Clarke soon sobered up.
Yes, she was out of her cell. But she wasn't really free yet. In all her planning, she had forgotten one basic fact about suspended ceilings. They don't go from one floor to the next.
She was still stuck in this underground level. In an unknown city. In the Ice queen's territory.
She shook her head, making dust fly around her. She was out of her cell. Better than where she had expected to be at this point when she woke up.
And the boy… He had mentioned a Sheidcat? Her Trigedasleng was much better than it used to be, but she had never heard that particular word. She could only roughly translate it as Shadow-cat. How the hell was that supposed to help her?
Well, the boy had also said she had to get out of here first, that help could only come once she was outside.
Clarke rose on her knees and elbows. The space was not high enough for her to truly rise on all four, but she could hold herself up a bit, which was better than literally crawling in the dust.
By now, her eyes had gotten used to the darkness, and she could see the lines of lighter panels. These, she understood from what little she knew of the layout of the floor, were the corridors – candles there were always lit. So she followed them away from her cell. If they decided to check the ceiling after they realized her disappearance, she'd rather be as far away as possible.
Though the trail she was leaving in the dust would be a dead give-away. Better if they didn't check at all.
It was a slow progress, as she was trying to be as silent as possible and there were many wires or pipes that she had to work her way around. And the fact that she could not really pinpoint a destination just made everything seem farther than it actually was.
Eventually, she resolved to crawl away for the light areas. She could not escape to a higher level without getting out of the ceiling, and it would be stupid to do so in a guarded area. Perhaps she could find some abandoned room, and use the air ducts instead from there?
She half-crawled, half-waddled for what felt like hours. Her eyes were barely able to make out what was right in front of her. It was scary.. She had put her hand on something small, lumpy and slightly wet at one time. She had had to suppress the urge to yelp, and then to vomit as she guessed what it was.
She turned to lie on her back and look behind her. She could no longer see lighter panels. She had not heard anything like alarm cries either, so hopefully her absence had not been noticed yet.
She slowly and carefully lifted the square in front of her, peeking down. It was too dark to make out anything.
She let out a deep breath. She did not have her stick anymore, and she seriously doubted she would have the strength to hoist herself up again. She was exhausted from the last few days, her arms and legs were cramping and trembling from all the crawling. She had finished the bread during an earlier pause, and now she was thirsty.
She had to get out, but she had no idea of whether this was the right way to do it.
Clarke eyed the darkness under her. Only one way to find out, right? And what was the worse that could happen anyway? If she was found, she would return to her cell – back to square one.
And the pain.
She shuddered and moved another panel to slip her rope around the metal bar. Just in case she had to get back in the ceiling – and the strength or adrenaline to do it.
She lowered herself, legs first, using the metal bar and then the rope as a lifeline until she felt her feet hit the ground.
She stilled and listened, almost expecting warriors to come running at the soft sound of her landing. No one came. She was alone.
Clarke held out her arms and took a few tentative steps while straining her eyes to make out something in the darkness. She felt a wall on one side, and soon realized that she was in some sort of corridor. She also noticed that one direction was lighter than the other. Surprisingly, it was the direction that was the furthest from where she came from.
Tired of being in the dark, and hoping she might steal a candle to help her in her quest for escape, she walked towards the light, taking care to keep close to the wall. She cursed her light hair that would make her more noticeable.
She was surprised – and wary – that such a large area was so completely devoid of surveillance. She was almost starting to believe that some God – or Spirit – was helping her.
Until she got closer to the light source.
It was daylight. And she saw the deep, angry-looking cracks in the wall. One corridor was caved in, the suspended ceiling torn and crooked, letting light from the outside filter in.
Clarke wasn't sure if that was the result from a bomb – or several – or something else. Perhaps this part of the building had been faulty, and a few decades without proper maintenance led to this. Perhaps a bomb dropped nearby, and only part of the building survived. In fact, since she had been held underground, she was not even sure the upper part of the building still stood. In Polis, only the Tower seemed to have withstood the apocalypse – and most of its windows had exploded.
She walked carefully, slowly putting her weight on one leg to check the ground was stable before actually stepping forward. A lot of dust and dirt had collected around the caved in ceiling, but it looked big enough for her if she dug a little around the hole.
It took her a few minutes to find a safe passage through the rumbles, but she was no longer as worried about guards. She had been lucky enough to stumble on an abandoned area, that might not even be connected to the guarded one by anything but the ceiling. She could take her time to climb this carefully, which she did. She even took the time to rub some dirt in her hair. Hopefully, it would look more sandy than golden blond now.
She mentally took note to find some hair dye before traveling back to Polis.
Finally, she dragged herself out of the building and flopped on her back, laughing softly as tears ran down her cheeks. She had not been so happy to see the sky since the dropship first landed.
She wished she could savor the moment longer, but she was still aware of her precarious situation. She forced herself to sit up and looked around.
She was inside the walls of an old building, though there wasn't much actual wall left in front of her. Behind her, she could see the rest of the building was not as deteriorated, and estimated that at least the ground floor and the first floor must be partially inhabitable. And then of course, there was part of the underground, where her cell was. There might even be more levels below, she had no idea how deep these old office buildings where before the bombs.
But surely, one would prefer to live above ground if possible, right?
She got up and stepped over the wall to study the area, rubbing her hands on her arms in an attempt to warm herself. It was cold, and she only had tatters. She had to find some safe shelter, otherwise she would just freeze to death – literally. Now, that was a sobering thought.
The boy had mentioned help, if she managed to get out. So, was there anything related to a cat or a shadow near this building? Or was the name supposed to evoke her something, and she was just not knowledgeable enough to figure out what he was referring to?
Either way, there was help waiting for her out there. She just had to find a way to make sure help found her before Nia's guards.
This part of the city seemed deserted – which was not very surprising given how few walls were still upright. Clarke made her way around the partially destroyed building, and stopped just before the turn that would bring her to the front facade. She chanced a look from around the corner.
The town on this side of the great building was damaged, but nothing on the scale of the other side. Distractedly, Clarke wondered if the sizable building might have actually protected the smaller ones ahead of her from the brunt of the explosions. Or perhaps there had been more military buildings on the other side, and when whoever started the Last War launched the first missile, the civilian houses were somewhat spared.
The building itself – probably Nia's palace – was guarded by at least four warriors. Opposite of it, there were many small houses that rarely had more than a ground floor. It reminded her of Polis, as the concrete or brick walls were completed with wood or colorful drapes. Most houses used to be two-story, and now had a flat roof or some sort of attic made from one old wall and an inclined plane of leather, thatch or wood against it.
And like Polis, most walls had been decorated by the inhabitants. Clarke could not help a smile at one of the drawings. It was a crude representation of Queen Nia – recognizable by her bone crown – with blood spurting from her neck and a grimace on her face. It was clear from a few slurred lines that someone had unsuccessfully tried to erase it. Obviously, the Ice Queen was not the most beloved monarch, as Clarke had no doubt that the person who had drawn that so close to the palace knew the kind of punishment he or she would face if Nia figured out who was behind the masterpiece.
As she tried to find some way to cross the street without drawing attention from the guards, she noticed a small figure sitting on the roof of one of the houses. She narrowed her eyes, unsure of whether she had seen right.
It was the boy who had brought her bread and water in her cell. The one who had slipped her the knife, and told her the Sheidcat would help her. He was playing with some sticks from his perch, but his eyes often sought out the entrance of the palace. Probably expecting Clarke to burst out from it with a dozen guards running behind her.
She smiled ruefully. Her entrance would be a lot less epic.
Luckily, he was in a position where she could hope for him to see her while she remained out of sight of the guards. Knowing from her readings on psychology – back in the Ark when she was studying under her mother – that eyes were naturally drawn to movement, she picked up a pebble and threw it as high as she dared above her, catching it as it went down to make sure no noise would draw the attention of the warriors a hundred feet away.
She did it half a dozen times until she saw the boy notice her. Even from across the street, she saw his eyes widen. He stared at her for a full minute, and she grew a little nervous. Then, he put a finger on his mouth in a universal sign to remain silent, and she saw him disappear back inside his house.
She leaned back against the wall and waited, shivering from the cold.
A few minutes later, as she was considering dashing across the street rather than wait any longer in the freezing air, she heard raised voices coming from the palace entrance. She glanced from the corner, curious, and saw that three or four men were fighting. Two of them were pulling on a piece of cloth – clearly the reason the fight broke out – while attempting to kick the other, and the others seemed to be either supporting one or trying to appease them both. A crowd was already gathering around. She heard cheers when one of the men successfully punched the other square in the face – she winced sympathetically, having recently experienced a lot of punching herself.
Distracted, she was surprised when she felt a tug on the side of her tattered tunic.
''Come, Nymph. They are distracting the guards now. I will take you somewhere safe.''
It was the boy from before. Clarke glanced back at the fight while she followed the boy quickly to the house on the other side of the street. That was staged? The punch had seemed real.
The boy ushered her inside the house, and she relaxed now that she was out of sight of the guards. She looked around.
There were roughly two rooms, separated by a piece of wall and a curtain. The room she was in had a table and a few chairs, as well as shelves littered with daily objects – bowls, small knives not unlike the one she still had in her makeshift pouch, stones used to light fires. In the other room, she glimpsed at a pile of furs that must serve as a bed.
The boy hurried behind the curtain and came back with furred clothes that he handed to her. She took them gratefully and quickly put them above her own clothing.
''Do you live here?'' She asked in Trigedasleng, and then added as an afterthought. ''I don't even know your name, after all the help you have been to me.''
The boy smiled. Some of his teeth were still growing. He was even younger than she had thought. Seven or eight at the most.
''I am Ponu. I sleep here when I work at the palace for the Sheidcat. The rest of the time, I sleep at the Houm.''
Houm. It meant home in Trigedasleng, but the way the boy said it sounded more like the name of a place than the actual meaning of the word.
''Your parents' house, you mean?'' She asked uncertainly as she accepted the water Ponu handed her.
The young boy shrugged. ''I don't have parents. They were warriors.'' He added proudly. ''The Sheidcat takes care of me.''
''And who is the Sheidcat?''
''It is those who take care of people like me. And when we are big enough, we help as well. Sometimes, they need something from the palace, so I ask for work as a serving boy and I take it for them.'' He explained in a matter-of-fact voice.
That last part sounded really illegal. She hoped this Sheidcat was not taking advantage of this sweet orphan boy. Still, she supposed it was to be expected. She was not sure even Polis had some formal structure dedicated to orphans. And historically, Clarke knew such structures had rarely been a haven for the concerned children.
''Is it true you can heal anything?'' Ponu asked her with starry eyes.
She smiled. This boy had obviously not had an easy life, but he was still a child. In this moment, he reminded her more of Washi, the six-year-old Nightblood, than of Aden.
''I can heal many things.'' She replied in a gentle voice. ''But there are some things that cannot be fully healed.''
She felt a little guilty to deprive him of some of his illusions, but she refused to lie to him – especially if he had a friend in need of healing, and that the problem was beyond her abilities.
''Did you use magic to escape?'' He asked eagerly.
She chuckled. ''Not exactly. But I could not have done it without your knife.''
He smiled brightly, showing his uneven teeth again.
There was a rhythmic knock against the door. Three quick knocks, a pause, then one single knock, another pause and then two final quick knocks. The boy hurried to the door before Clarke could think of a place to hide in the room.
It was an old woman, and the marks of age on her face surprised Clarke. She had met a few old people, of course, but they were not numerous, and often stayed at home where their family took care of them. She had even healed a few, but every time she had either gone to the house herself, or the old person had been accompanied – if not carried – to the hut where she performed her healing. Therefore, it was odd to see an old woman that was clearly walking around on her own. Clarke had soon understood that the life expectancy on the ground was not very high. Most women had their first child before turning twenty, whereas it was more usually around thirty on the Ark. And a person was considered old when she reached forty years old or lived long enough to see grandchildren.
She wondered who this old woman was, but was reassured that she was not in Nia's service when the boy welcomed her eagerly but respectfully.
The woman addressed her in Trigedasleng.
''I am honored to meet you, Healing Nymph. I am happy Ponu managed to help you get out of the Queen's dungeon. Now, I will accompany the two of you to a safer place. The guards will probably search all the houses once they fail to find you inside the palace, and Ponu will probably be suspected of helping you. He is the only non-warrior to have had contact with you, as far as we know.''
The last part sounded almost like a question, and Clarke nodded her head in confirmation. She had not exactly had a lot of visitors.
''Where are you taking us, if you expect the guards to search the city?'' She asked.
''We will hide you for a few days, until things calm down enough to smuggle you out of the city. Then some friends of us will accompany you to Polis, until you are back under Heda's protection.'' The old woman explained.
''Why help me? I doubt Nia will have any mercy if she discovers what you have done. So why take so many risks for me?'' Clarke wondered aloud.
The old woman handed her a hood made of fur. ''Put this on your head, to hide your hair. Don't worry, it will not draw eyes. It is cold now, many people wear such things to protect their ears.'' She added when Clarke opened her mouth in protest.
''No, that's not what I wanted to say.'' She said, shaking her head. ''You did not answer me. Why help me? And who are you, by the way?''
The old woman smiled, showing dark and missing teeth. ''It has been a while since anyone called me by my name. You can call me Gran, as all the children of the Sheidcat do. As for the rest of your questions, they will be answered once we reached the Houm. It is better if we do not stay so close to the Queen's dungeon any longer.''
Clarke frowned. She really wanted to know what exactly this Sheidcat was. And this Houm sounded more and more like some sort of secret headquarters than a common house. Still, she preferred to follow those people rather than be captured by Nia again. She put on the hood and gestured for the old woman to lead the way. Ponu grabbed her hand and whispered.
''If people ask, we are siblings. Your name is Onna.''
She nodded to show that she understood.
''Wait!'' She exclaimed before they crossed the threshold. ''What about the guard who helped me as well? Won't he be in danger?''
The old woman's face darkened. ''Bruin knew what he was risking. If he can get away from the palace before they suspect him, we will help him disappear from the city. If he can't, he will not betray the Sheidcat to the Queen. You have nothing to worry about, Nymph.''
''I worry about his life!'' She objected.
''Bruin is a warrior. He pledged his life to defend others, and chose to defend you. The Spirit will decide if this action will be the last he does in this life before obtaining his reward, or if he has more to accomplish before moving on to his next life.'' The Gran replied simply.
And with that, she pushed Clarke between her shoulder blades and into the street, effectively ending the conversation.
For all her conversations with Lexa, Clarke was still unsure of how reincarnation worked in their beliefs. She knew the Commander was a special case, and lessons on the subtleties of religion had not been a priority. She knew honor and duty must play some role in their reincarnation, but she was not sure how. It was clear, though, that the old woman found the possibility of the warrior's death as a sad but honorable one, and that the expected reward outweighed the pain.
She followed the old woman through the busy streets, holding Ponu's hand and keeping her head covered. They crossed paths with a patrol that respectfully stood aside and nodded as the old woman passed, and Clarke suppressed the urge to tug on her hood.
She noticed that many shopkeepers saluted her guide, making her wonder who exactly Gran was. She was not richly dressed, and her old age made it hard for Clarke to guess her former occupation. Could she have been some war hero? The respect all these people reminded her of the way the inhabitants of Polis behaved with Lexa, on a lesser scale. Given how illegal the Sheidcat sounded, she doubted it was her role in it that had attracted her so much respect.
They walked for a long while, Ponu sometimes pulling her in a nearby street so that they would not be too obvious in their following the old woman. The boy also often stopped to stare at the items on display in the stalls, and Clarke would swear a couple had disappeared in his sleeve. She tried to glare at him in reprimand, but dared not draw attention to herself. Besides, he was helping her at great personal risks. She could not blame him for stealing a few trinkets when he had just broken her out of the Queen's prison.
So instead she resigned herself to the fact that she was being helped by thieves and used this time to observe the city.
It seemed to have suffered a heavier bombing than Polis. She had first been surprised by the devastation behind the Queen's palace, but now realized that destroyed neighborhoods alternated with mostly preserved ones. In those less damaged places, however, the effects of time on concrete was painfully clear.
Heda's Tower, though initially in concrete, had been regularly maintained and consolidated with wood, bricks of stone and some sort of mortar. The outside walls sported a few cracks, but they were fixed from the inside, so the building was actually sturdier than it looked. Lexa had even introduced Raven to one of the groups currently working on maintaining the Tower, hoping the mechanic might find some way to improve or ease their work.
Here, it was obvious that the buildings had not benefited from the same care – except perhaps the Queen's palace. The upper levels were often damaged, and seemed to serve more as partially sheltered storage rooms than as a living space. Other buildings seemed to have been voluntarily destroyed to make space for a home made of wood or stone. Clarke thought that, given the choice, she would probably prefer this second approach. It seemed more reliable than a crumbling, hundred-year-old concrete house with missing floors.
The walls, much like in Polis and in front of the queen's palace, were covered in drawings. She noticed more caricatures of Nia – and a few teens who were grumbling while scrubbing at one in an attempt to erase one of those – as well as patterns similar to the ritual scars of Azgeda warriors. She supposed they served the same purpose of the painted tattoos in Polis: to honor or boast of a powerful warrior born or living in this particular house. Most shopkeepers had also painted the kind of items they sold high on the walls, so that bystanders would be able to spot them over the head of most people.
After a while, she also noticed that a few shops had a small black cat drawn on their wall. It appeared to be mostly decorative, and the cat was rarely obvious amongst the other drawings. But her artistic eye spotted the style of the lines in which it was drawn – sometimes walking, sometimes sitting or curled on top of another drawing – and realized that it must have been drawn by the same person, or at least imitating the touch of a single artist. Moreover, the shopkeepers of these particular stalls put more feeling in their greetings of the old woman, and she replied to them often.
Eventually, they moved away from the busier streets and walked down an alley. Ahead, Clarke could see that the neighborhood was one of those that had been thoroughly destroyed by the bombs. There were no bright clothes or wooden walls to indicate that people had elected to live there. She frowned. The old woman had spoken of hiding her for a few days before leaving the city. A usually deserted place suddenly busier would draw attention.
But Gran walked on until she stopped near a crumbled wall that looked no different from all the others. Ponu released Clarke's hand and gingerly stepped up to the old woman before kneeling on the floor.
Stepping closer, Clarke finally noticed the trapdoor, covered by a thick layer of dust, when the boy pulled it open. The old woman gestured for Clarke to follow and climbed down the hole. The blonde cautiously followed, relieved when she discovered a ladder. She was exhausted, and was happy not to have to jump down.
She was surprised, however, when the trap shut without Ponu joining them.
Gran noticed and explained.
''Ponu will ensure the trap is well-concealed, and then join us through another entrance. This is one of our emergency ways. He will use a more common one.''
''Why couldn't we use that common door?'' She asked, brow furrowed.
The old woman smiled. ''We must protect our Houm. Most people know we exist, and have learned to leave us alone most of the time. Those common passages are in the middle of the city, and any merchant could see us slip through. Usually, they would not bat an eye, but Nia will be really angry to have lost you. I cannot be sure their fear of the Queen will not exceed their… loyalty to the Sheidcat.''
Clarke nodded. ''What they don't know can't hurt them – or you.''
''Quite so. This trapdoor is away from sight, and unknown to all who are not part of the Sheidcat. In fact, the newest members do not know of it either. Ponu only discovered it today.''
''The Sheidcat. You are thieves, aren't you? Some of you at least.'' Clarke said.
She was honestly unsure what to think of it. They were helping her, and orphan boy Ponu as well as other kids. But they were doing so through thievery. Were the children they helped doomed to an illegal life that would end the day they were caught red-handed?
Gran did not look offended, though her voice was stern as she replied.
''We steal, sometimes. But we are first and foremost a family. We take in the children orphaned by Nia's wars or neglect. When they grow old enough, we use our friends and connections to find them apprenticeships if we can. Sometimes, they choose to remain here and take care of the younger children.''
She stood proudly. ''I will have no shame for my actions when I face the Spirit and he decides my next life. We may be criminals in the eyes of Nia's and even Heda's laws. But I value the lives of these children more. It is not their fault clans go to war or winter is harsher than usual. They should not starve to death because of it.''
Clarke nodded. She understood the reasoning. It was not so different from what many of the delinquents had done to end up in the Sky Box – steal food or medicine when the rationing was not enough.
''And why take so much risks to help me, if it is so dangerous for your Houm and family?'' She asked again.
Gran smiled sadly. ''I am old, Healing Nymph. My grandparents saw the end of the world, and their stories of how much damage war can wreak was passed on to me through my father. But resources are few in the cold north, and the southern people did not feel like sharing. So war came again. Because it was that or starving.''
''Now, however, we have peace. Heda has managed to unite all the clans under one banner, and trade is easier. But our nation was built on war, and Nia is… disappointed that her warriors can no longer force our neighbors to give away food. Her greatest asset has no meaning in a time of peace, no matter how much us lesser people benefit from it.''
''Lesser people?'' Clarke interrupted.
The old woman nodded. ''Things here are different here from what they are in Polis. For decades, our subsistence came mostly from the raids of our warriors. Therefore, they are at the top of the hierarchy in Azgeda. They have many privileges. We, on the other hand, are those who provide them with equipment, fashion their weapons, prepare their food.''
''What kind of privileges?'' She asked, surprised.
In Polis, she had understood that people were all equals – only those directly working with Heda had some sort of privileges, and she had never seen them abuse those in public. Anyone could ask for an audience with Heda during the days reserved for public pleas, and Lexa never took their occupation or warrior rank into account when she decided whether or not to grant the request. As far as she knew, being a warrior was an honor, yes, but not necessarily a dreamed and sought after status. Their life expectancy was short, and few had the time to have a family. Therefore, despitecthe fact that all inhabitants in Polis knew how to fight, but few made it an actual career.
''The main one is that we are not allowed to hunt.'' Gran replied. ''But how can one grow enough food to feed a family in these frozen lands? Most of our clan's trade is furs and meat, as well as tools. Warriors are the only ones allowed to hunt, and any kind of poaching is severely punished – by death or just a cut off hand if the officer is feeling generous.''
Clarke shivered. She wondered how aware Lexa was of the internal situation of Azgeda. No doubt that Nia had been careful not to let her enemy know how unstable her power was. But whispers of unrest could have reached Heda's ear.
How many other clans were on the brink of civil war, because their current society simply hadn't adapted to a time of peace and trade? And how could Heda prevent it all? Lexa had insisted that Heda's role was not to replace the clans chiefs, but ensure the well-being of all the people. Part of that task required her to remain separate from the chiefs – a counter-power of sort, so that the people would always have someone to turn to.
But it was clear that peace would not last without some intervention. And Nia was unlikely to wait much longer. She had a brainwashed Natblida and half of her competition for Heda's title had been murdered already.
How many assassins had Lexa faced since the defeat of the Mountain? And Aden?
Gran stopped and turned towards her.
''I hope Heda's Coalition will last, Nymph. Trade makes it easier for us. We have skills that can be useful, and friends that may support us in other clans. Nia will not accept her loss of power without a fight, and Heda is the only one that can oppose her. You may be the key to her victory. Tales of your powers have reached Azgeda, and people are becoming more daring in refusing to bow to the queen or her most arrogant warriors ever since the Coalition first formed. Some warriors are starting to quietly admit that they would support Heda over the queen. Bruin is one of them.''
Clarke nodded, unsure how to answer the old woman. Being seen as a mystical creature still bothered her, but this was somewhat different. Heda, and herself through the Commander, had become a beacon of hope for these people. She had no idea how to accomplish what they needed. Lexa had some sort of long term plan, but Nia was a more immediate and concerning threat right now.
She shook her head, arriving at a conclusion.
''You said you would not be able to smuggle me out of the city for a few more days. Would it be easier if we waited a bit longer?''
Gran seemed surprised.
''Probably, though one can never predict when the best opportunity will appear. But why would you wish to delay your return to Polis?''
Clarke ignored the question.
''And if I write a letter, can you deliver it to Lex… Heda?''
The creased face frowned. ''It is easier to send a piece of paper than a person, but many could be lost if Nia's warriors got hold of it somehow. I would advise you against it if you intend to write down sensitive information.''
Clarke shook her head slowly, mind churning as she searched for an idea. ''I will find some way to make it unreadable by anyone that is not Heda or someone undoubtedly loyal to her.''
Gran rose her eyebrows, though whether it was in doubt or admiration of such a feat Clarke could not tell.
''Well, then, I will send your letter, Nymph.''