TWELVE

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I struggled to occupy myself the first couple weeks of Ryon’s new job. Often, I paced about the house like a ghost. Ryon took up residency in the house, almost never returning back to the farm, despite Elodie’s distaste. At first, she tried changing the locks on him, but Marietta had none of it. This home had belonged to the Lieu family since they immigrated here from across the seas, Marietta said, and it had always been a home for members of the family. Whether Elodie liked it or not, Ryon would someday be a part of our family.

Without a doubt, Elodie didn’t like it at all. She and I avoided each other all day, and whenever she saw Ryon, I swore she cursed under her breath. For my own health, I didn’t confront her. Instead, I stayed in my room until midday when Elodie left to go shopping for the baby. While I didn’t mind the silence, using the time to recollect my thoughts, I also tiptoed about my loneliness, wrapping myself in reveries about times without trouble or fear. 

I dreamt of days when my father was still alive, when Elodie and I were friends hiding from our mother’s disgusting casserole, and when stories were free. 

But often, I thought about my future with Ryon: our wedding, our future home, and our adventures.

After finding out about our engagement, Ryon’s family threw a wonderful shindig down on their farm. People from all over the village came to congratulate us and wish us good prosperity. Even his father smiled while his mother and sisters danced around the village fountain, throwing ribbons around us in excitement.

While each interaction sent my head spinning, I lavished in meeting the rest of Ryon’s family. His uncle ran the brewery in the village, often delivering crates of ale to the guards as they sat perched along the Pit’s wall. The beer was plenty during the party, and on the back of liquid ecstasy, I forgot my worries. For a while, I felt like I was part of a family again.

But even the alcohol did little to take away the pang in my heart for Elodie’s acceptance.

Although, I must admit that I did little to heal the relationship either. 

I found new ways to make a point to Elodie about my newfound happiness, with Ryon’s influence bearing weight on me in the lewdest aspects. Often, Ryon and I made passionate, and sometimes loud, love in my room. Elodie would discover us and scream about the absolute horror and dissonance I possessed. She said demons were on my back, that I was being dragged into the darkest pits of the Effluvium...just like that pernicious Order would say as well. How dare I behave in such a way? 

I didn’t dare tell her about my time with Yeshua and Gisela.

Ryon and I rode on this wave of enjoyment and amusement, at least until Marietta asked us to stop. She was right to ask us; I am sure the stress was not good for the baby.

So, we moved our escapades to midnight.

At first, we took long nights outside, lying in Ryon’s old buggy and kissing beneath the stars. Ryon returned the horse to his father, but we kept the buggy for posterity’s sake. It was where we met, where we first kissed; I didn’t want to get rid of it.

But as winter arrived with a snowy vengeance, our late-night romance shifted to the basement deep beneath the house. We nestled together in a pile of blankets behind the counter, where Ryon told me about his day, and we memorized each other’s bodies. 

“Ms. Heartz says that her brother read through the memos at least three times now. He hasn’t told her what he uncovered about the Utopia Project, though,” Ryon whispered as he unlaced my dress, his fingers tracing my collarbone and down the curves of my breast. 

“I get you want to know ever so badly,” I said between breaths, moaning as he kissed my neck. His beard tickled, sending chills through my body. “I do too.” 

“Politics are so slow.”

“We’re at the whim of all these damn Order puppets...”

“Mhm.” He grunted.

“You’re just impatient!” I poked his nose. 

“Are you worried?” 

“Of course, I am! But these things take time.” 

“We’ve already lost the Black Market! People died!” Ryon gripped the blankets beside me. “I’m so sick of not knowing!”

“Ryon, love, please.” I took his hands in mine. “Do not do anything rash. The truth will come to light. We must find our way to help kindle the flame.” 

“I never said I would do anything. Small acts of rebellion, right?” He smiled.

“Yes. Small acts.”

We made love. It never got old. I loved the way he pulled me on his lap, the way his skin felt beneath my fingers, and the way he sank into my embrace. With experience, he got better, more confident, and even a tad cocky. I wanted to keep him against my chest forever, letting him kiss every bare bit of skin while his breaths touched the corners of my lips. 

But we were more than just lovers; he had become my best friend and confidante in this short amount of time. My hero, even, but not in the traditional sense.

He didn’t save me. Definitely not. But he helped me understand and see.

Wasn’t that what a hero did?

We huddled on the floor by the fire as we dwindled into puttering happiness. I waited for Ryon to begin one of his usual rants about the architecture of the basement or other injustices in the city. He didn’t. Instead, his eyes grew heavy, and he pulled me closer.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I feel...helpless,” he whispered. “You heard these stories of heroes and heroines, and you think you can be like them. But...we’re just small. Insignificant. Like...ants in an anthill. I’m not as big as a barn, Nanette—otherwise, people would see me!” 

I restrained a laugh.

“And you...you are my sunset, but the guards just see you as a fire to extinguish. We’re all at their whim...so what does it matter?” He sighed. “I shouldn’t be going on like this; I should try to keep my head up. Things are being amazing. After all...” He glanced at me. “I met you.”  

I kissed him. Of course, I knew what Ryon meant. I often felt the same way when I worked for Captain Oberland. When we first started seeing each other, Ryon commented on my participation in the government; now, he understood where the uncertainties lay.

It was difficult to rebel when eyes watched your every movement.

We lay there as the fire dwindled, wrapped in each other’s arms. My mind wandered, though. The past few weeks, I’d fallen into a nonchalant rhythm, hardly leaving the house, dreading the sight of the charred alley where the storytellers used to preach. Once when I passed it with Ryon, I broke down, and he had to hire a cabby to take us home.

There had to be a place where storytellers could speak easy and unafraid. A place hidden from the Guards, a place where smiles faced no discrimination.

I untangled myself from Ryon’s arms and rose, peering around the basement. A white cloth covered an old bar, with stools piled in a corner. Dim lights hunt against the wall. There were no windows, with the only light coming from the stairway. I imagined the people that used to gather here in the tavern, laughing and drinking, singing songs and dancing, huddling together, and telling...

My eyes widened. What else did you hear about in taverns but of bar songs and legends? How many drunken bastards told fallacies to eager listeners?

Father always said people came alive in the taverns. He used to tell me a tale as a young lad, where he met my mother while listening to a story of wild beasts in the swamp.

Tales.

Stories.

Taverns proved to be safe, warm places where people gathered for a drink and a song. The storytellers needed someplace safe. Someplace no one would look.

Like the basement of a quiet home on the outskirts of the city.

I turned back to Ryon.

“Nanette? What is it?” He sat up slightly.

“You said this was a tavern once, right?”

“Based on the construction, yes, it seems so.” 

I knelt before him, taking both his hands and squeezing them. “I think I have an idea.” 

 

Of course, ideas often are harder to implement. In my head, it was a simple plan: convert the basement back into its glory days, where storytellers might prosper with drinks and tales. 

In reality, it was harder than I ever fathomed.

First, I would have to renovate the basement without Elodie noticing.

Then I would have to sneak a bunch of people into the house without her hearing.

Then, I’d have to find storytellers without catching the attention of the Guard.

Ryon reiterated these concerns, and when I thought he was going to be the voice of reason, he pulled me close and said it was a brilliant idea. 

We made love for the rest of the evening, enamored with excitement. By the time the morning came, grogginess lured us back upstairs, where our smiles painted our lips.

I spent the next few days taking inventory of everything in the basement. I didn’t mind hiding down there, despite how cold it grew when the furnace rested. The constant movement and action gave me a purpose...and a reason to escape Elodie. 

Whoever lived in this building before Marietta and Elodie left almost everything: a bar, a box of glasses, aged liquors, stools, tables—even napkins! It was perfect! We had everything! It was a blessing, in a way.

But it left me wondering about the story of the building as well. What happened here? How did Marietta afford such a wonderful home? Ryon intended to peruse the state records, but Jaida kept him busy almost every day. It was best we stayed low, really. The last thing we needed was for the Guard to catch a whiff of our plans. 

So, we kept our heads down, trying not to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves. As far as it concerned the Guard, we were just two young lovers, toying around in undeserving places. 

One day, when I thought I was alone, I ventured into the basement and began setting up the chairs, my mind wandering. I couldn’t wait to see the tavern open to storytellers galore. Already, after about a week of work, the basement had begun to resemble a tavern. With a bit more décor, the next step entered our vision: patrons and alcohol. 

The creaking of the stairs pulled me from my reverie.

I paused.

Marietta stood at the bottom of the stairs with her arms crossed as she peered around the room.

“I knew you and Ryon were up to something...” Marietta stated.

“Marietta!” I jumped. “What are you doing home?”

“I took today off. Elodie is not quite well.”

“Oh.”

Marietta circled the room, running her fingers along the dusty glasses. She held her fingers up to the light to get a glimpse at the dirt, then frowned, her gaze caught in a distant reverie. “I remember all this...” 

“I...I’m sorry?” 

“My grandfather ran this tavern when I was a child. I used to play here all the time and pretend I was a barmaid. That’s how I ended up in this place. My parents didn’t want it, neither did my siblings...so it became my responsibility. It was falling apart when I arrived, though, so I closed it down.” Marietta eyed me. “What are you planning, Nanette? This isn’t your home.”

I squirmed, turning away from her. “We just wanted to see what it looked like. That’s all.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not—”

“I can read you like a book. You’re just like Elodie.” Marietta remained calm. “This has to do with the explosion in the alleyway, doesn’t it?”

I stared at the ground.

“Nanette, please tell me, what are you doing down there?”

I gathered my words. “I just wanted to listen to stories...” 

Marietta’s face softened. “Don’t we all?”

Sometimes, I often wondered how a woman as unselfish and kind as Marietta fell in love with my abrasive sister. But, I suppose, only someone as selfless as Marietta could fall in love with her. Anyone else would have grown hollow and cold. 

“The storytellers didn’t cause the explosion...” I whispered, “The Guard—”

Marietta shook her head. “I saw the expense report. The Guard purchased an excessive amount of gunpowder recently. While it may be for their war in the north, it seemed far more than usual. I never imagined they would use it to attack their own people.” Marietta sighed. “Storytellers do not harm anyone. They help examine the world and let us explore the human condition. Without them, I might not have found myself.”

“Really?” I rested on a stool.

“Yes. My grandfather used to have storytellers and musicians perform in this tavern. I would gather beneath the tables to listen. I learned from them how I could be whoever I wanted. But ever since the Order worked its hands into the government, people haven’t liked stories. Perhaps because stories get people to think. To learn. And...people forgot the joy the stories brought to them...” She picked a glass up and held it to the light. “I don’t know for certain, but I think it was when the ‘No Storytelling Statute’ became law did the tavern grow quiet. My parents never said so...it happened when I was young...but it’s just a guess...”

I followed her gaze around the room.

A twinge of hope twinkled in her eye for a moment, then vanished, “It is quite a shame, really, that stories have gone extinct.”

“They don’t have to be gone. We can bring this place back to its former glory. Imagine the stories...” I motioned to the tavern. 

“Elodie won’t like this.”  

“Elodie doesn’t have to know.”

“And neither do I.” Marietta turned back to the stairs. “If anyone asks, I don’t come into the basement. There is nothing for me here. So, as far as I’m concerned, the sheets and blankets still cover everything.”

“I understand.” 

Marietta nodded once, then paused as she climbed up the stairs. She took one final glance over the room, her eyes narrow. “You know, my grandfather built this tavern so it would border a Witch Tunnel.”

“A Witch Tunnel?” With everything Ryon ever told me about architecture and history, he never mentioned a Witch Tunnel to me! 

“Few people know about them. But my grandfather told me about them. Back when the Order first outlawed magic, a bunch of those with magic built out a tunnel system so they could escape the city.” She eyed the cobweb-riddled shelf behind the bar. “If I remember correctly, that’s not an original shelf.” 

I glanced at the shelf, then back at Marietta. She already vanished through the door, leaving her blessing hanging in the air like a gentle breeze.

Once all was quiet, I raced over to the shelf to examine it. The wood was far more polished and precise than the surrounding fixtures. The construction was rigid and heavy. I was sure Ryon could examine it for hours.

I dragged my fingers along the shelving until I reached a rusted hinge against the wall. Against the side of the shelf, an indent for my fingers waited. I stuck my hand inside and pulled.

My heart thudded as I pried the shelf from the wall.

And with ease, it swung open.

Behind it, just as Marietta said, lived a dark tunnel without a single drop of light.