by Bridget Ladd
Before I knew what he was doing, Xander grabbed my forearm and hauled me unceremoniously onto his back. I had never been carried like this and found it extremely insulting.
“What are you doing?” I hissed. “My legs are capable of holding their own.” I pushed at his shoulders, but his grip was unrelenting.
“Not where I need you to walk. You’re no good to me if your boots get wet.”
I narrowed my eyes in the dark. No good to him? What was I? A blacksmithing tool?
Sighing in aggravation, I awkwardly positioned myself onto his back and allowed him—with much annoyance—to carry me like a toddler. His steps were sure footed and surprisingly gave off little effort as he carried me through the dark. The muscles in his back were tense as they reacted to his every movement, every slight footfall. The longer I held on, the more exhausted my arms and legs grew from trying not to slip further down his back. I believe it resulted mostly from me trying to hold myself away from him.
Perhaps I am being a little bit stubborn.
“This is ridiculous,” I mumbled to myself.
I cringed, embarrassed as I felt my arms start to quake and felt my body start to slide.
Xander paused as he noticed my unease. I took the opportunity to try and re-adjust myself, but found that my tiring arms made the task difficult.
“Relax,” he said tersely over his shoulder. “I’m only trying to carry you, not court you,” he added gruffly.
He then, in one swift upwards motion, adjusted me back into position. He took my hands which were poorly gripping at his shoulders and placed them around his neck, securing them with his left hand. “We’re almost there,” he quietly encouraged, this time his tone was softer, apologetic. Surprisingly, I felt more calm this way—though it was still a bit unsettling with my face so close to his neck and with the fabric of his hood that kept scratching at my cheek.
The constant dripping from the entrance of the tunnel had long dissipated and was replaced with an eerie hollow echo the deeper we went. An ominous droning. In an effort to bypass the water himself, Xander moved in errant paths, sidestepping and zigzagging his way through the tunnel. My eyes, which still had not adjusted to the darkness, were not helping my attempts to pervade the oncoming disorientation that I could feel creeping up on me from the swaying. I discreetly placed my head on his shoulder as I tried not to succumb to the dizziness—and hating myself for having to do so.
Xander stalled. “Do you need me to stop?” he quietly asked, his face mere inches from mine.
“No, I’m fine. I just need to get out of this tunnel—I’m worried about Mrs. Fawnsworth,” I added quickly.
He took a few more steps before he stopped again. He unlatched my arms from around his neck and lowered me until my boots hit stone. He steadied me as I began to sway, directed me to a wall on the right, and forced me to sit. I was relieved to be on steady ground again, but the slimy coldness of the brick against my back did not help to calm my nerves.
“I’ll come back for you,” he whispered before he turned to leave.
I aimlessly grabbed for one of his boots in my shock. “So you’re going to just leave me behind after all?” I asked, trying to sound more determined than panicked.
He stepped back towards me, the gravel crunching, his solid presence crouching. “We’ve arrived at a side entrance,” he whispered slowly, as though he thought I was either half-witted or just paralyzed with fear. I knew I was both.
He began prying my fingers away from his boot then. My hand snapped backwards from his touch. Embarrassed I had been caught acting so pathetic; I sat back against the stone.
A few seconds passed before he spoke again. “I need to pick the lock and make sure it’s safe beyond the door.” He gave me a quick reassuring pat on the shoulder: awkward, and forced.
He cleared his throat, his voice rough. “You’ll only have a few seconds to re-orient yourself once inside. We have to move quickly and quietly. And remember stay behind me,” he added as he began to stand. “And if it makes you feel any better, we will not be coming back through here on our way out.”
Though worded like the comment Scottie had made during the Coronation, ‘If it makes you feel any better, they were stealing food.’, this time I actually did feel relieved.
Even in the darkness I thought I noticed Xander smirk as he regarded me, and smugly at that. Which was weird—he didn’t seem like the teasing type. Without warning, he reached across the distance between us and tousled my hair annoyingly before he took off for the door.
Wha . . . ? I sat up straighter and scowled, crossing my arms, and blowing the mop of hair from my face. Who does he think he is? I would’ve been terrified being left alone like this if I wasn’t so aggravated with him treating me like a . . . a child.
An eerie realization crept up on me then. I let my arms fall to my sides, my anger deflating. Perhaps Xander was just really good at reading me. Either that or I clearly wore my feelings on my sleeve. In this short span of time, he somehow already knew that I reacted better with my feathers a little ruffled as opposed to being numb with fear.
How odd.
~
I sat with my back against the cold brick, silent and alone while I waited for Xander’s return. Water dripped from the ceiling not too far from where I sat, the hollow echo filling the tunnel like a transmitting beacon. Trying to keep my mind focused on saving Mrs. Fawnsworth, I refused to let my imagination wander into the places we as children like to go while in dark spaces. No matter how brave I liked to appear on the surface, all my insecurities tended to come out in the dark: the consuming blackness that swarmed and devoured.
Fear: only a fabrication of the mind. Do not give in to it, Lily.
I was starting to run out of things with which to occupy my thoughts: Why was there a face of a man on the moon? Why did some stars twinkle and others did not? Why was I sitting here thinking about the sky when Mrs. Fawnsworth needed my help?
The gravel crunched lightly in front of me, indicating Xander’s return. I sighed, relieved to no longer be alone. He rested his hand upon my knee.
“I was beginning to wonder if you had—” I said, though stopped abruptly after absently feeling for his hand. It was cold and slimy. A film of algae slid over the skin as my fingers frantically tried to blindly decipher the foreign texture.
“—Lily? What’s wrong?”
I heard Xander call out to me from further down the tunnel.
And the slimy hand—which did not belong to Xander—now clutched at my wrist.
To my credit, I was smart enough to cover my mouth before I screamed.
I kicked out hard. My boot connected with an equally slimy and bony chest. Scrambling to get away from whoever or whatever was crouched before me, I scraped the skin of my knees on the stone, though not caring. My breath clenched in my chest and my body tensed. No matter how much I had tried to calm myself before, now I was terrified.
Further down the tunnel, I heard a quick sliding noise of a metal mechanism. I clambered on my hands and knees in that direction, imagining all sorts of terrible things the creature behind me could do.
Managing to get my footing, I scrambled into a blind run, dark tunnel or not and took two leaping steps before I stumbled on the edge of a stone curbing. Luckily my boots absorbed most of the damage as they supported my twisting ankles, though still, I toppled forward. Crossing my arms in front of me, I braced myself for impact, but found myself being twirled around clumsily as Xander pulled me to a stop with a firm hold from under the pit of my arm. Relief flooded into me as I felt his warm human hands and the familiar fabric of his hooded jacket.
“Xander. What. Is. That?” I managed to huff out through my panicked breathing. I clutched the neckline of my cloak in a terrorized grip.
He didn’t respond, only righted me on my feet, and stood very still as he peered into the darkness.
I felt his arms relax after a moment and I heard the metal sliding mechanism retract itself back i
nto the hidden safety of his sleeves. I couldn’t see exactly what kind of weapon he wielded in this unfathomable darkness that draped us like a cold wet fear, but it sounded menacing.
He sighed, deep and regretful. “Relax. It’s only Eu’jinx,” he said in a resigned tone. “He won’t hurt you.”
“Eu’jinx?” I hissed. “Who’s Eu’jinx and why exactly was he touching my leg? Better question, what is he doing in here in the first place?” My voice was high and tight in an effort not to screech.
Xander didn’t respond. He did, however, grab my arm and led me . . . yes, even further down the tunnel. He unknowingly tightened his grip after a moment. “He lives here.”
“He what?” I slowed, my eyes widening in the darkness.
He must be joking.
“This Eu’jinx . . . he’s a friend of yours?” I asked quieter this time—feeling another pang of guilt surface in my chest.
“This is his home, the only place he feels safe. He was just curious when he approached you. He’s harmless.” His voice was automatic, emotionless.
“How can he live in here?” I sputtered. The idea of anyone—anything—making this foul darkness their home, baffled my already exhausted mind. “Did the Council do something to him? No human being can possibly live here.” I was disgusted at the thought at first, then I felt horrible, realizing what Xander was about to say before he said it.
Xander’s voice was sharp, angry. “According to the Council, he isn’t human—he’s Abnormal.” Xander paused, his tone falling bleak when he continued, “And he’s just a boy. Sector 7 planned to cast him out due to his albino affliction, but he escaped. And no matter how much one tries to convince him to leave this tunnel he always refuses.”
“His parents?” I dared to ask.
Xander was silent as he guided me up and over another stone curbing. I could tell he was facing me, and standing close, judging from the sound of his voice. “They kept him hidden most of his young life.” He paused a beat. “All it took was one mistake. Now, he survives alone.”
Thrown off guard by his answer, I shook my head, finding it hard to swallow again. “How horrible,” I managed to choke out at last. Sector 7 was notorious for casting out those with deformities, claiming it was the result of interbreeding with Outcasts. That the Abnormals would make us sick—but never had I met the victims of such cruelty first hand like this. Murdering his parents too? For only wanting to save their child?
“Sickness cannot Prosper.” My own father’s voice echoed through my head.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry.” The apology sounded empty, insignificant—but it was all I could offer. I turned my head to the emptiness behind me as Xander practically dragged me along, hoping that the poor boy who called this tunnel home would forgive my outburst, for kicking him away when he only sought comfort.
Xander didn’t respond to that, but I could feel him withholding some thoughts of his own. He let go of my wrist. “We’re here. We need to get inside quickly—before anyone realizes the door has been opened.”
I squinted from the sudden change of lighting. Xander glanced through the rusty three foot tall opening on the wall to our right before he signaled it was safe to follow. I stared uncertainly at the golden light that radiated from beyond the small square door, casting a slanted glow into the tunnel: another world stood beyond. A world I hoped I was ready for.
Grabbing my hand, Xander reached down and informally pulled me up and over the lip of the opening. It didn’t seem so much like a door to me, but rather like we were climbing into a bleak painting. After closing the rusted and green-patinated door behind us, Xander began walking, offering no explanation of where we were, leading me down a narrow hallway with doorless rooms spaced evenly along the walls.
I stood, letting my eyes adjust. It wasn’t very bright in the hallway after all, only a thin sliver of moonlight lit up the unadorned passage turning everything into grayscale.
Blinking rapidly, I gasped when my brain finally processed what my eyes were actually seeing in the room next to us.
A man’s leg hung from the side of a cot, his boot still laced though hanging awkwardly from his foot.
Xander was leading us down the guards’ sleeping quarters.
And this way was our safest option? My mind hissed.
Xander turned and gestured for me to keep up. Frantically I kept pace behind him as I looked to the floor. It was concrete though varnished with a shiny, protective finish. If my boots had gotten soaked—I could only imagine what a nuisance that would’ve been.
Xander’s been here before, I thought. Again, how odd.
~
Rounding the corner, we came face to face with a large spiraling staircase. It was made of stone and to my relief, enclosed. I hurried into it and lay prone against the wall, waiting for Xander’s next move. Luckily all the rooms of the guard’s hall had remained silent and we found no trouble as made our way down the perilous corridor. Xander nodded to me and went first, pulling me along as he quickly maneuvered up the stone steps, spanning two, sometimes three at a time. I couldn’t help but look up, craning my neck towards the ink-filled nighttime sky that loomed above and beyond the passage of circular stone steps: a spiraled telescope with its cap still on, I thought absently. Finally we reached the open exit and a wall of frigid air slammed into me. Xander, unaffected by the wind, motioned for me to stay crouched behind the slab of concrete that protected the stairwell while he surveyed the area beyond.
We’d reached the top. Stay calm. Stay calm.
I resisted the urge to retrieve my hood, fearing it would impair my peripheral vision. My breath blew out in great plumes, looking much like the phantoms of those who had perished along the Walls, encouraging me to keep going, keep moving. My brain was in a tizzy and I was frantic wanting to go after him, wanting to find Mrs. Fawnsworth already.
Luckily Xander soon returned and reached for my hand. “It’s clear,” he said stiffly as he pulled me up onto the chilly expanse of the Wall. My cheeks stung painfully from the icy rush of air that charged me again, causing my hair to swirl haphazardly in the wind.
This is almost too easy, I thought warily.
We kept our pace swift, but silent, as we moved further along the length of the massive fortification. I couldn’t help but glance over the ledge and take in the enormity of how high we actually were. Though clouds obscured any hope of seeing what lay beyond, into the Outlands. Right now however was not the time to be dawdling about. I had to focus. Not only did Mrs. Fawnsworth’s life depend on it, but now, so too did ours.
Not far from us, I spotted movement from a rope that was slung over the ledge. My heart clenched. Please don’t let it be her. Pulling away from Xander, I quickly sprinted towards it.
Nearly tripping over my own feet, I registered movement from the side—a door opened from the stairwell passage closest to me and a large, gruff man stepped out with a pleasantly shocked look upon his face.
“Whatta we got ‘ere?” he said roughly, smiling grotesquely. He produced a large dirty knife from his back and held it in one hand as he approached me, turning it this way and that as if to impress me. My eyes darted to his face. It was scarred with three jagged slashes: scratches produced from fingernails.
“You ain’t sposed to be ‘ere. Lucky for me yer a purdy thing . . .”
I blinked rapidly in my surprise and felt my body freeze in its hesitation. My instincts told me to reach for my own knife and yet I couldn’t get my mind and body to cooperate with the urge. I was frozen, an animal taken utterly by surprise.
The guard smirked and slashed his knife through the air, trying to entice a reaction from me.
A shadowed form appeared behind him then, and suddenly, I remembered.
I was not alone.
Xander’s hooded profile materialized behind the brutish man. I heard the noticeable zing of metal just before I saw two very ominous looking daggers shoot out from under his sleeves and lock into place on top of his forearms.
>
My eyes widen at the swiftness of his next move. The guard was on the ground with lifeless eyes before he even had time to react.
Before I even had time to react.
Standing motionless, I watched the blood seep in a slow arch from the wound in the guard’s neck. It crept closer towards my boot like a violent beacon drawn near to the person responsible.
Never before had I witnessed something like this.
Without warning: a similar image of a crimson puddle which lay beneath a haze of billowing smoke—pushed itself to the forefront of my mind. A white laced skirt. A fire. Falling stones. A boy. Just as I tried to frantically grasp at the images to piece together the broken memory, they leaked through my fingers like an unrecalled dream.
My vision refocused to the lifeless mass in front of me, the smell was putrid, his blood sharp and metallic.
“Leave him,” I heard Xander urge from somewhere beside me. I didn’t move—Couldn’t. Just stared.
Xander turned my face sharply so I was forced to look at him. His eyes were severe when he spoke.
“He deserves none of your pity.”
I nodded slowly, blinking away my shock. I believed him, for now. I had to focus. We had to keep moving.
We reached the grime-covered ledge of the Wall, and I nearly cried out when I saw Mrs. Fawnsworth’s limp body tied haphazardly at the rope’s end. She had been gagged and was now hanging at an odd angle with her legs dangling helplessly above her head.
“Help me!” I hissed in a horrified whisper as I grabbed the coarse rope and began to pull, ignoring how it bit sharply into my palms. Hot, angry tears burned their way down my cheek from the sight, and unlike before, this time I didn’t care.
“Back away,” Xander urged as he reached down, beside the Wall’s ledge, grabbing the handle of a lever of a weatherized crank on the ground. In my frenzied emotional state I had failed to even notice it.