Cairo

Chapter 13: Night Speaker

The streets of Berrgport at night were below freezing. Cane had warned Cairo that it would get cold a night, but he honestly thought Cane was joking when he said, "Take a coat with you." He wasn't. And Cairo wished he'd listened for once in life. Squeezing his light sweater tighter around himself, he hunched his shoulders and continued walking. At night Berrgport wasn't anything like it was during the daylight. Right now, the port city was empty, almost deserted like everyone had run for their lives. Not a sound could be heard except for a few trash cans rumbling from scavengers or the echo of Cairo's feet against the wet stone. The birds that flew high in the sky during the day where nowhere to be seen-not parched on top of someone's roof, not nestled into one of the docked ships, not floating blissfully across the sparkling ocean. It made Cairo's skin crawl as a wave of shivers washed down his body. 

There were a few houses with lights still turned on. Even then, it was only a dim light in one of the rooms. If the roads weren't almost all straight, Cairo would have been in some trouble as he could barely make out the path in front of him. He figured maneuvering around the city at dark would have been easy for Cane would knew the city like the back of his hand, or he could have asked Aerie who would have been easily able to make a few will-o'-wisps to float ahead of them to light up the path. In the back of his mind, something was calling to him, warning him it was better to tread carefully ahead by himself. More often than not, he listened to this voice. It had been his only savior on multiple accounts, and he trusted his life to it. If the voice said go alone, he went alone. 

When Cairo finally stopped, it was near the long lines of docs by the ocean. It was the first time he'd been close enough to the ocean to smell it clearly. The way the waves rippled and smashed against the docs turned Cairo's stomach into knots. He looked away quickly to examine the rest of the area. One spot in particular caught his attention: off to the side, there was a small, wooden block that looked like a stage moved against one of the buildings. A poster that was half torn down was rustling in the small quivers in the air, besides that, the only thing that was there was an open door directly to the left of the stage. The door was just barely open and when a large gust of wind rammed into it, the door loudly moaned as it rocked on its hinges. Cairo stood  a few feet in front of the makeshift stage, shivering to himself as he pulled harder on his sweater that did nothing to block out the wind that nipped harshly at his skin. He looked up when he heard the door groan again only for his eyes to be greeted by a another pair. 

She was petite, looked like the kind of innocence you only find in kids who still believe in fairytales of rags to riches and forbidden romance. Her eyes shone as the moonlight licked her face. They were alert, guarded, but when her chest dipped down, a breath flowing slightly out of her mouth, her eyes softened with a smile. She walked over to the makeshift stage, easily hopping up, to straighten out the poster. 

"Who are you?" Cairo asked, moving his head to try to get a better look at the paper hung on the wall.

His eyes hardened when he looked at the three spinning circles outlining the shape of a petaled flower with a bur sticking up in the middle. He knew without a doubt that she was who he was looking for. For a moment, he was surprised how calm he was. There was something in how this was all set up, the sign on the poster, and Cairo knew on instinct that she could be dangerous or perhaps start a revolt at any moment. The voice in his head was quiet, but he sensed no danger or threatening aura from her, so he wondered why the Government was paying so much attention to one girl when they usually didn't give a second glance to any other protesters. It was something that would come and go, they said. She couldn't have that many followers judging by the appearance, so why?

Her light blue house coat fluttered in the breeze as she turned around, standing half in front of the poster. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't frowning; rather, she looked almost sad. Her voice was soft like cotton to the ear-it was a sweet treat to anyone listening. Cairo understood why people even bothered with listening to what she was saying: it was pleasant to listen to, and that was all a public speaker needed. Coaltrice didn't have a good voice. People often called her out on having a voice like a screeching bird, so she had to rely on her years of built up charisma to help her whenever she spoke. This girl, however, didn't need such a thing when she had such a musical voice. It was almost hypnotic.