Whispering Twilight

by Melissa McShane

  I know, Bess Spoke. It felt like abandonment. Everything will yet be well. I am still in no danger. She could not bear to tell her friend the truth about her situation, not when Clarissa no doubt felt the sting of being forced to leave Bess in captivity. It could wait.

  You are so brave. Hold onto that, and I promise we will retrieve you.

  I know, Bess said again. I must go now, but I will Speak to you again soon.

  She lay curled into a tight ball after the conversation ended, her eyes aching and dry from staring at nothing. As if she had any choice in the matter. She saw only the gaudy colors of the wall opposite, blurred beyond recognition as shapes. It was not as if this changed anything, given that the Seers had been incapable of finding her before. Had she not Spoken with Mr. Quinn, she would most definitely have fallen into despair. As it was, she felt weary, but not dispirited. The Incas still needed her, and so long as they went on believing they needed her, she was safe.

  Supper came, this time with a bowl of light, fluffy morsels that tasted faintly like the golden cakes. They were soft and chewy and delicious, and Bess ate them with pleasure. This time, she asked Quispe, who looked less annoyed than before, to remove the torch, and she lay on her pallet in the darkness and let herself drift. She considered Speaking to Mr. Quinn again, but it was late in England and she decided she had pestered him enough for one day. The image of herself poking at him the way one would tease a cat amused her, and she fell asleep clutching that image close.

  She came out of sleep into darkness and hands shaking her shoulders. She opened her mouth to scream, and one of those hands covered it, choking her. She fought back, bucking and thrashing, and her invisible captor threw himself across her, pinning her down. Terrified, she blasted him with Speech shrill enough to knock him back. He cried out, and Bess, drawing in breath for a real scream, instead let it out in an astonished gasp as she realized her assailant was female.

  “Bess,” Amaya whispered, and followed her name with slurred syllables whose meaning Bess could barely understand, that nevertheless sent a thrill of fear through her:

  Come with me now.

  Chapter 15

  In which an unexpected ally precedes yet another unexpected turn of events

  A hand once more went over Bess’s mouth, but gently this time, a clear request for silence. The woman spoke again, in the barest whisper in Spanish. Bess was confused enough that she did not understand the woman’s words. “¿Cómo?” she whispered behind the hand.

  The woman released her. “Amaya,” she whispered back, as if Bess could not have guessed her identity already. She repeated herself, but her odd accent and the sibilance of her whisper made her once more unintelligible, and Bess needed the glimpses of thought she perceived to understand. Her blood turned icy. Images of jaguar warriors slinking around the plaza, much clearer than anything Bess could see with her natural eyes—bloody teeth and claws—and herself, lying dead in a grassy field from a dozen gory wounds to throat and chest.

  “You mean, they intend to kill me? Ah…¿me destruir? Why?”

  “Sí.” Amaya put her hand under Bess’s shoulder and hauled her to her feet. “Vamos.”

  “Wait.” Bess resisted Amaya’s pull. “Why are you helping me? ¿Por qué ayudar?”

  “Más tarde. Ve ahora,” Amaya whispered, and tugged on Bess’s arm again.

  She let Amaya draw her along, down the short corridors and into the plaza. Though there were no torches, it was slightly brighter than before, and Bess guessed the moon was up and the sky clear. Since she was nine, she had not seen the moon as more than a bright blotch, could not remember seeing the stars at all, and the moon’s illumination helped her very little now. She was grateful for Amaya’s guidance even though she had no idea where the woman was taking her.

  They left the plaza by a different entrance, one Bess had not seen before, that let out on stone steps narrow enough Bess feared tumbling to the base of them. She pulled against Amaya’s grip with both hands, feeling tentatively for each edge with her bare toes. Blackness that smelled of dew-dampened grass surrounded her, but she could feel empty space sucking at her, as if the stairs descended into a void.

  Amaya muttered something under her breath that sounded annoyed. Then Bess choked back a cry as the warrior swept Bess into her arms and trotted away down the steps, faster than could possibly be safe. She flung her arms around Amaya’s neck and closed her useless eyes, hoping the woman had chosen a Shape that would keep them from plummeting to their deaths.

  After what felt like an eternity, Amaya’s gait smoothed out, and Bess dared open her eyes. They told her no more than before: the smeary grayness of a moonlit night and Amaya’s feline visage, her pupils dilated nearly to fill her entire iris, her lips peeled back to reveal her incisors—blunt, not sharpened like Uturunku’s. She showed no sign of putting Bess down, and no sign that her pace and her burden inconvenienced her at all.

  While they were no longer on the stone steps, Bess could tell they were still descending, and fairly steeply. She clutched Amaya’s neck as the woman slid a few paces, but she did not fall, nor did her grip on Bess slacken. The cool smell of sprouting plants carried by the night breezes made Bess wonder if they were passing through cultivated fields. She wished she could see how the Incas managed to grow anything on the steep sides of the mountain.

  All at once Amaya stopped and set Bess down. She took Bess’s face in her hands, which were callused as if from hard labor, and pressed gently with her thumbs on Bess’s eyelids. A tingling, stretching sensation filled Bess’s eyes as if the orbs were swelling. Bess jerked away. “No,” she said, “you cannot, it will not work.” So many times Extraordinary Shapers had attempted to repair her eyesight, only to discover it was beyond them.

  Extraordinary Shapers. Bess gasped. “You are an Extraordinary,” she exclaimed.

  Amaya shushed her and muttered something Bess could not make out beyond the words “see in darkness.” Bess shook her head.

  “No,” she repeated, “ah…yo soy no vista.” She was certain she had got that wrong, but she did not know the Spanish word for “blind.”

  Amaya peered at her closely. She muttered something in her slurred Spanish of which Bess understood only the words “see me.”

  “I can…oh, I do not understand you,” Bess said, despairing.

  Amaya shook her head. She turned and stood as if surveying the path before them, if there was a path. Then she made a fist and clasped her other hand over it, holding both at chest height. Bess could hear her breathing, slow and deep, but had no idea what else she might be doing. Not just a Shaper, but an Extraordinary Shaper. Bess had so many questions she was bursting with them.

  She stood very still, in case she might be a distraction, and listened for the sound of pursuit. She heard nothing but the breeze and the cry of night birds, faint and distant. There was something else at the edge of her perception that might be flowing water, but it was quiet enough she could not even tell from what direction it came.

  She had almost determined to sit on the ground and ease her sore feet when Amaya lowered her hands and let out one final deep breath in a loud grunt. Without a word, she picked Bess up in her arms and continued running. Bess threw her arms around Amaya’s neck to keep her balance. Clarissa, she Spoke, the strangest development has occurred.

  Clarissa did not respond. Bess tried not to feel discouraged about that. It must be early morning in Lisbon, and perhaps Clarissa was not awake. Of her reticulum, only Mrs. Kearsley would have risen at this hour, and Bess was reluctant to disturb her in her duties. But she was so overwhelmed she felt she must tell someone what had happened.

  Mr. Quinn? I apologize for disturbing you—I admit I do not know the time.

  Almost immediately, the reply came: It is gone eight o’clock in the morning here. It must be the middle of the night for you. Is something wrong?

  I have been rescued, or abducted again—I am not certain. Bess told him what had happened and was surprised
at how short a story it was.

  When she was finished, Mr. Quinn said, I am relieved to hear you are unhurt. Now, this Amaya…she is not Incan?

  Not by birth. But she is Incan by upbringing, and is one of their warriors, so I cannot understand why she would act against them to save a foreign woman’s life.

  If she is still running, she intends to put as much distance between yourselves and the Inca city as possible before your escape is detected. I imagine she stopped to alter her body so carrying you would not be exhausting.

  I had not thought of that, but it makes sense.

  Everything else will have to wait until she reaches her destination. But I believe you have cause for hope rather than fear. From what you have told me, your enemies are all in that city, if city it is, and it is unlikely she is taking you to yet another enemy.

  His frank logic calmed Bess. I believe I am currently in more danger of dying of curiosity than at the hand of an enemy. I do not know why they would want me dead when they believe I am negotiating with England on their behalf.

  Mr. Quinn laughed. I admit to curiosity myself. I wish I were capable of eavesdropping on your upcoming conversation.

  Bess almost said I know how you might do so before remembering that mind reading was a secret. It astonished her that she had become so comfortable sharing her secrets with this mysterious man. I promise to tell you everything I learn, she said instead. It is the strangest sensation, being carried like an infant across the moonlit mountains of Peru.

  You have the soul of a poet, Miss Hanley. What might you compare the full moon to?

  That would be difficult, as I cannot see the moon clearly. It is one of my great sorrows.

  Of course. I should have realized. You bear your burden with such grace it shames me to think of the small difficulties I complain about.

  Bess smiled. And what are those?

  Oh…a valet who fails to black my boots correctly, or a poorly cooked chicken, or a crowd when I wish to ride my horse in the Park.

  She tried to think which of her three candidates might make such a list, and could not eliminate any of them. You are wrong, she said teasingly. Those are dreadful hardships. I myself detest a poorly cooked chicken.

  And I imagine you also detest pity. Trust me, Miss Hanley, I respect you more than any other woman of my acquaintance.

  His frankness warmed her cheeks. Thank you, Mr. Quinn. I have never felt that you pitied me.

  Now I regret I must leave you. Business calls.

  Take care, Mr. Quinn, or I will piece together your identity from the little clues you drop.

  Miss Hanley, if ever you work out my true name, I will admit to it without demurral.

  When the sharp twinge of their terminated connection had passed, Bess looked up at where the glowing, fuzzy blotch of the moon sailed high in the sky above. She had loved the night as a child, had spent hours on the nursery window seat gazing up at the stars or watching for night birds crossing the sky. Now it was nothing but a reminder of her disability.

  Walking in the garden at night was impossible; she felt like a child’s toy ship trapped in a bath, circling within pools of light and depending on others to convey her from one pool to another. Or, as now, to be carried like an infant because she could not run without falling over unseen obstacles that anyone else might perceive. Such thoughts made her melancholy when she permitted them to. Now they simply frustrated her. It was no comfort that even a fully-sighted person could likely not have kept up Amaya’s pace unless she, too, were a Shaper.

  She brought her gaze down from the heavens to examine Amaya’s profile. Bess had no idea how long it had taken her to reshape her jaw to resemble a cat’s muzzle. She did know it was possible for Shapers to suppress their hair’s growth, but she might only shave her head every day to maintain her baldness. Bess recalled the bony claws she had seen in reading Sapa Inca’s mind and looked at the woman’s hands, but she could not see them because they were tucked around Bess’s body. If the jaguar warriors let the bones of their fingertips extend past their skin…no, that struck Bess as implausible and highly messy. But she knew almost nothing of the jaguar warriors and how they might be different from other Shapers.

  She already knew one difference, which was that European Shapers, except for the Extraordinaries, used their Shaping almost exclusively to improve their appearance. Though hair and eye color could not be Shaped, everything else could be, and European Shapers were without exception beautiful or handsome, the peak of human perfection. That was not something she had observed of the jaguar warriors, which suggested they had different priorities.

  Her body ached from the jostling of Amaya’s pace, she was weary beyond measure, and the night breeze chilled her more than she might have expected, given the general warmth of the region. Despite the awkwardness of her position and the jostling pace, Bess found herself nodding off, not into full sleep but into a dreamlike, floating semi-consciousness. At times she felt she was observing them from outside her body, and in that state wondered if this was how Seers Dreamed.

  She lost track of time entirely, but it felt as if only minutes had passed when Amaya came to a stop and set Bess down. Bess staggered, and Amaya caught her by the elbow to steady her. “Where…¿dónde está?” she asked, and immediately felt foolish, because it was not as if the answer would mean anything to her.

  Amaya tugged on Bess’s arm. Bess realized she could see Amaya more clearly, and that her surroundings were not so invisible as they had been before. Dawn was coming. She followed Amaya across rough ground prickly with dry grasses that grew in patchy clumps across the hillside. The slope was not steep, but Bess’s calves tightened to keep her upright as they ascended.

  Then her feet touched cool stone, and shapes loomed up before her, angular and stark against the lightening sky. Amaya said something rapid Bess could not make out and disappeared between two of the shapes. Bess put her hand out and again felt stone. It reminded her of the walls of her room in the Inca city, the irregularly-shaped stones fitted tightly together with gaps too thin even for Bess to fit her nails between them. She took a few more steps forward into darkness.

  “Ven aca,” Amaya said from within the darkness. The space was small and cramped, and Bess’s chest tightened with fear. She flung her hands out before her and fumbled toward Amaya’s voice, telling herself You will not be crushed, you are perfectly safe!

  A hand took hers and guided her forward. Amaya said something of which Bess caught only “sit here.” She collapsed gracelessly onto hard-packed earth, not stone, and made herself breathe slowly. She caught a glimpse of running water from Amaya’s thoughts just before Amaya said something that included the word agua. It seemed to be an instruction for Bess to wait while she fetched water.

  “Wait,” Bess said, clutching Amaya’s hand. “What is this place? ¿Dónde está?” What she wanted to know was what kind of building this was, whether it was an abandoned settlement or something even older, but she did not know how to express herself more clearly.

  Amaya squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Más tarde,” she said, and vanished out the door, which Bess perceived as a lighter rectangle against the blackness.

  Bess closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. The smell of stone, damp with morning dew, filled the air. She heard nothing, not the cries of birds nor the rush of the water she had perceived from Amaya. Between that, and her painful awareness of the stones closing in around her, Bess had the sudden wild feeling that she had been interred. She once more had to control her breathing. If she was in danger, it was surely not from this quiet, abandoned stone building.

  The temptation to Speak to someone, to lessen her feeling of being lost and alone, was great. However, she still did not know where she was, nor why Amaya had taken her out of the city under cover of night, and she was reluctant to Speak to anyone when she could not relay that information. So she breathed, focusing her attention on her body piece by piece: her legs crossed beneath her, her feet aching with sore
ness, her posterior cold from contact with the hard ground, her hands resting loosely on her knees. By the time she heard someone returning, she was as calm as her situation would allow.

  Amaya entered the room and knelt before Bess. “Agua,” she said, taking Bess’s hand and wrapping it around the mouth of something warm and pliant that sloshed. She guided it to Bess’s mouth, and Bess found an opening that tasted deliciously of fresh water.

  She swallowed, gulping down water until her stomach, which had begun to protest hunger, was satisfied. Then she handed it back to Amaya, saying, “Gracias.”

  Amaya made a little grunt as if acknowledging Bess’s thanks. Then she spoke at length, slowly, but still with that difficult to understand accent. Bess listened closely. “My life…was in danger,” she said. She could hardly say she had seen that already in Amaya’s thoughts. “Mi vida en peligro.”

  The light had grown enough that Bess could see Amaya nod her head. “¿Por qué?” Bess asked. Again, she could think of no reason the Incas might want her dead.

  Amaya’s brows knitted together in thought. She muttered to herself, quietly enough that Bess could not tell what language she spoke, but she had the air of someone worrying over her thoughts. Finally, she said, slowly, “Conoce los pensamientos de Sapa Inca. Tú eres peligroso.”

  Pensamientos. The thoughts of Sapa Inca. “But—” How had Sapa Inca discovered she could read minds? That was not something Achik would have given away, and she did not believe anyone else knew the truth. “How did he—that is, ¿Cómo él sabe?”

  Amaya shrugged and said something lengthy in her slurred Spanish accent that Bess could barely make out. “I do not understand,” Bess said. “Why would Quispe know? And why would he listen to her? Quispe es el servador.”

  Amaya’s eyes widened, and she let out a short, harsh laugh. “Quispe es la madre de Sapa Inca,” she said.