Probably just a nail or something on the track.”
Despite their talk, all four shift further from the cart as the hazy black outline of a fist slams against the glass, then pulls away before striking again—and again.
The shorter guard thumps the hilt of his sword against the window before calling to someone inside. “Give ’em another shock.”
Any responses are lost to the grinding retreat of the train as it winds around the other side of the bend.
Our lungs deflate a minute later.
“Sorry about that. Almost got us caught,” Gem says, bunching up her side of the shawl and passing it to me.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” I stand, folding the wool over my arm.
Adrenaline rushes through my aching noodle legs, making them halfway useful as we continue down the path at a brisk pace.
When we’ve put another two mile markers between us and the Caligo end of the tunnel, I ask, “Don’t you think it’s weird that they’re transferring a prisoner this late? ”
“Maybe they didn’t want to distract from the festivities of the Hunt?”
“Maybe.” I chew on the inside of my bottom lip. Normally, the chancellor has prisoners paraded like warning signs to dissuade people from falling out of line. My brows pinch together as I consider why he’d switch tactics.
The thought distracts me from minding the path until my heel catches on a crack in the clay. I stumble sideways, arms flailing. Gem lunges back, but she’s too far ahead to grab me as I topple over the ledge into the trench of the central rail lines.
My satchel takes the brunt of the fall.
Something shatters inside and splinters through the canvas material directly into my right ass cheek. The sting distracts me from the rest of the aches while I hiss out a breath and roll forward onto my hands and knees.
Gem rushes to the edge of the platform. “Orelle! Are you okay?”