Unhooking his lantern and a set of keys, Dorian hands me the light to hold as he releases the large metal lock securing a small, square wooden doorway about a foot above us. He sets the lock on the ground and reaches to his side, where he finds a long wooden pole. Lifting the pole, connecting it to a metal ring on the door, Dorian thrusts all his weight into it and the flap opens up. Several heavy objects tumble against the ground on the other side of the earth.
The minute we’re out, I know I’m back on Bellona, familiar scents brushing my face: moss and sea and crisp winter air, wood-burning stoves. I’m so taken by the smells, Dorian has to nudge me into the present. And when he does, I see we’re in the forest along the canal, not too far from the main tunnel.
We secure the hidden door, covering it back up with moss and brush and snow, several randomly placed large rocks, until the den’s completely dissolved back into the ground. It was never there.
The moon, nearly a perfect crescent, is a silver lamp that lights our way through the snow-dusted woods. All goes smoothly until we hit a fence, one that definitely wasn’t here before. It’s separating the Basso village from the rest of town.
Plain as day, a posting hangs from the fence: BEWARE THE NIGHT. Familiar, ominous warning. Black as night and red as blood—how they used to strike terror straight into my heart. Ink on paper. That’s all it is. Stories. Fables. One man’s overactive imagination and penchant for control through fear.
And now he’s fenced in our entire village? As if Basso are the trouble.
Beware the Night …
I pull my blade from my belt and slice the stupid posting right down the middle.
Then I move to graze my finger along the top wire of the fence, see how thick it is, because I’ll tear the whole thing down. But Dorian grabs my sleeve, stopping me right before I touch it.
I whip my head around.
Hands up, he raises his eyebrows, then pulls out his canteen and pours some water over the fence.
It hisses and sparks, the water evaporating instantly.
My shoulders shake at the sound and a deep anger boils in my gut. They can pump electricity into a fence all night to keep the Basso village “safe,” but won’t power our homes most days?
Ridiculous.
Dorian holds a finger up like, Wait a minute, as he digs something out of his pack. Unfolding a piece of paper, with barely a sound, he plucks what’s left of the Imperi’s poster off the fence, dropping the pieces to the muddy ground, and hands me the improved replacement.
I stab it through the stake.
The new posting reads: JOIN THE REVOLUTION. THE MOON WILL RISE AGAIN. It’s like the one on the back of the Sindaco’s door I saw that first day.
He leans in, whispering just below the whistling wind. “If they’re gonna pretend to be us, might as well make it more accurate, eh?”
I shrug, nod, and give him a slight smile.
This way, Dorian motions with his hand.
We follow along the fence and up to the main, paved walkway. From the tree line, I spot two soldiers standing at the gates to the market. They’re enjoying a game of cards while all of Bellona is tucked in, hiding from the horrors of the Night. From what they think is the Night.
And Dorian and I are right here. Right under their noses. The real Night. For so long I saw the Imperi as godlike, unbeatable, impenetrable. Oh, how things can change when you truly see them for what they are.
Dorian motions for me to follow him deeper into the forest. I’ve just turned my back on the soldiers when I hear, “Hey!”
I glance over my shoulder to see a different soldier, whistle at the ready, staring back at us.
Dorian and I take off running.
Get to the nearest den or the other side of the canal or … run!
The guard’s alarm whistle sounds, a high-pitched ringing breaking through the stillness of night like glass shattering on stone.
“Alert! Alert! Night members spotted!” the Imperi soldier yells. There’s more whistling.
A shot rings out, followed by a bright light flashing right above the trees. A flare to call backup to his location, I assume.
But we’re gone.
Dorian and I fly through the woods. Despite our boots slipping and skidding over the frozen ground, we run full speed. Jumping over roots, climbing then descending large mounds of boulders, grazing past closely positioned tree trunks, we don’t stop until we’ve descended a steep ravine and nearly fallen into the icy canal at the bottom.
“Let’s stay here until it’s safe,” Dorian whispers.
I nod.
But we barely get to catch our breaths when we hear, “This way! They can’t have gone far!” The shouting, accompanied by several pairs of boots crunching over sticks and frozen leaves, heads right for us.
“Damn it,” Dorian says, and he’s already standing, tying down his gear, adjusting his pack so everything is secured.
I just stare, wide-eyed. Surely he’s not …
“We’re gonna have to swim. It’s the only way to get them off our trail. They’ll never suspect it—not since it’s half-frozen.” I’m shaking my head no, and it’s like he’s thinking back on my pantera story, as if that’s why I’m terrified to do this. But it’s not. I’m afraid of drowning, being caught by the Imperi, freezing to death, or being washed into the Great Sea. Pantera fish are the least of my worries. “It’ll be all right, Veda. I won’t let anything happen to you, and you me, all right?”
You wanted this, Veda. This is your mission. Your fight.
I glance toward the water, back at the Imperi soldiers closing in on us, then to Dorian. His eyes are intense, set directly on mine, confident of the words he just spoke.
And I believe him. We’re in this together.
“All right,” I say, connecting with his eyes. You and me.
“Ready?” Dorian stares through the darkness at me. I’m not at all ready. The water is freezing and, thanks to the flooding, higher than usual, the current rushing over rocks and carrying debris in white, foamy crests.
I double-check my pack is secure, then say, “Yes.”
At that, he quickly loops a rope around his waist, latching it in the back and doing the same for me, but latching it in the front and then to his. This way, if we get washed away, we get washed away together.
Him and me.
In the distance, some ways down from where we’re at the bottom of the ravine, a series of yellow lights approaches. The Imperi soldiers. And they’ve brought backup. What was just a few has ballooned into ten at least.
Swiftly, we enter the canal and the sharp chill instantly takes my breath away. At first, it’s only knee deep, but soaks through to my bones quickly. As we make our way across, the water reaches to my chest, the iciness cutting into my lungs. My breathing is shallow, shaky, taking far more effort than it should.
Everything is weighed down and swollen, the canal so cold, my body’s gone from tingly to completely numb. As the soldiers’ lamps grow closer, Dorian and I sink lower so only our heads bob across the canal, icy water splashing over our faces, rushing up my nose and into my ears, engulfing all my senses. Everything is cold, fishy, and white-capped rapids.
The current is strongest in the middle. Dorian and I work together to keep each other from washing downstream, being spit out into the Great Sea. My hand is clutched onto the strap of his pack and his on the tether that connects us. My body burns from the chill of the water and the extreme effort of fighting against the current as my feet fail to gain purchase against the slick rocks along the bottom.