An Ember Bright

Chapter 4a

The storm continues to rage when we exit the clearing. Wes, Kaya, and I hang back a few feet from the trio before us, and they do so with the group in front of them, and so on. The spaces between groups are staggered, though, with a few trios walking faster and taking different routes. It'd be odd if anyone saw ten groups of three walking together.

I walk ahead of Wes and Kaya, keeping a few paces between us. The pair talk in hushed voices, deep in conversation. If it wasn't for the occasional snap of my fingers to signal a turn or change in direction, I don't doubt they'd end up in the lake like Finn. Just the thought of the rat is enough to spark my anger. He went ahead with Darren as one of the first groups that left for the tavern.

We're one of the few groups that continue on the usual path to the tavern, taking us through the dark, sketchier parts of the sector. Despite this area's reputation for having a limited number of guards, I pull the hood of the thin cloak lower. Glancing to the trios ahead of me, I notice that many of the crew members that wear a cloak similar to mine have taken the same route as us. There's also no more than one cloaked figure per group.

I guess it would be too suspicious to have groups of three covered people with work passes pinned to their fronts. The cloaks aren't new; those of us that are more...acquainted with the guards, so to say, wear them whenever we head to the Boar's Head. It's easier to blend in with the shadows than hide in them, and the guards are more likely to stop and search someone slinking through alleys than they would someone with a cloak and Permit clearly displayed. Many of those working in the brothels or anyone employed in finance prefer not to show their faces when traveling at night in case they are recognized by someone angered by their services, whether it be an unsatisfactory night or an unfair tax collection.

The weak street lamps flicker overhead. My heartrate picks up a little and I shorten the gap between me and Kaya. No matter how many times I've walked through the faintly lit night, the dark never fails to plant a seed of uneasiness and fear. For the hundredth time tonight, I wish for even a simple flame lantern to hold. Just a small bit of light I can control and keep close to ward off the unknown shadows surrounding me. But to hold any source of light would draw attention to me and risk a guard recognizing and arresting me. So, I push down the spark of panic that the darkness never fails to ignite and push forward.

We pass those who are known for doing their deeds under the cover of night without use of Permits. I used to wonder why they were never arrested or at least warned, but after a few glances at their eyes full of malice and faces scarred by jagged blades explains it.

After a few minutes the dark path begins to transition into the more common, populated streets. The lights are stronger here, but not by much. We pass small, identical houses with white exteriors and blue roofs. Quaint homes much like the one Nona and I lived in for a few years.

A couple turns take us into a road with a few shops, their dark windows filled with various wares for sale. The only building alive comes from down the street. Boisterous laughter and drunken yells reach our ears before the tavern comes in sight.

For the first time in a month, I walk towards The Boar's Head. The building hasn't changed since the first time I saw it; the tall brown walls that have always been kept in good condition, the white lettering spelling out the name. It's been a couple years since I've gone through the main entrance – perks of being wanted by the guards – and I can't be bothered to remember what it looks like. The cloaked figures that came before us dart around back and I follow. Wes and the others go through the main entrance.

I reach the back just as someone unlocks the cellar and take the stair down to the shelves of liquor and crates with the deceptive alcoholic labels. Crouching on the ground, I run my hand along the grooves of the floor until my fingers brush the thin latch. I grab it and heave the wood upward. A ladder extends down to a small dark room. Wasting no time, I climb down first, nearly slipping on the worn wood in my haste. Skipping the last few rungs, I drop to the dirt floor. A door stands before me and lower my hood before throwing it open.