The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance

by Wanrow, Laurel

  “Oh, there’s the blue light like on the tea warmer. Do it again.”

  He gave her a funny look, but did. The faint light zinged over the surface. “That’s excess oil shining under Master Brightwell’s good lamps.” Rivley wiped at a smeared spot.

  No, it wasn’t oil. But she wouldn’t argue. If she did, he’d surely ask how she knew about machines, which might lead to uncomfortable topics.

  Rivley laid down the depositor and picked up a screwdriver. “I still need to clean the inner gears.” He began loosening a tiny setscrew holding an axle.

  She moved closer to peer at the dim glow of blue coming from within the machine.

  “I’ll have it up and running by late afternoon if you’d like to come back.” He grinned at her over his shoulder, his face flickering between human and bird-like, his arms feathering again.

  Annmar wasn’t quite sure if she saw it happen with her eyes or in her mind, but didn’t want to close her eyes to check. It was just so fascinating. What harm was there in asking? They seemed to be becoming friends, like she was with Mary Clare. “What kind of a hawk are you?”

  Surprise transformed his face to human.

  “If it’s not too forward of me to ask. I, uh…”

  “Someone told you?”

  “My Knack lets me see—” She glanced over his completely human body. “Well, I can’t now, but a moment ago, you were…” Mercy, what had she started? She’d best go. “Never mind.”

  She turned away, but Rivley sprang up, hopping between her and the door just like the quick bird within. He stared down, not threatening or fierce as before but…something. “You see, er, me? ’Cambire forms?”

  It was hard to move, let alone talk, under that stare, which hit her uncomfortably as what a rabbit must feel when caught in the open.

  He shifted off a step and wiped a hand over his face. “Very few people can tell I’m a ’cambire.”

  Ah. That explained his alarm. Muscles she’d held tight sagged, the rabbit released. “Sorry,” she breathed.

  Rivley’s mouth crooked, and this time his grin was pure boy. “Aw, don’t be. You’re just you. Do you think the healing and the sight are part of one Knack, or two separate ones?”

  She started to nod, then shook her head. “I’m trying to solve that question. I don’t know much of anything about Knacks. Or changers,” she said pointedly.

  “A sparrowhawk. I’m a Eurasian sparrowhawk.”

  She had no idea of the differences in hawks. “It’s a big one?”

  “One of the smaller aerial predators of the Black Mountains.” Rivley picked up the screwdriver he’d dropped. “That’s why we decided, Dae and I, to make our way to the Basin’s northern Farmlands. This shire no longer hosts the bigger prey animals, so there are more jobs for smaller predators. Neither of us could take down a deer, but rodents and nuisance birds are no problem. Those are a farm’s most common complaint.”

  Oh, ugh, did that mean—“You kill mice and, uh…”

  “Eat them?” He laughed. “I prefer birds. And only in hawk form. I don’t even know how they taste when I shift to human. It’s a different life.”

  Annmar kept her features frozen, yet when her hand strayed to her roiling stomach, his gaze followed. “Does it upset you that I can see the hawk part of you?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it. Tomorrow another person could appear on Mistress Gere’s doorstep with yet another unusual Knack we’ve never heard of. I have to hope there aren’t any more of your kind of Knack Outside. I plan to study at a mechanics’ institute one day and can’t have anyone ratting me out.”

  “I would never—”

  “I know.” He flashed her a smile before bending to the machine.

  That little action made her feel a part of things, in their shared confidences. She could count Rivley as a friend.

  He loosened another setscrew holding a large gear and removed it. Behind shone the faint core of blue light she’d spotted earlier. Though she’d drawn many machines’ external views, Annmar never quite understood the mechanics inside the engines. She squatted down to see where the oil, what Rivley claimed produced the blue light, might be in a semi-clockwork machine like this.

  He glanced over.

  “I know the basics of these: Once wound, a spring releases to power the gears. But I’ve never understood how the oil spreads to make it self-lubricating.”

  “It starts here.” He poked the screwdriver past a set of wheels to a neat metal cylinder about the diameter of a drinking glass. From each end, metal tubes squirmed their way off to other parts of the engine.

  “That would be the oil reservoir?”

  “Well, yes, it would be, but it’s mostly empty right now, thanks to Henry. Here, since you have an interest, I’ll clean the canister first and refill it.” Levering the tip of the screwdriver against a clamp at the bottom, Rivley released the canister, unthreaded bolt couplings holding the tubing tight to the metal sides and carried the piece to the workbench. Above an enamel tray, he unscrewed one end and upturned the contents.

  Shimmery blue oil flowed across the white glass surface, though very little of it as Rivley had predicted. Then, as the viscous flow ceased, he gave the canister a little shake, and something else tumbled out and hit the bottom of the tray with a clunk.

  The large-eared, big-eyed clay figurine of a vole stared up at them.

  Annmar looked at it, then looked at Rivley. “What is a doodem doing in your machine?”

  He stared back at her. “How do you know what a doodem is?”

  She didn’t, exactly. But she recognized this clay animal’s similarity to the three figurines sitting on her chest of drawers, the only knickknacks of Mother’s Annmar had saved because they’d always seemed special. As a child, Annmar hadn’t been allowed to play with the cat, owl and flower doodems, a term Mother told Annmar was an old-fashioned word for a totem. Mother hadn’t hidden that they came from her childhood, but what they were went unexplained, just like most of Mother’s life.

  Yet this doodem was very different from Mother’s white figurines. This mulberry-colored clay animal pulsed with a beautiful cerulean light.

  The same blue coloring she’d seen in the luminated threads. The energy. The doodem was the heart, the origin of the energy in the machines.

  With what Annmar knew of machines, this idea was ridiculous. However, in Blighted Basin, her Knack overruled Outside logic. Like with the canning cooks’ foods, she had to be seeing someone else’s Knack at work. But whose? And if doodems worked as energy for a machine, did they do the same for people? Annmar’s breath caught. If Mother had doodems, why did she die?

  A dozen more questions sprang up, about blue lights and threads and sparks and doodems and Knacks, but until Annmar confirmed this Knack’s owner, she must keep her questions to herself.

  chapter twenty-seven

  The farmhouse had been quiet for hours by the time Daeryn jumped to his windowsill and slipped through the propped open sash. The jumps didn’t jolt his healed foot, but he took the next steps carefully, his polecat body adding another shadow along the foundation. Once around the firewood piled under the porch covering, he scanned the moonlit farmyard.

  Empty. Sounds filled the night. Crickets on a slow chirp, leaves skittering into the buildings, the distant hoot of an owl. His silent padding disturbed none of it while he trotted through the side yard, his dark body melding with the silhouettes cast by the pear trees.

  Had it been only a day—two nights—since the attack? By the Path, now that he was really moving, it seemed like a week. He crossed the drive, circling to the farmhouse, and paused again at the edge of the fields.

  The farmyard sat roughly at the eastern central point of Wellspring’s property. From Jac’s description of the new sections, he was overlooking the middle, the one James and Maraquin would be hunting. After a few minutes searching, he spotted James’ lynx form and the wolves. The ropens, on the other hand, eluded his keen eyesight unti
l one rose above the tree line.

  With that confirmation, Daeryn turned south. Still at the same easy pace, he traveled the farm road’s shadowy edges. When the corn stalks gave way to a fallow field, he hugged the ground. Across a perpendicular road, pea nut plants grew on either side in Zar’s old section. Knowing the lynx, he’d stick to the old rotation pattern. Daeryn trotted the route in reverse to run into him as soon as possible. It’d be rude not to.

  Two hilltops later they met, Daeryn shifting to human form first and strolling forward.

  Giving a shake, Zar rose to two feet and offered a hand still tufted in fur. “Better, huh?”

  “Yes, but taking it slow. Don’t want to promise too much until I’m certain I can do it.”

  “Then Jac doesn’t know you’re out.”

  Daeryn grinned and shook his head. Another male caught on faster than one of the wolves would have. “Figured you’d understand. I want to help, but it wouldn’t help any of us if I got into too quick a chase the first night out and did something stupid. Can I cover your far fields and free you up to roam more into the middle?”

  Zar gave a curt nod. “Good plan. Soon now the wolves won’t have time to hunt the middle.”

  Oh? So what Jac had laid out at the morning communication wasn’t exactly what the team had been doing?

  Zar must have read his expression. “Changes on the paw, like she told you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “She did.”

  They parted with a wave. Daeryn kept to the trot until out of sight. No twinges from the even padding so far. He hated to miss the pest action sequestered away at the farm’s far end, downright boring these days, but he had his own plans. His muscles bunched tighter, and he leaped. Once, twice, to check the harder landings on his paws. Feeling no change, he stretched into his polecat’s bounding stride.

  The crops blurred, his eyelids narrowed in the wind and his nostrils flared into even breathing, taking in and dismissing the familiar scents. By the end of the field, his heart hummed with joy and his body quivered for more, but Daeryn forced himself into a walk. No pain or twitching. With a field’s length behind him to make sure, he gathered his legs beneath him and sprang forward, speeding until he ran full-out. Afterward, another walk patrolling the length of the section confirmed he had no soreness.

  Now for the final test. Daeryn ran, then jerked into a sharp turn. He cornered left, right, swerved and finally skidded to a stop in the middle of the dirt road. He raised his nose to the stars and yipped with relief.

  His foot did it all, just as it always had.

  Thank the Creator. He’d had a few doubts while watching Maraquin sleep. What if Annmar drew it wrong? Or if he didn’t have the same strength or agility? His imagination had run a little wild, but he’d worried for nothing. Annmar was good at this, for a new Knack-bearer. Could she even do a healing “wrong” or would her Knack not allow it? He’d like a chance to talk it over with her, but that was a definite show of tail she gave him this afternoon. No approaching her until she came to him.

  Daeryn returned to a slower pace to meet Zar at the end of the first rotation.

  “Picking up,” the lynx said. “If it’s fine by you, I’ll stick to the middle. Wolves are too busy to notice.”

  That worked for Daeryn. With his body tested and limber, he leaped through the section at his normal rate, giving the farthest fields a real look. Besides the two mice he caught and ate, the section stayed free from pests. Which was great for the growers and the harvest, but only frustrated a guard who knew his skills might be better spent saving another portion of crops.

  Hell, if he was this good off, he couldn’t spend another night inside. Daeryn threw caution aside. Several hills lay between him and the northern section. The highest over at the western edge in the middle would be the best to scope out where the others hunted. He cut across a bean field, leaping some of the shorter plants to gain a few rows north before racing to the end and popping out onto the road. He glanced toward the hill—just as a huge shadow descended on him.

  Ropen!

  Daeryn twisted and leaped aside. A single claw grazed his flank. He jumped spastically and shifted at the same time.

  Creator, please! He rose to two feet and spun, arms lifted. Beyond his splayed hands, the ropen veered, leathery wings spread. They hung like draperies blocking the stars above, and below, two sets of talons the length of human hands. Agonizing seconds ticked by before the claws closed and the wings folded. The huge ’cambire dropped yards away, shifting as he touched down.

  Heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears, Daeryn could only stare at the looming figure.

  “What the hell is a scrawny ’cambire like you doing out here?” snarled Paet.

  Daeryn sprang forward and shoved his face into Paet’s. “What the hell are you doing down here?” he yelled.

  “Hunting what I thought was vermin,” Paet snapped back.

  Daeryn’s hand fisted. His arm jerked back…and he stopped it. “Don’t you...” He stopped his mouth, too. He drew a breath. “Jac told you to hunt the northern fields. You either follow her directions, or you find yourself a new job.”

  Paet glared, his mismatched eyes unnervingly steady as Daeryn’s whole body shook.

  “Suppose following orders is better than causing an accident and being tried for murder.” He spun on his heel, took three long strides, shifting as he did, and spread his enormous wings.

  Once he’d disappeared over the rise, Daeryn fell to his knees and vomited.

  Chapter twenty-eight

  Daeryn paced the too-small sickroom, from the window, to the door, to the window again. The sky was lightening, so within minutes Jac would head in for the morning communication. He wanted to tell Miz Gere about Paet’s mistake before Jac arrived. It was only fair, but damn, this house and its interfering barriers. He had no idea if Miz Gere was up yet.

  He stuck his head out the door to listen. Silence. Any longer and he wouldn’t be telling this tale alone.

  But was telling the lady the right thing to do?

  He could predict the conversation. He’d go to Miz Gere. First off, she’d demand to know how he’d healed. Planning to tell everyone they healed differently in Rockbridge was all fine and good, until it came down to doing it. He couldn’t lie to Miz Gere any more than he could betray his promise to Annmar.

  Daeryn leaned his forehead to the doorjamb. “But I’m lying now,” he whispered.

  He might be able to defer answering the question of his healing, but knowing he’d nearly been caught by... Those huge talons extended horribly over his head again. Daeryn swallowed and forced the nightmare away. The story would only add to Miz Gere’s worries. Until he had a solution in hand, it might appear he was asking her to pick him over them.

  Dismissing the ropens would not help Wellspring. Daeryn itched to be out there hunting, too, but he couldn’t risk being in the fields with them flying anyplace they chose. The nervous hours he’d spent running Zar’s section while looking over his shoulder barely passed as guarding. His polecat size was too similar to a pest’s. One slip and he was a dead man.

  He blew out a breath. No matter which solutions he tried to play out in his head, he couldn’t oversee the team without the freedom to travel the complete farm. Jac, in her solid wolf form, might keep the ropen in place…but no, she’d already tried and he didn’t think it’d been half measures with Jac. But her huge wolf had a better shot at stopping Paet than Daeryn did. Keeping the lead wasn’t as important as keeping this place running. Besides sparing his neck, that’s all Daeryn wanted. The wood against his skin cooled and cleared his thoughts. He’d listen to Jac’s report and hear what plans emerged from it. His own relied on Rivley. If his friend could rig a tiny lantern for Daeryn to wear on a harness on his back, then he’d be identifiable as not-a-pest. He’d be the farm laughingstock, but alive.

  Now, he had to approach Annmar. If she gave him permission to reveal the healing, he could go to Miz Gere with no additional bur
dens and put his conscience to rest.

  Then tonight Jac would be lead. Creator help them. Before then he’d better make his petitions at the chapel in person.

  * * *

  A half hour later, Daeryn hobbled outside with weight on both feet, the crutches still under his arms. A group of growers heading to breakfast nodded, and his face burned with guilt in response. He clenched his teeth and moved to the spot under the tree where the morning communication usually met. The wagons sat loaded for Market Day, the steam tractor idling while Miz Gere spoke with the head grower.

  She crossed to him a few minutes later, her frown visible in the dim light, but she only said, “Good morning. Curious as I am?”

  “Of course.” Daeryn nodded to the changing hut at the edge of the fields. “Jac’s on her way.”

  Famil appeared from the bunkhouse first, accompanied by the other day guards. Seconds later, Jac emerged from the changing hut and strode across the farmyard, hair wet from her spray wash and falling in strands to her flannel-covered shoulders. Her chin was up, but as she strode closer, the cuts across her face became visible. Great Creator, she looked as bad as he felt inside.

  “Tough night,” he said.

  The addition of Maraquin and James covered half the fields, and the kills increased. The ropens reported forty-three vermin killed, a number Paet updated every hour, to Jac’s continued annoyance. She’d managed only six kills, while the other Wellspring guards killed seven or eight apiece.

  “About eighty?” Famil asked. “We’ll verify as we collect them.”

  “Maybe.” Jac rubbed a scratch trailing from under her cuff to the back of her hand. “We’ve solved the mystery of the dead vermin disappearing the first night we were attacked.”

  She met Daeryn’s gaze, her lips curled in disgust. “Tell Rivley he was right. Cannibalistic. One ran over to eat another I had just killed. Kind of explains why they all converged on us the other night.” She blew out a breath. “So we’ll have to trust the counts. When Maxillon gave me theirs, he dismissed my idea the pests are increasing. He said they’d have the lot cleared in a week.”