FOURTEEN

.---- ....-

Ryon and I continued to explore the tunnels at night. We discovered each tunnel entrance had a different tap-code word:

..-. .-. . .      

Free.

-- .- --. .. -.-.

Magic.

And many more.

Ryon and I committed each path to memory, creating a pathway of broken glass along the floor to guide us back to our tavern.

During the day, I focused on cleaning the tavern and preparing for our patrons. Once, when Elodie asked what I was doing, I told her I was busy cleaning. It was a partial truth. I was cleaning out the cellar and organizing everything, after all. 

Every day, I longed to tell everyone about my work in the tavern.

Unlike my sister, I knew how to keep my mouth shut.

So, of course, I was more than just excited when Jaida paid us a visit. I took her by both hands and led her into the empty tavern, watching as her face ignited with delight. She marveled at the progress, circling the room, stroking her fingers along the golden surfaces and décor. 

“This will make a wonderful tavern,” Jaida said. I didn’t tell her the full goal of the space; for now, the tunnels would stay secret, guarded by our newfound collection of alcohol and brews. 

But Jaida didn’t come that day to talk about our silly tavern. She sat Ryon and me down at the table and sighed, a fogginess in her stares as she poured herself a drink. 

“What’s wrong, Jaida?” I asked.

“The Senate will vote on whether to expand the Utopia Project tomorrow. I have not heard from my brother since I showed him the Pit last week.” Jaida played with her glass of whiskey. “He was absolutely heartbroken. I swear, I saw all the life leave his eyes when he saw it. He locked himself away in his chambers afterward. He hasn’t taken a single visitor. Calvin is not like that at all in most cases.” She glanced at Ryon and me. “I would have asked you two to accompany me, but it seemed... risky.” 

“I remember when you and Senator Heartz got back,” Ryon mumbled, “I was expecting him to have a lot of questions for me... but he never stopped by.”

“His heart was close to collapse, I think.” Jaida sighed. “He spoke with me today, though. He is going to persuade the swing votes in the Senate tomorrow to vote on postponement. I am sure he wants to show the desolation to more members before it is too late.”

“What do you think will happen if he can get the votes?” I asked.

“Hopefully, the wall will fall.”

Ryon’s eyes illuminated. “And hopefully stories can return!”

“One victory at a time, Mr. Barnes.”

“Don’t you want stories again, Ms. Heartz?”

“Of course I do, but it takes time, and I would rather no one gets hurt.” 

“Is there anything we can do to help?” I asked.

“Oh, no, not right now. No. Just...keep to your duties...” Jaida furrowed her brow, then beamed, “You two have quite the set up here, though! When do you intend to open to the public? I am sure this will be a wonderful addition to the Capitol!”

And with that, the subject changed. Period. 

I glanced at Ryon. “We hope to open soon. We need to get the word out...”

“And quietly at that,” Ryon added.

Jaida narrowed her eyes, calculating our intentions, then gasped, “You’re opening a speakeasy!” 

There was that word again. Speakeasy. 

Ryon interjected in haste, “We’re not operating an illegal bar.”

“Come now. Why else would you need to gather patrons quietly?” Jaida wiggled her eyebrows. “You can tell me. We trust each other, right?” 

I responded, careful with each word, reflecting upon the events from the earlier weeks, “Stories don’t die in flames. They need somewhere else to prosper.”

“That they do...” Jaida agreed, “But please, be careful, both of you. I do not want to lose my friends and companions. It would break my heart.” 

 

Jaida helped us acquire the proper permits to sell alcohol and run the tavern as a barrier of protection against the guard. This left Ryon with the task of venturing to his village to acquire barrels of cheap liquor from his uncle’s brewery. He loaded the barrels onto his buggy and carted them to Elodie’s house deep in the middle of the night. His uncle was exuberant to help, though we kept most of the details to a minimum while we worked. While he did the heavy labor, he left me with the impossible: inform storytellers of their new sanctuary... without being caught. 

During the day, while Ryon worked for Jaida, I ventured into the city. The cold autumn air ate at my skin, sending chills through my body as I walked, despite my three coats and two scarves. Snow flurries decorated the air, dancing with the frigid gusts of wind. In the back of a buggy, the wind felt like daggers. As I walked through town, it reminded me of screams. 

I longed for the tepid humidity of Volfium’s swamps.

At every block, I ducked into the shops or restaurants to bask in a moment of warmth. I have to admit, I didn’t have a plan. Ryon and I had debated for hours the nights prior: what if we posted flyers, or checked the old alleyway, or asked Jaida? Nothing seemed right. Everything had the potential to lead back to the Guard.

In the end, we came up with one clear decision: word-of-mouth was the best choice. If we found a familiar storyteller and let them spread the news, then our little tavern may grow organically. 

But where could I find a storyteller in the day-to-day of the Capitol?

Had any even survived?

I survived. Surely others did as well, hiding now in the shadows, whispering their stories and performing slights-of-hand. 

It was odd walking past the alleyway, charred and crisp, where weeks earlier, I nearly died. It stood now, vacant and burned, with two guards standing at the entrance. A few people passed by, stealing a glance, before being hurried along by the guards. I kept my head bowed, peering for but a second. Did the guards even know what they defended? Were they aloof, like Captain Oberland? Or brainwashed by someone like Captain Cordova?

I didn’t look up as I entered the plaza. My first thought was I could people watch and seek someone I knew in the crowd until Ryon left for work. Perhaps he would be braver in approaching the storytellers; he was outgoing and talkative and knew a friendly face when he saw one. Me? I was just a girl from Volfium. I hadn’t even been in Rosada for a year yet! While my Rosadian was impeccable, I still punctuated certain phrases in a way that caused people to pause.

Plus, I didn’t bear the same confidence as Ryon or even Elodie. I had always valued a quiet life, but now I rode on the edge of a rebellion. This was more than I ever fathomed! 

I settled onto the bench and peered around the plaza. With the birth of the new year arriving in the next few days, the square bustled with activity. Vendors sold different Year Glasses, bejeweled with countless gems, while others sold equally glamorous outfits. The Temple gazed down upon it all with a glint in its windows, welcoming the droves of individuals heading inside for service. I scoffed to myself. Didn’t people know that the Brothers and Sisters of the Order told preposterous stories?

At least the stories told in alleyways were fun.

Stories.

Yet, I struggled to pull my gaze away from the Temple. I hated everything that the Order of the Effluvium stood for, but an idea led me towards its doors.

Storytellers do not just create stories; they absorb them. Inevitably, they would flock to the one place where stories still lingered.

The Temple. 

I loathed every minute I spent in the Temple. I ignored the preaching, the hymns, and the prayers, allowing their words to fly over my head. They blessed the arriving new year, made promises to the Effluvium while dictating another year of orderly reign. But did I pray? No. Did I absorb what they said? Absolutely not. 

It didn’t matter to me. 

It was all just a story.

And not a good one at that.

I kept my attention instead on the congregation. The storytellers had to be here. I knew it. 

I have learned over the years that a few telltale signs exist of storytellers. They sit eagerly, they hang on every word, and they will describe their day with such detail that you can almost see the events play out before you. While I couldn’t ask people to talk that day, I still observed. The religious types bowed their heads. The children fidgeted in their seats, but a few hung onto every word as if calculating and gathering them for a repertoire of stories. 

And after watching them for a bit, I recognized quite a few from the Black Market. They used to perform stories or slights-of-hand there. An old woman told us the story about the Forest Queen. A man performed magic tricks, and another sang with a voice so pure it might have belonged to the sky. 

But here, in the Temple, dressed in drab colors, they could have been anyone.

I suppose that’s the true nature of storytellers. They’re like everyone and everywhere. That must be why the Order fears them. They hide in the streets. They speak without fear. It’d be impossible to cut out everyone’s tongue.

They would try, without a doubt.

I waited in the back as the congregation filed out of the Temple. Elodie walked among them. I dropped my head down, hiding my face with my hair. She walked straight past me. It was strange seeing her; at home, she always had a snarl on her lips, a glare in her eyes. Here, she looked tired, carrying the weight of pregnancy on her back. Part of me wanted to reach out to her, tell her I wanted to talk; perhaps I could be her companion during her restless nights, tell her stories, and laugh until sleep became the champion.

But we were nothing more than strangers.

Had I ever even known my sister?

I didn’t dwell on it, redirecting my attention as Elodie left to the storytellers striding towards me. 

Within an instant, I locked gazes with the old woman.

“Oh!” the woman whispered and reached for my hands. “You’re okay! I wasn’t sure...the explosion...”

“I’m fine. How are you, though?” I asked in a hushed tone. 

“I prevail.”

“But without a haven, yes?”

“We will find another...” The woman’s eyes grew heavy. “For now, our voices will continue with the softness of moonbeams in the daytime.” 

“You do not need to wait for a clear night. There is no reason we can’t...speak easy somewhere else.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one listened. “Tell the others. There’s a new place where stories can reign...and I hold the key.”