Bait, Veda. Bait.
With a deep breath and clumsy fingers, I claw my way into the ground in search of the pest. Determined, dirt caking my hands, finally, I get ahold of what I know is a mud beetle, its spindly legs fighting for dear life. With a gentle yet quick pinch, I yank the bug out of the earth and shove it into a jar. One’ll have to do. But it’s alive. Fresh is always better.
Fast as I can, I throw the jar in my bag, wipe my hands over my wool shawl, and shove my gloves on to cover the evidence. Step-by-slow-calculated-step, I inch my way to a tree and duck behind it.
Another loud crunch sounds. If it’s an animal, it’s large.
My breath catches.
I wait, silent as night itself, not daring so much as a long breath. As the Sun rises, I use the increased light to check the small hourglass slung around my neck. Holding the metal frame between my finger and thumb, I strain to see that the brown sand has nearly reached the one-hour line. Only a few minutes until the all clear.
Dropping the pendant, tucking it back under my shawl, I peek around the tree trunk, allowing one eye to sneak a look.
Whoever or whatever it was that made those footfalls is gone. I want to think it was an animal, a fox or deer. But sense tells me I’d have heard it run away. Even an Imperi soldier at their sneakiest would have made more noise. No, this was something stealthy. Something heavily cloaked. Sly and devilish.
Rumor is the Night melt into shadows like pitch in a crack, taking whomever they can skewer their bony fingers into right along with them. Usually unsuspecting Basso like me.
I shiver.
The Sun’s risen.
Morning bells ring. Quick as I can, I flee the forest and make my way to the Hole.
CHAPTER 3
My feet tread lightly along the stone streets, buildings towering on each side like the walls of an enormous labyrinth. Promises of I’ll meet you at morning bells nag the back of my mind. But there was no time to meet Nico when there was bait to steal and fishing holes to get to.
Faster still, I wind my way through alleyways and over bridges. Despite the cool morning, escaped hair sticks to sweat dewing the back of my neck. Not daring to slow my pace, I gather and twist it all into a thick rope, tucking it back under my knit hat.
I don’t stop until the alley opens into a large square. It’s nothing but a bit of open space, all cracked stone and an old, dried-out fountain, vines growing up and over it. A tunnel, its mouth wide and dark, closes the other side into a dead end. I stride across the square, standing tall, readying to face what every Basso fears: this damn tunnel.
Like a grim warning, two altars flank the entrance. One is a Sun altar, no different from any of thousands filling corners and crevices all over Bellona. Piled on top of the stone pedestal is a framed image of the Sun; an hourglass; and a small bouquet of sunrise flowers, the red-yellow petals browned, long dead. Mounds of candles, many of them lit, are stacked atop melted wax that flows the length of the altar like a waterfall. Various types of shells have been stuck into the wax as if barnacles on the rocky shore of the Great Sea. At the base, several offerings have fallen—a couple of soap carvings, a large rusty nail, a walnut still in its shell, and a ball of string.
I kneel before the altar, close my eyes, and ask the Sun to guide me through unharmed.
I search my pockets for something to offer. With nothing but lint, the hourglass quickly sifting, I hastily take off a glove, ball up the pilled wool, and make a small bead of beige fleece. I leave the blessing next to one of the shells. Then I scoop the rest of the trinkets—discarded prayers—up off the ground and pile them back on the altar for good measure.
I try to ignore the other altar, but my curiosity gets the better of me. It’s an altar to the missing. These have been popping up on more and more corners as the Night grow increasingly aggressive. Photos, scraps of paper, personal mementos, and other items overwhelm the top and are nailed and pinned up and down the sides of the wooden structure. Hanging above it is a fresh missing persons bulletin, several names scrolled beneath the large red block letters that read BEWARE THE NIGHT!
The tangled black yarn of a doll’s hair catches my eyes before I force myself to glance away and refocus on the task at hand. The tunnel. Fishing.
The tight passage snakes through the bottom of the old housing building like a dark secret, the entrance a crumbling mosaic archway.
I light my lantern, take a deep breath, and enter.
Several paces in and it’s already pitch black save the flickering of my lamp. The lights mounted along the walls are out, meaning one of two things: The unpredictable generator is down or they’ve been destroyed again, the bulbs busted by the Night.
Lantern in hand, I try my best to be as quiet as possible, but my boots squeak with each step as lures and hooks jingle from my belt.
One third of the way through, I round the corner, and the opening at the end of the tunnel pops into view like a heavenly beacon sent down from the Sun himself. I’m desperate to make my way there, but it’s still so far.
Before I can bolt toward the light, quick footsteps dart between the tunnel walls and my chest. “Who’s—” I bite my tongue and a bit of metallic warmth blooms inside my mouth. I skid over gravel and run toward the exit.
The footfalls get closer.
I run faster until the steps are on my heels and heavy breath hits the back of my neck.
I skid to a stop, pivot, and punch whoever it is straight in the stomach, their momentum helping me out, but stinging my knuckles something fierce.
There’s a groan of pain and the shadow doubles over before my lamplight.
“Gah … Blessed … Sun…,” he coughs.
“Nico?”
He glances up at me, dark eyes watering.
“What the hell?” I say.
“I…” He pauses to catch his breath and slowly stands. “I was just … trying to catch up with you.”
“Well done.” I fail at holding in a small laugh.
He glares.
“What? You don’t get to be mad. You scared me!”
His expression softens. “All right … It was stupid.”
“Not to mention mean.”
“Fine … Mean and stupid.”
“Indeed.” I won’t admit I’m comforted by his sudden presence. And not only because my chances of meeting my end decrease exponentially with a Dogio by my side.
“Speaking of mean…?” Nico holds up his hourglass so it dangles in my face from his forefinger.
“I was detained.” I wiggle my mud-caked fingers in his face.
“Come on, Veda…” He breathes my name as a disappointed sigh, eyebrows slanted into an exaggerated V. “Again?”
I shrug.
“You promised you wouldn’t anymore.”
I lift an eyebrow. “No, I didn’t.”
His jaw goes slack. “Yes, you did.”
“No … I promised I wouldn’t leave during the night anymore. And I didn’t. I left in the morning.”
“Before the Sun was up.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“I told you I can get the beetles for you. Jars full.”
“And I told you no.” He glowers, but the way he works at the corner of his lower lip, I know he wants to smile too. “Hey.” I take a step closer and adjust my gear over my shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet you. It’s just…” I pause to choose my words carefully.