Lumière (The Illumination Paradox)

by Garlick, Jacqueline E.

  I whirl around. “My father did.”

  “Oh.” He bites his lip.

  I glare at him as he deflates. “This would be much more useful, don’t you think?” I say, stuffing a bedroll into the pack instead.

  “You plan to sleep? On a major mission.”

  “We’ll be gone for three days, won’t we? Don’t you?”

  “Not while we’re in the woods, that’s for sure.” He turns his back. “And that’s at least forty hours’ venture by cycle.”

  “Cycle?” I race around in front of him. “You plan to take the cycle through the woods to Brethren?”

  “Well, we can’t very well show up in Brethren by coach and expect to go unnoticed, now can we?” He stares at me. My face flushes red. “What’s the matter?” He leans onto his pack. “You have a problem traveling by cycle?”

  “No,” I answer too quickly.

  “Then why the panicked look on your face?”

  “What panicked look?” I dab the perspiration from my brow, disguised behind a nonchalant wave. I hadn’t planned on Urlick seeing the cycle again quite yet, let alone him using it for this purpose. I’m not sure we should rely on it to function properly on such a dangerous mission, but I don’t know how to say it. Good Lord, why must I always meddle in things? I turn heel and head for the pantry, wringing my hands, hoping he’ll drop the subject.

  “Is there something I should know about the cycle?” He chases after me.

  Boulders. It figures he wouldn’t leave it alone. I throw myself around, chin up, trying to look confident. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, feeling the edge of my lips quiver. “What would I know of the cycle?”

  Urlick lowers his brows and stalks even closer until our bellies nearly touch. “You’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? Considering where we’re headed.” He stares into my eyes.

  I struggle to swallow, imagining the worst, the Vapours, the criminals, the ghostly infirm. “No,” I rasp, my throat dry. “I’m confident everything will be fine.”

  Urlick’s eyes narrow, he says nothing. A heavy silence hangs between us.

  “Food would be a good thing to pack, don’t you think?” I say, turn my back on him and my attentions to the provisions, ignoring the well of doubt swelling in my mind. Perhaps I should say something? I should probably say something. No. It’ll be fine. I reassure myself, stocking my pack with breads and canned meat.

  Urlick steps closer filling the space behind me, the light in the pantry grows dim.

  I turn and scowl at his shadow blocking the doorway. “I can’t really see.” Urlick shifts, but he doesn’t move.

  Instead, he crowds ever closer, all but closing the gap between us. What on earth has gotten into him? The pantry is small enough without two bodies in it.

  “I said the light, it’s not getting through.” I point past his head.

  “Don’t worry about the light.” Urlick grins.

  His Cheshire cat smile ignites a frazzled fire of nerves in my belly that slowly tingle throughout my limbs. Flustered, I turn and toss a final tin of deviled ham into my pack, then try to squeeze past him. Urlick steps to the side, blocking my path.

  “Can I help you?” I say, growing more and more anxious, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.

  “I dunno”—he whispers—“maybe?” His lips sneer into an awkward sort of smile and the fire in my belly surges. He pinches up even closer, his hot breath falling in lazy sweeps across my chest. What is this? What’s he doing? Why is he acting so gooney? He’s never stood this close to me before, not even in the elevator shaft, when clearly there was a need to. Clearly, there is no need for him to do so now. I swallow.

  “Are you all right?” I say, bosoms heaving.

  “Never better.” Urlick smirks. The heat between us grows unbearably delicious. Perspiration dots my brow.

  Urlick reaches back and kicks the door shut and my stomach lurches. My heart skips a beat. My skin tingles as though I’ve been brushed all over by a feather. I’m both queasy and exhilarated at the same time. He reaches for me cradling my face in his hands and my blood thickens, coursing like sugary syrup through my veins. “What is this? What do you think you’re doing—?”

  “You talk too much, you know that?” he whispers.

  “I wha—”

  Palming my back he pulls me to him. My breasts mash to his chest. He’s going to kiss me. Kiss me. Me. My pulse flashes in my wrists.

  Bending his head, he parts he boysenberry lips and I gasp, breathing in the sweet scent of the peppermint tea that lingers on his breath as he lowers his mouth toward mine…

  …and then just as sudden his head snaps back.

  Light blinds my eyes.

  A frazzled Iris appears in the space over his shoulder, pantry door thrown open wide.

  “What do you think you’re DOING?” Urlick shouts. He tosses me aside, embarrassed. I smooth out my clothes and primp my hair, hoping she can’t see the color of my cheeks, which I’m positive are the deepest shade of red.

  Urlick tries to step from the pantry and Iris pushes him back, swinging shut the door and locking it.

  “Iris!” Urlick rattles the handle. “Iris! What is this?” He peers at her sternly through the slats in the shutter door. She looks panicked.

  A second later, the door pops back open just long enough for Iris to toss Urlick’s pack in at our feet. She brings a finger to her mouth as if to say be quiet!, then slams the door again and falls hard up against the back of it, concealing our whereabouts.

  “I demand you hand her over!” Flossie’s shrill voice barrels into the kitchen.

  “What’s Flossie doing here?” Urlick whispers.

  “Iris!” Flossie’s voice pelts off the kitchen walls. “There you are,” she growls at the sight of her, back pinned to the pantry door. “Where are they?” she demands, grabbing at Iris. “Stop playing stupid! I know you know where they are!” She pinches Iris by the chin hard until she yelps.

  Urlick’s fists curl at his sides.

  “Fine. If that’s the way you want it, I’ll go find them myself.” Flossie releases Iris, shoving her across the kitchen. Iris falls backward, stumbling through the chairs around the table, but her eyes warn us not to move.

  “Urlick!” Flossie’s voice fills the corridor. “Urlick, where are you?”

  Flossie’s boots strike the floors in a circle, stomping through the kitchen, then into the study and back again. Iris follows. “I’m not leaving without her,” Flossie’s angry face reappears through the slats in the door. She turns on Iris. “You either hand her over, or I’ll tear the place apart until I find her myself! The lying little tramp.” She turns, stripping the gloves from her hands, pacing the floor like an angry tiger. “I knew something was wrong the second I laid eyes on that girl. I knew she was no cousin of Urlick’s.”

  “What’s she talking about? ” Urlick whispers to me.

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head.

  “Half of Brethren is out looking for your little houseguest.” Flossie pulls a poster from her jacket pocket and stuffs it up in Iris’s face. “She’s a fugitive, on the run! A Sorceress! Accused of Wickedry—!”

  “Accused of what?!” Urlick mouths.

  “Her mother was hanged and dipped for the very same thing!”

  Urlick gasps. Iris’s eyes pop. Iris stares at me through the slats in the cupboard. I shake my head, hoping she can see me, my expression begging her not to believe it.

  Please don’t believe Flossie, Iris.

  “They’ve even put a price on her pretty little head.” Flossie points to the poster again. “Eight thousand junipers for her safe return—”

  “My safe return—” I straighten, shocked.

  “You’re a fugitive?” Urlick hisses. “Accused of Wickedry?”

  Flossie’s head spins like a cobra in our direction and I freeze. My blood ripples cold beneath my skin.

  Iris panics, hurling a plate at the floor. It shatters, drawing Flos
sie’s attention back to her. “You lack-witted klutz, you!” Flossie shouts. “Clean that up at once!” Iris bends and Flossie starts away. “I’ll find Urlick on my own. URLICK!” She stalks past us into the back kitchen. I wince as her shadow flits past the pantry door. “Urlick! Is that you?” Her voice fades as she enters the hallway, buying us a small window of time.

  “I thought you were in danger.” Urlick turns on me. “I thought you needed my help when we met!”

  “I was. I did. I do,” I stammer. “I’ve been wrongly accused. You must believe me.”

  “Urlick!” Flossie’s voice returns.

  I cling to Urlick’s arm. “How much do you trust me?” I say.

  “Unhand me, you puddinghead!” Flossie shouts, shrugging a tugging Iris from her arm. She clatters through the hallway toward the kitchen, her heels a crackling storm. “I refuse to leave here without her!” She slaps at Iris. “She’s wanted. And dangerous! Can’t you see?” She gawks in Iris’s face. “Do you know what happens to people who harbor fugitives?” Iris gulps. “They go to jail right along with the wanted!”

  Iris backs away.

  “Now produce her at once, or pay the price.” Flossie glowers mean. When Iris doesn’t move, Flossie clucks her tongue. “Very well then, we’ll just have to tear this place apart. Coachman!” Flossie shouts, flinging her head to the side. The coachman, henchman, appears.

  I shudder at the sound of his breath, exhaling so close to the pantry, his fingers curled into fists.

  “Search the basement!” Flossie growls his way. “I’ll head up the stairs. You’re not to stop until one of us finds her. Have I made myself clear?” The henchman nods.

  He starts away, Iris clawing at his sleeve. The coachman turns and knocks her to the floor. Urlick drives forward, nearly giving up our hiding place, but Iris’s glare stops him, her eyes demanding he stay put.

  I gasp as she scrambles to her feet and lunges after the coachman, throwing the door shut and triggering the lock behind, swinging back the pantry door. Wide-eyed, she shoos us out and stuffs us under the canning table, throwing a tablecloth over top to hide us. she throws a stern finger to her lips then she races away. C.L. appears seconds later.

  “’Urry, Sir.” His head pops in under the cloth. “We’ve got to get y’u outta ’ere whilst the gettin’s good.” He tosses our packs in under the table. “Grab those and let’s be gone, shall we—?”

  “Wait!” Urlick grabs for his shirt as he turns. “But what about the hydrocycle?”

  “Not to worry, Sir, Bertie’s all gassed up and ready to go. I took the liberty of preparing ’im as soon as I saw the carriage pull up. Loaded two extra canisters of hydrogen in y’ur saddlebag, too. All you need is a couple of gasmasks and y’ur good to roll.” He sprouts his familiar toothless grin. “Now come on, shall we? Iris can’t distract them dunderheads forever.” C.L. turns to go.

  “I guess this is it then.” Urlick turns to me. He sucks in a tight breath and I realize, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him frightened.

  “URLICK!” Flossie’s voice crashes down the stairs causing me to jump. I smack my head on the underside of the table. Urlick grabs my hand.

  C.L. whisks us out from under and pushes us toward the door. “You two go on a’ead,” he whispers. “I’ll meet you at the cycle.”

  “What?” I blurt.

  “I’ve just remembered something I’ve forgotten.” He winks at me as if to calm my nerves, but it doesn’t help.

  “UUUUUURLICK!” Flossie’s voice rifles up the hallway.

  My stomach tightens like a fist.

  Urlick lunges forward yanking me with him, snatching a couple gasmasks from the limbs of the hall tree. Together we bolt across the kitchen, the two of us disappearing seconds later behind the main cattle car door.

  Together we dash across the yard, using the fog as cover, making our way to where C.L. said the hydrocycle would be. “Bertie,” Urlick gasps when we find him under the trees. “Oh, Bertie, our trusty steed.” Urlick pats him on the handlebars. Bertie groans, then shudders. I swallow down the purge of sick that leaps from my stomach. I should tell Urlick what I’ve done, but what good would it do now? We’ve no other way out of here.

  He takes the seat in front, and helps me on behind him, and then we sit and wait. My head swings every time a branch creaks in the trees. My heart bangs in my throat.

  “You all right?” Urlick reaches out, taking my hand to comfort me, squeezing it in his grip. His skin is soft, yet he’s so strong. I love the way his hand swallows mine.

  C.L. darts out from behind a sheet of fog and I nearly scream.

  “’Ere,” he says. He’s out of breath, his pockets loaded down with gear. “You’ll be needing this.” He passes Urlick a couple more gadgets and then a mask, one of the ones I found in the laboratory upstairs, the wax replica of his father’s face. I turn my eyes away, unnerved by the sight of it. I know it’s necessary, but still.

  “Can’t risk appearing in Brethren without that on,” C.L. smiles, trying to soften the moment. “And for you—” He pulls a second mask from his pocket. I look down, perplexed, at the face in his hand. The image of a young girl stares up at me. Her eyes flutter open and my heart departs my chest. It’s the girl, Ida, the one from Cordelia’s locket. Iris’s dead twin.

  “I only ’ope its ’ad enough time to ’arden,” C.L. says. “I only just poured it last week. Iris urged me to create it for you.” I look at him. “After we all formally met.”

  “But how did—”

  “She must ’ave ’ad an intuition you’d be needing it.”

  I stare down at Ida’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  “Please, Eyelet,” he pushes it toward me. “Iris insists. It’s the only way you’ll be safe to travel the streets of Brethren.”

  Just a few days ago I cursed Urlick for stealing his father’s identity in order to survive, and now here I am contemplating doing the same. What a hypocrite I’ve become.

  “Take it,” Urlick says, and kick-starts the cycle. “And hurry up about it.”

  Bertie sputters then purrs.

  I accept the gift, weighed down by guilt and tuck it in the side of my pack. “Thank Iris for me, will you please?” I say, leaning forward. Urlick’s feet hit on the pedals and we're off, jerking bumpily up the road toward Brethren, the two of us nearly clacking heads as he switches from foot power to motor. A breath later, he veers off the main road into the forest.

  Bertie shudders.

  I shudder, too.

  Something creepy chatters in the woods.

  Twenty nine

  Urlick

  I can tell Eyelet’s never ridden second-rider on a cycle before by the way she’s jostling around behind me. Even her breath feels nervous at my back. Truth be known, I’m nervous, too. I’ve never been out in the Vapours this soon after their retreat. I’m not sure what to expect.

  “Shouldn’t we stick to the main roads?” Eyelet’s timid voice drops in my ear.

  “Not unless we want to get caught.”

  I shift into high gear and the cycle groans. “Enough, Bertie,” I say. “You know the drill.” Reluctantly, he settles under us. He’s as worried as Eyelet is about my decision, I can tell. But honestly, it’ll be only a matter of time before Flossie figures out we’re gone and comes after us. Taking the main road we’d be caught for sure. At least through the woods we’ll have a chance.

  “But what about the Turned?” Eyelet insists. “Don’t they roam these woods?”

  “Along with the criminals, yes.”

  “I thought you said they strung the criminals in the trees—”

  “They do. Trouble is, they don’t always stay put.”

  Eyelet’s body stiffens. “Don’t they die in the Vapours?”

  “Some do. Some don’t. According to the locals, the ones that don’t take refuge in the old abandoned coalmines up in the hills. If they go underground far enough and block the entrance, they’re abl
e to survive. After that, they travel the woods in bands, slightly deranged and hungry, killing all in their path. Feasting on humans if necessary.”

  Bertie shudders.

  “So essentially, they could be anywhere, is that what you’re saying? Both escaped criminals and the Turned.”

  “That’s correct.” Eyelet swallows and tightens her grip. “But we have a cycle and they’re on foot,” I’m quick to add.

  “Well, there’s that, I suppose.” She exhales.

  I reach back, take her hand and squeeze it gently. It’s cold and clammy. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on stopping very often along the way. A canister of hydrogen lasts a long, long time. When we do stop, I’ll be sure to refuel in a clearing, in plain sight. The criminals don’t like it out in the open.”

  I glance over my shoulder at her panicked eyes. They sweep the forest, her gaze darting from one snake-like crevasse to the next. Fiery black steam belches up from their jagged lines. Glowing molten rock oozes from the scores of potholes that flank either side. Tar-like sludge bubbles from smaller cracks, like blood from punctured veins.

  “What is all of this?” Eyelet whispers.

  “The aftermath,” I say. “This is what happens when the Vapours retreat.”

  “Will it stay like this forever?”

  “No. Eventually the molten rock will stop glowing and the holes will dry up and everything that’s scorched will turn to ash.”

  “Then what?”

  “Rebirth. The forest is resilient. Much more resilient than man. There’ll be foliage again here in the spring. Not much, but some. ” Bertie groans, then chokes and sputters. “We’d better mask up,” I say. “If Bertie’s coughing, the air’s not safe for us.”

  I slow, reach around, pull a gasmask from my pack, and slip it over my head, tightening the straps before helping Eyelet find hers. “How’s that?” I ease it carefully down over her face, secure her straps, and turn both our oxygen packs from filter to purify. Her eyes look like a bug’s through the lens of a microscope in the bubble eye-visors of the mask.