Diamondsong 02: Capture

by E. D. E. Bell

  “Oh, was confused.” Knowing her accent must be off, she tried to muddle it. “They were meeting here earlier.”

  “Sure, some sort of emergency. Got called in myself.” Dime could hear the unspoken reproof, Go to the caves like I told you and let me finish.

  Before she provoked suspicion, Dime slipped away again. Waiting for a while in a corridor, she saw a pyr, maybe another of the cleaners, trudging down a hall with xyr hair tied into a cloth and a bag over one arm. At a distance, Dime followed. Finally reaching what appeared to be an exit, the pyr barely stopped, walking on through and flying up into the sky just steps from the doorway.

  Dime peered around the edge. A guard was staring off into the distance, so Dime walked on through. Though, she figured, if xe was there to verify who could get in, it wouldn’t be so easy on the way back. She’d deal with that later.

  As soon as she was outside, she turned a hard right and paused behind a tree. If xe’d heard her, xe’d just figure she’d flown off. A few minutes later, Dime wandered out again, walking briskly from the complex.

  She didn’t take the cloak out of her bag. She’d never litter it, but she agreed with Rock; her instinct against the things had been right after all, whatever Ella said. But it wasn’t because of the Circles’ rules. This was who Dime was. And she wasn’t going to hide. That said, she meant to avoid any further contact with marshals, for the time being.

  Taking off her bag, she sat back near a wide trunk and watched the fairies flying above. As they flitted between wood-planked walkways surrounding what she could make out as larger structures, she again considered how much she stood out here without wings. How difficult getting around would be, the way things were built. She looked for ladders or ramps, but didn’t see any.

  Through the trees, a clearing caught her eye. It looked intentional, or maybe the spot of an old fire. Walking toward it, she saw ch’pyrsi zipping back and forth in the air, tossing a bright yellow ball around. Sometimes if the ball didn’t take the right path, it would switch course in midair. And if it was dropped, it would curve around, returning to waiting arms.

  Listening to the laughs and shouts of the young fairies, their wings flapping behind them, she had a suspicion they weren’t supposed to be practicing valence on their own. Dime grinned, remembering how strictly she’d been told not to play near the ravines.

  The playing ch’pyrsi restored a positive feeling in her. One she’d lost but now knew she needed. Her interactions with the Fo-ror had not been positive, so far, yet she knew she couldn’t judge a whole culture on touchpoints of long-standing, cultivated tension. And so the ch’pyrsi brought her hope.

  Dime thought about these innocent pyrsi, probably being taught the same awful things about her she’d been taught about them. She wished she could tell them. Tell their parents. Tell everyone. What she could do for now was foster change. She wasn’t quite sure how, yet, but she would figure it out.

  Reaching into her backpack, she took out the rest of her prison meal, at least what hadn’t been too messy to pack. A rolled sandwich, made of thin bread, a sliced dein, some sprouts, and a creamy green spread, had been neatly cut into halves, then wrapped tightly into paper. She took her time eating it, enjoying each bite.

  A mix of crunchy yellow kernels had been tucked into a serving paper. Dime unfolded it, enjoying the pop of each in her mouth. She took a stick and poked the used wrappings down into the ground, where they’d dissolve and return to the soil.

  From her flask, she drank down a measure of water. She’d need to find more of that soon. Glancing at the bottle, she had the wild idea to just ask.

  She strolled down a worn dirt pathway until she saw a pyr tending to a flower bed underneath a tree. Red blooms were each given space to grow, in front of a ring of wildflowers. A long bench sat beside it, facing the garden on one side and the path on the other.

  A little hanging windchime reminded her of Ella’s tower. Ella loved chimes and bells, and Dime loved them too—ok, except the sharp-toned one Ella kept in her pocket and used to call Dime in for meals. She imagined Suzanne’d had thoughts on that one too. But here, under the massive tree, the chimes tinkled in harmony with the breeze.

  Dime was always drawn to gardeners; to put so much love into caring for another spoke to one’s pyrsonality. So she took the risk. “Hello,” Dime said. “Please don’t be scared. I’m a Ja-lal. My name’s Fe’Dime.”

  The pyr froze, so Dime hurried over her words. “I won’t tell anyone I was here. I’d like to refill my water.” She held up her flask. “Is there a common well? I could tell you my story, but I think it might be better just to say I mean no harm.”

  The pyr hadn’t moved. Dime worried at xyr response.

  “If you want me to leave, I understand. My pyrsi, we’ve been taught the same about you. I’m learning none of it is true. I’m sorry to shock you this way. I suppose I’ve had a lot of shocks myself lately.”

  Not sure what else to say, Dime waited as the pyr tried to grasp Dime’s words. She hoped she hadn’t frightened xem too much.

  “Is this a prank?” xe asked.

  Dime turned around and lowered her backpack, showing her finely stitched tunic with no possibility of wings underneath it. As she put her pack on again, she said, “I’m sorry. Maybe this was too much. I’m learning to handle things myself and I’m tired of hiding.”

  The pyr paused. “That we have in common. Here. What flask do you have?” Dime handed her flask to the pyr. Xe flew upward with it, returning a couple of strides later to hand her the flask, now full. Xe appeared less stunned, but still tense.

  “I’ll go now. But, if you don’t mind, how many bells until dawn?”

  “Bells?” The pyr scrunched xyr face.

  Ella had indicated that they used the same measures of time. But, now that Dime thought about it, she hadn’t heard bells here.

  “You really are from up there,” the pyr said, speaking slowly, peering at Dime as if trying to find something. “Perhaps you mean spans? It should be about two more spans, by the charge in my stones.” A soft glow emanated from above, where the pyr had flown for water.

  “Yes, thank you,” Dime said. She wasn’t entirely sure bells and spans were the same, but with so much else in common, she had a sense they were similar.

  “You’re welcome. If you won’t tell anyone you were here, I’m Ma’Rilario.”

  “I won’t say a word. And your flowers, they’re beautiful.”

  Rilario broke into a small smile, and Dime continued down the path, wondering if he’d believe his own memory when light dawned. Dime remembered looking into the eyes of a fairy for the first time, and knew, then, that he would.

  Dime thought about Rock as she walked through the dark forest night. She’d never even considered running into another agent here, let alone someone she’d dated.

  Thinking about it, they’d never formally separated. Being field agents, it’d just seemed it wouldn’t be long until their next assignment together. But Dime had been sent surwes, and soon after, she’d been taken off of field duty altogether. Rock had been sent sureas, and continued on with that line of work. They hadn’t seen each other again.

  Dime had kept up with the agent’s success over the cycles, not so much intentionally, but always with an ear of interest when her name came up. Always praised for her skill, her reports, and her dedication, Rock had been mentioned here and there. Dime had never known how to communicate her admiration to the fe’pyr. She’d held it inside, for when they met again. Instead, she’d met Dayn—they’d fallen in love, they’d been given the opportunity for children not once, but twice, and her life had moved on.

  Her Circlemates hadn’t known about her relationship with Rock; it hadn’t lasted that long, in truth. But Dime had treasured it.

  Now, Dime had been in trouble and the agent had rushed to her rescue. For Dawn’s Circle? Or for Dime
?

  Within takes of meeting again, they’d sealed some sort of pact. Or something. It had happened quickly. Maybe Dime was too trusting. With Juni. With Ella. With Rock. But truth was, Dime’s friends always seemed to drift away over time, so the few that stayed close to her were more precious than anything. And seeing Rock again had been . . . unexpected. Nice.

  If Dime’s downfall was trusting a friend, she’d accept that outcome.

  Yet now, Rock stayed back in the prison. Wayniam would know that he’d been tricked. Rock could talk her way out of knowing anything about it; harm, she’d probably called for the guard herself once Dime had enough time to get out. Dime resolved to try and check back with her before she left again; maybe then she’d be ready to go.

  Dime thought again about her family. She and Dayn had each been accustomed to taking solo trips away, but she’d never gone so long without seeing her loved ones. Though they were always in her mind, she’d focused on herself these last turns, just trying to deal with the unknown so she could get back to them soon. Here, strolling underneath Pito, she missed them.

  And it was more than being away from them. It was the circumstance—leaving without closure. Relying on Ella’s assurance that they were safe. That Dayn had received Dime’s note and understood it.

  She hoped they weren’t worrying about her too much.

  The plan solidified in her mind. At the light of day, she would find Ferala and she would speak to him. Then, once she checked to see if Rock needed help getting out, she would return to Lodon, danger or not, and she would see her family again.

  Gazing up, Dime envied the view the fairies must have in their homes above her. She wondered if they could see the skystones through the trees, not just the soft beams of filtered light that echoed down to the lower levels of the forest.

  A pyr flew overhead and Dime was feeling bold.

  “Burge? Excuse me?” The fairy hovered, as if waiting for Dime to catch up. When she did not, xe lowered xemself to the forest path.

  “Please don’t be scared,” Dime repeated. “I am Fe’Dime, a Ja-lal. I mean no harm. I’m here to see someone, but I haven’t found them yet. I’ll go home once I do. If you’d like to leave now, I understand.”

  “What’d you stop me for?”

  Xyr lack of reaction seemed odd; maybe xe still didn’t believe her. “Oh, I wanted to know if there was a way to climb up there, just so I could see the city. Surely some residents can’t fly or fly easily? And the elderly?”

  “Of course,” xe said. “But they usually just stay up there.” Xe made an exaggerated gesture.

  “That’s terrible,” Dime couldn’t stop herself from saying. “Why don’t you just build ramps?”

  “Some do. But then how would you get to the next place? It’s easier just to call in a lift. I do it all the time. I mean, lift, not get lifted.” He hiccupped, stumbling back. Dime looked at him with suspicion.

  The pyr started to fly away, but stopped and turned back. “I’ve had a couple of drinks,” xe said, “and I’m trying to figure if this is real.”

  “It’s real for now. Maybe a dream later.” If xe’d been drinking, Dime wasn’t going to bother him. She started to walk away.

  “Hey, you got any snacks?”

  Dime turned back around, finding the question oddly uniting. “Uh, sure.” She reached into a side pocket and took out a stick. “Spicy dried fruit? It’s a Ja-lal specialty. Hot peppers and fruit, rolled into sticks and dried. My favorite. Here, have one.” Probably better for xem to eat a little anyway.

  “Whoa, I’m not trying to take from you. But, like, you wanna see up there? I could give you a lift. And you could give me that.” He pointed at Dime’s hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun. I was going there anyway.”

  “You can’t lift me,” Dime said, laughing. “And, Burge, are you sure you’re alright?” Dime was starting to doubt that it had only been a couple of drinks.

  “Sure, I can lift you. I’m a lifter. I’m no Burge!” Xe laughed. “I’m Ma’Deberele. Dime, right?”

  “Here, just take the snack,” she waved out the stick. Deberele looked mortally offended.

  Maybe it was her endless journeys, or her constant turning around, but Dime had a moment of feeling reckless. And she didn’t want the pyr to be offended over a fruit stick. “Ok, fine.” She leaned her backpack behind a tree and handed him the snack, which he stuck in a pocket. So, he was serious about lifting her, then. “Just . . . try it first. Just a little. Don’t go too high.”

  The pyr reached his arms under Dime’s armpits and, without warning, they flew into the air. Dime threw her arms around his neck, squealing. Instead of hovering, he yelled, “See!” and continued to rise up into the air, weaving through the branches. Elated by the rush of wind past her and the sensation of rising high into the trees, Dime resolved not to look down, and not to let go.

  As they broke above the level of the walkways, Dime saw more of the glowing stones, illuminating rings of boardwalks, sometimes separate, sometimes crossing. Inside each were wooden structures topped with coverings of branches and twigs. The roofs overlapped the structures, sometimes even much of the walkway. For rain more than light, she supposed.

  The top level of the canopy wove above them. Through the gaps, she could see the dots of the skystones, their light shining down through the trees, forming shifting shapes on the wooden planks. In the distance, fairies flew between layers of walkways and structures, conducting their business amidst the calm of night.

  She couldn’t see inside any of the buildings, but even from here, they made an artful landscape—skyscape?—that she wouldn’t have imagined just from the idea of an elevated structure. Pointed roofs and draping cloths, dotting through the leaves, the wooden walkways swept around with the flair of an artist’s brush.

  Taken by the scenery, Dime almost forgot she’d entrusted her life into the unsteady arms of a drunken fairy. They hovered for a long moment, then Deberele swooped down again, toward a small structure. Unsure if he was growing tired, Dime hesitated to stop him. He set her down on a rough floormat of woven branches and offered her his hand.

  Glad he’d landed safely and, figuring now that she was here, she might as well see a real fairy’s home, Dime took his outstretched hand. “Through here,” he said, stepping in through a curtain, which he pushed to the side. Apparently, the curtain was the entrance, as there were no solid doors. They stepped through together, Dime watching her feet to make sure there wasn’t a step down.

  A tall pyr with a dark green robe and a bright orange cloth around her hair came stomping toward them as Dime looked back up, switching xyr gaze back and forth between Deberele’s sweet smile and Dime’s facial tattoos. “I knew it. I told you to get out, but you can’t— Who the kill is this? Holy Sha!” The fairy jumped back. “Are you serious?”

  “Sweetie, you said I could come back. I’m here to apologize.” Deberele hiccupped, loudly this time. “Fe’Dime, this is Fe’Yaliea. Sweetie, wanna meet Dime? She’s a real brute! We—”

  “Whoa!” Dime interrupted. “Ok, first, I’m a Ja-lal. Long story. I wanted to see Pito, and I ran into Deberele, who flew me up here. I figured we were going to his home. And for nothing pyrsonal! I just wanted to see for a moment how fairies live. I’m so sorry; I would never intrude! I’m so sorry.” Dime whisked her hands over her heart.

  The pyr started to laugh, speaking in agitated yet sing-song voice. “Dime? Yes, that’s exactly what would happen in my life. An alien species invades the Heartland and takes one flap to figure out that my ex is a piece of garbage. Good job, ‘Dime.’”

  She turned to Deberele. “Hairless fe’pyrsi? That’s what you’re up to these turns? Gross. Now you get out of here and wipe that gunk off her face and don’t come back. It will take a whole lot more than a fake alien with a terrible accent to win me back, Deberele. When I said impress me, I meant by getting your
crap together.”

  Dime allowed herself one quick—very quick—glance around the space. The construction relied heavily on wood and reeds, but with its variety of angles, there was a natural flow to it, like homes were meant to grow in trees. Wide beams, cushioned benches with curved seats, a small stove raised on a stone base. The smell of herbs. Lovely knotwork on the walls. A circular table with papers spread over it. She wished she could absorb it more.

  But she was feeling the same about Deberele that Yaliea was.

  “Come on, Sweetie,” Dime said. “It didn’t work.” Backing out of the room and awkwardly stepping up backward through the curtain, for apparently the pyr hadn’t looked for her wings, she gasped as the wind almost blew her from the walkway. She clung to the side of the cottage—treehouse?—and pressed her face against the boards. “Deberele,” she bellowed. “You fly me down immediately.”

  Without question, the pyr grabbed her again and soon they were back on the ground, Dime collapsing to her hands and knees in relief. “Go. Eat that jerky. Get home and sleep it off. And when you wake up . . . just, leave Yaliea alone. It’s not going to work; trust me.”

  Stumbling, Deberele launched himself into the air and flew away on a jagged course.

  Dime decided she’d interacted enough for the night. She’d given up on finding one of those ramps, anyway. Now that she saw how high she’d have to climb, she knew she’d be too exposed. And it was a long way down if she was seen. Already horrified that she’d let him take her so high, she decided this was one story she’d keep to herself.

  After retrieving and strapping on her backpack, Dime stayed in the shadows, finally reaching a low hill with a small view of the sky. Finishing the water in her flask, she sat onto a soft patch of three-leaf, leaning back against her bag. The night spread before her: a canvas of layered textures illuminated by the glow of stones, both in the sky above and woven into the trees. Like a whole world made of glitter.