Skylark

by Meagan Spooner

  My whole hand throbbed as I drained the crystal of its stolen energy, a painstaking, aching process. When I was finished, the crystal was lifeless again, a dead translucent object sitting in the palm of my hand.

  When I looked up, Dorian was staring at me, his face unreadable. I started to offer him the crystal back, and he flinched, taking a step back. Just for an instant, I saw something like fear flash across his features.

  “Keep it,” he whispered, swallowing. “Keep it.”

  He didn’t want me to touch him. With a jolt, I realized he half-expected me to do to him what I’d just done with the crystal. I slid the pixie’s heart into my pocket, where it would nestle against the paper bird.

  Dorian had recovered some of his composure and stood watching me, lips tight. I understood now what he’d sensed in me when he shook my hand. If that core of magic had been inside a living, moving pixie, it would’ve died the second I took its magic away. I tried to imagine the harvester I’d encountered my first day outside the Wall—it would have had a similar core inside it, somewhere.

  I had the power to stop a machine’s heart. To stop any heart?

  I thought Dorian might repeat what he’d asked of me that morning. I braced for it, and he watched me for a few moments, his gaze grim and fixed on mine. He didn’t need to ask me again—the words were already out there. I could see the desperation in his eyes. But in the end he only thanked me for my help and sent me back out to rejoin the others.

  As the people of the village were finishing their evening meals in the barricaded square, Dorian came out to speak to them. I tried to close my ears to his speech, for I couldn’t quite bear it knowing what I was about to do, but he was the group’s leader for a reason. He was passionate and confident, so much so that by the time he finished speaking I almost believed that the folk in the Iron Wood could hold out the coming day.

  “The scouts tell me they’ll be here in a day’s time,” said Dorian, palms flat against an iron railing. “So get some sleep. The scouts will be taking turns to keep watch—we’re safe for now, and soon we’re going to need all our strength.” His eyes found mine, where I watched him from the window of Tansy’s house. This time I met his gaze, and after a few moments he turned away.

  I watched as the folk drifted back to their houses, most solemn but some confident enough to smile and joke. I thought of the harvester machine, its many hands and what damage they could do if reprogrammed to seek human prey. The memory of the delicate, needlelike fingers scrabbling over my ankle still made me shudder.

  I had brought this upon them. It was my fault the machines were coming to capture each Renewable in the village, just as it was my fault Oren faced execution. I’d spent my life until now as a cog in one people’s machine—could I turn around and become the instrument of another?

  If I couldn’t save the Iron Wood, at least I could save someone. Oren overcame more than I could know to come find me, and I had repaid that by allowing him to be captured by people who meant to kill him. They had done a lot for me here—but Oren had done more.

  •  •  •

  Tansy sat up with me that night, talking about the trivial little nothings of her life. She was as anxious as I, though for different reasons. She wasn’t much older than I, but had been trained as a fighter since she was a child—and still she was frightened. Her parents slept deeply out of necessity, but she sat with me in the corner by the stove talking in a low voice.

  As much as I needed her to sleep and be silent, I could not quite bring myself to push her away. It had been a long time since I had had anything approaching a friend, particularly one who did not betray me or turn into a monster or run on magical clockwork. Despite my determination to remain as impassive and steadfast as Oren would, I let her continue far longer than I should have.

  Past midnight, a barely audible tap at the door announced Tansy’s turn at the watch. She got to her feet, stooping long enough to seek my hand and give it a squeeze.

  “We’ll be all right,” she whispered. “You’ll see.”

  She and the scout at the door vanished. I listened for a time to the sounds of her parents sleeping, gathering my courage. Outside the window, Oren’s cage lay in shadow. Though he had reverted to his monstrous self by midmorning, he had been quiet all day, giving little reason to counteract Dorian’s order that he not be killed yet.

  With no sun to mark the passage of time, I had no way of knowing what hour it was. I found myself missing the city’s sun disc.

  I forced myself to turn away from the window, and retrieved the bottles of cider I’d prepared that day. They were hot from proximity to the stove. By the dim light of the coals in the stove, I wrapped the bottles in a towel to pour the cider into mugs, and placed each on a tray. Each clink of glass and ceramic made me flinch and glance over my shoulder at the dark shapes that were Tansy’s sleeping parents, but they never moved. I was shocked by how they took the looming attack in stride. Perhaps it was not the first time a newcomer had brought trouble to their doorstep.

  I took a tiny sip from one of the mugs, enough to hold the liquid on my tongue. I spat the mouthful out and prayed the blue liquid was sufficiently concealed—and that it was enough.

  I stood before the door, tray of mugs in hand, the cold metal of Oren’s blade warming to my skin where I’d tucked it in my pants. I took deep breaths, willing the pounding of my heart to slow. No one would accept a mug of cider from someone whose hands were shaking badly enough to rattle the ceramic against the tray.

  When I could lift my head without my vision swimming, I lifted the latch of the door and slipped out. As he had been the previous night, the nearest scout was leaning up against the corner of a nearby house, overlooking the square. From what I could see there were fewer of them on guard tonight—Oren’s stillness throughout the day had lulled them, perhaps. Or, more likely, they simply needed more eyes on watch between here and the coming forces from the city.

  “Good evening,” I whispered, a few paces back from his elbow. It was the same one as the night before—the one to whom Tomas had handed the key.

  He looked around until he saw me. “Don’t worry,” he said, no doubt mistaking the wideness of my eyes and the quickness of my breath. “We’ll have plenty of warning before anything gets this far.”

  What harm was it to let him believe it was the coming attack I feared? I swallowed audibly and nodded, trying to summon something of relief. “I couldn’t sleep,” I said, launching myself into the few words I’d rehearsed for this moment. “I feel so awful about everything.”

  The scout smiled, teeth flashing briefly. “Don’t worry,” he said again. “No one faults you. Dorian’s made it clear you’re not to blame.”

  Nothing could be farther from the truth, but I smiled in return, and if the smile was a little strained and nervous, well, so was his. “Still, I wanted to do something. I know it isn’t much,” I quavered, “but I heated up some cider. It’ll at least keep you warm while you’re on watch.”

  Was that suspicion in his eyes? The eagerness with which he reached for a mug, though, proved it to be hopeful anticipation. He gave it a sniff and sighed. “Thanks, Lark.” In the city, everyone had known my name, too, even those whose faces I barely recognized. I didn’t fit here either. “You going to take this round to the other guys?”

  I nodded. “If you think they’d want some,” I said. “Is it warm enough?” No point in spreading it around if they’d detect the bitterness and spit out the first mouthfuls they took.

  He took a cautious sip, and then a second, longer one. “Yep. Thanks.”

  I left him cradling the mug in both hands below his face, the steam curling up around his chin. By the time I’d visited each scout around the square I had lost any fear that they would detect the drug I’d added to it. I felt eyes on me as I made my way around the square, and knew without looking that the creature in the cage was tracking each movement I made with the patient, hungry diligence of a hunter.

 
; As I brought the tray and leftover mugs back into the house, the guard I’d spoken to first was already nodding. His head drooped low on his chest, and he was sagging where he was propped up against the corner. I carefully took the mug dangling from his fingertips, retrieving it before he could drop it.

  “Thanks, Lark,” he mumbled, and then he slid down the side of the house. A sudden stab of fear coursed through me— had I put in too much? How dangerous was this drug?

  I leaned the tray up against Tansy’s house and hurried back to the scout. As I started to feel for his wrist he began to snore. I startled back, relief as palpable as the cold pervading the square.

  All around the square I could see that the other scouts were in similar states. I stooped and quickly began going through the guard’s pockets, trying to keep my fingers as light as possible. His snoring continued unabated, a gentle rumble that assured me he wouldn’t wake. It wasn’t until I realized I was checking the same pockets all over again that a stab of fear coursed through me. The key wasn’t there.

  I gazed across the square, toward the iron cage. You can’t magic iron, I thought. I had failed him. I fought to keep my eyes dry and my throat clear. At least I would not let him see me cry.

  With my ears tuned for the slightest sound of someone else coming, I crept out into the dappled moonlight and toward Oren’s cage.

  Chapter 29

  He was waiting for me when I arrived. At some point during my circuit around the square, the change had occurred and he was himself again. He was watching me much the way he had been before, though the manner of his stare had changed, softened. Less animal.

  He sat leaning against the bars at his back, feet crossed at the ankles and his hands loosely draped over his knees. He looked for all the world as though he was sitting comfortably by a campfire, though the confines of the cage would hardly let him assume any other position.

  We stared at each other through the bars of the cage. Finally, I licked my lips and managed to whisper, “Hi.”

  He scarcely acknowledged the greeting, blinking once, the gleam of moonlight reflected in his eyes cutting out and then returning. After a time, he lifted his head a fraction and said quietly, “I’m one of them, aren’t I?”

  “One of—” My voice caught in my throat.

  “The dark ones.” There was little to be seen in his face, as impassive as ever. If anything his voice was flatter, emptier than I’d ever heard it before.

  “How did you—”

  “There are moments in the dark times,” he said, “when I almost know myself. And I’m still in this cage. I get confused. Not stupid.”

  I gazed at him and he gazed back. There wasn’t an ounce of self-pity in his face. If it had been me I would have been howling my innocence, begging to be released. He sat and looked at me, hands resting loosely on his knees.

  “What do they have planned?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.

  “They gave me this night,” I whispered. “A little time. And then they’ll—” My jaw clenched so tightly I almost couldn’t bring myself to speak. “I won’t let them. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I’m not afraid,” he said, pale eyes darkening, intensifying. He leaned forward, the fierce angles of his face bisected in the middle by an iron bar that cast a sharp shadow against his cheekbone. “If this is what I am, then I should die.” I’d heard that kind of single-minded bloodlust in his voice before, at the summer lake. When he’d told me that it didn’t matter that the shadow woman and her child were human inside the magic. When he’d told me they all deserved to die.

  “No,” I said fiercely, before I remembered to keep my voice low. “You’re not a monster. They can’t see you for what you are.”

  “I’m only different because of the time I’ve spent with you,” said Oren. He had yet to raise his voice at all, keeping it pitched low. He didn’t whisper, but spoke with a quiet grace that made me want to tear through the bars of his cage to get him out. “It’s easy to see it, looking back. The longer I stayed with you the clearer the world became. I just thought it was—” He shook his head sharply. This time, though, I recognized that flash of irritation for the intimacy it was. He certainly didn’t let anyone else see his emotions. “I just thought it was you.”

  I leaned forward and wrapped my hands around the bars, as though my touch might melt them away. “If I bring you to Dorian you can tell him that you’re not a monster, and he’ll stop them from hurting you. I know we can make him see it. I’ll stay by you and keep you—keep you human. Keep you safe.” I bowed my head, pressing my forehead against the iron.

  Oren reached out, brushing the backs of my fingers with his. “I don’t want to be kept,” he said softly, prompting me to lift my head again.

  My face must have been a wreck with withheld tears and sleep deprivation, but he didn’t flinch away, the corner of his mouth lifting. I pulled my hands away from the bars and went to the door of his cage. If Dorian believed I was powerful enough to wipe out an army, then surely I was strong enough for this.

  “It’s locked,” Oren said, turning to watch me.

  “I don’t need a key,” I muttered.

  “Lark,” he said. “It’s iron. Even I know by now that you can’t magic iron.”

  “The trees were turned to iron with magic. Iron is just a thing in the world,” I said, lifting the iron padlock in one hand. It sat in my palm, heavy and cold. “Like any other.” I closed my eyes, searching for that tiny grain of energy I had left.

  “You’ll hurt yourself,” warned Oren. “Remember the last magic you did? I had to carry you back to the summer lake. You were so light I thought you might break.”

  “I won’t,” I said. “I know how to do it now.” It was only partly a lie. Dorian’s words—about channeling, amplifying power—had struck something in me that made more sense than I would have admitted to him. He had told me, after all, that I had an ability to manipulate magic, to amplify it, that anyone would have envied.

  I found that knot inside me, the tiny last vestiges of power that were left to me from the Institute. I understood now why it had always been so painful, using that power, the way it had snapped out of me like the shattering of a bone. They’d put it there, some alien force synthesized in their laboratory. No wonder it felt as though I was breaking.

  The lock grew warmer as I concentrated—but warming to the heat of my hand, or to the power I was trying to access, I could not tell.

  “Lark!” Oren said sharply, reaching through the bars and grabbing my wrist. “Snap out of it! I’m not leaving this cage if you open the lock. Lark, I need to be put down. If I’m free I will kill people.”

  “No!” My eyes snapped open, vision blurring with weary tears. “They intend to execute you in the morning and I will not stand by and let them kill you, not when I can do something about it. I don’t care about what you’ve done and I don’t care about what you might do; I only care about what you are to me, and if you don’t sit down and let me do this I will drug you senseless and drag you into the woods and leave you there.”

  I blinked the moisture away from my eyes and saw that he was staring at me in silence, all expression gone again from his face. I cleared my throat and whispered, “If it were me, would you sit here and let me die?”

  I longed for him to speak, but all he did was sit there and gaze at me with that infuriatingly impassive stare. Then, slowly, finger by finger, he let go of my wrist.

  I turned my attention back to the lock, grateful to have something to focus on other than the boy in the cage. My stomach was surging so that I scarcely noticed the fog descending in my head, the dizziness overtaking me. As I closed my eyes again the metal grew hot in my hand.

  The blood roared in my ears as I willed that power to snap out of me. There wasn’t much left. It was as though being told I was losing it had created my awareness of it. Now I could sense all too clearly that the power was almost gone.

  I summoned up—for the last time?—the image
of my brother’s paper bird, the ringing sensation of that first magic. It had been before the Institute had done anything to me. That first time, the power had been all mine. I tried to find that reserve and instead found emptiness.

  When I opened my eyes again my vision clicked and changed. I could see Oren next to me, a power sink, each tendril of energy I raised sucked away into him. He was a dark pit of nothing, whereas I could see shining tangles of energy all around that were the sleeping scouts, the families in their houses beyond, and those on watch for the Institute. It was like the flashes of iridescence I’d seen in the pockets, only they were flashes no more. Gleaming, glittering, I could see it all— the power everywhere, waiting to be tapped.

  Shaking with effort, I poured all of myself into the padlock. The images of the shining people all around the square wavered, lines of their power snapping to me like lightning to a tower. My stomach wrenched so hard I was sure it could no longer be connected to the rest of me. I gasped and dropped the lock. It fell open, swung once with the momentum, and rocked off the door. The metal blade tucked into my pants burned hot against my skin.

  I stood staring at the lock as Oren pushed open the door. I felt empty and hollow. What had I just done?

  Oren had climbed out of his cage and had taken hold of my shoulders, was saying something urgently. He gave me the tiniest of shakes. I swam back to the present and looked up, startled.

  “—need to sit down?”

  “I’m—fine,” I gasped. I realized as soon as I spoke that the words weren’t a lie. I hadn’t felt so whole since Harvest Day. The magic was gone—and all that was left was me.