Dark Ember

by R. D. Vallier

  Cham's glare shifted to Freckles. "What are you doing?"

  Freckles smiled timidly. "Making a kitty."

  "I didn't authorize this!" Cham snarled.

  "You authorized me to replenish stocks," Orin said steadily. "We're low."

  Cham's face purpled. Kager bowed his head, wrapping wires around a spark-plug. Cham jabbed his finger at Freckles's plate. "Why did you use these?"

  "Nails make excellent whiskers," Vina answered, smiling at Freckles.

  "They make excellent building materials, too," he snapped. "Use broken glass next time."

  Freckles sunk into her shoulders. She stapled another paper plate on top of hers, concealing her cat of marbles and nails. Cham strutted around the table. Hands fumbled with glitter and fetid paintbrushes, but everybody became petrified wood. Every eye anchored to their project. Faeries whispered from the banisters, the corners. The camp held its breath.

  Cham stopped behind me and Orin. "Why are you using aluminum?"

  Orin released a slow sigh. "Because it won't accidentally detonate."

  "Nitroglycerin always detonates," Cham said. "We have enough problems without worrying about your aluminum based junk failing."

  Orin's teeth gritted. "I feel aluminum is a safer option."

  "We're here for war not your feelings," Cham snarked. Orin tensed as Cham strutted to the corner. He plucked a jar of oil off the shelf, then marched back and slapped it onto the table. The camp screamed. Pain ripped my thigh as Orin tackled me. Kager toppled off his chair, shrieking and curling into the fetal position. Beneath the table, Alys cried while Vina shielded Freckles with her body, grasping for the other children.

  Cham laughed. "You pussies!" Everyone tentatively peeked from the floor, the banisters, the corners, eyes wide on the oil amid the nails and marbles. Cham thrust his index-finger at Orin. "Use my nitro," he commanded, then strode to his quarters.

  Kager righted his chair, gasping and swearing, fingers scraping his cheek. Orin helped me up with trembling hands, his glare on Cham's exit.

  "Miss Vina? Kager's saying fuck a lot."

  Vina nodded, pale as bone. She stood and pressed her hands over Freckles's ears, her wide eyes on the jar of oil.

  Kager flopped onto his seat, clenching his chest. "I-I can't fucking believe that fucking happened."

  My eyes darted around the camp. Anxious whispers hummed. Someone sobbed. The Realm sentries paced their cell, Weeper weeping as usual. Even the sniffer was ashen. Ice water filled my spine. The aluminum heart toppled from my trembling hand as a dollop of white glue grew clear on the table. My eyes darted from the marbles to the nails to the wires to Orin's silver fingertips. Rock tumblers clacked beneath the coconut oil not coconut oil. The camp warped, became sinister, like a land-mine stitched into a teddy bear begging to be hugged.

  Orin released a held breath, then muttered to Kager: "I told you Cham's chemical combination was off." Their eyes locked and they burst into the strained, hysterical cackling of friends who shared a near-miss. Their faces slumped into their hands. Their bodies convulsed, terror releasing in snorts and belly-laughs.

  A few minutes later, their laughter dwindled to snickers. "I'll move the rest outside," Orin said.

  Vina stood. "I'll help you."

  "No!" Orin said. "I'll go alone."

  "But—"

  "No!" Orin snapped. He grimaced at the jars on the shelf. "They're probably not all bad batches."

  Vina chewed a fingernail as Orin plucked jars off the shelf and carried them upstairs. The fourteen-year-old leaned close to me, pointing at my aluminum hearts and beans and sloppy stars. "Are you finished?"

  "Yes." My brow furrowed as she scooped the shapes into her palm. "Um. What are we making, anyway?"

  "Antipersonnel Explosives."

  I swallowed. "Bombs?"

  "Uh huh. The aluminum and crystals are part of the explosive charge; the nails and marbles are shrapnel."

  I watched the girl, speechless, as she dumped my craft project into a rock tumbler with heavy ball bearings and left it to spin into powder.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Snores filled the camp as men and women dreamed in barrack beds. Children huddled in sleeping bags beneath mess-hall tables, the scent of old grease choking the air. Rock tumblers rumbled. A sleeping hound whined. The flashlight hanging on the infirmary wall gave the owl's bedsheets a ghostly, jaundiced hue, and an inverter beeped to warn half of the power had failed.

  Will this place ever become familiar? I wondered. The base was claustrophobic with life, yet I felt desolate. I tried convincing myself I'd find comfort with the faeries, that time could transform any place into home. But a fulfilling life was impossible to fathom while lying on a lumpy cot which didn't know the contour of my body, surrounded by foreign smells and differing histories, with two magics feuding inside me.

  A few months ago I couldn't fathom wielding magic, either, I reminded myself. Now darkness obeys my commands.

  Now I might abandon it forever.

  I knew I'd never be alone here. Orin would stick with me, but was that fair to him? Would he lose the trust of others because they mistrusted me? Orin was a part of their culture, lived and breathed faerie ways. Inserting myself into that was unfair. I didn't want him to sacrifice more.

  Miriam. Miriam. Miriam.

  Night's beckoning echoed in my marrow. I swung my legs over the side of the mattress, pain rocketing through stiff muscles. The screech owl blinked its wide eyes from the neighboring cot. Names now filled its tiny cast in a rainbow of colors. I stood, wincing, bracing myself on the bedside table, squeezing my eyes shut until my body accepted that, yes, I intended to breathe night air despite the pain and, no, I didn't care about its protests, thank you very much. I found my balance, patted the owl's head, and limped to the stairway.

  I stopped short. The jail-guard was gone. The sniffer was on his side and pressed against the cell's bars, his arm outstretched, straining to grasp a glass of water inches out of reach. The sniffer retreated when he realized I'd noticed. I sneered at him as I limped toward the exit.

  I halted, my hand on the banister. Rock tumblers rumbled. I peered over my shoulder.

  The sniffer knelt near the bars, watching my hesitation. I hobbled to the glass of water and glared down at the man who'd tied my ankles to a gallows-tree, who'd attacked my friends, who flogged and killed in the name of corruption. He stared up, his bronze eyes fixed on mine, his lower lip cracked and red bar-marks pressed into his face.

  I moved the water to his cell. The sniffer snatched my wrist viper-fast and yanked my arm through the bars. I gasped, plunging to a crouch. I readied to slam him into the concrete—screw the magic ban—when he lifted my hand like a knight brought to his knees before a queen, and pressed his lips to my skin.

  Warmth coursed through my arm. Energy rattled between us like the tail of a rattlesnake. The sniffer's eyes stayed up and unblinking—two bronze rivets fastening us together. His lips left a tender, sultry kiss. His rough fingers slipped along mine as I pulled away.

  My heart pounded. I felt the sniffer's gaze boring into my rear, and used all my energy to keep looking forward. I climbed the stairs, stiff and wincing, as his kiss ran an uneasy loop inside my head. But when I stepped outside, the exit clicking shut behind me, the night became my panacea. Anxiety steadied, pain eased, and the sniffer's warmth drained away.

  The sliver of moon seemed farther into the sky tonight. The camp door disappeared behind its clever berm as I hobbled into a nearby tree stand. I leaned my cheek against a trunk, the scents of pine and sap easing my spirit. Morphine dripped from the stars. Crickets chirred, harmonizing with the night's whispering offer. Come to me. Come to me. Come to me.

  Night's coolness filled my lungs. Shadows caressed me as soft as gossamer, springing tears to my eyes. How can I renounce this feeling? I thought. Even if I embraced the light, will the night stop calling? Will it ever let me go? Will night ever fade from my desires? Will Del?

&n
bsp; I scanned the darkness for misplaced shadows, suggesting Delano might be near. A breeze sighed. A deer raised its head several shrubs away, its eyes flashing red in the pale moonlight.

  My shoulders drooped, then tensed as a figure darted into view. Sentries? I held my breath. Every muscle screamed in straining stillness. Vina brushed back her hair, my night-vision detailing her face. I relaxed, releasing a slow breath. Vina leaned against the berm in a tank-top and boxer shorts, rubbing her arms. To her right, a snag loomed against the sky, looking like an enormous, black centipede. She gazed at the stars, smiling. Her body swayed as if hearing its hidden music, as if her mind had abandoned her body to float and bathe in coaxing starlight.

  Apparently I'm not the only one needing air. Pain chewed my thigh. I massaged it, wincing. But who doesn't in that musk hole?

  Vina had gained weight since our first meeting on the cliff's edge. Her cheeks had filled with a healthy flush, creating a face belonging on a cocoa box. Her spine had straightened, making her a warrior to be reckoned with. No bowie knife needed.

  I bit my lip, rubbing my hip. Should I say hello? I might be stuck with the rebels. Maybe new connections can begin. We know Cham's glares and grief. Maybe that's enough so a new friendship can grow.

  I stepped toward her. The door creaked. I froze. Orin came into view from behind the berm, dressed in cargo shorts and a black T-shirt. He noticed Vina and crept toward her. They faced each other, Vina gripping herself in a shy half-hug, Orin slumped deep into his shoulders, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Tension snapped off them like electricity, their whispers too low to hear.

  I crept behind the pine and peered around the trunk. Vina's palms thrust forward in a hear-me-out gesture. Orin's hand ran through his hair, and I heard the puff of breath he usually did when stressed. She said something. Orin started to respond, then Vina's new spine sparkled as she sprung and kissed him.

  My eyebrows jumped. I suspected Orin's did too, considering he stumbled, his arms splayed to find balance. I smiled wide. Go, Orin! Go! Vina retreated, curling into her body. Orin's weight shifted. She mumbled something. He glanced behind him with a shrug and a shake of his head. Vina tucked her chin to her chest and beelined for the door.

  I sighed. Orin, you ass.

  Orin snatched her arm as she passed. Vina thrashed, breaking his grip, and when she wheeled to face him, he clasped her head and pulled her to his lips.

  Warmth filled my rib cage and set my heart aglow. Good for you, friend. Maybe you'll discover old dreams yet. I smiled and hugged myself, guilt sliding from my conscience as Vina relaxed into Orin's arms, as I watched happiness and hope bloom in this dark time. Maybe I'm not doomed to unhappiness. Maybe life has surprises for me, a new future, new dreams.

  Beside my ear, bark beetles chewed a dying tree. The pines' bristle brush tops swayed against a midnight sky.

  Come to me. Come to me. Come to me.

  Wind rippled Vina's shirt against her thighs. I watched them for a moment, painted in blues and grays and a dim moonlight. When I realized their kiss wasn't a peck, I slipped behind the tree trunk to give them privacy.

  I rubbed my arms, the night hollow and cold despite its magic surging inside me. I stared into the darkness, but only the deer stared back. It blinked its red eyes, then turned and leapt into the forest, its tail flashing a white flag of surrender before disappearing into the lonely shadows.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  "You're a good bird. A good, good bird."

  My eyes opened and my heart clenched. Delano sat at my bedside, his head lowered to the screech owl in his lap. Except for snores from the sleeping quarters, and a hostage's mutters, the base was silent. A guard sat at the jail cells, but his head nodded sleepily in shadows and I couldn't tell who was posted.

  My heart thumped, powerful and strong, as if freed from a rubber-band which had been wrung too tight, too long. Delano was safe. Delano had returned. But a chill froze my core when his scythe eyes met mine.

  He looked exhausted, as if rage had burned his shell to cinder, leaving him raw and vulnerable. Yet he seemed stronger somehow, as if willing to fight harder to protect everything exposed. The space connecting us hummed like a hornets' nest. The screech owl's head swiveled between our faces, then it scrambled out of Delano's hands, across the bedside table, and onto its bed, where it promptly nestled into the blankets and pretended to sleep.

  I'd spent a week desperate to see him, to find a magical switch to reset time, return everything to before a bomb blew our lives to smithereens. But now, seeing Delano safe, his thin, waxing eyes on mine, I wanted that switch flicked off forever.

  Delano's lips parted and my chest tightened. Tell me you're leaving, I thought. Tell me you don't want me, that I'm not darkling material. Tell me to leave your territory forever. Free me from you. Free me from myself. Protect me from ever considering another marriage.

  "I found a new place," he said. "It's smaller and needs work, but I think we can make it great."

  I glowered. Rebels snored. "We, huh?"

  "If you'd like. I'll support whatever you want."

  "Could've fooled me."

  Delano sighed. His hand ran through his hair.

  Get up, I tried commanding with my mind. Walk out. Abandon me.

  He sat silent, every passing second another degree of heat beneath my temper. Be cool. Be in control. Don't give him the satisfaction of saying how you feel or—

  "I've been worried sick for a week!" I blurted, then cringed and mentally banged my head against a wall. "I've been trapped here, in pain, terrified sentries would kill you!"

  "I can handle them," Delano said of an army as he sat trembling in front of me. He exhaled a long breath. "Miriam. I…"

  The hinges of my jaw trembled. Tell me you're done. Gone.

  Delano's eyes cut into mine like scimitars. "I'm sorry."

  Tears stung my eyes, but I didn't know if they were from relief or despair. He rested his hand on mine. Living with nitroglycerin felt safer. Our relationship can't work. Intimacy threw a gauntlet between us. His touch pressed a gun to my head, my emotions a knife to his ribcage.

  "I believe the darkshine is the safest place for you," Delano said, "but I respect you're not ready. I forget times are different, and your experiences are different, too."

  Don't listen! Run away! Save yourself! an internal voice shrieked. Was it my brain or my heart or proverbial fear knocking at my door?

  "You don't—"

  Delano lifted a hand. "Please. I need to say this." His clothes were immaculate, black slacks and a steel blue shirt, not a speck of dirt on his fingers. His hair gleamed against his neck like obsidian. He smelled of Irish Spring soap, as if he'd used an entire bar in one showering. "Before darklings were interdicted, they were left as changelings to acclimate to humans and their territories. After fifteen years, the Realm collected and indoctrinated them to fae ways, until they came of magical age and accepted their darkling birthright. This padded ten to fifteen years between the darkshine and the hardships of their human families."

  "I know." My words were tight. I was in no mood for lectures.

  "Please. Let me get this out." Delano regarded me solemnly. His hand tightened around mine. "I forget you never had these … luxuries. Not only were you not rescued at fifteen from an abusive family, you found yourself in an abusive marriage. I cannot fathom carrying that dysfunction to a marital bed. The Realm forbade my darkling birthright and instead forced me to … the pits. But otherwise my story is similar to every other changeling. Except you. I'm expecting you to act as if you've known you're a faerie for thirteen years, not five months, and I'm making things worse. I'm sorry. I want you with me, but not forced."

  My lips pressed tight as I fought the urges to pull him toward me and to shove him away. I craved his touch, but his fingers were lancing scalpels, extracting past poisons. His breath on my skin whispered the past was doomed to repeat, closeness brought pain, intimacy maimed and destroyed.

 
"Yesterday, you turned twenty-eight," Delano said. My eyebrows jumped. I'd purposely never mentioned my birthdate. "Rumors insisted your human mother had killed you, but I never believed it. The Realm had a pregnancy restriction in place when they murdered Lydia. You shouldn't have been conceived, but you were. You shouldn't have been born, yet you came. I've lit a candle for your birthday every year, waiting for the alert you were ready to claim your birthright, as if capable of calling you like a moth. Now you're getting burned. And if you stay, you must know that risk will continue."

  "I don't care about the Realm—"

  "Listen!" The word snapped with urgency, not unkindness. "The Realm's not the problem. It's me."

  Rebels snored and the wall clock ticked. He scrubbed his face, groaning. His eyes stayed closed, as if he couldn't speak unless alone. His voice sounded strained, almost choked, when the words came.

  "I killed her, okay?"

  I blinked. "Who? Lydia?"

  He flinched as if her name speared him. "I was young and stupid and terrified. I led a sniffer straight to her. She's dead because of me. I still hear the gunshot, smell her blood on my T-shirt. Smell her, burning, as I later tossed that shirt into flames during the only funeral I could give her, because…" He swallowed. "Because death wasn't good enough for them.

  "They stole Lydia's body. They hooked her ankles to the hitch of a pickup and dragged her over miles of dirt and gravel, punishing her for discrediting their lie that darklings are ugly creatures. They tore the beauty off her corpse to justify their narrative, pegged her to a tree where they knew I'd see. They created the monster they needed her to be, tainted my memory so I'd always remember her as horrific and monstrous, no beauty in that dead piece of me. Thirty-one years, and every dream of her she is a mangled ghoul who haunts me. I can't even recall her face anymore, only her hair, which I glimpse every autumn when the dogwoods change."

  I felt my jaw hanging heavy and open. My memories flashed to January, when Orin stabbed a darkling in the back to protect me. I remembered the darkling's partner screeching, insane with terror and grief, trying to wrap his corpse in shadow. Orin's knife stole her life because she returned for her lover's body. She preferred death to what the Realm would've done. The same suffering Bavol faced now.