Two hands were raised in the back. Garún recognised them: Styrhildur and Hraki. They stood up, blushing when everyone turned to look back at them, looking for a moment like the children Garún had known growing up. They’d smuggled themselves into the city a few years after her. They looked like teenagers, so self-conscious that it was almost painful to look at them.
“When we came into the city,” said Styrhildur in a faint voice, “we didn’t have any money to bribe the guards with. We didn’t know any traders or farmers going in. We had no documents, nothing proving who we were or where we came from. No one would help us.”
Her voice was quiet. Barely more than a whisper. A deep calm had settled over the room, as people held on to her every word. People were unconsciously holding their breath.
“I felt like nothing. Less than nothing. Then Garún and Diljá found us. Kind people helped us get through, so we could live in the city. Have a chance to learn something. Become something. Meet people. Read. See works of art.” She looked down at her feet, flashing a faint smile. “It was everything to me. I don’t want anyone to ever feel like that again.”
In the back, Jónas stood up and spoke out of turn.
“And what will a protest at City Hall do to fix this? We should march down to the gates, make them open them for us! Do a fucking real protest, some real activism! Just holding up signs won’t—”
“Jónas!’
Hrólfur’s voice boomed over the assembly. He didn’t say much during meetings, but he made himself of great use by usually being the one who made sure that some manner of order was upheld.
“Respect the meeting!’
A cluster of raised fists shot up in agreement, including from Garún and Diljá. Jónas sat back down, mumbling some form of apology.
Styrhildur looked a little lost after the interruption. Garún raised her hand and got the word from her. She and her brother sat back down, relieved.
“The city is in charge of traffic through the gates. Kalmar’s army mans its battlements, finances its upkeep – but when it comes to actually getting through the gates, the city, acting as the Directorate, has the final word. The mandatory check for identification, intent of travel, taxes – all of this is issued and controlled by the city. Everyone knows that the Commonwealth are the ones holding the reins, sure, and everything the city is doing is in line with Count Trampe’s agenda for Hrímland. Kalmar has the city and parliament in its pocket.”
She took a moment to look over the crowd. Read their faces. She saw the fire reflected in their eyes. Some of them were burning with ardour, with revolutionary will to change everything. There was anger and fear and doubt – but also hope.
“But we have to decide to start somewhere. We just have to find the right place to push them. The right way to rally people and get them to realise that things don’t have to be like this. We are too few in number for a protest at Lögrétta – a protest outside parliament in Austurvöllur has to have a big crowd to make an effect. Charging through the city gates will just get us shot, or worse – arrested and sent to the Nine.” She set her jaw and caught Jónas’ gaze directly. “At least the ones of us who aren’t human.”
He stared at her, defiant. She hoped he felt some semblance of shame over how much of a fool he was acting.
“We’re not idiots, Jónas. You’re not the only person in the room with at least half a brain – try applying part of it to some empathy or logic.” Some laugher to this, a fluttering of raised fists from smiling faces. “We’ve thought this through. There are armed guards at the gates, easily by the dozens if an alarm goes out. If we put pressure on City Hall, then it might get something moving. We know there are plenty of people from all over the city who aren’t happy with the state of things. Including people in the government. We just have to push them into doing something decent and standing up for the people. To have the courage to fight for change that will benefit everyone – not only humans.”
As she said this the gathering raised their fists and some who couldn’t hold back yelled out their support. She let herself smile. They were behind her. Most of them, at least. This could actually happen. She still needed to get the delýsíð, but she’d take care of that. They agreed with her. They believed in her.
Still …
Still, she couldn’t let herself relax. She had meant everything she’d said, but regardless she had a hard time actually believing much of what she was saying. Reform was not really a part of Garún’s politics. It was better than nothing, sure, but to her it felt like ladling water from a sinking ship. It was just enough to stay afloat, but it didn’t address the real root of the problem. It wasn’t drastic enough to make a difference. She could not find it in herself to truly believe it could make radical and authentic changes in her lifetime. But it had worked for her mother, when she
