by Sarah Wynde
He was by far the nicer brother, anyway.
“It wasn’t hard,” she said.
“Was it not?” Luke asked. “I long for every detail.”
“Luken,” Kaio interrupted them. “You understand the rules?”
Luke clapped a hand over his heart. “I shall keep her safe with my very life.”
“Let it not come to that,” Kaio said. “Within the warm embrace of Syl Var, your task is to keep her away from the Val Kyr. Ah, and two others. She must learn to swim.”
“Indeed, yes,” Luke said. “As soon as may be.”
“And teach her to fly the gliders.”
“Truly?” Luken’s surprise looked genuine.
Fen wondered what it meant. Didn’t everyone learn how to fly? She couldn’t imagine seeing the gliders overhead and not yearning to use one—not after her first flight, anyway.
“Her wish,” Kaio said, his hands opening wide. “I must be off.”
He bowed to Fen, this time a deep, gracious sweep. And then he looked at both of them and said with a grin, “Have fun, children.”
Flying High
“It’s cold,” Fen complained, standing knee-deep in the stream Luke had chosen for her first swimming lesson. Her skin tingled where the water touched it, her feet quickly numbing against the sandy bottom.
“Had you told me that you were unable to swim on Caye Laje, I could have taught you in the shallows by the beach.” Luke made a face, adding, “That water is almost too warm to bear.”
“Don’t you have any heated pools?” Fen asked, not moving. The tree-lined stream was pretty and private, two points in its favor, but the ground sloped so much that in a few more steps the frigid water would be frosting her entire body.
Luke spread his hands. “I could use the magic to make heat. ’Tis why that Val Kyr dropped his weapon when first we met. But should I heat this stream the energy and nanomites would be quickly wasted when the water flows out of the dome.”
Fen blinked in surprise. “You heated up his gun?”
“Indeed.” Luke’s grin was wry. “I should perhaps have picked it up rather than leave it lie, but I did not envision his return.”
“Live and learn.”
“Aye.” Luke nodded and his smile turned cajoling. “But come, Fen, you must swim. This water will soon seem comfortable. The ocean outside the city is much colder.”
Fen shivered at the thought. “Brr.”
“Isn’t it invigorating? Don’t you feel energized?” Luke’s eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed.
“No,” she grumbled as something brushed against her leg. Shit, was that a fish flashing by her toes? “Are there fish in here?” Her voice squeaked.
“Of course.” Luke took her hand to tug her deeper. “They come in from the ocean and then go out again. Little ones, anyway. The bigger ones don’t fit through the locks.”
Fen set her teeth. She did not want to do this. She pulled back against his grip. “Look, I’m probably not going to be here for long. Back in Chicago, I don’t need to know how to swim. How about we skip this and play on the gliders instead?”
“’Tis for your safety,” Luke told her, his hand tightening on hers. “Water flows everywhere in Syl Var. Should you trip and stumble into a canal, would you not prefer to save yourself rather than rely on a passerby to rescue you?”
“You’re supposed to be my bodyguard while I’m here,” Fen said. “You’ll be able to pull me out.”
Luke’s resolve didn’t waver. “There are other possibilities.”
“Such as?” Fen wasn’t moving. Her knees were numb.
“Does it matter?”
“Freezing to death is kind of a problem, too, you know.”
“You won’t freeze. This water temperature is perfectly safe.”
“For human beings?” Fen was unconvinced.
“Of course. It’ll be fine once you get used to it. And you must learn to swim, Fen. Emergencies happen when they are least expected.”
Fen didn’t move. “What sort of emergencies?”
Luke grimaced. He glanced around them as if looking for listening ears. “Few discuss this,” he said with reluctance.
“Secrets?”
“No, no,” Luke said hastily. “Not a subject for polite conversation, that’s all. Never mentioned in company. Not spoken of before children. But there are six refuges for the Sia Mara. Once there were seven.”
Fen swallowed hard and glanced at the sky, still shaded the blue of twilight. It couldn’t possibly be real. “I heard about that, but Library Level One didn’t have any details.”
“Level One is, in your terms, for students, learners. Not advanced. But you may know this. In your year of 1815, the mages of the seventh refuge lost control of the geothermal energies that sustained their city, precipitating a volcanic eruption at Mount Tambora. We believe that water breached their dome.”
“Believe?”
“None survived to tell the tale.”
Fen gave an involuntary shiver and not from the cold. She understood why the Sia Marans didn’t talk about it. The thought made her feel claustrophobic, oppressed by the weight of the water above them. “What good did knowing how to swim do them, then?”
“Some should have lived. Reaching the surface was not impossible.”
“Why didn’t they?”
“The Sia Mara do not act in haste,” Luke said. “Wai Pa would have responded slowly. Buildings would have been damaged, people trapped. By the time they realized the gravity of the situation, that it was survival of the fittest and they must abandon those unable to escape, it must have been too late. For all of them.”
What a bleak thought. Fen let her hand drop into the water, feeling the chill tingle her fingers. Her feet and legs were adjusting to the cold, no longer protesting.
“The like will not be true for you,” Luke said, his tone determined. “Should our dome fail—an event which my kin and half the powers of the city work daily to prevent—you will survive. If you know how to swim.”
Fen sighed. Closing her eyes, she took the few steps out into the deeper water, shuddering as the cold water passed her waist, and let Luke teach her the basics of floating.
By the time Luke was satisfied that Fen could hold her breath and wouldn’t panic if she went under and she’d taken her first tentative strokes, kicking her feet off the ground to float, she barely noticed the cold.
As she walked onto shore, twisting the water out of her hair, she said, “That was great.” She felt wonderful, as if the residue of the stress, fear and uncertainty of her past few days had washed away like psychic dirt.
Luke grinned at her. “We shall have you swimming like a fish in no time.”
Fen rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure about that, but it had been fun once she’d gotten used to it. The thought reminded her of the gliders and she glanced skyward. She wanted her flying lesson, but first she wanted food. “I’m starving,” she said, grabbing one of the towels they’d left on the ground and beginning to dry off. “Can we get something to eat at the Water Causeway?”
Luke cocked his head to one side. “Where?”
“The Water Causeway. I passed a booth there with a grill. I don’t know what they were cooking but it smelled amazing, sort of spicy and sweet.”
“Honey rolls,” Luke said immediately. “Yes, that would make a pleasant evening meal. But why do you call it that?”
“Call it what?” Fen asked.
“The Water Causeway,” Luke said. “That’s not its name.”
“Well, what is it called then?” Fen paused in her drying.
“The Water Causeway.”
Fen frowned, bending down and picking up the clothes she’d left on the ground. “What are you talking about? That’s the same thing.”
“Don’t be silly. Water Causeway, not Water Causeway.”
She stared at him, holding her tunic to her chest. “You’re not making any sense.”
“What do you mean? Why do you t
hink it’s called the Water Causeway?”
Fen drew back. And then she resorted to one of her favorite parts of Syl Var. “Elfie, can you explain?”
“Yes,” Elfie said. “You are using a term that refers to a motionless, non-saline liquid material composed of two hydrogen atoms to every one oxygen atom. In your language, water. Luken is using a term that refers to a fast-flowing current of saline liquid material composed of two hydrogen atoms to every one oxygen atom with a strong rip current created by radiation stress exerted on the water column and occurring exclusively near shorelines. In your language, water. Your interpretation pattern is not capable of distinguishing between those terms. The vocabulary of your language appears somewhat limited.”
Fen blinked. “Limited?”
“There are forty-six separate words in Sia Maran which would all be interpreted as ‘water’ in yours. The causeway is the Trimaji Causeway.”
“Trimaji Causeway,” Fen repeated.
“Yes,” Luken said, sounding relieved.
And so they ate at the Trimaji Causeway. The honey rolls were spicy skewers of vegetables and fish wrapped in a soft bread crackling with a sweet glaze and just as good as Fen thought they’d be. Afterwards, they walked among the stalls, Fen admiring everything. They browsed through fabric and jewelry and Luke insisted on buying Fen a pair of sandals.
“To aid in your next getaway,” he told her solemnly, she having already complained to him about the woman who’d ruined her great escape.
Next, Luke convinced her to try a flaky green pastry with layers of tangy jelly. When he told her it was made of different types of seaweed, Fen decided to ignore him. As far as she was concerned, it was a delicious fruit Danish.
As Fen licked the last bit of pastry off her fingers, she yawned.
“We shall save our first glider lesson for after our rest, I think,” Luke said.
Fen didn’t argue. She had no idea how anyone in Syl Var knew what time it was, but she was tired. She let Luke lead her back to Remy’s and fell into the comfortable bed in the room Remy had found for her with grateful relief.
The next morning, Gaelith joined them for breakfast. Over the most normal meal Fen had eaten in Syl Var—scrambled eggs with strips of a salty fish that Fen could imagine was some weird low-fat bacon—she taught Fen the basics of magic use.
“The magic, the nanomites, they are obedient to us only to the extent that they understand our desire. As they wear, they decay and hear less, growing stable in their form,” Gaelith explained, hands busy with some handiwork that looked almost like knitting, if knitting needles were much shorter and yarn was made of metal wire.
“The gliders are ancient,” Luke interjected. “From before the Cataclysm.”
“Seriously?” Fen took another bite of fish-pretending-to-be-bacon. Ten thousand years. Older than the pyramids. Older than anything.
“Indeed.” Gaelith frowned down at her work, lips moving slightly as if she were counting stitches. “They are not oft-used these days, except by daredevils such as my youngest of brothers.” She gave Luke a pointed look and he grinned at her.
“I’ve never had trouble with one,” he said.
“Not yet,” she corrected him. “Not yet have you had trouble with one.”
“Kaio said I could teach Fen to use them.”
“Indeed, and Fen should have no difficulty.” Her smile at Fen was warm. “To share casual thoughts, without plan or intention, is a rare ability.”
Fen wasn’t sure whether she was embarrassed or pleased, but she felt her cheeks flushing.
“Your thoughts are clear enough that even the eldest of the gliders will follow your direction,” Gaelith continued.
Fen shifted in her seat, made uneasy by the description. Clear was a nice enough word, but still, being reminded that people could hear her brain made her uncomfortable. “Why don’t you make new gliders?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Our production of magic is not unlimited,” Gaelith said. She lifted a hand from her work and gestured around her. “The magic permeates our environment and is usable throughout Syl Var but all new growth goes to securing the dome and maintaining our environment.”
“You can’t make a production line or something?” Fen asked.
“Nay.” Gaelith wrinkled her nose. “The work is both slow and tedious. Different magics use different formulas, you see, at the molecular level. To grow the structures requires painstaking care. A single misstep and an entire harvest can be lost.”
“Why don’t you use the nanomites to make more nanomites?”
“Too dangerous,” Luke said promptly. “A world over-run with magic would be chaos.”
“Imagine the risks. No, replication does not belong within the scope of the magic.” Gaelith shook out her knitting. “Have you your crystal?”
“My…” Fen let her fingers brush against her rock on the cloth outside of the pocket in which it sat. “Yeah.”
“May I have it?” Gaelith asked.
Fen’s fingers closed around the cloth, feeling the solid curve of stone underneath her fingers. “Why?”
“You are in need of a more efficient transportation system for it, one which shall protect you from inadvertently revealing your thoughts to all who can hear.”
“She won’t hurt it, Fen,” Luke said, his voice encouraging.
Fen reached into her pocket and slid her fingers around the rock. She tried not to think as she pulled it out. The cacophony in her brain was worse than before, as if everyone in the city was on the phone, gossiping like mad. It was a relief to drop the crystal into Gaelith’s palm.
“I am no crafter,” Gaelith told her, as she wrapped metal around the rock. “I should like to spend a score at such, but those of us gifted in the persuasions often find it difficult to neglect our responsibilities in favor of our joys.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Fen said as she watched Gaelith’s nimble fingers at work.
“She’s too good at what she does,” Luke replied through a mouthful of eggs. “And she won’t stand up for herself.”
“It would be a grim beauty indeed to look at the lacework I created and wonder who suffered while I pursued such skill,” Gaelith said. “And so, this shall be rough. But sufficient, I hope, to meet your needs.”
She lifted the wire. It fell into a pattern that looked like a lace collar, with the crystal wrapped at center. “Copper is a conductor but also resistant. While it is wrapped around crystal, you can wear the crystal without fear that its contact with your skin will reveal your depths. And yet when you wish to use the crystal, whether to communicate with other Sia Mara or to enhance your ability to compel the magic, the crystal will respond as needed.”
Fen turned around and allowed Gaelith to fasten the necklace at her throat. Tentatively, she brushed her finger against the stone. She heard nothing. “How do I make it work?”
“Direct attention, specific communication. Avoid concentrating your will, however.” Gaelith sounded amused as she added, “I suspect your concentrated will would have me busily providing headache remedies to many in the city, so think softly.”
Can you hear me? Fen thought as softly as she could, trying to direct the words at only Gaelith.
“Indeed, I can,” Gaelith replied. “I suspect a few others could as well.”
She glanced at Luke and he nodded.
“We shall have further lessons,” Gaelith said. “To speak crystal is a gift, but like all gifts, it must be mastered.”
“Sorry,” Fen said.
“No, no, you must not apologize,” Gaelith said immediately. “Our gifts are rare among humankind but we have long hoped that Homo Sapiens would continue to evolve along our own path. The strength of your gift implies that such might be coming true, which is beyond wonderful.”
Luke made a sound, a quiet grunt.
Fen glanced his way, wondering what he meant. Did he not approve of human beings? But Gaelith rolled her eyes. “Luke, howeve
r, would have you one of us, despite the impossibility of a Sia Maran child being lost on the surface.”
The tension in Fen’s shoulders eased.
“She could—” Luke started, but Gaelith interrupted him.
“The Watchers scoured the world for a full five score, desperately searching for survivors. It is a romantic notion to you, but you were not yet born for the days of mourning when all concluded that hope was lost.” Her words were sharp, her expression stern.
Luke sighed.
“I’m pretty sure I’m pure human,” Fen told him, remembering the green blood seeping through his fingers the night they’d met. She traced the scar on her wrist with one thumb. Her own blood was red. She’d seen enough of it to know. Maybe it was time to change the subject, though.
“Not everyone can hear people talking through crystal, right?”
“Many can hear but few can speak. Indeed, crystal-speaking is one of the rarer persuasions. But for those who can use it, crystal amplifies communication with the magic, making it a most useful ability.”
“Yes, Elfie told me that. She said the crystal was like a loudspeaker, not actually magic.”
“Elfie?” Gaelith’s eyebrows raised as she tucked her knitting needles into a bag by her side.
“My data access pattern.” Fen felt sheepish. Did no one else name their tattoos?
“Ah, good,” Gaelith said, sounding distracted as she stood. “You have found it of use.”
“Uh-huh.” That seemed like an understatement to Fen. She would have liked to tell Gaelith more, but the older woman was picking up her bag and pushing back her chair. “Are you leaving?”
“I must be off. The Lady Din Souza awaits me most anxiously. Her babe was due these five days gone, her first, and she fears the worst. For naught, I assure you. I have attended her through the length of her term and the babe shall thrive, but the nerves of a new mother are not to be denied.” By the time she finished speaking, Gaelith was at the door, and with a few more words of farewell and a stern injunction that they both take care on the gliders, she was gone.
So began the best three days of Fen’s life.