After the Fall (Raud Grima Book 2)

by Sophia Martin

  The prayer come out much nicer’n I’d have expected, seeing as how by then the panic was setting in but good. I could hardly think, but still the prayer come clear in my head. I told myself it was a sign Luka was listening. So I pushed my legs straight again, gritted my teeth, and with a shriek I started running, best as I could anyhow what with Gram’s body like a bag of lead on my shoulder. And ’fore I knew what happened, I was out.

  By comparison, the outside air was cool, and the main thing was I could breathe it. It was the first moment I realized I hadn’t been breathing too well inside the shop. I dropped poor Gram like a bag of bricks, but I couldn’t do no better, on account of I went down as well right beside him. My cheek hit the stone of the street, and nothing so cold ever felt so wonderful before in my life. I just stayed like that for a time.

  Everything felt burnt—my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my lungs… I stayed still and just felt the pain of it, reminding me I lived, after all. I turned and stared at Gram, who was lying on his back, but he was looking away from me, and then I started to worry that I’d not seen his chest move. So I dragged myself to sitting next to him and put my face up to his mouth and nose, trying to feel his breath.

  “Gram,” I said, ’cause now, at least, he’d hear me. “Gram, come on, wake up.”

  I slapped his cheeks, but nowt changed. I squeezed his hands, but he was limp.

  “Gram,” I said. I tried to shake him, not doing much more’n a slight shift at his shoulders. “Gram, come on, now.”

  I had to blink my eyes on account of tears what felt like acid filling them. I shut them and rested my forehead on Gram’s chest. “Gram, please. Please. You have to breathe.”

  His body jerked then, and he began to cough something awful. I patted his shoulders and then his face, laughing even while stinging tears rolled down my cheeks, for Gram was alive. Alive, by the Gods. I’d saved him.

  ~~~

  Amma put cold, wet towels on our burns hours later.

  I’d had to find help, for Gram couldn’t move much. I’d had to leave him and go into the Undergrunnsby—it was luck that a broker and four of his bed-folk—two konas and two madrs—were down there on their way to another sector. I promised them payment in exchange for their aid, though I’d no idea how I’d make good on it. They agreed, and were generous enough to allow that I’d pay some time down the road. They made a stretcher from their coats and some metal poles they found on the street and the broker and three of the bed-folk carried Gram on it while I walked ahead with the last bed-wife, who helped me more’n once when I got light-headed.

  “Slashers,” Gram said later, his voice burnt raw, when I asked him who set fire to his shop.

  I sat with him at Amma’s table. We both tried to swallow all the water she set in front of us.

  “They come looking for food, I reckon,” he continued in a raspy whisper. “It was a lark for them, burning the shop.”

  “They put a bump the size of an egg on the back of your head,” Amma said as she wrapped a towel around his forearm.

  I clenched my jaw and said nowt. Slashers. Again. I’d not have suspected they’d grown so bold as to attack a shop like Gram’s. But why not? Hadn’t I seen broken windows in buildings what’d survived the Great Rising? They attacked people what made homes there. Why not shops, too?

  “I can’t move my hand very well,” Gram murmured, his left hand twitching.

  Amma come round then and grasped it, rubbing the skin careful-like. “Can you feel this?” she asked.

  Gram nodded. “I feel it normal. I just can’t make it move like I want. I’m telling it to grip your’n, right now. It’s not doing it.”

  Amma frowned. “Any other parts not working as they should?”

  “My legs are like butter.”

  “Weak-like, you mean?” Amma asked.

  Gram gave a nod. “I couldn’t stand, I don’t think.” He grimaced, and his foot hit mine under the table. “Well, my right leg’s not so bad.”

  “And your right hand?” Amma said, releasing his left.

  Gram made a fist. “Good as it ever was, seems to me.”

  Amma’s head dipped in a sharp nod and she cast her eyes away from Gram. Not a good sign.

  “What is it, Amma?” I asked, trying to keep the fear from colouring my voice.

  She shook her head at me. “Nowt that I’m sure of. Leastways not yet. Let’s give it another look tomorrow, eh?”

  Gram watched her, and I could see he was worried, but he inclined his head by way of a nod.

  “Come on, Ginna, help me lift your friend and we’ll put him in bed.”

  ~~~

  Gram was no better in the morning, nor that following afternoon, and when he’d fallen asleep again I finally cornered Amma and demanded in a whisper what she thought was the matter.

  She shook her head like she’d done the night before.

  “It’s likely the smoke harmed him,” she said.

  “The smoke?” I echoed.

  “Sure enough, and you’re fortunate it didn’t get you as well. Breathing smoke’ll blind you, or deafen you, or hurt your limbs, just as if you’d been hit with a rock.”

  I thought of Gram, lying on the floor of his room. How long had he been there? How much smoke had he breathed?

  “But the smoke’s out now,” I said. “Out of his lungs, I mean. He’s been breathing good air. He’ll get his strength back.”

  Amma pursed her lips, gazing at me. “You remember when they brought Kona Leifr down after that bombing what set half the city afire?”

  I did remember, and it made my heart drop into my belly. Kona Leifr’d spoken gibberish for two days and then died, though she’d few burns on her. “You’re never saying Gram’s going to die,” I breathed.

  I wanted her to shake her head, to smile and say no. Instead, she shrugged. “I’ve seen it before.”

  Her words hit me like rocks and I stumbled back, my shoulder hitting the wall of the shanty hard enough to shake it. I recovered my balance and looked away from Amma, shuffling instead towards the bedroom. Pulling back the curtain just a little, I caught sight of Gram, lying still in the bed, his breathing rough like he was sick. His skin was a bad colour.

  I let the curtain drop and crossed my arms over my chest, as though I had to hold myself together or I’d break apart like a shattered jug.

  I always liked Gram. Liked him a lot, in fact. Liked how he clung to me, when we were done, as though I meant something to him. And now he was probably dying. Suffering, for sure, and his shop burnt and his leg and arm not working. All for the pleasure of some gang of slashers.

  The rage caught fire inside me and burned as hot as the room I’d pulled Gram from. I felt it move from my heart through my body and up into my head, a burning wrath like none I’d ever felt, and I wanted to kill them slashers. I wanted to see them dead at my feet. My head burned like my hair was on fire, and I thought of the Flaming God and knew what it felt like for him. No wonder he murdered Baldr, if he felt rage like this.

  Amma come out the kitchen then and stopped short when she seen me.

  “By the Holy Eye, child,” she gasped, though she stirred not an inch closer. She stood still as a statue and it felt like all the world had stopped, for as I looked at her I felt the flames of my rage reaching out, licking at Amma as if they’d eat her alive. Her mouth moved again, though she spoke too soft to make out the words. I couldn’t make sense of the little I heard—it sounded like, “Too soon.”

  I let my smoldering gaze rest on her for another moment, but then I knew I must leave, for I’d never have the strength to contain the rage. I headed for the door.

  “Ginna,” Amma said, and I jerked to a halt, my back to her. “Your friend.”

  The rage throbbed in every part of my body, and for a moment I weren’t certain I could turn round without it all coming loose. But I managed to peer at her over my shoulder.

  Amma took a deep breath, her eyes meeting mine, but from the way she squared her shoul
ders I could tell she still seen whatever it was what made her afraid before. “Your friend. He’s burning up. It’s an infection, sure enough. And he’s in a great deal of pain. We need medicine.”

  In the conflagration of my mind, I seen Spraki’s face. I gave her one, slow nod and left.

  ~~~

  The people I passed as I made my way out of Mosstown stopped whatever they were doing and stared at me. A strange effect of the wrath was that I didn’t care why they did, or what they seen.

  Even as I found it hard to think, I knew I’d not find it in me to offer Spraki the usual exchange. Such violence coursed through me I knew I’d hurt him rather’n let him touch me. I wished, for the hundredth time, that I’d found a gun in Grumflein Tower, but what I did find there would have to do.

  Anger gave me speed and agility and I found my way to my hiding spot in the Hársektor building in no time. Raud Gríma’s mask fit my face like it was made for it, and the vest settled on my shoulders like a second skin—a tough second skin. I’d never encountered the like. Someone’d treated the leather with something or other, for it gave with movement but felt hard as iron.

  The dagger I drew and held in my hand, willing a slasher to cross my path. Only moving made the pulsing wrath abate somewhat, and in a distant way I wondered if I was possessed by Luka Himself.

  Like the trip to the Hársektor, navigating the tunnels took no time at all. I reached the Machine without encountering anyone. For a mercy, just running and climbing and such did some good for dissipating the rage. It weren’t gone, but it didn’t burn so bright by the time I reached my destination. I used the pommel of the dagger to rap on the metal door. After a moment it swung open, Jarl Spraki standing there. He took one look at me and stumbled back like he’d seen a ghost.

  “What—where did—” he stuttered and his voice trailed off. Then he shook his head. “You’re not her. Who are you?”

  “Raud Gríma,” I said, and pushed my way in, dagger pointed at his heart. “I’ll slice you from chin to navel if you’ve a mind to fight me.”

  Spraki’s eyes stayed wide as when he first seen me. He shook his head again. “What’s—that is, you—what do you want?”

  “Medicine. Of a kind to treat burns, and fever. And damage done by breathing smoke, if you have it.”

  I seen the bump in Spraki’s throat bob and he shuffled a few steps into the maze of dividers what made up the first part of the machine. “You’ve welcome to take whatever you like,” he said, walking half-backwards so’s to keep me in sight. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to tell you which to choose, I’m afraid.”

  The laboratory was only lit with a few of the strange coils of light, but I could see clear enough. He took me to the cabinet with all the medicines and I stood by it as he sorted through the keys, though I’d a time of it keeping still and not shoving my blade under his chin and ordering him to hurry. When he finally got the door open I had to wait some more, for he looked through all of the little bottles one at a time.

  “Extract of willow bark,” he said, putting a brown glass bottle down with a chink on the metal surface of the counter next to the cabinet. “That’s good for a fever. It might help with the pain of a burn, as well, though it’s fairly weak as painkillers go. You’ll want some laudanum for that.” As he put another brown bottle beside the first, I suppressed a bitter laugh. Laudanum. Always coming to Spraki for more laudanum, even though Ótti’d gone her own way. Seemed I was doomed to it. The thought made the rage dim some more. Spraki never noticed a difference. “Ah… this is an ointment. Liten’s written on the label, ‘treats burns.’ Sounds like what you’re looking for, eh?”

  I gave him a nod without speaking and he put the jar of ointment by the bottles.

  “Oh, and take this. He was developing it when he left, kept talking about molds and infections. I suppose it’s for curing such things, I’ve really very little idea.” He held up yet another brown bottle. “But have a care, it says on the label to administer it every day for at least a week, despite cessation of symptoms.”

  I nodded again.

  “Just a moment, I can make a package.” He rummaged in the drawers of the counter under the collection of bottles. With a grunt he produced a large piece of brown paper and some string, and he set about wrapping the bottles and jar of ointment together and tying up the lot. “There,” he said, handing it to me once he was done. I took the package.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “My pleasure. I’ve served Raud Gríma before, you know. Perhaps we could come to some arrangement.”

  Eyeing him, it occurred to me that he’d been more frightened of me when he first seen me. “Seems to me my predecessor weren’t too pleased with your service,” I said on a gamble.

  Spraki paled in the weird light.

  I turned and left, suspicion confirmed. He’d betrayed her somehow, I was sure of it. I’d never trusted Spraki, and I wouldn’t start now.

  ~~~

  By the time I’d returned the disguise to its hiding spot, some more of the anger’d wore off, and I was feeling tired. It’d blazed so hot it felt like it burned out my insides. All I could do was find my way home and give Amma the medicines. She never had a word to say to me, and I collapsed in the other bed what Gram weren’t in and slept.

  When I woke, though, I could feel it building again. Rokja slept next to me, one arm thrown above her head, and the sight of her, looking skinny and small and young, barely more’n a babe, and thinking of her alone on the streets, prey to them slashers… sure enough, the anger flared back, lighting a fire in me all over again.

  Yesterday I’d been set on going to Styrlakker’s and agreeing to take the job, but Amma diverted me with the whole medicine thing. Now, here I was, sitting in the dark with Rokja in the middle of the bed and Mum on the outside, and Gram asleep in the other bed still breathing like he’d just run across the city without stopping. Where was Amma? If I left now to seek out Styrlakker, would she stop me with some other errand?

  Did I want her to?

  I didn’t really understand this rage. Sure, I felt anger at what’d happened to that woman, and to Gram, and fear for myself and them I loved. But this wrath… it was a living thing. It was bigger’n me. Where did it come from? Luka?

  Luka was God of Chaos, Father of Lies, and known as murderer of Baldr. He was a mischief-maker and a magician. But He was no God of Wrath. Of the Gods I knew, Skadi was the only one what might fit. She was Goddess of Righteous Justice, for it was Skadi what punished Luka for Baldr’s killing. The other Gods chained Luka, and Skadi set a serpent above Him, which was a cutter since Luka was Father of Snakes, and the serpent dripped venom on Him for all eternity. Luka’s wife, Sif, would try to catch all the venom in bowl but once in a while some still hit Him. He’d struggle with the agony of it, and make earthquakes.

  So Skadi had a sense for vengeance, it was true, but the trouble with Skadi was She was Goddess of shadow, darkness, and winter. She was of ice. And what I felt was a burning hot rage, not an icy rage.

  Which brought me back to Luka, ’cause after all, I’d called on Luka, and Luka was the Flaming God. Maybe Luka was just as angry as I was at the way people’d done for the city, only more on account of He’s a God. Or maybe on account of Jarldis Sölbói up and leaving and all, after pledging herself to Him.

  Whatever or whoever it was what’d touched me, He or She or It wanted blood, and no mistake, for even as I lay there thinking, I could feel the heat of the rage growing with each beat of my pulse. There was nowt for it but to give in, I reckoned, for I’d no particular wish to resist if it meant the end of slashers and protection for my family. I’d no wish to lose myself, but what had I to offer without it, except my body in trade for whatever we needed?

  So I didn’t wait, for fear the anger’d grow so large again it would cloud my mind as it had the day before, and I went to see Styrlakker. It was hours ’fore lights up, as we referred to dawn, but his toadies were standing guard like always and I
could see a light inside his shanty. The toadies looked to be of a mind to stop me going in at first, then they must’ve seen what everyone else had when they took a second look at me. They muttered to each other and one stuck his head in and exchanged a few words with someone inside.

  He let me in a moment later.

  Styrlakker was sitting in his usual spot in the big velvet chair and there was two other men sitting on a couple of the wooden chairs. I reckoned they’d been having a conference of some sort.

  “Ginna Alvör,” Styrlakker said to me as I come in.

  I gave him a nod and then the same to each man.

  “You’ve decided, then?” Styrlakker asked. He didn’t seem too concerned with how I looked, though I thought maybe the other men was appraising me more’n normal.

  “I have,” I answered Styrlakker. “I’m in.”

  ~~~

  And so that’s how I come to be a toady, at first not doing more’n standing outside of Styrlakker’s tent for a few hours every day. Every so often one or another of the men—for mostly they were men—would take me topside and we’d shoot at rubble. It weren’t so satisfying as you might expect, on account of slashers mostly traveling about at night, so we never seen a one. There was no way for me to hunt them when I weren’t guarding Styrlakker. At night none of the street lights worked no more, and I weren’t daft enough to go lurking about in the dark with no light to shoot by. In the first week I just went to serve my time, and it was right boring, sitting or standing outside the tent. There was always another toady with me, so I learned a few names I’d never known, but we’d not talk much on account of Styrlakker said it distracted him to hear it, and we were supposed to be watching vigilant-like for trouble coming our way.

  From the moment I took the gun from Styrlakker the rage ebbed down to nothing, so that was some relief. It seemed to me that Whoever it was, Luka or some Other, They were just pleased to know I’d agreed to kill some slashers as soon as I got a chance. It all seemed right strange to me, but no one said owt more about it or looked at me funny, even Amma.