by Ben Galley
Dizali went back to the last room he had rummaged through, a library, and retrieved a dusty ladder that had been propped up against one of the bookcases. He wedged it against the wall and climbed so he could run his hands across the shelves. Glass smashed and metal clanged as he knocked Karrigan’s ornaments to the marble floor. Dizali did not care.
The shelves held nothing for him. Neither did the first bookcase. But the second made Dizali smile, one his rare smiles, usually saved for when he was alone at his desk or staring out of his window. His fingers wrapped around the bundle of paper and dragged it from its hiding place, wedged between the ceiling and the back of the bookcase, far from the curiosity of any thirteen-year-old or plucky servant. Dizali retrieved his lantern and held the wedge of paper up to its dwindling light. They were letters, bound together with a thick, red ribbon. The ribbon had been tied and untied many times. That was plain to see from the way it had begun to fray. Dizali’s thumb rasped over the edges of the letters, glimpsing handwriting. He prised one of the letters from the ribbon and held it close to the lantern. No wax seal, just a printed mark, one he recognised instantly.
‘Lincoln,’ Dizali breathed. He stared at it for several moments, making sure he was not mistaken. Then he smiled broadly, and slid the letters into his greatcoat.
Accidents work in mysterious, but occasionally marvellous ways. As he moved the ladder beneath the chandelier, the tip of it knocked the glass and dislodged a ring of ornate crystals. Dizali ducked it as it fell, letting it smash into a thousand fragments on the marble. The floor sparkled hypnotically, like a summer sea. All except for one piece: a long key, intricately and cleverly worked, and worn with use. Dizali snatched it up from the floor. It looked to be several hundred years old, of black iron, and crafted to look like part of the chandelier. Karrigan is full of secrets today.
Dizali was in good spirits when he returned to his lordsguards. They were soaked, but none of them had the temerity to shiver. The Prime Lord stared at each of them in turn.
‘It appears,’ he announced, that smile lingering on his face, ‘that vagabonds and thieves have taken up residence in the late Prime Lord Hark’s estate. They have made rather a mess of the place.’
Captain Rolick stepped forward. ‘What a shame, Milord.’
‘Indeed,’ Dizali replied. They understood each other completely. ‘Keep what you can carry and no more. We don’t want the Benches in complete uproar, now do we?’
‘No, Milord.’ Rolick flashed a grin before clicking his fingers at the other guards. They filed into Harker Sheer.
‘And if you find any deeds, Rolick, bring them to me.’
‘Yes, Milord.’
Satisfied, Dizali took his leave, pacing across the wet, squelching lawn and back to his carriage. The sound of bangs and smashing followed at his coattails.
Chapter XIV
OF PRACTICE AND PINE TREES
8th July, 1867
The air crackled like a firework.
‘Merion …’ Lurker warned him, yet again.
‘Trust me, I can do this,’ Merion spat out between pursed lips and gritted teeth.
The magick pounded his head like a warhammer.
‘Yeah, an’ you said that the last four times.’
‘Lurker!’ Merion hissed, and the prospector fell silent.
The light was blinding. He had to squint to focus on the leather canteen sitting atop the tall log.
He let the magick collapse and surge into his fingers as he held them straight out. He pointed, tensed his entire body as hard as he could, and let it go. Merion felt the magick pour from his body, like a hurricane ripping through him. He held it steady, just on the edge, forever feeling his mental fingers creeping towards the precipice of constraint.
The canteen shattered into a hundred hissing fragments. Lightning danced through the cascading water, flying back and forth between the droplets a dozen times before it spattered on the dusty earth of the circus ring in the big tent. It was just the three of them: Merion, Lurker, and Shan Dolmer. She was queen of the shades today, lecturing him more completely than either his aunt or current company had yet managed—or dared—to. Merion had followed her every word, listening intensely. He saw this fountain of knowledge for what it was and plunged his head into its pool. He had not had this amount of fun since … well, ever.
It had pasted a cheery smile on the boy’s face. That, and the fact the circus was nearing Nebraskar’s border, and they would soon be in Iowa. Another territory of this Endless Land put behind them.
If Merion thought about it for too long he found the laughter building inside him. It all seemed far too good to be true. That’s what kept a wariness at the very edge of his enjoyment, a thin border of it. He knew Yara and her family were a good choice, for a while at least, and he had let himself relax. For the first time since setting foot outside Harker Sheer, he had forgotten about his father, his city, and all the many marbles he was scrabbling for. That could wait, could it not?
‘Told you,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder at Lurker.
Lurker just reached for his own flask and took plenty more than a gulp. Then he wiped his lips, tipped his hat, and said: ‘You won’t get five tries in a fight, that’s all I’m saying. I’m impressed though, truly. Always said you were a crackler.’
‘And more besides.’
Shan stepped forwards to place a hand over the boy’s heart. Merion had grown to ignore her hairy skin. It taught him quite a neat lesson, in actual fact: never misuse the blood, or you’ll end up looking like a sheepdog. ‘A rusher, even a leech, usually takes the name of her or his primary shade.’
Merion nodded his head. ‘But I could be a mortscent, or a trickskin, or a dustkicker like Yara.’
‘Or a goldnose, like me,’ Lurker reminded him, tapping his nose.
‘That too, or … What was it?’
‘Black Knight. Centipede.’
‘Yes, but you can’t rush insects.’
Merion shrugged. ‘What if I learnt all six?’ he asked, wondering if he was being too eager.
‘You barely tasted reptile yet, boy,’ Lurker told him, waving his canteen.
‘You know I don’t like to be called that,’ Merion said, taking his turn to do the reminding. ‘And it was my first real try, anyway.’ Lurker nodded, solemnly, before cracking his crooked smile. His dark eyes sparkled as he chuckled.
Merion didn’t blame him. He even had a snigger himself. Though he would have fumed had it been a few hours earlier. The reptile-testing had not exactly gone to plan. Not at all. The boy was swiftly and violently revisited by his breakfast. A more-than-excusable amount collided with Shan’s shoulder, and the rest introduced to his borrowed shirt and breeches. Merion had been far from impressed.
‘Perhaps I was just too tired,’ he offered. The circus had celebrated deep into the hours of the morning when it’s better to stay awake than dare the clutches of sleep. And what a night. Lurker had finally dragged himself between the fire-pits, hunting out gold in people’s pockets, even doing tricks with rings and coins hidden under buckets. The folk had clapped and cheered, and formally welcomed Lurker as their own. He went through the whole thing with a mild look of reluctance on his face, tempered only by a fixed, lopsided smile. He had been burnt once by family, and wasn’t very eager to dally with it again.
‘It’s happened before,’ Shan smiled that disarming, though undeniably furry, smile of hers. Merion had grown to like her, and not just for the knowledge he could glean, but because she was genuine. She spoke her mind in that clipped Prussian accent whenever she felt like it. She had already told him off several times for holding the vials and bottles wrong. Yes, there’s a way to hold the vials, Merion reminded himself. But he liked that. The boy appreciated a smidgeon of honesty after the last few months of his life.
‘Well, that I am glad to hear,’ Merion replied. He could feel that old familiar headache creeping back. It had begun a few days ago, when rushing the anchovy shade, seeing
how many people could stand on his back without him feeling the pressure. He had rushed too hard with that one. Each day of practice, it crept back to annoy him after three or four hours. ‘I wouldn’t want to be rude and not keep with tradition,’ he added.
Shan laughed. It came easy to her. Even Lurker had elicited some giggles with his gruff one-liners. ‘Right,’ she said, collecting up her vials.
‘Are we not going to try reptile again? Start with amphibian, the transitory vein, as you said?’
Shan looked impressed. ‘You’re a quick learner, Tonmerion Hark, quick indeed. But even a leech can only take so much blood in a day. I think we should leave it till tomorrow.’
Merion heard Yara’s voice in his head, infectiously excited. ‘But we’ll be in Daeven Port tomorrow, first thing. Kadabra’s biggest show in weeks. There’ll be no time for it. Better to keep at it, surely, than waste another two days?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ Shan said, thinking for a moment. ‘I suppose that does make sense.’
‘Did you have lunch, boy?’ Lurker sniffed, shuffling around to sit behind Merion.
‘You think you’re so funny …’
‘Oh, I don’t think,’ Lurker flicked his canteen. ‘I know.’
Shan just tittered away.
‘Right then,’ Merion flashed them both a smile and blew his sandy hair out of his face. ‘Let’s have at it. What am I rushing?’
‘Well, as I explained before, certain shades occupy strange gaps between the six points of the Scarlet Star. They’re veins that we can use to introduce new abilities. Capabilities, I should say,’ Shan repeated her little lecture from earlier. ‘If you were a leech looking to go from reptiles and grow a mammalian tolerance, marsupial would help. But you want to go the other way, so we use amphibian. In this case, I’m going to try you on coqui frog, one of the more interesting shades.’
‘What does that do?’
Apparently Lurker knew this one. ‘Huh, you’ll see,’ he muttered.
Shan plucked a long, curving vial from her case and held it up to a shaft of sunlight sneaking through a gap in the seam of the big tent. ‘This is a ninety-ten reduction, with the highest purity level.’
‘Whatever that means,’ Merion frowned.
Shan smiled. ‘Ninety percent water. Ten percent blood. Very, very pure blood.’
‘See, I just like rushing. I don’t worry about all this technical bullshit,’ Lurker rumbled.
‘You have to be technical, when you’re mixing veins you shouldn’t mix,’ Shan retorted, and Lurker had to nod at that.
‘That’s right,’ Merion added, before sticking out an impudent tongue.
Lurker scowled. ‘I’d put coin on seein’ more than just a tongue come out your mouth in the next minute,’ he said.
‘We’ll see.’ Merion took the vial and knocked it back. It barely tasted of blood at all, except for a slight sourness in the tail of it. Merion winced and then tensed his stomach, praying to be spared another episode of projectile vomiting.
For a long time, nothing happened. Merion just stayed where he was, scrunched up with his elbows tucked in and his fists clenched. He waited but he felt no stir, no spark in his stomach. The magick was normally swirling around his skull at this point, fully formed and ready to fly.
‘Hmm,’ Shan said, coming closer. She had taken more than a few steps back, just to be safe. Merion mimed a retch, and she scurried away again.
‘Got you,’ he smirked, remembering not to relax, in case it pounced. His aunt had taught him that one.
Shan mockingly scolded him before putting a hand to his stomach. ‘Getting warmer,’ she mumbled to herself. ‘It’s just taking a while to react. Any moment now.’ She retreated once again.
Merion could feel it, bubbling up inside his gut. He prepared himself as it surged into his bloodstream. It felt sharp, like metal splinters pricking him from the inside out. Merion gasped and recoiled, curling in on himself. But in a flash it was gone, and soon enough his skull throbbed with it. The magick was pulling towards his tongue, and his throat, and he let it go, curious.
Shan had already plugged her ears. Lurker had too, with his gloved fingers. Merion soon found out why. A piercing screech erupted from his mouth, so loud it felt as though his lips and tongue burned in its aftermath, set aflame by vibration. His own ears screamed. A high-pitched ringing had taken up residence in him, and he worked his jaw to try and rid himself of the dizziness.
‘Almighty,’ Merion gasped, only hearing his voice in his head. It was very disconcerting. He was glad the magick was dying away.
‘Next time, plug your ears,’ Lurker was mouthing, miming along with his fingers.
Merion nodded, glad that it was already starting to fade.
‘And I think that’s enough for one day,’ Shan hollered so he could hear.
Despite the exhaustion that was now flooding into his limbs, and the mild fear of wondering whether it would be worse the next time around, Merion was disappointed. ‘What about trying turtle next time? I’ve already rushed that,’ he suggested.
‘Yes but from what you’ve told me, you were fighting at the time. Boiling blood. Your adrenaline and heartbeat were fast enough to cope, and you rode the tail of other bloods,’ Shan explained. Merion frowned again. He could not argue with that.
‘Fine,’ he nodded, looking for somewhere to sit down.
‘Let’s get these back to my brother,’ Shan said, putting an end to yet another day of training. Merion just hung limply where he stood and waited for the letter to pack up her vials and instruments. Lurker hovered about, helping where he could, but generally getting in the way. He came to stare at Merion and poke the boy in the arm.
‘Ow,’ Merion scowled.
‘Oh, so you are alive,’ Lurker replied.
‘Exhausted,’ Merion mumbled. His ears were still ringing.
‘You will be, after all that rushin’. I’ve known grown men that would falter after half of the day you had. And this is what, day three?’
Merion shrugged. All he could think about was finding a bed, preferably comfy, and sneaking a quiet nap. His body moaned for it. Every bone and muscle pulled him towards the ground.
‘Come,’ Lurker nodded to the doorway and Merion followed like a zombie, shuffling through the dust.
The trip back to the Dolmers’ wagon was a short one, but it felt long for Merion—all these minutes that were sneaking into the gap between him and bed. Finally, they arrived, and found Lilain and Sheen working outside the wagon in the late afternoon sun, cleaning bottles and equipment with spirits and oils. Lilain was laughing at something Sheen had said. He was grinning through his beard.
‘What’s the joke?’ Shan asked.
‘Oh,’ Lilain sighed. ‘Sheen was just telling me of where you’re from, of your father and the milkmaid.’
Shan smiled a polite smile. ‘I see,’ she said, looking at Sheen. Her brother shrugged, and she swiftly climbed into the wagon with her case. She did not come out again.
‘Cleaning vials,’ Lurker said, tugging at the brim of his hat. ‘I used to help you with that,’ he added, muttering. His eyes roved the table awkwardly.
‘You did indeed,’ Lilain smiled at him, then looked to Merion. ‘Good day, was it? You look mighty tired, Nephew.’
‘That I am. I’m going to bed. Wake me when it’s supper.’
‘Yes, your lordship,’ Lilain smirked, and Merion gave her a warning look. She caught herself and held up her hands, a cleaning brush in one, and a vial in the other.
Lurker followed the boy back to the tent. ‘Have fun,’ he grunted as he turned away. There was a hint of a growl in his voice, more so than usual. Merion did not miss it, but he was too tired to query it. He just set his sights on the flag of the tent he knew was theirs, and walked.
Pillows scattered as he fell face-first into his bed, giving in to his tired bones. Lurker was rummaging for something in a box in the corner. ‘Ah,’ he muttered. There came the squeak of a cork, an
d a few sniffs, then a quiet glugging.
Merion heard the prospector murmur a goodbye before leaving. Lurker was good enough to tie up the tent-flap, and he listened to his boots trudging away before he lost them in the buzz of the circus and the whirring insects of the prairie.
The young Hark took a deep slow breath and scrunched up his eyes, letting himself drift into nothing. One question bothered him, coming to him just before he fell into a deep, dark sleep. Where was Rhin? But he faded out of consciousness before he could urge his bones to move.
*
Trees are like old friends, especially in the bare parts of the wild. They are a sign that the desolation can be beaten, that life’s roots have something to hold onto beneath the dust and tumbleweeds. This is especially true for faeries. They connect on a deeper level with the flora and fauna of this strange world. They pine for it, should they ever be separated for too long, say, by a desert, or a prairie that rolls on and on for unfathomable distances. So it was that Rhin walked alone and pensive along the fringes of a small forest. The circus lay a mile or two away, at the bottom of the small river valley the road had led them to.
But Rhin had come for more than just to run his rough hands across bark and crumble dry leaves between his fingers. His wandering had purpose, despite the frequent stops to stare up at the canopies and sniff the breeze, full of tree-scent and pollen as it was. It was a procrastination of sorts, and he stole every chance he could to examine a strange flower, or follow some odd, foreign scent.
Finally, with a sigh, he knew he could put it off no longer. Rhin made his way deeper into the forest, to where the fragrant smell of pine sap wafted.
Rhin recited an ancient Fae poem beneath his breath as he slipped through the undergrowth, quieter than any mouse. His eyes flicked constantly from the pillar-like tree trunks to the glowing green roof above him. It was almost as though he walked through a cavernous cathedral made of wood and leaves. It creaked and whispered around him in the breeze.
His nose had led him true. Rhin soon found what he was looking for: a small copse of pines hiding between the other trees, dark green against the verdant emerald, standing silent and tall like knights on parade. Rhin stood before them with his hands on his hips. He eyed them from their roots to their lofty tips, quivering in the breeze.