CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Libanbwe, the underground city.
They arrived in a town that seemed more forsaken than forgotten, a place where dust clung to the air like an old curse. Hand in hand, their fingers laced in weary solidarity, they pressed forward. Blade took one sweeping glance at the settlement and deemed it adequate—at least for now.
Though she uttered no complaints, he could see exhaustion written in the slump of her shoulders, in the way her parched lips barely parted, in the tattered edges of her dress and the scuffed soles of her shoes. Even the cool evening air couldn’t mask the frailty in her steps.
He could have kept going—his endurance had been sharpened by necessity—but she was not built for the same trials. He had to slow down.
With a gentle nudge, he prompted her to look up. Her eyes, dulled with fatigue, met his in silent surrender.
“Can you still walk?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
She didn’t respond, only stared at him as though his words were foreign sounds. A second longer, and she would collapse.
Without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder.
“Water,” she rasped, her throat so dry it must have felt like sandpaper against itself.
“Hold on. We’re almost there,” he murmured, steadying his grip as she gave the faintest nod of trust.
The town swallowed them whole, the dim glow of streetlights their only guide. But something was wrong. The streets were eerily silent, devoid of life—even the flies had abandoned this place. It wasn’t late, barely six in the evening, yet the houses were dark, their windows like hollow, watching eyes.
Then, at the very end of the road, a beacon—a lone house radiating slivers of light through its cracked shutters.
Blade’s steps quickened, though he took care not to jostle Lenora. Her tiny arm had curled instinctively around his neck, her heartbeat a fragile rhythm against his chest.
As he drew closer, he realized the building was a tavern. From the outside, it appeared as deserted as the rest of the town, but muffled voices and the shuffle of movement whispered from within.
The neon sign flickered above the entrance, forcing him to duck slightly as he stepped inside.
The first door gave way easily, but the second—a relic of neglect—groaned against rusted hinges before crashing open with a resounding thud.
A spiral staircase descended into the unknown, the steady pulse of a music box beating in sync with his own. Step by step, he descended, the air growing thick with heat, liquor, and the pungent scent of bodies crammed too close together.
When he reached the bottom, the tavern exploded into a cacophony of life. Laughter, crude and unchecked, tangled with the slurred shouts of the inebriated. The thick musk of sweat and stale alcohol clung to the air like an oppressive fog.
Blade maneuvered through the crowd, his presence carving a silent path. Strippers, gamblers, and half-conscious men blinked at him, some wary, others merely curious. They recognized his kind—not a local, but someone to be avoided. His stature alone ensured that even the tallest among them had to look up.
At last, he found an open seat at the bar, positioned near a small window. Carefully, he turned Lenora so she faced the fresh air, sparing her the suffocating atmosphere of the room.
Behind the counter, a bartender moved with practiced efficiency. A man of average height, clad in jeans and a loose orange shirt that bore the words I Just Want to Be Free, he poured drinks with one hand while mixing cocktails with the other, barely sparing a glance at the newcomer.
Then, without warning, a heavy thump echoed on the counter, followed by the sharp splash of liquid.
“You’re not from around here,” the bartender remarked, his tight curls hanging into his eyes as he leaned against the counter, resting his head on one hand.
Blade said nothing, merely scanned the man with a measured glance.
“This isn’t a place for a doting father and his child,” the bartender mused, his gaze unwavering. “So, are you looking for someone, or just passing through?”
Blade remained silent.
“Do you need a place to crash for the night?”
“Why do you care?” Blade’s tone was edged with suspicion, his irritation evident.
“You look like you need one.”
The reminder of Lenora’s fragile state tempered his instincts. Whatever decision he made now affected them both.
“Is there a place?” Blade asked at last.
“You can stay at mine,” the bartender offered casually. “You’re running on fumes, and she’s barely holding on.”
Blade hesitated, then inclined his head in silent acceptance.
The bartender turned, catching the eye of a woman in the crowd. She approached with the exaggerated sway of someone who knew they were being watched, snapping her gum as she reached the counter.
“What?” she drawled.
“Cover for me,” the bartender requested.
“What’s in it for me?” she shot back, blowing another bubble before popping it with a practiced flick of her tongue.
“You owe me three favors. This is the second,” he reminded her, his voice laced with amusement.
She rolled her eyes. “Be back before dawn.”
With that, the bartender led Blade through the thick haze of alcohol and sweat, dodging drunken sways and sidestepping half-hearted protests as they pushed through the crowd.
Then, as they stepped outside, the world changed.
The true city lay beneath the surface, a bustling, underground haven untouched by daylight. Market stalls lined the streets, vendors peddling their wares to eager buyers. Voices overlapped, the air alive with bargaining and chatter.
Blade had read about this place—Libambwe, the city that never saw the sun.
“Is this—?” he began, but his words were lost in the crowd. The bartender walked ahead without answering, only glancing back occasionally to ensure Blade followed.
They veered into an alley, where a single, unassuming door stood at its end.
Inside, the room was small but clean—two single beds, a narrow window, and little else.
The bartender moved to take Lenora from Blade’s arms, but the assassin’s reflexes were quicker. His hand shot out, seizing the man’s wrist.
“I’m not taking her,” the bartender said evenly. “Just trying to help.”
Blade held his gaze for a moment, then released him. “Then get water.”
The bartender sighed but complied, returning moments later with a dented aluminum cup. Blade took Lenora in his arms and carefully pressed the rim to her lips, ensuring she drank without spilling.
The bartender perched on the edge of the opposite bed. “Name’s Frizzy. Got the name because of my hair.”
Blade offered no response, focused solely on Lenora.
“How long you staying?” Frizzy asked. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can find another place.”
No answer.
Frizzy tried again. “Are you headed home, or running from it?”
Again, silence.
“I see you don’t like prying questions,” Frizzy mused.
Blade finally spoke. “I’m more curious why you’d bring a complete stranger into your home.”
Frizzy grinned. “You don’t strike me as someone used to kindness.”
“You don’t strike me as someone reckless enough to trust an unknown man,” Blade countered.
Frizzy shrugged. “I have a sister who went to the city. I figure… if I show kindness to strangers, maybe someone out there will do the same for her.”
Blade considered him for a long moment, then exhaled, allowing the tension in his shoulders to ease—just slightly.
Blade clicked his tongue three times, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. He hadn’t thought such naivety still existed.
“This is her room. Stay as long as you need,” Frizzy said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll be on the other side of the alley. Call me if you need anything.”
Blade inclined his head. “I appreciate it. Sorry for being a burden.”
Frizzy waved it off. “It’s no trouble.”
After a brief pause, Blade glanced at their ragged clothes and asked, “Do you have any spare outfits? Just two sets—for the girl and me. Ours are worn thin.”
“I was about to get some for you,” Frizzy replied. “Take a bath and rest. I’ll be back soon.”
He turned to leave, but before he stepped out, Blade called after him. “Frizzy, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Something’s been bothering me. On my way back, I noticed the village was eerily quiet—like a ghost town. Why’s that?”
Frizzy hesitated, then sighed. “Everyone here works in the gold mines. The women gather the gold and deal with traders in secret. No one’s supposed to be seen outside. That’s why the village looks abandoned.”
Blade frowned. “So why have houses up there if no one lives in them?”
“We do live up there—eventually. It’s our retirement. Everyone works until they’re sixty. Once you hit that age, you move aboveground. The only exception is if a grandparent insists on raising you early. It’s tradition.”
Blade scoffed. “Strange tradition.”
Frizzy gave a half-smile. “You wouldn’t be the first outsider to say that.”
“So you’ve never wanted to leave? To live up there before sixty?”
“Of course I have,” Frizzy admitted, “but I need money first, don’t I?”
Blade studied him for a moment but said nothing.
“Get some rest,” Frizzy murmured. “I’ll be back soon.” With that, he disappeared through the door.
_______________________________✍
Frizzy returned with a plastic bag of food in one hand and clothes in the other.
Inside, the room was steeped in quiet. Blade was fast asleep, and Lenora, curled up beside him, breathed softly in slumber.
For a moment, Frizzy just stood there. The sight of the little girl tugged at something buried deep—memories of his own sister, gone too soon. She had been only five when the city swallowed them both whole, leaving him to fend for himself. No one had helped them, just as no one had helped these two.
He exhaled heavily and set the clothes and food on the small wooden table before slipping out, closing the door behind him with careful finality.
The moment the latch clicked shut, Blade’s eyes snapped open.
Silent as a shadow, he rose and strode toward the table, inspecting what had been left behind.
Frizzy seemed decent enough. But Blade had long since learned—trust was a currency too costly to spend on a stranger.