by Kirsten Boie
He drove at walking pace. A military transport stood in the school parking lot, but there was no sign of any soldiers. They’ll be sitting inside the school, thought Liron, in the administration office or the hallways. They’ll be afraid. They’re only boys themselves. They don’t want people yelling at them and pelting them with garbage. And they don’t want to shoot anyone.
On the pathway in front of a dirty yellow lawn before another bland high-rise stood three youths, smoking. Their pants only reached down to their knees, and their hair was shaved in bizarre patterns. One was holding a can, which he passed on with a nudge to one of the others. A woman with a child hurried past, bowing her head as if that would somehow make her invisible, but the three teens followed her, shouting and laughing. One of them threw his crumpled cigarette pack after her.
I can understand how the southerners feel, thought Liron as he turned down a side street. Why they’re afraid of us. Why they want us northerners to go home. They think we’re shiftless — we can’t even keep order in our own neighborhoods. What they see is all they know, and they can’t believe that if we started out with the same advantages as they do, we’d be ideal neighbors. Maybe one day people will come to appreciate the effects of the new government reforms, but it all takes time — maybe more than we’d like to think.
A little dark-haired boy with a runny nose and a plastic car on a string was standing at the side of the road, waving his chubby little hand at every passing car. Liron waved back. Maybe by the time you’ve grown up, he thought. I hope it’ll be by then.
He turned off to the right, passing an overgrown empty lot where the people from the housing projects had dumped their trash: old bikes and fridges, even a burned-out car. Among the waist-high weeds he could see a tattered old sofa with a group of children sitting on it. It has to be by the time you’ve grown up, he thought.
Not far from this empty lot the forest began. It would take a few hours yet to get to the northern sound. The car radio didn’t work. He had time to think.
Every so often when he looked in the rearview mirror, he thought he recognized a car — a dark blue Volvo. He pulled over to the right and waited.
A few seconds later, the Volvo went by without braking. You’re imagining things, he said to himself. Nobody knew he was going for a drive. Besides, he was supposed to be meeting with the undersecretary at that moment — he’d better think of a good excuse for not showing up. So who could possibly be following him?
For the next hour, he felt calmer. Although the rearview mirror did not show anything suspicious, he continued to let other vehicles pass him — private cars, motorcycles, trucks. If they really are trying to follow me, I’ll make it as hard for them as possible. But he felt almost ashamed of himself for being so paranoid.
Last year, Lorok had driven Jenna, Jonas, and Malena to the navigator’s house at breakneck speed. The journey had been so exciting that she hadn’t paid any attention to how far it actually was.
When she first left the town, she came to fields of rye and wheat, cabbage and corn, and pastureland with black-and-white cows grazing. Then the fields gave way to forest.
The countryside around Saarstad was hilly. Little lakes glimmered between the trunks of the pine trees, and as she trudged up and down the sandy paths, Jenna grew more and more weary. She was about to sit down on one of the many moss-covered boulders at the side of the road when she heard the first shrieks of the gulls, followed by the splashing sounds of the waves as they crashed onto the shore. It couldn’t be far now.
The navigator’s house had been her mother’s retreat, a place to escape to with Norlin when they were young and in love. It was here that Bolström and Norlin had later held the king and her mother captive, and it was here, last summer, where Jenna had realized for the first time that she was a princess.
It had been evening when Lorok had driven them there; she would never forget it. The gulls were crying as they circled high above the shore; the countryside seemed so quiet and peaceful in the warm glow of the setting sun that it was hard to imagine the battle that had just been fought. She could still picture the windswept pine tree in front of the gable, the jungle of wildflowers in the overgrown garden with its mingled scent of salt and summer pine. And among all this there’d been the wounded — rebels as well as conspirators — and then the reporters with their microphones and cameras.
Today, though, it was noon and the sun was high. A wind was blowing from the sea, driving short, flat, white-crested waves down onto the shore and against the piers of the crumbling dock. With the sun directly above it, the water was almost too bright to look at. A sense of complete calm lay over everything.
A few paces from the house, Jenna stopped. Apart from the time of day, nothing had changed.
The paint was still peeling from the once-yellow wooden walls, with their white window frames, veranda, and corner beams. In the relentless midday sun, the house looked utterly desolate.
Jenna took another step toward it. She could not understand why she suddenly felt afraid. At least tonight she would sleep in the dry. She knew where to find the key. It was not until she reached the door that she saw the broken glass, and the window by the veranda hanging on its hinges. She reached up and ran her hand over the top of the doorframe. The key was waiting where it was supposed to be.
Why was her heart beating so fast as she put the key in the lock? Why were her fingers trembling? The house should be her refuge, so why this sudden fear?
Jenna listened. The silence, she thought. A silence you can hear. Just waves and gulls and the occasional rustle of leaves in a gust of wind. It’s the silence that’s so frightening.
She pushed her shoulder against the door. It opened with a groan. In the tiny, almost square hallway, there was a musty smell, and a ray of sunshine came through the broken window and fell on the wooden floorboards. A thousand grains of dust danced in the light.
The doors inside were all open, reinforcing the feeling of melancholy abandonment. Now, which room should I sleep in? wondered Jenna. But it wasn’t a comforting thought. If it didn’t rain again, she would stay outside.
She stepped over the worn threshold into the first room. A tiled stove in the corner, from which one tile had fallen off, showed that this had been a living room. In the center there was a table, once highly polished but now covered with dust. Beside it were two chairs. Jenna began to walk toward them.
When an arm seized her from behind, she couldn’t even let out a scream.
It wasn’t until the afternoon light began to give way to the soft gold glow of evening that Liron turned down the narrow, sandy track that led to the meeting place. Potholes made it difficult to drive and slowed his progress. She was standing in the shadow of the trees, on the edge of a little clearing, waiting for him.
“Nahira,” said Liron.
She stepped out from under the branches. “You’re later than I expected,” she said.
He closed the car door. It was so old that it didn’t have an electronic lock. “I thought it would be too dangerous to call you,” he said. “I was sure you’d wait.”
Nahira scanned the road down which he had driven. “No one followed you?” she asked. “There are soldiers all over the place — they’ve been here ever since this morning.”
Liron shook his head. They listened for a moment. Apart from the wind rustling the leaves on the trees, there was no movement.
“Lorok found it,” said Nahira. “I didn’t want to meet you there, just in case someone …” She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “It’s what we’d suspected for a long time. All those attacks and shortages are just part of the buildup! They’re going to take over the government by force!”
She looks exhausted, thought Liron. She’s been through a lot in the last few years.
“You need to figure out exactly when and how you’re going to make it public, Liron,” she urged. “The news could change everything. Once the people of the south realize they’ve been betray
ed —”
Liron nodded. “I know,” he said. “Incidentally, that was not a good time when you called yesterday. I just hope no one noticed anything.”
Nahira laughed. “Who’s Carlson?” she asked. “I’m sure you didn’t expect me to understand all your talk about rain on your drive home. But obviously you understood what I was saying, or you wouldn’t have come.”
She laughed again, but it was not a humorous laugh. She had long since ceased to be the Nahira he used to know. The years of fighting alongside the rebels had made her hard and bitter.
We each chose our own path then, thought Liron. Norlin had left Nahira in order to marry the king’s sister, and then as regent he’d betrayed his own country. Liron aligned with the king on the difficult road to reform. Nahira joined the rebels, and eventually became their notorious leader. Not everything she’d done was good, Liron realized, but she always avoided violence. And without Nahira and her men, the king would never have been rescued last year, and Scandia would be a far different place.
“I was talking to von Thunberg and Petterson when you called,” said Liron. “Nahira, I think your suspicions are right: One of them is working for the other side. It keeps on happening: A small group of us discuss our plans, and then just a short while afterward …”
“Yes?” asked Nahira.
“… a short while afterward, the rebels attack. Just yesterday the king was set to make a televised speech, and right before he could deliver it, they blew up the electricity pylons, preventing the broadcast.”
“You mean one of them is working with us?” asked Nahira. “You think we blew up the pylons?”
Liron could hear the anger in her voice. He shook his head.
“Of course not!” he said. “Don’t misunderstand me. Every time there’s an attack, it’s blamed on the rebels, but other people are the ones who benefit from it.”
“And you think von Thunberg or Petterson might be among those other people?” said Nahira. “Sometimes everything seems so hopeless. If things go on like this, the people who keep saying nothing will change without violence are going to have a field day, don’t you think? Liron, the north mustn’t lose hope! Otherwise, it really will be my people launching the attacks. If their only option is violence, I won’t be able to stop them.”
Liron could see the anxiety in her eyes. “I can’t hold them back forever,” she said. “Or keep promising them a golden future that the north may never see. The reforms must be introduced more quickly — people have got to feel the changes for themselves, or there’ll be more bombings.” She stepped toward him. “Anyway, I’ve got something to show you. Once this is out in the open, once you’ve shown the press and it’s on every television screen in every living room in the country, everything could change. When southerners see it isn’t the government or the rebels behind all this chaos, then public opinion will shift. It has to.”
“I just don’t know anymore whose side the media is on,” murmured Liron. “Good God, Nahira, how naïve we were last summer! Did we really think everything was going to be all right?”
Nahira walked toward the passenger’s side of the car. Liron went back to the driver’s door. What happened next was so sudden, there was no time to run.
Lights flashed, and out of the darkness from behind the trees came a line of men in black, guns blazing. Bullets smashed past them into the car, shattering the windows and piercing the frame.
Poor Carlson, thought Liron, now you won’t be able to wait till you can afford your new car — and he was shocked that such a stupid thought should be going through his head at such a moment. Then someone pulled him to the ground, twisted his arm behind his back, bound his hands together, and placed a hobnailed boot on his neck.
With his cheek pressed against the pine needles on the ground, Liron was able to see under the car. Nahira was running. Bullets ripped into the bark of the trees on the other side of the clearing, splintering the wood. But there was no cry.
Maybe she had escaped.
“No way!” said a voice that Jenna was sure she knew. “Jenna, it’s you! Sorry!”
The arm released her and she was able to breathe again.
“Petterson Junior!” she cried, with a mixture of relief, anger, and disgust. Of all people!
“You can call me Perry,” he said, holding out the hand with which he had just been attempting to throttle her. “Hi, Jenna.”
Jenna stared at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” said Perry. “I ran away. In a laundry basket.”
“A laundry basket?” echoed Jenna. She noted with some relief that suddenly the house was no longer so scary. The dust danced in the sunlight over the polished table, and the ragged patchwork carpet would only need a good shake. This could be a real home.
Perry nodded. “What about you?” he asked. “I’ll bet the security guards are more concerned with finding you than with finding me!”
Jenna sneezed. “I pretended to be a waitress,” she said, pointing to her dress. Last night’s downpour had turned it into a rag. “I snuck out with the caterers.”
“Awesome. And they’re always bragging about how ‘impenetrable’ their security is! ‘Absolutely impenetrable!’” Perry scoffed. “But anyone with half a brain …”
Jenna was only half-listening to him. She had wandered off into the next room, which contained the beds where presumably the chained-up captives — her mother and her uncle Magnus — had slept last year. A handcuff was still dangling from one of the bedposts.
“We’ll put one bed in the next room,” said Jenna. “I’ll sleep in the living room.” For obvious reasons! she thought.
“I’ll have to go outside,” said Perry, “until this place is clean. I can’t stop sneezing. Allergies. Come with me.”
“And I’ll start sneezing if I go outside. But OK, I’m coming.” Jenna wiped her nose. Typical, she thought. Something’s always wrong with that boy. But I guess I’d better start looking for his good side. Malena must see something in him!
There were bumblebees buzzing over the wild roses, and butterflies fluttering around the lilacs. Jenna and Perry walked a few feet along the beach till they reached the foot of the jagged cliffs, where at this time of the year wild sweet peas covered the rocks. Among the round washed pebbles, which crunched and rattled under their feet, stood a three-foot-high granite block. Jenna climbed onto the top. “Nice view!” she said.
“Can you see Scandinavia?” asked Perry, and sat down beside her. “Whoa, you can — almost as far as the North Pole!”
“You’re not serious, right?” said Jenna. It suddenly felt as if she was on a summer outing to the beach, just like the old days, when her life had been nice and ordinary, the way it should be. A surprising thought struck her and she glanced sideways at Perry. It was almost like being out with Bea. “Why did you run away?”
“Two words: military school,” Perry said bluntly.
Jenna wondered how he could be so laid-back about his escape. Then she remembered the scene in the summerhouse. She swallowed hard. She knew how strong you could be if you felt loved. For a few fleeting minutes yesterday, she had felt the same.
“What about Malena?” she asked hesitantly.
Perry stared at her. “How do you know?” he asked. And he actually blushed.
Jenna shrugged her shoulders. “Yesterday, in the summerhouse. I saw you. Just by chance.”
For a second, Perry looked as if he was going to explode, but then he just nodded. “I told her everything,” he said. “She understands why I won’t go to the academy. Why I can’t go.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I’m no soldier.”
“She likes you, doesn’t she?” said Jenna.
Perry said nothing for a moment. “Is that crazy?” he finally asked. “I mean, a girl like Malena and a guy like …”
“No!” Jenna interjected. “Looks aren’t the most important thing!” Then she realized what she’d said. “Not that you
’re bad-looking …”
Perry laughed. “I’m pretty realistic about myself, thanks!” he said. “But you know what’s really crazy? If I hadn’t already been sure yesterday that I was going to run away, I never would have had the courage to tell her … and if Malena hadn’t told me how she felt, I don’t think I would have had the courage to run away! How messed up is that?”
Jenna nodded. You need a lot of courage to escape from under the nose of the Secret Service, she thought. And whether you’re brave because you’re happy, like Perry, or desperate, like me, doesn’t make any difference.
“And? What’s your story?” asked Perry.
Jenna looked out across the water. The gulls were gliding above the waves almost without moving their wings. How did they know exactly where the air would carry them? “Oh, all sorts of things,” she murmured. There was no way she was going to confess about Jonas, or about Jonas and Ylva. “I just don’t fit in. This princess thing. I always screw it up.”
“That’s bull!” said Perry, and she was surprised at how forceful he sounded. “They want you to get everything wrong, Jenna. It’s not your fault! The papers could say the exact opposite about you if they wanted to. But there’s been a change in people’s attitudes, and you’re the one who has to pay the price.” He looked at her. “They’re just using you so that they can get at the whole royal family …”
“I know,” said Jenna.
“… so they can attack the government and the reforms …”
“I know!” cried Jenna. “I know all that! But knowing it doesn’t make it any better! Do you think it helps to know it’s not personal when you see hideous photos of yourself plastered across every single paper and all over the Internet? When the whole class is making fun of you? When even the youngest girls in the school start laughing the moment you walk into the cafeteria?” Her voice was shrill now.
“Sorry,” Perry mumbled. “I wasn’t thinking.”
They sat there for a while without talking. Occasionally the shriek of a gull pierced the steady splashing of the waves, and a woodpecker hammered away in the pine forest behind them.
