At dawn on the twelfth day of his journey, the border gate came into sight and excitement stirred in him. The carriages lined up to be examined. The gate was a large iron obstruction with no doors. It had been built for show, not function. There were no fences, but patrols rode in strict lines for miles where people might cross. When the borders first closed, some Dhaulenians tried to sneak across, because they offered better jobs in Vatolokít, but those who ran were arrested. Since then, security had become tighter and less forgiving.
As they neared, he caught sight of a pistol hanging at the side of a patrolwoman. She stood beside a man who examined everyone’s documents.
Not examined, scrutinized.
Sweat broke out across Tahki’s forehead. Did he look too Dhaulenian? Would his bronze skin give him away? He tried to remember if they still utilized the death penalty in Vatolokít and then wondered if he should run. He sat between an obese woman and a sleeping man. He might be able to push the man aside and get out the door, but how far could he go? Mountains surrounded them. He’d be lost or caught for sure.
When the carriage pulled up to the checkpoint, all the passengers handed over their documents. Tahki fumbled with his small blue paper, hesitated, then passed it over. He mouthed a silent mantra as the guard checked them. For the first time in ten years, Tahki prayed to the gods. He promised to never use foul language, to be kind to his brother and father, to meditate daily, to stop eating bull meat.
The man at the gate paused on his passport certificate. Tahki glanced at the door. Two patrol officers stood a few meters away. They could easily shoot him if he ran. He rubbed his wrist with shaky hands and made the gods more empty promises.
Finally, the man shoved the documents back inside the carriage and flagged them through. Tahki released a breath and let his head fall between his knees. The other passengers probably thought he was sick, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was that his plan had worked. He’d made it into Vatolokít all on his own.
He wondered what his father would think of him now.
TWO HOURS later, when volcanic rock turned to tundra and tundra turned into green hills, Tahki saw the blue gleam of the capitol building spire. It appeared suddenly on the horizon, dodging in and out of sight as they dipped down each hill, until the carriage came to a stop in a field just outside the city.
Tahki pushed out of the carriage and into the chill morning air. His nose filled with an earthy musk. The morning dew made his skin tingle. He took a deep breath and let the damp air fill his lungs. He didn’t know greens could look so green. The mountainous hills, the aspen and maple trees, the fields of grass that came to his knees, all flourished before him. He felt like he’d drifted into a dream.
A woman bumped his arm as she lumbered by, and he remembered only a few hours remained to register for the competitions. All the passengers had gone. He waited for his bags to be fetched, but no one brought them. The carriage driver left the storage trunk open. Tahki hadn’t ridden first class, so of course no one catered to him. He’d have to manage simple tasks on his own if he wanted to pass for a commoner.
He gathered his overstuffed leather bag, swung it over his shoulder, and then faced the street ahead. The citadel was the first thing his eyes settled on when he walked beneath the city gates. It looked exactly how he’d pictured in his mind, towering above everything. The blue spiral of the Innovation Hall glinted in the sun. Beyond the Innovation Hall lay the Calaridian Sea. Tahki could see the harbor to the left of the bazaar. Blue sails flecked the horizon, and white birds took flight. He didn’t have any interest in seeing the ocean up close, but he couldn’t wait to get a better look at the citadel. Other architects like him had stood in those halls and risen to greatness.
And now it was his turn.
The road mazed upward for a mile. Tahki had brought a map, but it was ten years out of date. He straightened his back and raised his head. He wanted to make himself look taller, more confident, like he knew where he was going. Everyone else seemed to know, and he didn’t want to look like a confused foreigner. He meant to make a good impression on everyone who laid eyes on him.
He set off, jogging lightly behind a group of heavyset women and men with thick furs on their backs, and tried to ignore the cramps in his legs. He walked beneath an arcade built off to the side of the road. The design was genius. Pedestrians didn’t have to negotiate the roads along with carts and carriages. They had their own separate walkway. Dhaulen’aii would never think to construct something like that.
Tahki felt dazed. He couldn’t take in the sights fast enough. He passed an amphitheater that had been converted into a bazaar. He’d never seen so many different skin tones together in one place. He could identify eastern and northern clothing easy enough, but some travelers wore strange shawls over their shoulders, or pointy wooden shoes, or tall black hats as shiny as a beetle’s back, and he wondered where they’d traveled from. The scent of damp leather and roasted pork
