by Jason Letts
“Oh yeah, well we had to take a late lunch!” Mira shot back.
“How does it feel,” Neeko asked, turning to Aoi and Vern, “knowing you were beaten by a freak, a subhuman, a perversion of the natural order? Come on, guy, I’ve seen you before. I know you had your eyes on that top spot. It must just eat you up inside to know you’re going to be taking orders from an invalid.”
Mira turned to Vern to gauge his response. He remained calm and spoke, retaining a thoughtful, honest quality.
“Yeah, I wanted to be leader. I’ll admit that. But I lost fair and square by her very own hand. It couldn’t have been any other way and nothing can change that. Now if you want to fight her, I say go for it. You’ll be able to tell your friends you got beaten by the defect.”
Neeko turned his eyes to Mira, who was close enough to reach out and shock him with little effort, though the vanishing and reappearing trick he pulled did give her pause. She could tell he did something using light, but it was impossible to be certain of anything. Looking him up and down, she tried to find something that would give away if he were really there, but he appeared to convince himself that fighting at this moment would not be a good idea. He took a step back and brought a conniving smirk to his face.
“Don’t worry. Our trip to Shadow Mountain will come soon enough, and that’ll separate the strong from the cannon fodder. You will be going, right? As amusing as it might be to see you humiliated at Shade Base Camp, it’d be a shame if I couldn’t knock you down to your proper place myself.”
Mira took a step closer to him, and mustering the firm but sweet tone one would use to reprimand an errant child, she projected her meaning upon him.
“If you treat everyone you meet with this kind of disdain and contempt, I can’t wait to see what you do the first time you see yourself after losing to me.”
Unnerved by her intensity, Neeko cast a few glances around the marketplace. Quickly, other young men and women appeared by his side, all of them sporting the symbol of Darmen Elite on their gray uniforms. Mira, Aoi, and Vern were outnumbered, but they didn’t break eye contact with the spiteful boy. Coming from all corners of the surrounding area, they gathered around Neeko until he disappeared amongst them.
“I think that means you got to him,” Vern said to Mira.
“Is this what you do when you’re scared?” Aoi shouted through the crowd. “Do you think they can protect you?” She took an aggressive step forward, and those at the front of the group readied themselves. Other market-goers turned to see if something would happen.
“Aoi! Let’s go. He’s chosen to hide,” Mira said.
They took a few steps back in the direction of the entrance, and soon slipped out to the street. His cackling haunted her as they walked away. Still feeling riled up from the encounter, she sought refuge on a bench in a small park overlooking the grassland and the river. Under a large umbrella, they enjoyed a break from the sun’s glaring rays.
Vern and Aoi didn’t say anything; the look on Mira’s face told them she tussled against the insults hurled at her. As she hugged her arms around the flimsy and worn science manual she had folded into a cylinder, they tried to offer the sympathy for her to fend them off. They told her she had proven to them that different didn’t mean worse.
“He was just stupid,” Mira said, and her friends quickly agreed. She tried to block out what Neeko had said, dismiss it, and reject it before it became real.
“Who judges people before they even know them?” she added.
“He doesn’t seem to realize how bad it makes him look,” Vern noted.
“Yeah, we really should have made him pay for it,” Aoi said.
“We’ll get our chance,” Mira promised, adding, almost to herself, “but it might not be so easy if he beat one-hundred people.”
Their emotions settled, and Aoi abruptly rose, grabbed her bag, and started walking north. Late afternoon had come, and she made it clear she would waste no more time before getting to her destination. Faced with the option of following her or letting her walk away without even a goodbye, Vern and Mira hustled to catch her.
She walked quickly and confidently, making it difficult to keep up. They cut through a few side streets and soon emerged from the north side of town. The grassland extended out in front of them, containing a dry riverbed littered in sun-bleached driftwood. Leaving behind the city’s clay structures, Aoi approached a ranch house off in the distance.
They climbed the opposite side of the river bank, approaching the ranch’s thick wooden pillars, small stable, and nearby well in the front yard. A few other buildings dotted the flat landscape before a pine-covered mountain chain poked above the horizon. Coming still closer, some movement on the front porch turned out to be a man in a rocking chair gazing out over the prairie.
Though they walked right to his steps, the man in the chair didn’t budge. Giving Aoi some space, Mira and Vern set down their bags. It would be another hour’s walk back to the city, and it may well be dark by the time they got there. The timing made Mira wonder where she would sleep that night, and she examined her book again with increased desperation.
“When my light is gone, all that remains is shadow. Does my hand find a likeness in yours?” Aoi asked, invoking the same question in order to become a shadow.
The man broke from his contemplation of the landscape, got up from his chair, put on a large cowboy hat, and ambled down the wooden steps. About middle age, he wore the kind of thick clothes necessary to handle animals and withstand the elements. Moving slowly and deliberately, he proved a stark contrast to Aoi, her boundless energy, and her agitated fervor.
Calmly, as though she were the same as the blue sky and wispy clouds floating overhead, he gave her a simple nod that spoke volumes. She watched him, offering in return nothing but focus and resolve.
“That’s alright,” he said, and they stood silently for a time. Leaning to the side, he noticed Aoi’s companions.
“What’ve you got there?” he asked Mira, limping over and leaving Aoi behind.
“It’s a science manual written by Flip Widget. I want to be his shadow, but the bookmaker is my only way to find him.”
The rancher held out his hand, and Mira gave him the book. He held it firmly, felt the binding, and examined a page.
“I know where books come from,” he said.
Though the intimation that someone had some information would have normally surprised her, the way he said it flowed so naturally, as if she already knew he did.
“Do you know where this book is from?” she asked.
“I can’t say for sure. I’ve never seen this book. But the only bookmaker I know is Pinchy, and his shop is located near the palace’s southeast corner.”
“Thank you,” Mira replied, surprised at her own calmness over this monumental lead.
“I wish you luck in your search,” he said, and Mira thanked him again.
Aoi had faced the front steps for the entire conversation, but Mira could see her impatience in her clenched fists and tense arms.
“It’s going to rain,” the rancher warned, and he started back to his porch as if to escape it, though there wasn’t a dark cloud in the sky. Sighing, he climbed his steps and settled back into his rocking chair. Mira and Vern looked at each other, coming to a consensus that the time to leave had come.
“I guess that means we’re next!” Mira said, some excitement escaping.
“It’s about time!” Vern beamed, picking up his bag and backing away in the direction of the city.
“Good bye, Aoi! Good luck. We’ll see you for the ascent!” they called.
But Aoi didn’t reply, nor did she turn around. Disappointed, they turned to make the walk back to Darmen.
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your friends?” the rancher asked from his chair.
“Yes, sir,” Aoi replied. She spun in place. “Goodbye, friends!”
“Goodbye,” they repeated.
Turning away for a second time,
they walked through the tall grass, feeling it brush against their fingertips in the light breeze. They weaved around thickets and bushes, dipped into the dry riverbed, and watched the sun sink toward the horizon.
“Could you even figure out what his power was?” Vern asked.
“I don’t have any idea. Is it a power to be that relaxed?”
“I’m sure some people might think it would be,” he chuckled.
Finding themselves again on the city streets, they worked their way to the palace. The cool dusk air flowed freely through the nearly vacant streets, people opting to spend their time indoors over an evening meal.
The white palace towers peaked above the clay huts when Vern persuaded Mira to take a detour down a small side street. He said his own mentor could be found here, and they approached side by side.
Stopping at a two-story building featuring multiple entrances, Vern came first to a window, which revealed the apartment contained nothing but blank walls. Suddenly worried, he went to the door, where he found a note intended for him.
“It says Westley moved underground into the cavern. We were right there. I could have met him hours ago,” Vern said.
“How could you have known, right? You’ll be there soon enough.”
They pushed on, returning to the main roads encircling the palace grounds. Thick, tall walls prevented them from seeing anything until they arrived at the main gate facing the south. A pair of guards stood watch, but Mira and Vern gawked at the complex and striking architecture of the main conclave. Though they had been walking all day on sand and dirt, lush, meticulously cared for grass spread evenly along the pathways.
Darkness began to settle in, and Mira decided she should rush to her destination in case it would close or become impossible to find. Neither was the case; walking to the east along the main road and seeing the sign, “Pinchy Publishing,” at a small intersection proved to be an easy task. Ducking into the empty alley, they came to the building with the sign and saw candlelight pouring through the windows.
And suddenly it dawned on Mira they would now part ways. Vern stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed upon her. Stilted, halting movements accompanied their awkward embrace and good wishes.
“It’s only a matter of time before we’re all together again,” Vern promised.
“We’ve got an important job to do, and I know I’m going to need to rely on you. Work as hard as you can, OK? We’ve got to be ready for anything,” Mira said.
She waved to him and said goodbye, but when she turned for the door, he did not leave.
“It’s OK, Vern. You can leave me. I…I can’t be afraid to be by myself.”
He nodded, smiled, and soon disappeared around the corner in search of adventure and his own mentor.
A little bell chimed as she pulled on the old wooden handle. It caught the attention of an elderly gentleman in the back, who leaned his head into the aisle to check the door. His bushy moustache and beard twitched. He did a double take, jumping out of his chair when he caught sight of her.
Entering, the place made a strong impression on Mira. Creaky-looking shelves brimming with books reached the ceiling of the cramped storeroom. Mira had never seen so many in her life. It made the book cabinet back home seem miniscule and pathetic. She began to scan the shelves for other copies of Flip Widget’s Manuals of Science until the old man called to her.
“Do you need some help?” His friendly tone soothed her.
“Yes, but can you give me a minute? It’s been a whirlwind day. So much has happened, and I’m having trouble sorting it all out. You aren’t going to close soon, are you?”
“When you live where you work, you’re always open. Take your time, sweetheart.”
His words and his warmth were comforting to Mira, who noticed how weary and fatigued she felt after Vern left. She continued to wander the aisles, marveling at the books. Some were new and bright and shiny. Others were old and falling apart. Some weren’t even made of paper, instead etched into tree bark, sewn into fabric, or painted on thin strips of clay.
Certain titles caught her eye. She saw autobiographies, fantasy stories, a record of the weather, a history of Darmen, farming tips, trade catalogues, analyses of plant and animal specimens, and plenty of books that seemed to go on and on without any memory of what came just before.
“Wow!” she gasped, picking up a book titled “The Origins of Humanity.” The inside cover had a picture of all of these tiny balls of light falling from the web of the universe and landing on earth. The balls were the different powers, and they would transform into a human when they landed. The author’s argument was that instead of the power being an extension of the person, the person was an extension of the power. Mira read a few pages. The author’s only evidence was that everyone had a power. Once again, this theory could not explain her.
“You like that one?” the bookmaker said, appearing beside her. He stooped a little, but his smile was warm.
“Yes, it’s interesting, but I don’t think it’s correct.”
“Yeah? Well I’m not surprised,” he chuckled. “This place is filled with the guesswork of a thousand fools. Explains why so few people are interested in reading any of it.”
“What do you mean?” Mira asked.
“Seems like everybody gets the urge to jot something down once in their life. If only they got the notion to do a little reading as often. People in Darmen know to bring their scribbles here, and I’ll make a book out of it and toss it on the shelves so they can feel a little better about leaving something behind. They can always count on getting one reader, at least.”
“And who’s that?”
“That’s me.”
“You’ve read everything here? That would take a lifetime,” Mira said, again taking stock of the little store’s massive inventory.
“It has,” he agreed. “If there’s anything you want, just let me know and I can make a copy of it for you.”
“Actually, I’m not shopping.”
“Rats,” the old man joked.
“Sorry, but I need your help with something. I’ve got this book, and I’m hoping it came from here so you can help me locate the author. I just finished with the academy down in Corey Outpost and I want to be his shadow.”
Mira removed the book from her bag and placed it in the old man’s hands. He scratched his beard and nodded. He gave Mira a scrutinizing, curious appraisal, which differed greatly from his prior chumminess.
“Yes, of course, I made this book. This series used to be one of my best sellers, not that anybody could understand any of it. People thought it made them look smart to have them at home. It’s been several years since I’ve gotten a new one, but up until then a courier would come every month to drop off a manuscript and collect the author’s royalties. We’d get to talking, and he’d talk about this author, Flip Widget, who seemed like an eccentric character. He got to be a joke between us, and then one day the courier just stopped coming. Figured old Mr. Widget ran out of material. Was a great run while it lasted.”
A flush of excitement ran over Mira. She was in the right place, he would know where to find Widget, and she would be able to track him down! The relief washed her headache away, and she felt a sudden burst of energy compelling her to run out after him this very minute.
“You must have known the courier’s delivery route,” she said.
“Yes, yes, I do. He lived up north in the mountains, a tiny town called Dee Dee Grove. And he would travel a few miles to the west of it to pick up the manuscripts from Widget. I can draw you a map, but it’ll still be a difficult journey of many days.”
“A map would be great. Thank you so much!”
The bookmaker sat down at his desk and began to sketch.
“I do have one question though,” he said, looking up from his work. “How did you come by this book?”
“I have all of them back at home. I would spend hours reading and studying them and trying to perform the experiments. I never knew the
man who wrote them, but I set out to try and figure that out and ended up arriving here.”
“Hmm,” he considered. “I always knew to make a copy for a tall guy who would stop by every few months and scoop them up. He came the first time with a wife and a baby, and they looked an awful wreck. He picked one of the first ones off of the shelves, bought it, and they left without a word. Thought I’d never see him again, but he never missed an issue. I could always tell he was about to walk through the door because the windows would fog up.”
“Fog? My father’s power is to create mist in the air. That must’ve been us! Wow! I don’t remember him disappearing for long, but it must’ve been him.”
And for a moment Mira was struck by the sweetness of her father’s gesture. How many times had he set foot in this very shop to make sure she had new material to study? It sent a pang of longing through her and she missed her parents intensely. He must’ve come in here as they fled their demolished home following her sister’s kidnapping, she thought. He saw the manual, written by the dear, sweet doctor they had left behind, and decided to buy it for her.
The bookmaker, smiling at the connection, went back to work on his map. He sketched the path north of Darmen, through the grassland, up into the tall hills, and on to Dee Dee Grove. He circled the area he believed contained Widget’s laboratory. Having read plenty of travel logs, he noted how long it might take her to traverse the different sections of the path.
“Do you know if I’ll be able to find food along the road? I won’t have enough,” Mira said.
“I can’t say for sure, but you won’t need to worry about it. I’ll load you with enough to get you there. Call it a retroactive discount for a reliable customer.”
“That’s too kind of you, thank you.”
While he worked on his map, which already seemed far more elaborate than it needed to be, Mira walked through the aisles, gazing out the front windows. Darkness had settled in completely now, and she saw only blackness outside. She wondered for a moment about the friends she had come with and how they might be doing. What was Will doing in the little town house, Aoi out on the ranch, and Vern down in the cavern? And then there were all the others, only a few of whom had told her of their location. She hoped to have a place of her own for training and a teacher to work with soon.