Silverworld

by Diana Abu-Jaber

  The pink creature tilted and moved its slashing head, revealing a wide-open jaw. The thought burst over her: It’s going to eat me.

  Dorsom bounded in between Sami and the Rotifer. This must not be! I won’t let you harm her.

  Then I shall be sorry to lose your valuable services, came the rumbling thought. But there are other talented rebalancers who will try to fill in. Its spike extended toward Dorsom, who stumbled backward into Sami.

  Harm not this one, came a new thought. It was more wish than thought; it blurred and echoed and danced in weird, geometric prisms through Sami’s mind. Through her glaze of fear, she saw that the Shadow creature had returned to the pier.

  Rotifer reared upright. You speak for her, Gray One? it thought-roared.

  I do, the Shadow hissed. This one looked into me. I felt it happen. Sensation unlike any other. It saw fully.

  Sami realized that the “it” was her.

  Is such possible? Rotifer demanded. Did you gaze thus within the Shadow being?

  Sami’s throat had turned papery with fear. She managed to think-hiss, I looked at him—it—I guess. If that’s what you mean. I didn’t mean to, she added hastily.

  It saw me true, the Shadow said.

  If such is so—the great body flexed—what did you see?

  “Well, I saw just—a shadow—I mean, of a person,” she stammered. “Like a paper cutout.”

  The Rotifer made a tootling snorting sound that might have been a laugh. “Any Flicker infant can describe the basic information of a Shadow!”

  “And—and I saw it also had light,” Sami added. She sensed the Flickers turning to look at her now. She concentrated, trying to remember the exact details. “It had stars. Inside of it.”

  For a moment there was no thought or movement. Even the spikes on Rotifer softened and stilled.

  “They were like this.” She dotted the air with her finger. “A bright blue star here. Three dimmer ones there, and there. A yellowish one over there. Lots of smaller ones sprinkled in the background.”

  The only sound was the sound of the water gently dashing up the pilings of the pier. Sami realized the Rotifer had started softly swaying or rocking—a movement filled with what seemed like a deep form of contentment, even pleasure. “So it truly is you. I had feared even to hope,” it rumbled. “Samara Washington.”

  Sami felt a kind of mind hiccup at the sound of her name in the Rotifer’s voice. Dorsom squeezed her arms without letting go and Natala moved closer.

  “You described the constellation Cygnus, the Winged. Only Ifrit and Silverwalkers have the gift of DoubleSight. To gaze within both Worlds, to see the starry fields within Shadow beings, is a marvel beyond imagining.”

  The Shadow creature appeared to bow once again in her direction. “The honor was mine,” it whispered. Then it turned and flattened into a sort of slot in the air. Sami heard breathlike laughter that continued to echo around them for a few seconds after the slot vanished into itself.

  “Usually people only call me Samara when I’m in trouble,” Sami muttered at last. “And I don’t know what all this Silverwalker business is supposed to be about.”

  “You are one of them, the Silverwalkers—last of your kind,” said the Rotifer. “Time ago, there were perhaps ten or twelve exploring the Worlds, but you are the first I’ve looked upon in two thousand years.”

  “But that can’t be true!” Sami forgot about being scared and took two steps closer to Rotifer as the Flickers tried to pull her back. “I’m just a kid. I don’t know anything about this stuff.”

  “Enough,” the Rotifer both thought and rumbled aloud. Sami felt the boards tremble under her feet, and her hands turned icy with fear. “If I truly had wanted to consume you, your parts would already be in my pharynx,” it said. “There is no time. Not for examinations and confusions. You must learn your own nature on your journey.”

  Sami frowned. “My—what?”

  Dorsom stepped forward again. “O, sublime Director, we came, in fact, to ask your assistance. We wish to Cross Sami back to her home. She Crossed to Silverworld accidentally—we want only to help her return.”

  “Accidental, ’twas not,” the creature rumbled. “All Flickers know the Great Balance has shifted, that Nixie has thrown the Reflecting World out of true. Her crimes increase. This is beyond the power of gentle Flickers—even that of my rebalancers. This imbalance, I believe, is the reason why Samara was summoned into this World. The Book of Silver says: ‘A double-being shall emerge, a child of Actual Nature and Flicker-lit, a child that shall Cross and See, a child named of soil and sand. That is the one who Stands Between and Restores.’ ”

  “You don’t mean me?” Sami felt something like tickly laughter rising up in her chest, the way it did in math class when she couldn’t understand the problem. “I know Silverworld needs help, but if I get what you’re saying—that I’m somehow this in-between Silverwalker person—well, I just don’t think it’s true. I’m only Actual! I don’t have any of that Flicker stuff that you said. And you have to believe me. I can’t save you guys! I can’t even figure myself out.”

  Though she couldn’t see its eyes, Sami had the strongest feeling that Rotifer was really looking at her, the way someone might study a book. The Silverworld sun had slanted in the sky and Sami noticed how its color had changed from a pale bluish light to a touch of bronze. There were Flicker birds roosting in the palm trees: back in Florida, they would be vivid green wild parrots, but here they glowed like handfuls of rubies, topazes, and emeralds and chattered in human voices, seeming almost to laugh and sing operatically.

  “Samara,” the Rotifer boomed at last. “I shall give you some words, then you must do what you will.

  “Consider: freely you have walked the paths of Silverworld, undetected. Only my rebalancers—most sensitive and powerful of light beings—have perceived your true nature. Freely you read minds, you respond in kind. Yet, most above all, freely you saw into and detected the true nature of a Shadow being: that which shall not be seen. Such things no mere Actual is capable of.”

  “Nor Flicker, either,” Dorsom added, glancing at Sami.

  From the jaws of a Shadow Minion she pulled herself, Natala thought in a burst, adding out loud, “Extraordinary deeds she does perform, without understanding that she is extraordinary.”

  Sami sensed Natala was quoting from something, and she felt the same impatience as when Teta said that something was “written.” Written meant that something—usually something bad, like her father’s death—was supposed to happen, no matter what, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

  True Silverwalker, Samara Washington. The Rotifer broke into her thoughts. The question is, do you accept your powers—and your fate?

  Sami waved her hands and shook her head. “I’m honored and everything. But…I—I just don’t know.” She turned to the Flickers. “I mean, reading minds is freaky enough. But that Nixie…” She shivered, thinking again of the waitress and the horrible sucking sensation. She turned back to the Rotifer, tightness in her chest. “I’m afraid if I try to help, I’ll just disappoint you all—it’ll just make everything worse.”

  “This only you can answer,” Rotifer growled. The sky had turned a deep, bruised color and Rotifer’s spikes and quills were once again whipping around. “The Shadow soldiers may already have scented you,” it said. “They daren’t attack while I’m here, but, choose you your home or journey, it’s best you act before more of her Shadows assemble.”

  Again, shielding her eyes, Sami squinted at Rotifer, and realized the creature itself was turning the same eggplant color as the sky. Dark bands rose from its base as the water began to churn. A breeze picked up over the sky, blowing the hair back out of Sami’s face as she looked over the horizon.

  “Know this, Samara,” Rotifer said, its voice growing hollow and echoing. “You are a
Rejoiner: you must restore that which lies hidden. Without your help, all of Silverworld herself is in jeopardy.”

  The Flickers’ thoughts rose up at this comment, churning in a wordless yet emotional agitation, but the Rotifer said, “Yes, and soon. On the gloaming, the Nixie will have her freedom. All light will be extinguished from Silverworld and the Shadow soldiers will have dominion over this dimension. And it won’t end here, either. In your World, you will see your reflections lose light and sparkle. Eventually your World will also grow colder, the waters will cover the land, eventually your sun will begin to crackle and dim, animal and plant life will fade. Actual people will be swept from the planet. Nixie’s dominion won’t happen as quickly in the Actual World, but mistake not, it will begin. She will come.”

  At that, a tremendous wave cracked against the pier, throwing salt spray over Sami and the Flickers. Accept you your journey? The surf boiled with yellow waves. Sami looked into the swells and it seemed the waves were turning into wild beasts with foam fangs and glowing eyes. She moved away, drawn toward shore, wanting to be anywhere but where she was standing.

  She took a few more steps backward, then turned, and found she was running as fast as she could, hands in fists, feet flying, away from the Rotifer and the storming water.

  Sami blindly ran the length of the pier, hair whipping, eyes filled with tears, until she’d collapsed against the outside wall of the rebalancing office, curled up in a heap of misery. She’d landed in a scratchy, rainbow-striped bougainvillea bush and her feet sank into wet pink sand. Overhead, a flock of chattering birds settled into the trees, their calls sounding a lot like mocking laughter. Everything in this weird world seemed to be against her.

  The Flickers caught up to her, panting.

  We are here together. Natala pulled strands of hair away from Sami’s face. We will help you.

  Dorsom crouched beside her, his hand on her back. “Not a fear, Sami, please! We shall help. I promise you, truly.”

  Sami turned her face away. “How can you say that? No one knows what to do! I’ll never get home.” Still, as they talked to her and patted her, she felt her emotions begin to shift, slowly altering, as if taking on different shades of colors. There was fear mingled with something like embarrassment mingled with wisps of hope. She wiped the tears from her face. Deep in the farthest corners of her mind, she heard a tiny whisper, her grandmother asking, Is this how you were raised? Gradually, she calmed and gathered herself. “Okay. All right.” She straightened up, brushing at leaves and twigs, and taking a deep breath. “I’m all right, really. I just had to, like, throw a little fit, I guess. I’m better now.” She realized Dorsom still had his hand on her shoulder and turned back in surprise. “Wait. Was that you? Did you just, like, balance me or something?”

  Dorsom swiftly dropped his hands and clasped them behind himself. “Usually we’d have to fill out clearance forms. But time seemed to be of the essence, and so…” His green face looked unusually pale with soft turquoise blotches.

  She lowered her head thoughtfully, hands on her hips. “It’s weird. Nothing’s changed for me, except the way I feel. It’s so much better like this. Rebalancing is amazing.” She looked at Dorsom, wide-eyed. “Thank you.”

  Dorsom gave a modest nod. “Rebalancement is good for all beings—of light or shadow. For Actuals as well, it seems.”

  Dorsom and Natala suggested Sami spend the night with them in their headquarters—which was where the two Flickers both lived and worked. They could decide their next steps in the morning. Entering the building, Sami looked around nervously. Dorsom believed the Shadow soldiers wouldn’t return right away, but Sami couldn’t help scanning the room, waiting for the strange pulses of energy she’d felt when she’d first arrived. Her caution gave way to anger and indignation, though, as she once again viewed the ruined space. “This isn’t right,” she muttered, picking up notebooks and folders. “Those Shadow things—they shouldn’t get away with this.” She noticed a fat folder on top of the others in her arms, which said Missing Flicker Reports.

  The three worked together, tidying the room, returning drawers and righting chairs, slowly restoring the place to order. Then Dorsom and Natala unrolled what looked like silky prayer rugs, much like the one Sami had found hidden in her room. They made her a bed of pillows and cushions so flat that Sami was sure she’d feel the floor underneath, but somehow the bedding buoyed her as comfortably as if she were floating in water. Dorsom stretched out on a thin mat on the floor beside her. You don’t have to do this, she thought quietly to him. You don’t have to bunk beside me. You can go to your usual bed.

  This is where I sleep. Dorsom’s thought reached her from his sleeping mat. Besides, I’m already in dreams.

  She glanced back at his green profile. Dorsom? she thought-asked. He didn’t seem to stir but she had the feeling he was listening. After a moment she thought, There’s something—I’ve been wondering. It’s—I guess it’s kind of personal, maybe. If you don’t mind me asking…His eyes remained closed, but she continued. It’s just—I’ve noticed a lot of, like, similarities—between you and me. Kind of like in the way we think about stuff. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just imagining this, but my teta used to say that people—I mean, Actuals—each have a reflecting angel, like a Flicker of their own. My grandmother had Ashrafieh. And I was thinking—I mean, I’ve been wondering…well, just, I have to ask—are you my Flicker?

  Dorsom’s eyes opened. He rolled on his side to face her. You have no idea how honored I feel.

  Honored? At once her face was burning hot. Had she said something embarrassing? Or lame? She wasn’t sure.

  Of course honored. That you feel we are so attuned and balanced. Truly, I am—just, happy. He grinned broadly. Your teta was correct—Flickers and Actuals are born in pairs, on either side of the mirror. Flickers each have a sort of insight—an understanding—of their Actual. The channels between us are ancient and secret, not well understood. Telepathic, I suppose, is the Actual word. If an Actual is listening, open, paying attention to the Silverskinned, Flickers can help them to know their deepest selves and truest wishes. He paused for a moment before looking back up. And, well, to your question, though—no. No, Sami. Much as I wish it were true, truly I do, I am not your Flicker. But as a rebalancer—he lowered his eyes—I am reflection to none.

  She nodded, trying to ignore a flutter of disappointment in her throat. “Okay. Well, if that’s how it works, I mean, then who is my reflection?”

  “Ah.” His gaze lifted and again Sami had the sense that she’d asked him something sensitive. “To the question of your Flicker’s identity…none of us knows the answer. We tried to find this Flicker when you arrived in our World. Natala looked it up in The Book of Silver. She found entries for all your family, yet no mention of you.”

  “How can that be? You said all Actuals have their own Flicker, right?”

  He shook his head and rolled back onto the sleeping mat. “I don’t know,” Dorsom admitted. “It’s unlike anything I’ve seen. Perhaps Silverwalkers are like rebalancers—born to be on their own. But perhaps someday I can help to Reflect you.”

  Sami lapsed into silence. She’d known almost nothing about Flickers before coming to Silverworld, yet now she felt oddly unsettled to think that no one knew who her Flicker was. She sighed and rolled over, certain she’d be up half the night, listening and waiting for the Shadows to come rippling through the air. But when she closed her eyes, she felt tiredness fall down over her like a thick blanket, and quickly fell into deep, dreamless sleep.

  “Dumb birds,” Sami muttered to herself. “Don’t they ever stop talking?” She sat on the low tiled stoop behind the rebalancing office. Sighing, she gazed past the pier to watch swirls of magenta and cobalt in the sunrise curving up over the water. The Rotifer’s words kept whispering at the back of her head: Do you accept your powers—and your fate?

  The crim
son birds turned in big circles, then swept low, close to Sami’s head, the flock muttering furiously, seeming to echo and repeat the same debate in her head. Accept you your journey?

  Dorsom emerged from the door and joined her on the back step. “Sleep well?” he asked. He set down a silver tray with two tiny glasses and poured steaming blue tea into each. There was a basket containing warm pita bread, a plate of fried white halloumi cheese, and a bowl of dried herbs. “We must not linger in this place, with the soldiers patrolling. However, a bit of breakfast will help us think.”

  Sami sniffed at the spice. “Za’atar! This is just like my mom does breakfast. She’s an amazing cook, but she never thinks I eat enough.”

  Dorsom broke off some pita, dipped it in oil, and sprinkled za’atar on it. “This is still just thin Silverworld food, I’m afraid. But better than nothing.”

  Sami ate hungrily, once again disappointed by the way the food all evaporated when she tried to swallow it. But this time something else was attracting her attention. “Those birds.” She gestured to the swooping, arguing flock. “Is that the usual way—I mean, in Silverworld—for birds to act?”

  Dorsom peered in the direction Sami was pointing. The flock’s deep scarlet hue seemed to streak in pink scrolls in the air. But Sami was talking about the way an odd stream of mist appeared to roll and coil between the birds. They squawked and flapped and pinwheeled, dipping and soaring and diving.

  Dorsom stood slowly, eyes tracking the flock. “They are out of alignment. In distress, I think.” He lifted his arms, walking out to the start of the pier, and closed his eyes. Sami felt a low rumble that seemed to emanate from his hands. The birds flew lower, then began to circle the Flicker, as if they were being pulled inward by a string.