The City Darkens (Raud Grima Book 1)

by Martin, Sophia

  I hadn’t realized that. I looked around as he led me through the street, careful not to trip on the rubbish lying everywhere. “It’s so dirty,” I said.

  “You should see the Undergrunnsby.”

  “Where is that?”

  “It’s a kind of district,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t know what to call it. The city planners didn’t intend for it to exist. It’s a kind of city… under this one. Underground.”

  “Underground?”

  “Yes. Many of the poor who can’t make it even in the Lavsektor go and live there. I’ve only seen it once, and just for a few minutes. It’s very dangerous to go there.”

  “It’s under Helésey?”

  “Yes, under your feet. It grew up in the sewer system. The sewers were very spacious. The city planners wanted them to be state of the art—easy to maintain and even to keep clean. It used to be only robots went down there, to do that. But over the last ten years the Undergrunnsby developed.”

  “How strange.”

  I took in the painted walls and the tattered awnings, and tried to imagine this underground city that was dirtier and poorer. It sounded terrible.

  Liut stopped by a fire escape and pulled down the ladder. “Up you go,” he said.

  I stared at him.

  “Please, Myadar, I want to show you something I’ve never shown anyone before.”

  I looked at the ladder. It was dark metal, and it looked slimy. But then I looked at Liut’s face, and he had such an earnest expression. For a moment he reminded me of Bersi, wanting to please me with some new trick, and pain stabbed my heart. I turned my eyes away and reached for a rung of the ladder, pulling myself up, glad for the gloves I wore.

  We climbed all the way to the roof, standing between a wall and a huge, red neon sign. Each letter went off and on again in a row, spelling “Hotel Søte Drømmer.” Beyond the sign the metropolis sprawled, lights everywhere of every color, flickering and steady. I gasped as I saw it.

  “Isn’t it gorgeous?” Liut said, taking my hand.

  “Oh, it is,” I breathed.

  Liut released my hand and slid his arm around my waist, pulling me to him. With his other hand, he stroked my cheek. I gazed at him, feeling my body ignite under his touch. He desired me, and his desire made me weak. I had never known such powerful emotion. Even if I had wanted to resist him, I didn’t believe I could. Dizziness swept over me and I felt my flesh yield to his insistent hands. He kissed me, and he tasted like cool, clean water. I thirsted for him. My own hands ran over his chest, feeling the muscles moving under his shirt.

  He kissed my throat and I let my head roll back. His hands moved over my body, covered by the chocolate silk coat and the beaded dress; I resented the barrier they made. I felt no shame, no hesitation. I had never known that a man’s touch could feel like this—I had only known Reister’s, and had not enjoyed it. He untied the coat and ran his hands beneath the silk, touching the skin on my collarbones, my shoulders. Liut’s hands were warm, strong, and demanding, and I welcomed them.

  The beads weighted the dress heavily, but the front décolleté made a low V, and he pushed it aside to slip a hand under the glittering gown. His hand found my breasts, so loose under the dress, held only in the flimsy lingerie of the current fashion. I felt his fingers through the satin fabric, fondling, pinching, and I gasped. His hand slid away, and my flesh ached for it as it escaped, but then he ran his hands down my sides and bunched up the skirt of my dress to my waist. I parted my thighs as he pushed at them, letting him smooth his fingers over the tops of my stocking, catching on the garters, then moving lower to stroke me. A moan escaped my lips and I closed my eyes, surrendering to him. I dwelt in a world of sensation.

  My thirst for him became urgent, and I burned. My breathing came in quick gasps. I met his eyes. They looked darker than the night sky—they swallowed me in their darkness.

  He pulled down my knickers and fumbled with his trousers. I tried to help him, my fingers clumsy with hurry. He freed himself and crushed me against the wall of the building. Hitching one of my legs up, he pushed inside me. I cried out. He groaned as he rocked against me, thrusting in a steady rhythm.

  “Myadar,” he murmured into my ear, and I dug my nails into the shoulders of his coat.

  Moans escaped my throat with every thrust. I felt the pleasure building until it burst, and I cried out again as he spent himself.

  Tears ran from my eyes and I buried my face in his neck. He stroked my hair as our breathing slowed together.

  “Myadar,” he whispered. “Myadar. Are you weeping?”

  I clung to him, unable to stop, unable to speak. He wrapped his arms around me and held me. “Shh,” he breathed. “Shh. It’s alright.” With one hand stroking my shoulder, he tightened his arms. After a time, the tears subsided.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “I’m not,” he said. “Do you really regret it?”

  I turned my face to his. He watched me, his eyes kind.

  “No,” I said at last. “I don’t regret it.”

  “Good, my dearest Myadar. I would be so sad if you did.”

  We sat like that for some time, saying nothing, and then I felt raindrops hit my face and legs. Liut pulled away, looking up at the sky. Rain began streaking down in earnest, and he stood up, pulling me to my feet. “We’d better go,” he said.

  I wondered what time it was. I was cold now that he no longer held me, and fear—fear of Reister, who must be home and wondering where I was—didn’t help. “Yes, we’d better hurry,” I agreed.

  We made it down the fire escape despite the rain making it slicker. Liut jogged, pulling me behind him, back to the dancehall, but the cars were gone. “Oh no,” I murmured. The rain fell hard, and we were already soaked. Liut pulled me under the dancehall’s canopy.

  I pictured myself coming into our apartments, dripping wet, and Reister waiting there. The fear I’d felt before blossomed into terror. He would hurt me. He would kill me this time. And I didn’t want to die.

  “Liut, I have to get home. Reister—”

  Liut grabbed my arms and stared into my eyes, his face hard. “Myadar, if Reister lifts a hand to you—” He didn’t finish his sentence. We looked into each other’s eyes. I knew he wanted to protect me, but it wasn’t a matter of if Reister would punish me when I got home tonight, but how badly. It would do me no good if Liut had to avenge my death.

  Maybe if the cars hadn’t gone—we’d have returned to the palace in a matter of minutes, and dried off at least a bit on the way, and I would have had the excuse that everyone had been caught in the rain. But now, how would I explain that they’d returned without me? How would I deny that I had been off alone with Liut? Reister would know I had betrayed him. He would kill me.

  I bit my lip, breaking Liut’s gaze.

  “I have an idea,” he said.

  I caught his eyes again.

  “The Undergrunnsby. We’ll travel through it.”

  “You said it’s dangerous there.”

  “It is. We’ll have to move quickly. But at least we’ll be dry by the time we reach the palace, and it might even be quicker that way than over the streets.”

  My eyebrows knit as I tried to see his thoughts. How dangerous was it? How fast could we get to the palace?

  “You can tell him you were with the others. You just stayed late—Fastulf’s wife is notorious for chatting with her guests into the early hours of the morning. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, get her to promise to say that’s what happened,” he said.

  I sucked in my lower lip, looking out from under the awning at the cords of rain pouring over the street. Rivers had formed in the gutters, washing trash along like tiny boats. If we went home above ground, I wouldn’t have a chance of convincing Reister I’d stayed with Jarldis Fastulf. It seemed unlikely he would believe me anyway, but wasn’t it better to have a chance, however slim? We might encounter danger in the Undergrunnsby, but we might not. Reister I knew to be a threat no matte
r what.

  “Alright,” I said, giving Liut a nod.

  He smiled at me and took my hands in his, squeezing them. “Good, then. Now, we’ll have to hurry. Maybe run a lot of the way. The only chance we’ll get in trouble is if we allow someone to approach us. They’ll only want our belongings, you understand. Things they can sell.”

  “I don’t care about my things, I’ll give them to them if it comes to it.”

  He nodded, but squeezed my hands again. “It’s not just poor people down there, Myadar. Criminals go there to hide, too.”

  I took a deep breath. “Alright. So we’ll move fast. We’ll run if we have to.”

  “Good. Are you ready? I know a way in, right down the street.”

  I swallowed, nodding. “Let’s go.”

  ~~~

  We descended a staircase into the underground tunnels that had once simply been sewers, but now belonged to the disenfranchised citizens of Helésey. The walls were made of dark, bluish stone but most had paint of every color staining them. They scrawled messages, many religious: “FRIGGA REIGNS OVER ALL” and “REMEMBER BALDR” and simply a downward pointing arrow. I was to see the latter over and over as we made our way. Deep gutters lined the walls and through them water with varying amounts of filth flowed. We rushed on paved lanes in between.

  Liut hurried us along, almost jogging. His eyes searched ahead of us as if he wished he could see around corners. His hand gripped mine tightly. I knew I should feel frightened, down in the bowels of the city, risking an encounter with some desperate wretch—but I didn’t feel any fear. The prospect of meeting Reister, furious, waiting for me in our apartments—that filled me with dread.

  I was starting to feel light-headed. The last time I ate was that morning. I had no appetite lately, and this evening the drinks had been enough for me. But now my stomach felt empty, and sometimes the odors coming from the fluids in the gutters sickened me.

  “Do you have the bottle, still?” I whispered to him.

  Liut glanced at me, then back around the tunnel. Without stopping he released my hand and pulled the cherry brandy from the inside of his overcoat, handing it to me. I uncorked it and took a long swallow. It lit a fire in my belly and made my head swim, but the nausea went away and I felt better.

  Liut took us left and then right. We came out into a much wider tunnel with a high ceiling. The dirty yellow lights were positioned so high here that they actually gave off more light, and the tunnel felt less claustrophobic. Far up ahead, a strange edifice grew out of the walls and the ground, all but blocking the end of the tunnel. It had wide pipes leading into it from top to bottom, openings here and there that let off steam, odd protrusions, lumps, and curves, and the whole thing appeared to be made of copper.

  “What is that?” I asked in a whisper.

  Liut barely looked at it as he grabbed my hand again and pulled me along. “I don’t know,” he said, but somehow, I didn’t believe him.

  I frowned as we neared it, trying to think, which wasn’t easy because of the brandy. Was it some sort of machine? A generator, perhaps? But then if it was, why hadn’t Liut said so?

  The closer we got, the bigger I realized it was. A hum emitted from it at intervals, broken by thumbs and clangs. It had to be some sort of machine, but it was so big. It was as big as some of the houses in Söllund village.

  I tried to slow as we came up alongside it, but Liut jerked my arm. “Come on,” he said, his brows drawn down low over his eyes. He seemed angry. I wanted to ask him to stop—I wanted to get a closer look at the machine—but I didn’t want to make him angrier. Then I saw the door.

  It was a low door—or at least it looked low compared to the size of the machine, or whatever it was. Why put a door in a machine? The door was made of some darker metal and it had a spoked wheel for a knob.

  “Come on, Myadar!” he said again, pulling me.

  I glanced around and spotted a figure in a dark corner between the machine-thing and the tunnel wall. Another figure stood a few feet away from the first. My heart started to pound hard against my breastbone and I picked up my pace.

  The figures began to emerge from the darkness and we broke into a run, entering a narrower tunnel. They didn’t follow us in.

  After a few minutes Liut slowed and we were back to a brisk walk. I felt shaky, so I took a swig of brandy, and it settled my nerves.

  No one else threatened us. Liut didn’t speak and I was afraid to anger him again, so I kept silent as well. We turned a corner and came into another larger part: this one had shanties built all down the walls on either side. We would have to go through the desolate little town.

  Liut came to an abrupt stop when he saw it. “This wasn’t here before,” he muttered. He looked back over his shoulder, letting his breath out in a loud stream. “I don’t know another way.”

  “It must be getting so late,” I said softly. “Reister will be furious with me.”

  Liut looked at me and then at the shanties again. “It seems like everyone’s asleep. We’ll just have to be quick,” he said.

  I corked the brandy again, stuffed it in one of the large pockets of my silk coat, and took his hand. He gave me a little nod, and we were off, running as lightly and quietly as we could manage.

  We had gone almost three fourths of the way when I saw him—a little boy no older than Bersi, lying in the doorway of a shanty. He was so pale, his cheeks so hollow, and his eyes were closed. The sight of him brought me up short—Liut gasped and let go of my hand in surprise. “Myadar, what is it?” he hissed.

  I stood, uncertain, looking at the child. He was starving. Anyone could see he was. He might be dead already.

  “Myadar! Why did you stop? Are you hurt?”

  I couldn’t just leave him there. I had to know if he was alive.

  “What are you doing?”

  I hadn’t noticed I’d started to move towards the little body crumpled in the doorway. Somehow, my legs had made the decision the rest of me still wrestled with. I was at the child’s side so fast I hardly knew how I’d gotten there. I slipped my hand behind his head and raised it, bringing my face close to his mouth, trying to feel or hear his breath.

  “Myadar, what are you doing?” Liut said in an urgent whisper. “We have to go!”

  I touched the child’s face. His skin was cool, but not as cold as death. Alive, then. I looked at Liut. “We have to help him!”

  Liut made a sharp cutting motion through the air. “We have to go.”

  I touched the boy’s cheek again. Poor little lamb. And what could I do for him? All I had was the brandy. I’d never let Bersi drink alcohol—but this child was so close to death… would the brandy help or harm him? I slipped my hand into the pocket of my coat, feeling the smooth glass under my fingers. Would it give him nourishment enough to save him, or poison his already weak body?

  I released the bottle and smoothed the child’s soft hair from his forehead. “Wake up,” I said to him. “Come, dear, wake up.”

  “Myadar!” Liut whispered, taking a step closer to me. He seemed not to want to approach any of the hovels if he could avoid it, and my current position in the doorway of the child’s shanty was of deep concern to him. I knew that what I was doing was dangerous, but I thought if I could get the child to wake, at least, when we left he’d have a chance of getting help from one of his neighbors.

  “Wake up, sweetling. Wake up,” I said, rocking the boy. He didn’t respond.

  I reached in my pocket and produced the bottle, wrapping my other arm under his neck and freeing my hand to unstop it. I grimaced as I put the bottle to the child’s lips. It might be the wrong thing to do, but he was dying. I had to try it.

  I only allowed a little liquid to pass through his lips. For a moment nothing happened, then he started to cough and his eyes rolled open. And the door of the shanty swung in. A large woman appeared, glowering down at me. I met her eyes.

  “He needs help,” I told her.

  I looked down at him, and his
eyes were open—they were the same shade of blue as Bersi’s. My breath caught, and then the woman yanked him away from me.

  “Who in Hel are you?” she cried.

  “Myadar, come on!” Liut shouted, lunging for me. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to my feet.

  “Get away from him!” the woman bellowed, and I heard the distinctive slaps and whines of doors on other hovels slamming open.

  “Run,” Liut said, gripping my hand. Together we flew down the street as people started coming out of the ramshackle homes, some brandishing sticks and knives. They called after us, but a humming rose in my ears and I couldn’t make out their words. All I could see was the little boy’s face, his eyes—Bersi’s eyes—boring into me.

  After we had run for so long I stopped thinking about anything other than keeping my legs moving, Liut let us stop. I collapsed against a tunnel wall. I hadn’t noticed we were in a narrow tunnel again, and now I looked around, squinting against tears that streamed from my eyes without stopping.

  My breathing finally slowed, and I was able to straighten. “He was dying,” I said to Liut, who still leaned against a wall, catching his breath.

  “Yes,” he agreed. He nodded, panting. “Yes. I’m sure he was.”

  “How can it be possible? Don’t the vigjas care for the poor anymore?”

  Liut shook his head. I waited while he recovered.

  “What do you mean? They don’t?”

  “That was always the province of Frigga,” he said. “Besides, High Vigja Galmr has had some very specific visions concerning the poor. I thought you’d read his book.”

  “Not all of it. Just enough to see what he said about marriage, really. And it was clear enough that he believes Tyr is the only true god and the others are all usurpers.”

  Liut stood straight and gently took my hand.

  “Tyr also says that the poor are parasites. That the natural course is to let them die,” he said. “It’s unnatural for them to persist—they must die out or serve a new purpose for the faithful of Tyr.”

  “A new purpose?” I echoed, watching his face. Did he believe this horrid priest?

  “Some believe the poor are meant to serve the faithful. As slaves,” he said. He shook his head sadly. “I think those are actually the compassionate ones. The ones who advocate slavery. I think they can’t stand to let these people die down here. There are some who would send down execution squads, though. I suppose that’s another way to get rid of the guilt of letting them starve.”