Of Immortal Make

Prologue: Part 2

The yard was small, consisting entirely of more mud and sprouts of brown crabgrass. In the far corner, a pile of rotting, leftover timber was piled next to a thorny bush, behind which two hooded figures were crouched, their backs to her.

She watched, eyes wide and throat dry, as the pair disappeared into the ground, pulling a wooden board over their heads which closed over the earth with a soft thunk.

Nadiya took a breath.
Two.
Three. 

She waited for what felt like an eternity before taking a step forward. Her mind raced, desperately curious to know what lay beneath the wooden door—and who hid below the hoods.

"A man with good intentions need not hide his face," Ansel had once said to her.

"But a man who hides his good intentions from the eyes of those who would disparage him may not be cast a villain!" her father, ever the one to poke holes in the old man's counsel, had added.

Good, bad, or indifferent, Nadiya wasn't terribly concerned with discovering the hooded figures' intentions. Not yet, anyway.

But I sure as the Shadow am not going to leave here with nothing to show for it.

She paused between each step to listen, her eyes darting between the pile of lumber, the door at the back of the house, and her hideaway alley. Dropping to all fours, she crawled her way to the pile and peeked her head over.

The trap door was made from old, stained planks, the same e painted, dead center, in deep crimson red. She stared at the door's nearest corner, which was warped upwards ever so slightly, revealing pitch blackness underneath.

Taking one last look behind her, she crept around the lumber and grabbed the corner, feeling cool air kiss her fingertips from below. Carefully, slowly, she lifted.

A hole, she thought, then kicked herself. Duh! Of course it's a hole.

She peered down, but the darkness revealed nothing. Shifting her weight to hold the door in her other hand, she steadied herself and lowered her head into the cool, damp air.

She squinted and blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust, and realized that it wasn't just a hole—it was a tunnel, leading in opposite directions and fading quickly from view.

She let out a long breath, the invisible rope pulling her down below the surface, begging to see where the tunnels lead, but conceded that it would be a better idea to return with a lamp anyway. She mouthed a disappointed goodbye—no, not goodbye... see you later—to the tunnels and lowered the door with the care of a baby to its cradle before slinking back to the alleyway.

The small street was still empty. She brushed remnants of dead grass from her knees and palms before stepping out and making for the way she came, the anxious titter of stumbling on a secret sending electricity through her legs.

But she felt eyes boring into her back. Quickly she turned, yet still, she was alone.

You're being a baby.

Arms at her sides, stiff and overcompensating, she began to walk faster, but the instinctual panic of a prey being zeroed in by its predator was taking over, and she broke out into a run.

She turned the corner to emerge from the block and slammed, full force, into an immovable wall of a human that let out a hoarse oof.

"What's the rush, girlie?" said a voice.

She had run into a towering woman, broad shouldered and draped in forest green, who was leaning against the black iron of a gas street lamp. She appeared to be around her father's age, with chestnut hair cropped short and eyes like slate.

"Oh, I, um—I'm sorry," Nadiya stammered, embarrassed. The woman looked over Nadiya's head, scanning for a pursuer.

"Running from your own shadow, are ya? A word of advice, girlie: try not to be so scared of a shadow when a light so readily illuminates real danger."

Nadiya let out a small cough and tucked her hair behind one ear, unsure of how to respond. She decided this would be as good a time as any to put on her lost little girl act—this woman was cold and strange, but Good Citizens of the Colony were rewarded.

"I'm lost," she finally said. "I don't know how to get home."

"Lost, eh? And where's home for ya?"

Nadiya opened her mouth to respond when Ansel's echoing voice reached her ears.

"Nadiya! By the Shadow, there you are." He ran to her, grabbing a stitch at his side. "I don't know if I should hug you or toss you over the Wall."

Perfect, Nadiya thought, and turned up the charm. "Ansel!" she cried out, clasping her hands together. "I'm so happy to see you. I got lost in the crowd and couldn't find you, so I tried to go home and ended up here. I was just about to ask Miss—uh," she paused, her face growing warm, and glanced at the woman.

"Tristin Aldridge," she responded, a wry smile playing across her lips. "And if I'm any good at my training, which I damn well better be, that would make you Ansel Prescott and you—" she paused again, the smile widening wickedly as her slate eyes fell onto Nadiya, "—the daughter of Councilor Vera and Grandfellow Gavin. Little miss Nadiya Blackburn."

Nadiya caught the slight stitch between Ansel's eyebrows as he put a familiar hand on her shoulder. Noticing Tristin's cloak and leathers, he changed his tone. "Hunter Aldridge. Thank you for your help. The Councilor and Grandfellow should be pleased to know how you helped their daughter."

Tristin waved a calloused hand dismissively, revealing the hilts of twin swords tucked below her cloak. "I should be pleased if you didn't thank me nor bring me any undue praise, as I didn't do much of anything. The little miss came runnin' into me head-first." She looked down at Nadiya again, who had backed ever-so-slightly into Ansel. "It's generally wise to see the path ahead of you before taking that first step, isn't it Mr. Prescott?"

"Can't argue with you there," he replied, and the woman let out a bark of a laugh.

"Well, go on now, get her home. Best put a leash on her next time you're out and about, yeah? She's got the temperament of the Wild in her."

Ansel bowed his head and squeezed Nadiya's shoulder. She took the hint. "Um, thank you anyway, Mis—er, Hunter Aldridge. Enjoy the Festival."

"May the Light guide us, and all that," Tristin responded and resumed her leisurely lean against the iron pole.

Ansel turned Nadiya towards the road and the two walked in silence back home.

Nadiya convinced herself she did a perfectly find job showing remorse for being lost and joy at being found, and was certain she would be able to flawlessly relay the gripping tale of a small child being separated from her chaperone to her parents, who would of course respond with overwhelming affection to make up for the harrowing experience she endured.

Unfortunately, with a politician for a mother, a scholar for a father, and, quite frankly, the truth of Ansel's side of the story, they saw right through her charade and demanded she apologize to her longtime chaperone before being sent to bed without supper. Ansel took her hand in gracious acceptance of her apology, slipping a butterscotch from a market stall into her palm. She smiled and apologized again—she really did mean it—before retreating upstairs to her bedroom.

She shut the door and collapsed onto her bed before popping the hard candy into her mouth, which melted with a warm sweetness. She closed her eyes and tried her best to recall the location of the trap door, a place she would revisit time and time again after successfully giving Ansel the slip.