Dark Ember

by R. D. Vallier

  "Nothing. I quit. Screw everything. I'm joining the Army."

  I laughed, and when I pulled away and saw the defiance on his face—his wrinkled nose and pouted lips—I laughed harder, until my laughter became a contagion and his lips cracked into a smile.

  Delano closed his eyes with a groan, then swayed to the hidden music of the world. In the darkness, water pipped onto stone. His fingertips tapped a melody along my ribs. "Lichens," he mumbled beside my ear. He hugged me tighter, a swaying slow-dance on a tiny, kitchen stage. "Tonight the territory is concerned about her lichens."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "ARRRRGH! Why here? Anywhere except here!"

  Fresh ATV tracks cut across the small pond's bank, littered with beer cans, and a 55-gallon barrel oozing motor oil into the water. Dead minnows and newts floated on the surface. I righted the barrel, my stomach twisting and tears biting my eyelids.

  "Why couldn't they dump it off a roadside like a typical human?" Delano growled, freezing half the pond to slow contamination. Lichens were cancelled. This pollution blasted such intense ripples he didn't need to tell me the Earth would force its will if he waited to correct the problem. Delano stared at the dark slush as if he might cry. "I can't separate water from motor oil, and I can't maintain a frozen patch forever. The pond is lost." He gripped his hair's roots. "But I need this pond. It's reserved for yellow-legged frog population, and I don't know … I can't…"

  "Can we move the frogs elsewhere?" I asked.

  Delano's jaw ticked. He swayed to an invisible melody, and his scowl softened. "There's a place several miles away that can work," he said. I smiled, feeling as if I assisted for once, without a darkshine commitment. "But I'm using that area to fatten bats." He stroked his chin. "The excess frogs will deplete the mosquitos, but increasing their population is easy."

  Mosquitos? I grimaced.

  "It seems we're collecting frogs tonight." Delano side-eyed me, unlacing his boots. "Up to the challenge?"

  "Sure." I removed my shoes and socks, determined to be the best frog catcher in the Sierra Nevada.

  Coyotes howled nearby. Delano and I tensed. "Realm sentries roaming the territory," he whispered, then howled.

  Ahhhrrooo!

  Coyotes, moths, and owls were darkling loyalists, and we were lucky to have them. According to most animals, faeries were on Earth to care for them, not the other way around. Some wildcats aided darklings, but never without advance payment (which we couldn't afford, anyway). The Realm often employed spiders and birds (but never owls or nighthawks), along with whoever they coerced, threatened, or paid off. Fortunately, besides wolf spiders, spyders had horrible eyesight and hearing, and simple frost traps, Raid, and hired mud daubers deterred most.

  As for frogs … well, I was about to learn.

  The coyotes answered and Delano relaxed. "The sentries are heading to the consulate, and the local pack is maintaining a circle. We're safe."

  I rolled up my pant legs. "Where should we put the frogs once caught?"

  Delano removed his shirt and tied a knot in the bottom, then strung a low tree branch through the arm holes, creating a hanging sack. "There. It's too small to hold them all, though. You should take off your shirt, too."

  "Ha-ha."

  Delano smirked and waded into the pond, moonlight plating his wings' flogging scars. I pushed cattails aside, cringing as my toes squelched through mud and slime. "It's freezing!"

  "You'll adjust as your night magic increases," Delano said, splashing his chest like bathwater. "And you definitely need magic to locate frogs."

  Delano knelt. I joined him, cringing as the water climbed my shirt and crinkled my skin. He held his hand over the surface; magic emanated off him in dark ripples. "Frogs have a distinct feel," he said. "Release a magical pulse to sense. Then, if you're fast enough…"

  Delano spent five minutes describing his method for locating frogs, the magical version of echolocation. I called night's magic into me, let it flood my senses. Ten minutes later, the water felt tepid and I found my magical calling. I'd placed ten frogs in the shirt—one per minute!—but Delano caught only three.

  "Wow," Delano said, blinking disbelievingly. "You're great at this."

  "Well, yeah," I said, sloshing to my next location. I was soaked to my chin, and magic pulsed off me hard. "Sam loved gigging frogs. I sometimes tagged along."

  "Ah. No wonder. You were educated by a narcissistic redneck."

  I giggled. Competitiveness filled me. His past comment about me refusing to take the darkshine still stung, but here I found myself better at something, proof I was good enough to help without the scary commitment.

  Delano snorted and continued searching the water. "Stop grinning. It's beginner's luck."

  Annoyance fanned my competitiveness. "Oh? You wanna bet?"

  Delano lifted an eyebrow. "What kind of bet?"

  "Whoever catches the most frogs—AKA me—wins." I grinned, feeling emboldened. "And as payment, you have to cook every meal. For a month."

  "Harsh stakes, but I accept your bet, changeling." Delano smiled devilishly, raising his voice to imitate mine. "But, if I win, you have to kiss me. For a minute."

  My heart hitched as if pinched. "You won't win."

  "Then you have nothing to fear."

  A breeze chilled the water on my chest. "Fine," I said through a held breath. "You're on."

  "Get ready…" Delano and I hovered our hands above the water. "Seeeet…" Magic rippled off our palms. I quivered with excitement, already sensing half a dozen frogs. "Go!"

  I lunged; fingers curled around two. Two! Delano crouched, his shadows misting the water, then croaked. Scores of tiny, smooth heads broke the water and swam toward him. My mouth dropped; my two frogs squiggled free to join him. He croaked and all the pond's frogs hurried toward his shirt.

  "Cheater!" I cried. Delano shielded himself from my splashing, laughing hysterically. "You lied to me!"

  "You never asked!" Delano said, splashing back.

  "Arrrgh!" I tugged my hair at the temples. I knew he tricked me for fun, to steal a kiss. Although part of me was flattered, my heart also shriveled. His trick highlighted my magic's weakness, and the consequences of my indecisiveness. I strove to validate I was something, but was that impossible without a heavy commitment? I shuddered. What was worse? Committing myself to another person or never experiencing my full potential?

  I followed Delano out of the water, scowling. "Questions, my dear. Always ask questions," he said.

  Like about the Fatherland? I almost snapped. "You're such an ass, you know that?"

  "Yep." He grabbed my wrists and pulled me close, his hair dripping rivers down his chest. "An ass you must kiss."

  I groaned at the bad joke, feeling red climb my neck. He leaned in close. My heart raced; our lips parted.

  Delano spun away. "Geez, changeling. I know you're hot for me, but we have work to do."

  I propped my fists on my hips, fighting the urges to laugh and throttle him. But as I watched him load frogs into his shirt, I felt a sinking sensation, as if toppling off a pedestal. Wet fabric slucked as I pulled it off my spine. Waiting frogs stared. My face flushed, realizing I wasn't anywhere close to Delano's magical world. I was a changeling fiddling with gimmicks. I'd never be good enough unless I accepted the darkshine.

  My brow furrowed, that thought ringing false. An idea had formed on my winter adventure with Orin, followed me to this west coast wilderness. It whispered that maybe—maybe—I wasn't as weak or worthless as I always believed. Maybe my critics were wrong. Maybe I had no idea who I was yet, or what I was capable of achieving on my own. Maybe—maybe—I had a right to exist exactly as I was created. And if that was true, it felt wrong to commit myself to a cause or another person before I discovered my truth.

  "Want to communicate with frogs?" Delano asked.

  My eyebrows jumped. "Can I?"

  "You'll need to intake more night magic, but frogs require less magic than other species. It'll be
a good lesson."

  "More? I've already taken a lot."

  "I won't let you draw too much." Delano's eyes flashed like ruby shavings. "I thought you wanted this."

  Ha! What an understatement. I'd begged him for two months to advance out of rot and fungus, only to get bacteria.

  I bit my lip, then nodded.

  Delano sat cross-legged on the ground, dripping puddles, and cupped a yellow-legged frog in his hands. I sat across from him on my knees. "First, I'm not actually croaking."

  My brain pinged.

  "Hi Del-Del-Delano! Hiiii!" a moth sang, and fluttered onto his wrist. "There's—eek!" The frog smacked the moth with its tongue and gobbled it with an errp.

  Delano blinked, then continued: "A croak is what you hear because you're not accessing the element's specific magical frequency."

  Frequency, as Orin said. Is this Fatherland magic? Potentially the power of demons?

  My brow furrowed, confused about which element manipulated sound. I guessed: "Air?"

  Delano stared at me, puzzled, then laughed. "No, no, no. The elements are not earth, air, fire, water, spirit. Those are taleteller lies to prevent human meddling." Delano grabbed a stick. He drew a V in the dirt, and a smaller V nestled inside, their points connected. He then drew a line up their middle from the points, dividing the Vs in half. "This is a true pentagram. Five elements, radiating from a single source, which govern Earth's physical life and magic. Those elements are Darkness, Spirit, Sound, Earth—which includes water, fire, and air—and Light. But some faeries call Sound Frequency."

  Again with frequencies. I licked my lip. I should ask him about the Fathers. Call him out on another lie and ask why he never told me.

  "Sound is the core constituent for creation, as well as magic and its communications," he said. "When I hear my territory's requests, I'm tapping into Sound, not Earth. When darkness speaks, Sound is used, not Darkness. When people hear ghosts, they're glimpsing Sound, not Spirit, although then it's the otherworld wielding."

  I stared at the V pentagram, the true pentagram, wondering how the goths I knew in high school would react to this information.

  "Different things require different levels of magic to understand," Delano continued. "Arachnids and moths use such rudimentary energies, for instance, their communications require minimal magical talent to decipher. But enough power can access anything. Sound is the keystone to existence."

  "Music is life," I said, repeating the inscription written on his bookshelf.

  "Exactly. We are all notes in an expanding symphony."

  Everything is about frequency. Orin's words barreled through my head. Maybe Delano wasn't withholding Fatherland information. Maybe he'd been waiting to explain. Waiting for it to become relevant. Waiting for tonight.

  He lifted the frog to my face. It blinked its yellow and brown stippled eyes. "To communicate, pull night's magic and listen through the element of Sound until the frog's vibration tunes in."

  "How?"

  "Ask Sound to dominate. You'll know when you feel it."

  I eyed him dubiously. "That simple, huh?"

  Delano's eyes twinkled. "If you pull enough night magic."

  "I've been using a lot tonight." And it might hurt me.

  "Nowhere near enough to cross." He flashed me a foxy grin. "Trust me."

  My heart raced; I twisted a blade of grass. Well, I wanted this, and it hasn't hurt yet. I breathed deep and drew in more magic … and more … and more. Frogs croaked in a rustling breeze. Delano's magic laced with mine. His eyes squeezed shut as he breathed us in.

  I frowned. "I don't sense anything."

  "Take more magic."

  "But I feel—"

  Delano's foxiness turned wolfish. "Take. More!" he growled.

  I jumped, my nape prickling. My stomach knotted as I called the night. Where are you Sound? I asked, expecting silence and another lie. I expanded outside myself—my equilibrium swaying as if drunk—and an overwhelming rush greeted me.

  I gasped. The element of Sound wasn't a crash or a hiss, a whisper or a tune. Sound wasn't sound at all. It was a feeling, a sensation which stirred emotions—joy, sadness, hope, wonder—and soared them to heights outside the self. It was the awe spun into symphonies, the safety woven into lullabies. Sound wasn't the magic; the magic was the vibration inside sound. It was the perfect whine of violins which caused eyes to tear, the croon which throbbed a lover's heart, the soul inside songs, the spirit inside pattering rain, the passion in cheers, a laughter's delight. It was the it which stirred even the stoniest critic. Sound lived, as darkness lived, without flesh or eyes or hands or breath. It spoke to the listener—the feeler—with a vibrating, foreign tongue. And, if Orin and Delano were correct, it was the thread of worlds. A creator's never ending song, weaving existence through sopranos and tenors.

  Music is life.

  "I sense it!"

  Delano grinned. "You're amazing." I felt myself blush, then I smiled at the admiration in his eyes. "Now, wield it to communicate."

  I asked for understanding, and Sound matched my vibration to the frogs'. If the magic needed to speak with moths was equivalent to flicking lint, this was chucking a cannon ball. The frogs' voices drifted like strands of silk on smoke. Their language was no sound and all meaning, similar to moths, but clearer in message. Is this how telepathy works, with more empathy than thought? I wondered.

  "I hear them!" I said. "Er, feel them. Whatever." I tried answering, but couldn't shift my verbal language to the Sound level. I frowned. "They don't understand what we're doing. How do I assure them they're safe?"

  "Replying is too advanced for you," Delano said. My heart winced, feeling a familiar weakness. Then Delano croaked, and my worry vanished in a wave of astonishment. This time, my folded ears heard him mimic a frog, but my magical ears—which seemed to exist outside myself, as if my aura were a transcriber—deciphered the communication beneath. In a language without language, Delano told them they were safe, they needed a new home. His voice—or non-voice, if you will—drifted on wordless euphonies. I sensed the magical lilt I heard among faeries, Delano's tone more oboe than harp. He stroked the frog's head, translating his intentions on a wave of empathic magic. You're safe. You're loved. I'll help you. Your new pond will protect you. His compassion struck me as the gorgeous, complex sounds of a harpsichord, and as I watched him in the moon's silver light—his damp hair and his sensual smile lifting the tiny scar on his cheek—I fought the urge to pay my bet.

  The frogs relaxed, then grew excited about their future. "They're ready." Delano helped me up, smiling. "Let's bring them home."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The night was old by the time we finished relocating the refugees. The territory cared solely about its frogs, but we had returned for the pond's other inhabitants, except for the fish who preferred to die in their homeland. The last turtle splashed into its new pond and I waved goodbye, tipsy on the night.

  "Now to figure out our mosquito problem," Delano said.

  I groaned and threw back my head. Booorrring. A magical surfeit hummed through my body, a carefree yearning call. I hummed, too, the taste of malt heavy in my mouth. The moon and stars hid behind a cloudy sky. I stood, my feet rooted to the fallen pine needles, my hair brushing my sacrum, wishing the clouds to part, needing them to. Home rests behind the covers, I thought, my brain full of midnight mist. I raised my hand to the sky, as if the stars would reach through the clouds and drag me up to sit beside the moon. I tried connecting to the clouds to shift them away, but their cover remained.

  Delano slunk up behind me, pressed his palm to the back of my hand. Hands which would never become veiny or spotted with age. His low voice murmured inside my ear as his fingers filled the spaces between mine. "You're strongest in night magic, not light. Challenge yourself. Try using the Darkness element."

  My tongue went dry. "I've never held so much night magic before. I feel funny."

  "You're safe." He felt me shiver, and his voice
dropped. "What's wrong?"

  "It's just … I…" I lowered my hand, then swallowed my heart and faced him. "Why haven't you mentioned the Fatherland?"

  Delano tensed, then I tensed, believing he'd grow cross or suspicious. Instead, he smiled and said: "Because I don't put faith in myths or religions." My eyebrows lifted. "I'm guessing Orin told you."

  "He said night magic will hurt me."

  "Taleteller lies to keep faeries from meddling where they shouldn't." Delano scoffed, disgusted. "Orin needs to keep his mouth shut until he knows what to believe. He's like a sprinkler of ignorance."

  "You don't think the Fathers are real?"

  "I do. But they've been irrelevant for at least a million years."

  "Oh." My brow furrowed. My teeth chewed my lip.

  Delano's face crumpled, as if I'd confessed I found him repulsive. "You think I'd hurt you?"

  "No!" I said. "I doubt you'd hurt anybody."

  Delano's jaw tightened. "Yes, well … I might wallop Orin for scaring you with taleteller lies."

  "He means well."

  "Mmm." He saw my worry, because he added: "Let's make a promise. If I'm wrong, and night magic gets dangerous, tell me and we'll stop. Deal?"

  I agreed, and a bowling ball rolled off my heart. "So far I've felt great, but I worry it won't last."

  "That's fear talking. We've been conservative. You can go much further and not take the darkshine."

  "Really?" I felt I held the power of demigods, yet I carried a mere sample of my capabilities?

  "Mmmhmm." Delano raised my hand to the sky, pressed his cheek to my temple. "So play, changeling. Use Darkness to move the clouds. If you can."

  I breathed him in—the woodlands and mountain ponds—wishing his other arm would squeeze me to his chest. Dark magic whispered taunts and seductive promises, tingling inside my marrow. I focused on the sky, feeling lightheaded, as if I rose with my thoughts to embrace the night. Reveal yourself, I told the sky, trying to tap deep into the element of Darkness. Reveal yourself to me. The air hummed, an encompassing feeling which slid down every nerve—the slow, seduction of night's magic. An invisible wave rippled overhead, and the clouds disintegrated, as if the night became a sponge and soaked them into blackness.