Diamondsong 01: Escape

by E. D. E. Bell

  Ella walked down an easy set of stone steps that had a solid rail to the side. Dime, relieved that she didn’t have to drop down a rope or some other contraption, followed behind, her walking stick clacking against each stone step.

  Pulling a chain from inside her tunic, Ella removed an old-looking, elaborate key and turned it in the door. Once they were both inside, Ella locked the door again and tucked the key, like a pendant, back into her clothing. By instinct, Dime felt uncomfortable at the implications of using a key for a home, but she had never lived out here, alone.

  As if Dime weren’t there, Ella rushed up the circular staircase to the second level. Without any etiquette to go by, Dime decided to follow. “Friend!” Ella called, rushing to the windowsill.

  Across an expansive, old wood sill lay a dense, spreading cover of green. Plump little needles protruded in all directions. As Ella caressed them, they bent and popped back into place as if responding to her touch. “Friend,” she murmured, tapping a finger into the soil. “I’ll get you more water right away. And your sprinkle! Please, forgive me for being away.”

  Dime wasn’t sure whether she should approach the plant. Instead, she offered it a greeting. “Friend, hello. I am Fe’Dime.” Dime wasn’t quite sure about talking to a plant, but as much as she owed Ella for the timely rescue, she wasn’t going to disrespect her only mate.

  Friend didn’t answer, and so Dime continued to glance around the space. The round room was lined with framed sketches—of trees, shrubs, and structures that Dime were sure came from the Undergrowth. No, what did the Fo-ror call it—the Heartland. Perhaps she should start thinking of it that way. The Heartland. And the Fo-ror. It is a new world, Dime sighed. No, this was always the world.

  Ella showed Dime where the food cellar opened, where the washroom tunnel was, and a bed where she could rest. Turning to her kitchen, Ella lit the stove and began pulling apart a hunk of dried crumble. “We’ve had enough fruit,” she said. “Figured a hearty stew would do.”

  Dime felt at home as she and Ella sat down to a warm stew, smelling of rich broth and complex spices. “Delicious,” Dime sighed.

  “So I don’t want to keep mentioning her; it sounds like I have an issue or something, but cooking was Suzanne’s specialty. She knew every plant and herb: which had good flavor, which preserved well, which could be made into doughs, curds, pulps, and deins. This dein, it’s a barley and mushroom base. Makes in big batches and keeps a whole season. You can roll it into balls, fry it, use it in stews—it’s my favorite.”

  Ella stared at her full spoon. Dime paused her own eating, not wanting to seem rude.

  “For her, it was a rebellion,” Ella said, her speech accelerating. “Her family received standard foods, per their class, yet Suzanne took great delight in making her family a daily feast fit for the High Seat, elevated by a range of spices.

  “One night, someone’s stomach ailment was eased by a salad she made, and so she began exploring medicinal uses, including the rarer plants outforest. Before long, she was making teas and medicines for anyone who would accept them from her.” Ella dropped her spoon into the bowl. “She was a washer, per their society. Was supposed to stick to that.” Ella’s expression was fond, though sad.

  “She was lonely here. She’d never say it, but who wouldn’t know. I offered to leave with her; I’d go anywhere. But, she was attached to this place too by then, to our little haunted woods. The Heartland, it was not. But it was someplace.”

  Dime finished her soup and helped Ella rinse out the dishes. Ella turned with a pained expression. “We have more to discuss.”

  A knot turned in Dime’s stomach. She had delivered difficult news before and could sense that Ella was gathering the courage to push the words out. She couldn’t imagine what a stranger would have to tell her that could be so bad. That would be more shocking than a Fo-ror as spouse. Or the resurgence of Sol’s Pillars. And she’d said she had no news about Dime’s family, so it wasn’t that.

  “Look,” Dime offered, hoping to ease the tension, “if there’s a prophecy about a career-quitting fe’pyr who falls off a cliff, and all I have to do is climb the high mountain and convene with the fairy queen, you might as well tell me now. I’m the chosen one, right? That’s where this is going?”

  “You read too much.” Ella managed a nervous grin.

  No such thing. “I’m ready for it. There’s something. So, don’t worry; I can handle it. At this point, I can handle anything.” Dime laughed.

  Ella shook her head, wandered to the cabinet, and poured herself a thick brown liquid. She shot it down, wincing.

  “I’m making you a new jacket.”

  This was the secret? Dime looked down at her jacket. The only clothing she still wore from her run through the city, the plains, the forest, the beaches, the grasslands, and back through the plains, it was indeed in tatters. An update would be welcome, as long as it had enough pockets. Pockets were handy. “Thank you. You’ve already done so much for me, though.”

  Ella cleared her throat. “May I see your back? I don’t know how else to ask. It’s . . . related to your injuries.” Her eyes shifted to the side.

  Dime had always been self-conscious about her back, and even more so since the newts had found it so novel. Pyrsi were quick to compliment her interesting tattoo, not knowing it was hiding her scars. Scars she didn’t understand but must have been related to some mishandling as a ba’pyr. Even if it hadn’t been her father, and she didn’t think it had, she’d not wanted to upset him by asking about it.

  The request was uncomfortable, but Ella’s expression was somber. Turning around, Dime removed her jacket and untied the loose tunic Ella had brought her. Now, only the fabric band holding her breasts snug remained. “That’s enough,” Ella said. “I’m not trying to get fresh here. Now, please, just a moment.”

  Ella walked around to her back. Dime could not see her and waited, agitation growing, during a pronounced silence.

  “May I touch you?”

  “Sure,” Dime answered. At this point, she was going with it.

  Ella ran her thin fingers over Dime’s back and under her straps, pausing at her scars. “You have a father,” she whispered. “From birth?”

  “Almost from birth. My father found me, alone in one of the upper corridors of the Circles’ complex. He worked for the Maintenance Circle. Stone repair, mostly. He checked with the local medical enclave and with the clerk, and there was no record. Aromantic, single, and halfway through his Bakh, he . . . well, it’s like he saw me as a gift from Sol. My father is a strong believer in Sol.”

  “And your children—forgive my rude question, but are they biological?”

  “No.” Dime didn’t like involving her children in whatever was happening and didn’t know why their biology would be relevant. “The medical enclave knew my history and offered them to us. To Dayn and me. He’s my spouse.”

  Ella reached for Dime’s shirt and drew it back into place over her shoulders. Instinctively Dime closed the front wrap. She turned to look at Ella, whose face was drawn.

  “You are a Fo-ror.”

  Dime stared back. I can’t be a Fo-ror, they have— She gasped.

  “I don’t know, Dime. If it was done on purpose, it is an act of the Violence as I have never seen or imagined. And it does look to be on purpose, with the precision of a skilled surgeon. The newts knew this right away, just from the sense of you, I suppose. I wasn’t sure I believed them. Your slight sight in the dark, your slowness in healing, your instinct to relax by night—these are all Fo-ror traits. Your spouse . . . if he is Ja-lal, then you could not conceive.”

  “Can I have a shot of that now?” was all Dime could muster.

  Ella poured her one and brought it over. Dime threw it back, wincing much harder than Ella had. “Oh, it’s terrible.”

  “I know. Suzanne insisted I take it once a turn. It might
still be a prank, but she died before I remembered to ask her.”

  Their eyes met. “I’m really a . . . fairy?” Dime didn’t believe her own words.

  “I believe so.”

  “What the kill does that mean?”

  Ella opened her hands. “I have no idea. I truly do not. But your quitting the Circles . . . that timing is not coincidence. I’ve thought about that a lot. We need to know who came for you, which faction. Can you describe anything about them?”

  Dime thought. She only really saw the one whose robe was pulled off by Dayn’s claw. She could see xyr face; she’d never forget it, but not in any way she could describe.

  “Xe had a long face, possibly masculine. No tattoos, though I suppose that’s normal. If their skin is like ours, xe was older than me. With long hair, braided like rope—it was dark, like almost black. Once xyr cloak was torn off, I could see xe wore a dark gown, with natural shoulders, and a small crystal pin.” Dime searched her memories. “The others had lighter hair, but I only saw them from a distance. I’m sorry; that’s all I remember.”

  “A crystal pin! Was it shaped like this?” Ella scrambled to find a scrap of paper and drew a circle, surrounded by a wavy border.

  That did look right. “Yes, I think so.”

  Ella sat down again. “Your necklace, you know it’s an uncut diamond?”

  “Yes,” Dime said, reaching to clasp it in her hand.

  “Diamonds are sacred to the Fo-ror. They amplify valence, help focus its energy. And so the crystals are protected, or hoarded depending on your view. Very few have access to the caves, and fewer are able to carry stones with them. That pendant you wear, it is precious to the Fo-ror. And the pin you describe, it is the insignia of someone acting on behalf of the Seats.”

  “The Seats? I presume that’s like our Light’s Circle?”

  “Yes, and also no. Yes in equivalence, but their governance is different. The Circles, as corrupt as they are—don’t look at me that way—at least have a pretense of balance. The Light chooses the members of the Light’s Circle, yet only continues to serve with the approval of the Light’s Circle. Circle members may retire, and if they work and persevere hard enough, they may come from the lower class. Like you.”

  Dime’s involuntary reaction almost knocked the shot glass to one side. She caught it with the other hand, releasing the diamond, which fell back onto her chest.

  “The Seats also choose their own, but they are much more bound by tradition and class. The Seats are chosen for life, and seniority alone determines rank. Dime, I’d thought perhaps some radical group or someone seeking a reward had learned something about you or your pendant and sought to take you to the Heartland. But the Seats. Sha’s blessings, Dime.”

  Unfounded conspiracies presented as facts were one of Dime’s sticking points. No faster way to foster division and ill will. “You can’t know it was their rulers just because of a pin. Anyone could wear a pin.”

  “True,” Ella said with a nod. “Though stealing diamonds to impyrsinate a High Guard would earn you a long haul in the dead caves. I’ve never heard of it.”

  “And you’ve heard of Fo-ror flying through Lodon?”

  “No. Now that you mention it.”

  “They said I was getting a rest.” Dime was still unsettled by what that meant.

  Ella winced. “No. Arrest. Fo-ror justice. When a pyr commits a crime, xe is taken against xyr will and locked away for a period in a prison, to rethink and rework xyr ways.”

  “Against xyr will? How is that permitted?”

  Ella half-snorted, half-laughed. “Right, and marking xem for life to warn others is? Altering xem and effectively driving them from the city, from xyr career? From xyr family? Driving xem to move to an outer ring or outlaw village, where xe is more likely to be accepted? Just to be treated as a pyr?”

  Hemsa weren’t viewed as forced, but they weren’t optional either. It was just a way of life. The way of things. Ugh, the fallacies in that logic. Dime felt tired. She released her grip on the shot glass and leaned back.

  Ella tapped the table. “Look, I know there have to be rules. But maybe not so many? And maybe more nuanced ways to enforce them? Ways that don’t impact some pyrsi more than others? Ways that give a pyr a chance? Nope. No one wants to talk about any of it. Not and risk disrupting the peace. Risking the Violence. Oh, I wouldn’t want to get on your little Circles’ list, would I?

  “But—” she flung up a hand. “the Violence is gone! Hooray! Does anyone believe that? Doesn’t matter. Always silence.”

  Not silence. But she wasn’t going to argue; her own advocacy against hemsa had been widely dismissed and Dime didn’t like wallowing in some weird self-pity about it. And now, with this growing realization that hemsa were just some sanitized version of the Violence anyway, she was doubting even her own voice.

  She clearly hadn’t been as radical as she’d thought.

  Ella shifted back in her chair. “Sorry, it’s just— Here’s something I’ve learned: Hiding the Violence doesn’t reduce it. Wherever this takes you, remember to think about that.”

  The idea of her own scars fresh on her mind, Dime resolved that she would.

  Trying to focus, she replayed the fairies’ intrusion in her mind, first at her home and then in the street. She wished now that she’d noted the details at the time, rather than trying to construct them now. But she hadn’t been prepared; it had happened so quickly. And been so strange.

  Once they were uncloaked, she’d been mostly distracted by their wings and hair, but she’d noticed the pin because it caught her eye over the plain robes. That fairy hadn’t spoken, just the other one. Meet at Chambers.

  Dime spoke slowly, still trying to think if there was anything else. “Xe mentioned returning to ‘Chambers,’ I think. When they decided to separate. The pin was as you described. I don’t know what else there is.”

  Ella grimaced. “Chambers is where they meet. It all fits. Of course, that doesn’t make it true. Yet . . . I don’t see them staging a comment like that. No reason they’d think you’d understand it.”

  As Ella stood and walked toward the window, Dime forced herself to consider what Ella had said. She didn’t think of herself as a fairy; she didn’t think that she could. Yet, there was something true of it in her gut. If so, had she been betrayed by her own kind? Left to die? And now, turns later, Sol’s Pillars operated in the open in Lodon. Dime had done nothing. Nothing at all.

  Dime noticed that Ella was watching her.

  “I feel it too,” Ella said. “Everything’s changed and I don’t know why. I only know one thing: you are in the middle of all of it, Diamond of the Ja-lal.” There was no sarcasm in Ella’s tone, yet the words stung. She was a Ja-lal. Could that be taken away so easily?

  Dime tried again to piece together everything she had learned, everything she was learning. She had left one government just to be declared, what had they called it, under arrest by the other. And what she still didn’t have was information. Dime’s hand closed around her pendant, and its tiny chain harness pressed into her skin.

  “Ella?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you make some brew? I could use some. Also, where are these Seats located?”

  “In Pito, their largest city. It rests near the main entrance to the caves. The current High Seat is Ma’Ferala, a high Dorh. Though,” she added with a grimace, “only a cycle older than me. So you know, young and spry. Fit for the ages.”

  “Is it safe there? With the Fo-ror?”

  “Sure, as safe as Lodon.” Ella shrugged.

  “Well then, I’m going to Pito.”

  “What!” Ella exclaimed. “We just got you away from them. You’ve lost your compass!”

  Dime glanced at her wrist, glad to see the band in place. “You just said it was as safe as Lodon. If I can deal with one government, I
can deal with another. They’re all the same, aren’t they? Pyrsi who love power. Sure, some have better motivations than others, but in the end, it’s power they seek. The power to control or the power to assist. Either way, I’m used to it.

  “I need to figure out what’s going on. Do you think anyone in Lodon has those answers?”

  A take or two passed as they sat across the table from each other, avoiding each other’s direct gaze. Ella rose and began to heat the water for brew. She soaked and pressed the beans, ran the brew through the filter, and poured it into two large mugs. All the time, Dime watched the birds flying past the window. She watched Friend sitting quietly on its ledge. She smelled the richness of the fine quality beans that Ella possessed, as fine as the tastes in food that Suzanne had taught her.

  It wasn’t until the rich brew was mostly gone that Ella let out a deep sigh. “Fairies,” she said. “I have one request. You’ll need your strength. Your ankle is almost stable. Your wound is almost closed. You’ll want to shave; unless you want to go in there with that stubbly cap—I wouldn’t recommend it. I’ll sew you clothes that fit, and a new jacket. Boots built for mud. Stay here a couple more turns. I’ll check on your family. We’ll get them a message. Please.”

  Dime had to admit that sounded reasonable.

  “Ella, I’m so grateful for all you’ve done for me. I’ll take you up on your two turns. And then I’m going to find this High Seat myself and . . . sit him in his seat . . . and ask him why he wants me.” Dime grinned, a feeling of control returning for the first time in turns. “Besides, he might want me less this time, when I’m ready for him.”

  “Sha’s Blessings, fairies are stubborn,” Ella murmured.

  “Oh, I’m certain they all aren’t,” Dime mused. “But, sure, this one is.”

  For the first time since they’d met, Ella smiled. Dime warmed with joy at seeing the light break across the fe’pyr’s weary face. A spark lit within Dime’s spirit.

  Had she given up? No, she decided. I’ve only just begun.