21
Letters from Another World, No. 4
Dear readers, we have spent much time together discussing our own city, and how we are choked by the wealthy and powerful few. I recall growing up in the Marsh and asking why. Why can those men in certain colors threaten and beat others? Because they are guards for Solor House, or Varenx House, or any of the other great houses. Why do those houses have guards? I would ask. And then: why do we have those houses? Why do some Laalvuri citizens live in splendor and excess while others starve? Why should we suffer because we were born in a certain family, a certain neighborhood, while they prosper because they were born into another?
Because that’s the way it is was the answer.
But that’s not the way it is everywhere. Not the way it has to be. Not every city threw off the yoke of the Day Empire only to find itself under the boot heel of a new oppressor. Some rose up and seized their freedom.
Our brothers and sisters in Adappyr are plagued by troubles now, but at least they are free to choose their leaders. In Adappyr, there are no great houses ruling over the city. There is a council, but it is composed of ordinary citizens elected by their fellows. The people of Adappyr have reason to be concerned about living together harmoniously, as their city is an artifice that can only be preserved by their collective power. One of the most powerful positions in the city is First Structural Engineer, the person charged with overseeing the maintenance of the city’s structure.
Of course, our own city is also an artifice that can only be preserved by our collective power. The difference is that in Laalvur we forget this until a wave comes and we are forced to rebuild. This is a task so overwhelming we can only accomplish it together. Imagine what we could do if we came together before the next disaster. Imagine what we could do if we remembered…
22
Dirty Believers
Swimming came as naturally to Thiyo as walking. Wading against the current of the Ija while burdened with sodden clothing and putting his head below water at the barest sign of movement was the second worst experience of his life. Considering he’d escaped the worst experience with permanent, life-altering damage, that was quite a statement.
It was worse for Ev.
He’d seen her talking to Mala at a few points during their journey. He hadn’t understood any of what they’d said, but he had his theories. They were guilty ones. His wounds had made him selfish and he hadn’t seen the problem until too late. Ev had been too busy dealing with him to care for her own troubles, and now that she’d been forced back into the water, they’d resurfaced.
He’d gotten her through the flooded stretches of the caves, but it had shaken her every time. And now they were in the muddy river water struggling to make progress, and Ev was clinging to his hand and clenching her teeth, misery in every line of her body. He was a strong swimmer, but he had his limits.
It’s only a little farther, he wanted to say. Mah Yee knew how it would come out if he tried. Besides, relearning to speak was one thing. Relearning to lie convincingly was another. Any distance against this current would take them ages.
They’d arrived at a point where the river was too deep to wade. In front of them, the heads of Ifeleh’s crew dotted the water, each of them making slow progress.
The river lapped at his chin. He fixed Ev with a pleading look. The longer we wait here, the longer we’re in the water. If only he could think it at her, the way he could with Djal.
The Ija didn’t have much in the way of banks. The tunnel had been smoothed out by the combined efforts of nature and humanity, so there were burnt umber rock walls on either side of the river and a ceiling arching overhead. He and Ev had kept to one side of the river, since the center was deeper and forced them to swim. She’d kept her feet on the bottom and a hand on the rock wall wherever possible.
Standing in the current was taking a toll on both of them. This couldn’t last much longer. They had to swim.
Thiyo pointed ahead, where Ifeleh was getting pulled out of the water by two men. She wasn’t struggling, which meant they were her contacts and not city guards. Their destination was within sight.
Ev nodded grimly and let go of Thiyo’s hand.
He let her go ahead, so he’d be behind her if the current pushed her back. She wasn’t a graceful swimmer, but she made it up for it with determination. Every kick exhausted him, and he knew it had to be worse for her, wrung out by panic. It was an arduous journey to get to Ifeleh’s contacts, but they pulled Ev from the river and then Thiyo, and he could only nod in thanks.
Her teeth were chattering. The water wasn’t that cold. They dripped onto the smooth stone floor of the tunnel for a moment. It branched off to the side of the river, and Thiyo noticed now that there were pipes embedded in the rock below his feet, one of them pouring water into the Ija.
The tunnel was narrow. Thiyo and Ev were crowded into it and then ushered through an almost invisible door in the rock. They entered a room surrounded by steaming metal pipes. It was dark and the rest of the crew were nowhere in sight.
Ev said something to Thiyo, still shivering a little, but he couldn’t guess what. She conferred with the men who’d pulled them out of the water and then began to strip off her wet clothes.
Unexpected.
Thiyo’s heart rate picked up, but he watched the other men instead of Ev. She’d kissed him once in a moment of high emotion. It wasn’t an open invitation, as much as Thiyo wanted it to be. The kiss had only come after he’d finally given up on her. He hadn’t teased her while they were in the caves, unless one counted the song he’d learned, which he was sure was dirty. But he’d done that for camaraderie, not to fluster Ev. In the caves, he’d only touched her to help her get through the water. He’d stopped sleeping next to her, even though he missed it. He’d denied himself every other touch and glance with painful care. By some labyrinthine logic, if he continued to deny himself what he wanted, maybe she’d give it to him.
And he didn’t know or trust these men. Ev could take care of herself far better than he could, but he’d keep an eye out anyway.
The guards were staring at him. Thiyo was simultaneously satisfied and insulted on Ev’s behalf. Couldn’t they see how beautiful she was? They ought to want to look at her. And why were they—ah. He was meant to strip as well. He might have realized that sooner if being so near to Ev undressing didn’t wreak havoc on all his mental faculties.
If Ev wasn’t worried about undressing in front of these strangers, then there was no reason for Thiyo to hesitate. He followed her example, handing his pack and clothes to the nearest man. The other man opened a door and pointed them through while saying something to Ev. She nodded and walked out the door naked with no hesitation.
The door let out into a corridor. Like the room full of pipes, the air was clouded with steam. He could hear splashing and chattering and the slap of bare feet on stone echoing from somewhere. Ev led him around a corner and everything became clear. They were in a public bath. Everyone was naked.
Thiyo looked conspicuously different from everyone else, but he’d become accustomed to that in Nalitzva. He held his head up high and walked into the room like he belonged. He spotted the crew members here and there, acting as though they were ordinary citizens here for a bath. In his case, he did genuinely need a bath after their trip through the caves and the muddy river, so this form of subterfuge was welcome. He stuck close to Ev and watched as she marveled at her surroundings.
Eventually, Ifeleh left the room. They followed her out a moment later and found themselves in a hot, dry room lined with wooden benches. She sat on one, drying herself, and didn’t look at them. When she left, they waited a short while before entering the next room. They were met by an attendant offering them new clothes—dry clothes. And shoes. Ifeleh herself was gone and the foyer that surrounded them was warm and richly furnished, but no one else was there. Where were they meant to go now?
They’d left their packs in the last cave, not that there wou
ld have been anything useful in them. But its absence left Thiyo even more at a loss. The rest of the crew had already disappeared. With nothing else to do, he drew on the clothes.
In the pocket of his trousers, he found a note with a map drawn on it.
Keeping close to him, Ev showed him the note that had come with her clothes. It had writing he couldn’t read, but he assumed it was an address and possibly directions. She paired her note with his, seemed to understand them, and then tilted her head at the double doors leading out into the street. They’d made it to Adappyr.
Ifeleh’s contacts hadn’t provided Ev with their names and they’d disappeared just like the rest of the crew, so now all Ev had was two tiny pieces of paper, one with a map and the other with instructions. At least she didn’t have to do this part of the plan naked.
She’d thought her time in the islands had inured her to nudity, and maybe it had. Now it was just Thiyo who unsettled her.
Since he did that regardless of whether either of them was dressed, Ev decided not to dwell on it. “We’re supposed to go for a long walk,” she told him. Her smile came unbidden. It suited her perfectly that Ifeleh didn’t want them all arriving at their destination within moments of each other. This was her father’s birthplace and she wanted to see it.
Adappyr’s major streets emerged from a central cavern, the Sun Hall, like the spokes of a wheel. It was marked on the hand-drawn map that Thiyo had given her, as was their current location and their eventual destination, so Ev turned left out of the bath house doors and walked toward the light.
The streets were wide and should have been more crowded. Everywhere Ev looked, there were signs of joy that had been subdued—damaged storefronts, empty chairs at cafes, unattended repairs in progress, peeling posters for plays and concerts. Had the city not been haunted by political violence and teetering on the edge of collapse, she imagined it would have been a lively place. As it was, people still strolled by and stood in little clusters, chatting or haggling or arguing, and Ev loved it, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there should have been more—more people, more life.
They passed a cafe with chairs and tables set outside its doors, where a few Adpri citizens drank tea and read pamphlets. No one was reading aloud at the cafe, which put Ev in mind of how often her father had complained about illiteracy in Laalvur. Everyone in this city could read. They had all gone to school—for free. And from what Ifeleh had said on their journey, the pamphlets weren’t pamphlets, not really. They were official, produced by teams of people who worked for the city and used their real names on what they wrote. They gathered the news and shared it with everyone. They were significantly less outrageous than Laalvur’s pamphlets.
Thiyo tugged on her hand and Ev looked straight up into the sun.
Not the sun, but the glass dome of the Sun Hall, six stories above them. The light that filtered down through the red fabric stretched beneath the dome was brilliant even here. Ev didn’t feel like they were underground. It was the first time she’d felt that way since they’d embarked on the Exile Road in Ndija, and for a moment, all she wanted to do was breathe.
It was silly, since the air hadn’t changed. But there was something reassuring about having open space above her head.
The Sun Hall was a circular space, bisected diagonally by the Ija river. The bath house they’d used to sneak into the city was on the lowest level, connected as it was to the river, so the view above them was magnificent. Everywhere else in Adappyr’s lower levels, sunlight was captured through a system of skylights and mirrors if possible, and supplemented with lamps if not, but in the Sun Hall, it poured down. Ev looked up at the six levels ringing the cavern and saw people leaning over every railing, enjoying the view.
Thiyo smiled at her. She hoped he’d wanted to see this as much as she had. The city was beautiful, an architectural marvel that bore witness to what people could achieve together, and Ev was suddenly furious that Iriyat would destroy any part of it. She’d been angry in the abstract, before, that Iriyat would be so careless with human life. But now she could see these people—her father’s people, her people—drinking tea and reading and walking along the river. She had to save them.
She and Thiyo meandered through the city. Had Djal been with her, he wouldn’t have had to tell her to gawk like a tourist. That came naturally. She knew from listening to the others, and from the hand-drawn map, that Adappyr was divided into the Left Bank and the Right Bank by the Ija, and that she and Thiyo were currently on the Right Bank. In addition to this division, the levels of the city all had their own nicknames. The level of the river was called The Bottom, which had elicited a number of jokes from the sailors that Ev had pretended not to hear. Above that was Dripwater, and then Underfoot, then Stoneforest, and the top two levels with the most sunlight were called The Basket and The Orchard, because that’s where the farms were.
Their destination was an inn called The Crooked Column, named for the architectural feature that marked its place in a street on the Right Bank of Stoneforest. It would only take a few minutes to walk up the flights of stairs and find it, but the instructions were clear: Ev and Thiyo weren’t welcome until many hours from now. They should entertain themselves as inconspicuously as possible until it was time to arrive.
They passed through Dripwater, smelling and hearing the tanneries and manufacturers that occupied the level. Underfoot, one level up, was less pungent but filled with a different kind of noise, children’s shrieks and laughter instead of clanging metal and roaring forges, since it was home to schools and residences as well as municipal offices. Ev and Thiyo lingered in Stoneforest, not because it was closest to their destination but because it was made for strolling and staring, filled with theaters and dancehalls and bars.
Once, Ev stopped on the street in front of a towering mural of a man’s face in three-quarters view, staring hopefully up into the distance. The colorful painting took up a long stretch of uninterrupted wall. In the background were crowds of people smiling, holding hands, and looking up at him. The bold, simple style made the message clear. The man was a hero. He was handsome, with strong features that might have been hewn from rock, and strangely familiar.
There was no text, but Ev recognized her grandfather. This was propaganda for Usmam Umarsad. She shivered.
They walked away quickly, and the rest of the street was far less chilling. They stopped in a bar at random, seeking a place to sit more rather a drink, and Thiyo nudged her knee under the table while they waited. It was a relief to see him curious about the world again, as much as she missed his voice.
“You would have known what everyone here was saying,” Ev said quietly in Laalvuri. “I can figure it out if I think about it, but you wouldn’t have needed to do that.”
They were served something fizzy and golden in long glasses. Ev had seen the unfamiliar word on the sign behind the bar and ordered at random, hoping the heavy pocketful of money provided to her was enough. Adpri coins were dark grey, not white like Laalvuri palaad, but the bartender nodded and made her a handful of change without quibbling. She took a drink. It was crisp, not sweet.
“I like this place,” Ev said. She meant the city, rather than the bar, although it was nice enough. But there was no reason to clarify that. God, I miss talking to you instead of at you. “I wish we were here for a better reason.”
The drinks were inexpensive, and they were at loose ends, so they stayed for another round. The tavern began to fill with locals, and Ev and Thiyo watched them drink and chat. Some of them had pamphlets in hand. It was a peaceful sort of entertainment, and Ev felt they were doing an excellent job of being inconspicuous—insofar as it was possible for Thiyo to be inconspicuous, as foreign and as beautiful as he was. Ev was reflexively glad Alizhan wasn’t here to share that thought with him, knowing how he’d preen, and then she reconsidered and wished she were. She nudged his knee under the table instead.
He smiled at her.
Then a man came up to Ev and said,
“Laalvuri.”
She wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. Had he been eavesdropping? She hadn’t said anything aloud in ages. She didn’t know what to say now.
He gestured at her, his hand circling her face.
Did he mean she looked Laalvuri? Ev had spent her whole life in Laalvur being told she looked Adpri, and now that she was here, they were telling her she looked like a stranger? Would she always be in between?
Across the table, Thiyo had tensed up. The man hadn’t paid any attention to him, which was odd, considering how concerned he was with Ev’s foreignness.
“Laalvuri?” he said again, and this time it was a question.
“And Adpri,” Ev said firmly, speaking the language to prove her point.
The fact that she’d spoken seemed to serve as an invitation. He leered at her. “Pretty,” he said in Laalvuri. He leaned in uncomfortably close. Ev leaned away and put her hand up on his chest to stop him.
His eyes flicked down to her hand. His expression froze in horror, fixed on her ring. The one item that hadn’t been lost somewhere on her long journey from Laalvur to Nalitzva to Estva to Hoi to Ndija to Adappyr at last—she’d been keeping it on her finger as proof that she, too, could survive. It belonged to her father, and Ifeleh had one just like it. She’d recognized Ev by it.
“A dabad uwembup uhara,” he hissed, his breath in her face, gaze darting wildly between her and Thiyo. Ev shoved back from the table and stood up before she’d understood the whole sentence. Uhara meant dirty, and that was warning enough.
She withdrew her hand from his chest, stared him down and took a defensive stance, wishing she’d practiced Adpri with the Vines crew. Her whole education on the city had been in Laalvuri, so she was slow in catching up. The man had used a word she didn’t immediately recognize, but she’d heard mbup inside it—the verb for believe.
Shadebloom Page 19