The Pledge (25 page)

“Wake up.” I spoke as quietly as I could, leaning close to her ear. I shook her gently.

I felt bad waking her after so little sleep, but we needed to leave. I needed to go in search of our parents, and after everything Xander had confided—his suspicions about who we were—I was certain he would try to stop me if he knew what I planned.

Her sleepy eyes blinked up at me.

“You have to get up. We’re leaving,” I explained, slipping her jacket over her shoulders and tucking Muffin into the inner pocket.

She took my hand without hesitation and we crept from the chamber, careful not to disturb Sydney, who slept more soundly now. I was grateful that the woman who had been positioned at the door the day before was no longer standing guard over us.

It was easy for us to blend into the ceaseless activity in this city below the streets; no one paid any notice to the two of us as we moved quietly among them. Angelina kept pace with
me despite the weariness that was apparent in the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her pale skin hid nothing from me.

I scanned the walls again—just as I had before retiring to our chamber for the night—looking for possible exit points. In my head, I’d mapped out several promising options. The people who lived down here seemed to come and go freely, and I could see no shortage of tunnels and doorways leading to the world above.

What I wasn’t as sure of was whether we would draw more attention using any particular route. Attention was something that Angelina and I needed to avoid at the moment.

I pulled Angelina out of the way, our backs pressed to the wall, as we watched three drunken men staggering toward us from one of the darkened passageways. They were loud and unruly, clinging to one another as they stumbled over their own feet and then laughed at their missteps. I kept my eyes lowered, relieved that we didn’t earn so much as a second glance from any one of them. I was certain they had just come from above ground.

I dragged my sister in the direction from which they’d come.

Once we were away from the ever-present gas lamps of the main chambers, the channel we stepped through grew darker and narrower. From somewhere up ahead, I could hear the constant sound of water dripping. The fetid smell that assaulted us made me wonder if we were traversing some sort of sewage line. Angelina squeezed my fingers tightly, although whether she was afraid of the dark or repulsed by the odor, I couldn’t be certain.

“I’m here,” I assured her, taking each step cautiously, feeling
my way with my toes. With my free hand, I brushed my fingertips along the wall, which was slick in places, making my stomach recoil even when my fingers could not.

Every step felt dangerously uncertain.

We walked like that for over seventy paces, the entire time listening for any sounds that we were being followed, until at last, a splinter of light fractured the near-total blackness. But it was enough, and I could see a set of crude steps that led up to a fissure in the ceiling above us. I wasn’t sure where the opening would lead, but it seemed our best chance for escape.

I thought I should go first, just in case, but I knew Angelina would never allow me to leave her alone in the sewers, so I pushed her ahead of me. “I’m right behind you,” I vowed.

She scrambled up quickly, faster than I could manage, and she disappeared through the gap before I could insist that she wait for me. I was less steady on the uneven steps, and I released a relieved breath when I finally surfaced on the other side.

Angelina was already reaching for me.

“I’m not sure where we are.” I looked around. “I don’t recognize anything.”

The area we found ourselves in was more industrial than residential, with large darkened warehouses and storage depots. I couldn’t see any of the destruction from the bombs in this section of town, so I assumed that there were no military facilities nearby. The crevice we’d emerged through was just that, a crack in the ground, but thankfully there was no one around to witness our emergence from the opening.

I had no real grasp of time, other than that it was late, which
was confirmed by the curtain of night that surrounded us. I didn’t know if it was before or after curfew, so we’d need to be cautious. I had to assume the worst, that the sirens had already sounded and that we were breaking the law by being out here.

The first thing I was aware of was that electricity had been restored and that streetlamps glowed brightly in the night. I figured our best bet was to just choose a direction . . . eventually
something
had to be familiar.

Angelina was tired, and I would have carried her, but I was afraid she would fall asleep in my arms, and then I’d be unable to put her down again. For now, it was better that she walked.

After a while, we began to see wholesale markets and retail shops, places that, had it been daylight, would have been open for commerce. I knew when we saw people in front of a small café that we were safe to be out. The café was loud, teeming with activity.

I heard the familiar intonations of Parshon among them, and I realized that we must be near the west side of the city. These were
my
people.

No matter what Xander said.

When we rounded the corner, I got my first glimpse of the devastation caused by Xander’s bombs; almost an entire city block had been annihilated. The acrid scent of smoke crept far beyond the perimeter of the damage, while black plumes still smoldered, climbing toward the night sky. I silently prayed that no one had been wounded—or worse—in these explosions.

Soldiers and guards, their blue and green uniforms now covered in soot, worked to clear away the rubble. I knew
it would be faster if we navigated through the debris, but instead I tugged Angelina’s hand, signaling her to keep pace with me. I didn’t want to take the chance that the military men might notice us, so we cut left, taking the long way around the wreckage.

When we reached the other side of the decimated block, I had my first real dawning of recognition.

We were near the restaurant now—
our
restaurant—in the alleyways that ran behind the marketplace.

After a wrong turn, we finally found ourselves standing in the central square. I almost never came there, but I knew the place immediately, and I dragged Angelina close to me, wrapping my arm around her head to shield her eyes. I didn’t want her to see the place where men, women, and children were regularly executed, even though
I
couldn’t stop staring at the simply constructed scaffolding of the gallows. The hangman’s noose dangled limply, lifelessly.

“Just a little longer,” I promised once we were past it, recognizing that her steps were growing sluggish. “We’re almost there.”

Angelina said nothing in return.

As we approached the plate-glass window of our parents’ restaurant, I squeezed my sister’s hand. We could see only darkness inside, not even a flicker of light to ignite my hope that they might be in there. There was no point stopping.

I struggled to contain my emotions so that Angelina wouldn’t see my disappointment. What had I expected? I didn’t believe Brook had lied about searching the restaurant. Still, I couldn’t just give up.

We moved faster now, spurred by the fact that we were so close to our home. When I felt Angelina faltering beside me, I reached down and gathered her into my arms, finally letting her collapse against me.

There were other destroyed buildings, damage that blemished the landscape of the city, but I couldn’t take the time to reflect on those things now.

When we reached our street, anticipation made my heart stutter.

I slowed down, my pace hesitant now. I took in every tiny detail. Everything appeared so normal, practically unscathed by the violence that had rocked the city just the night before. It felt like a lifetime had passed since my parents had pushed my sister and me into the battle-scarred streets.

Ahead of us, our house stood silent and still, cloaked in total blackness.

Despair snaked around me, squeezing until I thought my lungs might collapse. At the front step, I set Angelina on the ground once more and tried the door.

Unlocked
.

My parents had never left the door unlocked before.

I eased it inward, the creaking of hinges heralding our arrival. I kept Angelina behind my legs, not certain from what I was protecting her, as my throat tightened.

As vendors, our home had never been fitted for electric lights; they were a luxury well beyond my family’s earnings, so I fumbled inside the door for the lamp that was always there. But this time it wasn’t, and neither was the table it usually sat upon.

Choking on my own fear became an entirely real possibility.

“Stay here,” I ordered softly. But Angelina held tighter, stepping when I did, refusing to peel away from me.

I blinked hard, trying to adjust to the absence of light within the walls of my own home. When I stepped again, glass crunched beneath my foot, and Angelina’s grip grew desperate.

Every step I took over the debris was loud, and inwardly I recoiled from the noise I was making.

I groped in the blackness with my hands, searching aimlessly. I jolted when I bumped into the bulky wooden dining table where we ate our meals, but at least now I had a landmark.

My fingers explored its scarred surface, feeling the familiar blemishes that had always been there, and then relief blossomed when they brushed against the candle, exactly where it should be at the table’s center. I edged around the table, carrying the candle with me to the sideboard and fumbling through the drawer for the matches I knew I’d find.

That pale flame was more beautiful than any sunset I’d ever witnessed. I sighed heavily at the sight of it.

The light gave me the courage I’d needed to try my voice for the first time since crossing the threshold. It only seemed natural to call out for my parents in the language they preferred. I turned in a circle, Angelina still clinging to me as I searched the room. “
Mom! Dad—
”

The words had barely reached my tongue before I sucked them back down my throat.

My house—
our house
—couldn’t have been more damaged had one of the bombs found its way inside. But I knew that wasn’t the case. The walls were still standing, still sturdy.

Angelina’s fingers pinched my hand.

“I don’t know . . . ,” I answered on a silent breath.

I scanned every corner with my eyes, every place the light could reach, hoping we were all alone, that whoever had done
this
to our house had already gone.

I knew now, without a doubt, that my parents weren’t here. That something had forced them away.

The broken lamp beside the door was only the beginning; our home had been ransacked. Furniture was upended. Cushions had been sliced apart and were bleeding stuffing onto the floor. Books and photographs looked as if they’d been blown haphazardly by heavy winds, and, in some places, even the floorboards had been ripped from their joists.

For what purpose, I had no idea.

My first instinct was to flee, to take Angelina away from here, in case those responsible returned. But this was our home, and we had no place else to go. At least not until I had some answers.

And I was desperate to find out what had happened to my parents.

Angelina was sleeping on the sofa that I’d pieced back together, replacing the cushions and as much of the stuffing as I could. I didn’t want her in our bed; it was too far from where I worked to restore some semblance of order, repairing some of the damage that had been inflicted on our home. And she hadn’t argued; she’d simply curled into a ball, yawning hard and loud, and allowed me to cover her with a quilt
to keep her warm. I doubted she wanted to be too far from me, either.

I did my best to put furniture back in its proper place, and then swept away the shards of broken lamp from the entry before gathering papers and books and photographs from the floors. Most of the things I picked up were familiar items, part of our household: written recipes, childhood storybooks that my father had read aloud, first to me as a girl and then to Angelina, and the small pile of family photographs that my parents had been able to afford on our modest budget.

But there were other items as well, things that were less recognizable. A carved box lay in pieces beside a hole in the floorboards, and I knew that I’d never seen it before. There were documents, many of which looked old—older than my parents’ generation—and the papers they were printed on were brittle and curling at the edges, the ink fading with age. I flipped through them but could see nothing significant in their contents. Antiquated land deeds, legal rulings, and personal correspondences, mostly dating from before the Revolution of Sovereigns. But among them were portraits that I didn’t recognize, fading as well. Old, but beautiful. And strangely haunting.

I sat on my knees as I sifted through them, tracing my fingers over the faces that stared back at me.

I knew these people—these strangers. Men, women, children. I recognized their posture, their expressions, their features.