Dark Light of Day

by Jill Archer

  I was gazing into my teacup half-hopeful, half-fearful that maybe Ari had done the same when Ivy kicked my chair and said, “Who is that?” and pointed at the door. I looked up and then grinned. I got up from the table so quickly I knocked my chair over and I raced through the crowded pub, bumping table corners, upsetting drinks, and thumping the backs of heads in an effort to embrace the tall, sinister-looking man who had just entered the room.

  “Night!” I shouted, hugging him fiercely. His eyes twinkled and his mouth twitched. For Night, this was the equivalent of my grin.

  Luck, how I’d missed him. Over the past four months he’d written a letter or two, and there was that horribly hard to hear call from two nights ago, but I hadn’t really talked to Night since midwinter and letters and harmonic connections were never as good as seeing someone in person. Circumstances had forced Night and I on such divergent paths, paths each of us would have chosen for the other, but we’d started from the same beginnings. We’d shared everything (first a womb, then distant parents, Hyrke schools, a best friend, and a shameful secret) all our lives. Only recently had our experiences started differing.

  “You’re not here because something happened to Heather on the way back to Maize, are you? She arrived safely, right?”

  “Yes, she’s fine. Thanks to you. I’ll tell you all about what’s going on down in Maize once I sit down. I’m starving. You know there’s no diner car on the North-South Express?”

  Night laughed in disbelief and I led him over to the table where Ivy was sitting, anxious to introduce someone important from my old life to someone important from my new life.

  “Ivy,” I said, with my arm still around Night’s towering frame, “this is my brother, Night.”

  “Nightshade,” he clarified, extending his hand to her. She clasped it, saying simply, “Ivana.” They regarded each other for a moment and then Night pulled out a chair for me and sat down in another.

  “So how’s the tribe?” I asked, unable to resist prodding Night. He had to know how anxious I was to hear any news, not just about Heather and Demeter’s reaction to what had happened last night, but anything about Demeter and how the tribe was treating him and what life was like for him now that he was living down in southern Halja.

  “The seasons are different down there, for one thing,” said Night. He pulled off the black traveling cloak he’d been wearing and draped it over the back of his chair. By all rights, Night should have been the one on the Maegester’s path. He certainly looked the part. His hair was jet-black and glossy, worn long and parted severely down the middle. His teeth and skin were as blindingly white as mine, his eyes as dark, but that’s where our similarities ended. I was by no means a frail or petite woman, but Night dwarfed me. Even sitting in his chair, he appeared to loom over Ivy and me.

  “The snow at Yule was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Things just started thawing out down there recently. We had snow for Eostre. Can you imagine?” he said, shaking his head. He accepted a menu from the server and glanced over it, choosing the Innkeeper’s Pie. I made a face.

  “Ugh! Why do you eat that stuff when you don’t have to?”

  “Because I’m sick to death of grazing like a cow,” he said. “You’re not getting anything else?”

  I shook my head and Night turned toward Ivy. “Ivana?”

  Ivy order another espresso, although I thought that might have been a mistake. She seemed as jumpy as me, and Night continued his tale.

  “Finding my place within Demeter took a while. It was a huge adjustment just getting used to how Mederies live. Aside from the fact that they’re all women,” he winked at Ivy and me, “there’s the fact that they’re absolutely obsessed with flowers. Luck granted me a boon though. My talent thins out at the blooming end of the Mederies’ power spectrum. Thankfully, I’ve managed to avoid most of the greenhouse and potting shed duties to focus on the area I like best.”

  “Which is?” I asked.

  “Infectious disease.”

  It was an unusual answer for a Mederi. Most were more delicate and would have answered, “healing people” or “curing illness,” preferring to focus on their patients, rather than the silent, faceless, often deadly enemies they fought. But Night and I had not been raised to be delicate. Subtle, yes. Delicate, no.

  Ivy frowned and looked uncomfortable. I tried to figure out why. Night might be embracing his unchosen career more easily than I (he practically oozed confidence now), but it wasn’t that long ago that I’d seen him as miserable with shame and confusion as I often still was.

  The server brought over Night’s meat pie and, despite my having said I hated them, I had to admit Marduk’s made the best: inside, minced beef and onions; on top, a golden brown, buttery, flaky crust. I stole a sip of the red wine Night had ordered and listened as he told us more about the tribe he’d chosen to join.

  “Demeter’s Monarch is Linnaea Saphir,” Night said, tucking hungrily into the pie. “She’s young, only twenty-six, but she’s been at the helm for almost two years now. When I first appeared, Demeter didn’t know what to do with me. They tried me in one area after another, passing me around like a hot coal. Everyone thought I’d chosen them as a default.

  “But even if Hawthorn or Gaia had wanted me, I wanted Demeter,” he said chuckling, and I knew why. Hawthorn was our mother’s tribe. They likely viewed Night’s birth with as much shame as our mother, and Gaia, the strict traditionalists, never would have accepted him. “Demeter has a liberal reputation. They’re more accepting of the unconventional. I knew they’d be more open to training a male Mederi, and I also wanted to learn some of their newer healing techniques, especially the ones having to do with communicable diseases. Too many tribes shun Hyrke healing methods. Demeter has had success combining ancient Mederi and modern Hyrke practices. Think what that might mean for some of the river settlements.”

  Ivy perked up. Maybe I’d misread her earlier expression. Of course, anything concerning the river settlements concerned Ivy. The Jayneses made their living off of the Lethe and those who lived along its banks.

  “Yes,” she jumped in, “the farmers at Bloodshot Downs are often plagued with disease. They’re too near the sea so their wells go brackish and they can’t seem to get any of their crop rotations right so they’re malnourished too.”

  Night nodded, his face grave. Failed crops and bad wells often meant death for settlers. They usually couldn’t afford to pay for a full-time Mederi to live among them and a settlement like Bloodshot Downs was too far east to ship a Mederi back and forth easily or affordably.

  “You would know all about the settlers’ problems,” Night said, turning toward Ivy. She looked uncomfortable under the full weight of Night’s stare. “I’d heard of your family—the enterprising Jayneses and their fleet of ferries—but Noon also filled me in on some of your background. Have you really been to each and every settlement?”

  Now that Ivy had Night’s full attention, she looked reluctant to speak. Not one for false modesty, Ivy often touted her family’s successful river ventures. So it was odd that she answered Night with a simple nod. He held her stare for a moment longer than necessary, but then shifted his gaze and continued.

  “So Demeter was my choice, mostly because they’re nontraditionalists. Once I met their Monarch, I understood why they’re so unorthodox. Linnaea’s talent makes my gender seem unremarkable.”

  Ivy and I processed this for a moment. Ivy bit first. “So, what makes this Linnaea so special?”

  “She can heal the mind. Psychosis, neurosis, even grief and depression. All Mederies can heal, but not every Mederi can help a Hyrke want to stay well.”

  Well, she’d obviously had an effect on my brother. I wondered if he’d been a patient as well as a student of hers. I’d have to meet this Linnaea someday. Night’s clear self-acceptance made me as much envious as hopeful.

  It was getting late though, and even if one part of me wanted to hang out at Marduk’s all day catching up with Night, a
nother part of me was anxiously turning my attention to the night ahead. But before I could ask Night how long he was in town for or where he was staying, he told me why he’d come up.

  “Linnaea gave me a pass on my weekend duties in return for your looking after Heather last night. I can’t tell you how grateful I am—as is Linnaea and all of Demeter. No one knows what might have happened if you and your friend hadn’t met her at the train station. The truth is, you may have saved her life.”

  I gave Night a dubious look. He made me sound heroic, which is not at all how I viewed myself. If it weren’t for the fact that I too unfortunately felt that Heather had been in real danger, I would have argued. But there was little point since we both believed the same thing: a demon was stalking Mederies again. But this time, I thought I might know which one. In a quiet voice (it never paid to say a demon’s name too loud), I told Night and Ivy about Vigilia.

  “You think she’s the one who’s been attacking and abducting Mederies?” Ivy whispered. “How could she do that? You said she died.”

  “No, I said no one knew where she was. Big difference.”

  Night considered my information. “Well, it’s an interesting theory. And one I’ll bring up with Karanos.” He laughed at my surprised look. “Okay. Here’s why I’m really up here. Linnaea is grateful to you for keeping Heather out of harm’s way. But gratitude isn’t the only reason she gave me a pass this weekend. She wants me to talk to Karanos about what’s happening. Press him to put more Council Maegesters on the case. The three Mederies who disappeared earlier this year haven’t been heard from. The Council needs to do more.”

  “Four,” I said.

  “Four what?” Night asked.

  “Four Mederies have been attacked or abducted.”

  I told Night about Bryony.

  “How’d she get away?”

  I half grunted, half laughed. That was the same question I’d asked.

  “Luck. And our father. Karanos happened to be crossing through the train station on his way from St. Lucifer’s to the Council offices when Bryony was attacked. The demon left as soon as she sensed Karanos coming. That’s why Bryony Ijolite’s still with us.”

  The three of us sat quietly for a few moments, digesting the magnitude of the situation the Mederies were facing. I finally broke the silence.

  “When are you talking to Karanos?”

  Night shrugged. “I haven’t been able to reach him yet. You know how busy he is. But I’m hoping to talk to him tomorrow.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to offend Night but concern compelled me to make my next comment.

  “You took a big risk coming up here alone, you know.”

  But typical of Night, he just snorted. “You think I look like a Mederi?” Well, I couldn’t argue with him about that. His cloak wasn’t even green. Still… it bothered me intensely that Vigilia—if she was the offending rogare—was out there somewhere, watching… waiting…

  “So where are you staying tonight?”

  “With Peter. He said the Joshua School was hosting some big event for the St. Luck’s students tonight. I assume you’re both going.” He spared me a glance but then looked at Ivy, awaiting her response. Red splotches suddenly bloomed on her cheeks. The mild tension that I’d sensed between them suddenly came into sharp focus. Aha! I grinned.

  “We’re going,” I said.

  “Great,” Night said, grabbing his cloak from the back of his chair and heading out. “Then we’ll see you in your lobby at seven.”

  My grin faded, replaced by the same anxious, edgy feeling I’d been trying to get rid of all morning. We meant him and Peter.

  “What time did you say Ari was coming over?” Ivy said, looking at me with eyebrows raised.

  “Seven,” I said weakly.

  All dolled up, dresses donned, hair coiffed, we looked pretty good. Actually, Ivy and I had never looked better in our whole lives. I, for one, had never worn a dress like this. It made me more than a little uncomfortable to bare my demon mark. I felt scandalously naked with my shoulders and upper chest uncovered. But my feelings fit the mood of the holiday.

  The Patron of Bryde’s Day was Bryde, of course, who’d been Halja’s most powerful Mederi and who was still worshipped as a mother figure by Haljans everywhere, but Beltane’s patron was Flora, a lesser demon whose favorite followers had been maidens. Flora’s followers didn’t need to be fertile; they just needed to be sensual and desired. They weren’t trying to get pregnant. They only wanted to have fun.

  According to legend, Flora had been a young demoness, beautiful in her corporeal form, and named after her one true unrequited love—flowers. Legends say one spring she took to the hills, unable to keep her hands away from the flowering buds and bursting blooms. Needless to say, her touch was deadly and caused her no small amount of remorse. In her frustration, grief, and madness, she torched the hills with a series of great bonfires. The flames rose high into the night, drawing Hyrkes from their homes, who danced and sang and drank with delight by the light of them.

  Due to these beginnings, the holiday has the air of an impromptu celebration, even when it is meticulously planned. Its mood is often frivolous and playful. Unlike Bryde’s Day, where the focus is so overtly on mothers, babies, and fertility, Beltane is a festival of flowers, fire, and sexuality—sometimes with your partner, sometimes not. But while Beltane’s anything goes attitude was appealing to me, Flora’s story was just a tad too close to my own for comfort. So I’d never really embraced the holiday. Of course, we Onyxes had never really embraced any holiday.

  Until now.

  In keeping with the spirit of the holiday and my promise to Ari, I’d elected to go all out with my appearance. I’d applied shimmering champagne, gold, and bronze eye shadow all around my eyes, all the way to my brows and even underneath my lower lashes and then heavily lined them in charcoal. The effect was dramatic and almost otherworldly. The dress was even more spectacular on me than it had been on the hanger. The bright yet burnt, fiery orange color suited me and the swishy sound of the silk taffeta train pleased me. I stood before the mirror, hands on hips, swishing back and forth, assessing.

  “Do you think the flower’s too much?” I asked Ivy.

  “No!”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d asked. The silk flower in my hair had been a last minute addition. I’d styled my hair in a large, carefully sculpted messy updo. The entirety of it had been teased, then some parts straightened, and some curled. I then artfully arranged it in a great mass on the top of my head. A few strands were left to trail down the back of my neck and around my face. I’d found the huge orange silk flower in Ivy’s hairpin box and had tucked it up into the side of my elaborate updo, just above my right ear.

  I stuck my tongue out at my reflection, laughing at the flower on one side, demon mark on the other. The tight fit of my dress molded to my every curve. To me, it looked like my breasts were in danger of spilling out of the top. They weren’t, Ivy assured me, but there would be no question of my femininity tonight.

  Ivy looked radiant. The soft drape of yards of emerald green silk combined with her tall, ethereal figure only enhanced her natural grace. The front cut of her dress was low, but the back was the most dramatic part. It dipped almost (but not quite) to the top of Ivy’s buttocks, baring a wide expanse of naked back.

  Ivy’s golden red hair was braided with deep green ribbons, and adorned with freshwater pearls from the mouth of the Lethe. She’d chosen to make a statement with her makeup. I hadn’t realized what an artist Ivy was until she painted her face. She’d covered cheeks, nose, forehead, and chin with a mix of sparkling, iridescent light and dark green paints. Then she’d drawn flowing swirls and whorls in black, accented with white. She looked fantastic. She grinned and we decided to wait for everyone downstairs, in the lobby of Megiddo.

  Megiddo probably didn’t go all the way back to the days when St. Luck’s had been Fort Babylon, but it was easily hundreds of years old. The lobby was cavernou
s, with a high beamed ceiling and rows of two-story arched windows on the east and west sides. The floor was inlaid parquet, topped with wool rugs in muted colors. Scattered around the great space were small seating areas with expensive but uncomfortable-looking couches and chairs. An eclectic mix of artwork, from the tasteful to the moderately profane (this was the dormitory lobby of a demon law school in Halja after all), adorned the walls.

  The excitement I’d felt while getting ready with Ivy upstairs faded and the anxious, edgy, jittery feeling I’d started the day with returned. I wandered around Megiddo’s lobby, adrift, looking for a piece of artwork or furniture to anchor myself with. My teeth chattered, my palms were sweaty, and my throat was dry. I was a Maegester-in-Training with a class position of Secundus. I had killed a demon (albeit a small familiar I still felt grief-ridden about) and I was doing an adequate job of controlling my client so far (in fact, he’d been chivalrous enough to walk me to the library the other night, right?). And I was more than holding my own in my Hyrke law classes. I should not have been this nervous.

  But, tonight, it seemed, there was no end of things to get worked up about: my provocative appearance, fear and longing of greater intimacy with Ari, wonder and worry over Peter and the Reversal Spell, my earlier discussion with Night and Ivy about Vigilia, and the overall unsettling feeling of upcoming Beltane and the anything goes mentality that came with it.

  Hung above a massive, beautifully ornate stone and tile fireplace in our lobby was a large, evocative oil portrait of Flora. Her swelling breasts and generous hips beckoned, her luxuriantly rich, deep, dark tresses flowed like the water in the river she walked along. She was lovely, youthful, and strong. She was happy, traipsing through those blooming fields, her long skirts swirling, hand poised to pick a single flower. Behold, Flora, surrounded by life and its never ending colors: lilies of the purest white, trees a verdant green, the river a bright blue, and the sky the lightest pink. In the picture, it was sunset, the moment before it all turned to dust. In the time it took Flora to pluck one stem, everything in the picture would be gone. The artist had captured the last moment of Flora’s joy so clearly it pained me just to look at it.