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

by Wanrow, Laurel

  She nearly bypassed a small, covered area tucked between others, but noticed the moving hands of the proprietress sitting outside the canopy. A shapeless dress of the dullest brown practically hid the woman. The color matched the plowed fields Annmar had viewed crossing the Basin, and the lady’s graying mousy hair resembled twining branches of shrubs where it wrapped her bent head in two long braids. Escaping strands jiggled as the woman worked at something in her lap.

  Annmar stepped closer. Slick with mud, the woman’s short, fat fingers pinched and squeezed at a lump of clay, molding it into…a figurine. Annmar caught her breath. Doodems. She darted a glance into the shaded booth. A table held trays of clay animals and plants, each nestled in cotton batting. They stared up at her, just as the doodem in the workshop had. But none of these was oily-looking or blue, so they looked more like Mother’s totems.

  “You’re new to our market,” the lady said in a raspy whisper.

  Annmar started and met the gaze of two bright hazel eyes set in a pale, fine-lined face. The wrinkles deepened into a smile. Annmar nodded cautiously. She looked around for Rivley. He wasn’t far, just a few feet away at a table of jumbled tools.

  “Shopping for the zoolet or biota for the next phase of your life?” The woman must have realized Annmar didn’t understand, because she added, “Or is our worship tradition but a bit of local folklore to you? A little good luck charm for your home?”

  She knew better. Doodems held some meaning. “Charms aren’t how my mother treated them.”

  “A smart woman, your mother. If she honored them as the Creator’s Path directs, I’m sure her doodems brought life spirit to your home, healing if she cared for them properly.”

  No, not healing. Tears sprang to Annmar’s eyes. To keep the woman from seeing and asking awkward questions, she stepped into the stand and bent for a look at the figures.

  “Take your time, pet. Study them carefully to find just the right one.”

  All were roughly the same size, two inches long and an inch wide, something that easily fit in the palm of one’s hand. The primitive style gave only a hint of the features, yet subtle differences easily identified the species. One had the ears of a rabbit, another a fox tail. Mixed in were doodems of leaves or flower buds on short stalks rising from a seed or corm.

  The creaking chair signaled the old lady rising, so Annmar wasn’t surprised when she ambled to her side.

  She touched a few of the figures, adjusting them in their bedding. “Doodems connect the earth to the body, bringing the wayward to themselves and home. They can bring you full circle, settle your body and your life.”

  The little old lady turned and caught Annmar’s hand in her mud-stained palms, rubbing Annmar’s fingers with her own.

  This stranger’s cool touch felt nice. The lady collected up her other hand and stroked both in a washing motion that spread a comforting sensation up Annmar’s arms and through her torso. The smell of moist earth filled the cozy enclosed tent, and Annmar closed her eyes to breathe it deeply.

  Spring…damp soil…growing roots brushing past bits of stone. Last year’s leaves crumbling away to nothing as the worms chewed their way through. Their crunching in the dark was barely audible, yet joined the thrum of tiny noises surrounding them. The soft churr, churr of a content cricket rose to lull Annmar deeper into this peaceful tunnel’s fascinating nooks and crannies—a sparkle here, a thread of pulsing blue light over there—all waiting for her pencil to capture them.

  Who are you, child that sees what no one else sees?

  The voice belonged to the old woman, but came as a rasping echo from the dirt walls.

  chapter thirty

  It’d been difficult for Daeryn to furtively follow Annmar and Rivley, even traveling the tree limbs and roofs. A few people spotted his polecat form, and he’d run into one cranky ’cambire crow pinching shiny trinkets from a table and stashing them in a tree crook.

  He’d come to terms with Rivley accompanying Annmar since she seemed more interested in shopping than the avian himself. But the absence of the ropens probably contributed more to Daeryn’s fur lying flat.

  When Annmar ducked into a small, covered booth, he leaned into a tree trunk’s shadows. He was foolish, stalking her like this, exactly what Miz Gere had forbidden him to do. He should go, before he got into trouble in some way. If one of Mary Clare’s sisters checked the sickroom, she’d likely report him missing to Mrs. Betsy. She wouldn’t look kindly on Daeryn making extra work for her on a Saturday.

  He pushed off the rough bark and eyed the branches for a path back to the chapel. Another shake didn’t rid Daeryn of his irritation. He’d spent the last half hour reminding himself Rivley barely even knew Annmar’s name. Was only being the gentleman he was. Doing what Miz Gere had asked. What Mary Clare had demanded. In no way was he moving in on the female who filled Daeryn’s thoughts.

  Daeryn couldn’t be disgruntled. He would just have to wait. Give Annmar time to reconsider him. To understand he wasn’t a louse. Just a ’cambire. She’d had no experience with ’cambires, but each day at Wellspring she would gain more. He could be patient.

  He could be patient back up at Wellspring. But instead of leaving, Daeryn scanned the street again. Rivley was searching in every direction. Why couldn’t the birdbrain see her—

  Whoa. Daeryn jumped down two levels of branches to see into the booth. He knew where Annmar had gone, yet could barely make out the girl in a straw hat. Her figure wasn’t shadowed, but transparent. Help her, he wanted to shout, but what came out was a yip.

  Rivley jerked around.

  Daeryn’s hackles rose at his own idiocy, and he froze, willing Rivley to locate his quarry. Annmar could not have agreed to be bewitched.

  * * *

  Who are you?

  The lady’s question echoed around Annmar in the darkness. Your name, my pet. Your dam? Your sire?

  Oh… I’m Ann—

  “Annmar?” Rivley’s sharp cry pierced the secluded burrow. “What are you doing?”

  Annmar’s eyes flashed open at his pinch to her arm, the sudden brightness startling her. Hadn’t she been underground in a sparkling tunnel with—she looked down—this old lady? Where was the secret place every bit as interesting as Chapel Hollow’s busy streets?

  Rivley tugged her against him and tried to brush aside the old woman’s hands. “Let the girl go.”

  The lady didn’t. Instead, she squeezed Annmar’s hands in her cool, rock-like grip. The earthy smells rose stronger, damp and rich, strangely as comforting as Rivley’s warm chest.

  “She’s not yours,” the lady hissed.

  Rivley’s lips parted. An irritated clicking burst forth. “Nor is she property. She’s working for Mistress Constance Gere. Do you wish to take up the matter with her?”

  The old woman startled back.

  He wrested Annmar free. “I thought not.” He ran his fingers over her hands and forearms, warming them and chasing away the dampness. “Are you all right?” he murmured, then without waiting for an answer, glared at the woman. “What do you think gives you the right to lure over a fledgling?”

  The lady snorted. “Came over quite willingly. I’d have her as my apprentice in a wink, she’s so attuned.”

  “Without her consent?” he snapped. He backed out of the booth, Annmar secure under his arm. “You think that’s fair?”

  “Don’t kid yourself. She’d enjoy the experience. Learn a thing or two about herself along the way. And you need that, don’t you, my pet?” Her bright eyes bored into Annmar’s while she slowly paced after them.

  Annmar shuddered in the warm sunshine. She darted a look up to Rivley’s fierce features, then back to the soft and inviting old lady. She squinted, trying to see…oh, my. The lady shielded herself from view. Annmar pushed harder, but it didn’t work.

  The lady smiled, almost knowingly. “Here.” She pressed something into Annmar’s palm. “You take this.”

  The stone-like object fit naturally into he
r closed fingers, calming her. She tucked it into her pocket to keep it safe as Rivley pulled her away.

  The old lady called after them, “If you wish to learn more, you come talk to Old Terry.”

  * * *

  To hell with the consequences. Daeryn descended the tree and was weaving among legs and hooves toward the booth when Rivley emerged with his arm around Annmar’s shoulders. Feathers crowned Riv’s hair, and Annmar’s head was ducked, her confused scent whirling before her, more earthy than usual.

  What had happened? Daeryn ducked aside, managing to hide under a table.

  The lady handed Annmar something, and as she touched the girl, he caught sight of Annmar’s eyes.

  They were blue. Not Annmar’s paler blue, but for just a second a bright blue that shone in the shadows of her hat.

  A shiver ran down Daeryn’s spine. She had been ensorcelled. His gaze darted to the old lady—not just a witch, but with her transparent figure forming back to solid, a hedge-rider. Those folk crossed physical boundaries with ease and snared anyone they could.

  Rivley tugged Annmar away, her eyes normal now, and they walked off, not drawing any attention. Even if Daeryn followed, he’d get no answers. Not without revealing his errant spying, damn this stupid predicament. He scanned the booth, and when the hedge-rider sat again, she took something from a bucket with her muddy hands.

  Ah. She was also a mudcrafter, what Rockbridge dwellers called the rare Knacks who worked with doodem argilla. The gray clay was rare. The one time he’d gone to Rockbridge’s argilla deposit, guards had chased him off.

  So she’d given Annmar a doodem, harmless enough, but unheard of for one scratching out her living with a scarce resource. Clearly, she hoped to tempt Annmar to return.

  Not if he could help it.

  * * *

  Back at Wellspring’s stand, Annmar sank behind the crates Rivley pointed to and, without a word, took out her sketchbook. Underground tunnels formed on the pages, complete with dangling roots and scurrying insects. She drew and drew, working through the strange and beautiful sights until the sound of Mary Clare’s escalating voice broke through her concentration.

  “I’ve been up and down this street a half-dozen times.” She pushed Rivley’s fingers from her lips with a bounce and gestured wildly. “Looked into every stand. Up to the Town Hall and the panels.”

  Several customers peered over the piles of produce. Rivley touched her elbow and quietly said, “You didn’t come. I was to watch her, not you.”

  Watch her? Mary Clare’s gaze cut to her. They were talking about her.

  “Excuse me. I’m right here,” Annmar said. “Sorry you had to mind me like a child.” When they exchanged frowns, she bit her lip. “Fine, I’m not sorry. I suppose I needed Rivley’s help, but she seemed so nice and showed me the most interesting place. I wish I could have asked her questions, but…” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “How did she do that to me?”

  “What?” Mary Clare screeched. “Who did what to you?”

  Rivley shushed her, but now everyone was looking. The farmworkers frowned and went back to work. The customers took longer to pry their gazes away.

  Annmar closed her book and edged closer to Rivley’s legs. “Sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he hissed. “MC is—” Rivley snapped his mouth closed on what he’d been about to say.

  Mary Clare grasped a handful of his shirt and yanked him to her, stretching up on tiptoes to push her face to his. “We had customers. All asking about the crop damage by those pests. Plus, the growers were still culling through the produce for bite marks to make it look like we’re fine. I couldn’t leave for breakfast. Now just tell me what happened.”

  Rivley didn’t answer.

  Mary Clare scrunched up her face and blew out her breath through her nostrils. She let go of his shirt, whirled and squatted in front of Annmar. “What. Happened?”

  Why were they acting like this? The tunnel was so interesting—Annmar shook herself—but not normal, not a proper place to be. The strangeness of whatever had happened gripped her, heightening her nerves a little late. She leaned forward. “A lady took me underground”—she snapped her fingers inches from Mary Clare’s nose, nearly causing her to fall over—“like that. No warning.”

  Mary Clare opened her mouth, but the knotting in Annmar’s stomach made her speak first. “Magic,” she whispered. “Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t, or that it will be all right. That was some confusion…or entangling spell, the type of thing everyone expected would happen to the stupid, Outside city girl. Heaven knows what she wanted from me.”

  What had Old Terry wanted? In Derby, Annmar knew the dangers: not paying her debts, offending Mrs. Rennet, men like Mr. Shearing hoping to despoil her. She could avoid them. Wouldn’t that be preferable than this mystery she had no control over?

  Mary Clare started shaking her head. Annmar scooted away from her flood of feelings at exactly the same moment Rivley stepped back.

  Annmar clenched her fists at her sides, her whole body stiff. “You’re right. I need a watcher to make sure I don’t make a mistake. A guard to pull me to safety. A teacher to show me how to act with a Knack I don’t understand. Will I always be laughed at, scorned, threatened, or fear for my life in Blighted Basin? What good is even thinking about staying here when I can never be myself? Never rely on myself to live independently? I’m so stupid about this I can’t even tell good from bad. What that strange woman did scared Rivley to pieces, but I felt fine. Happy, in fact. I’ll never fit in here, even if I do master my Knack, learn about my mother, find my father, or…or…” She looked around, then waved at her bib-and-brace. “Wear these clothes. None of it changes who I am.” She drew a breath and let it out.

  There. She’d told them. Everything. Annmar slowly unfolded her fists. She picked up her dropped sketchbook and hugged it to her chest.

  After several moments of silence, Mary Clare licked her lips. “I’m sorry you’re upset. But you’re not stupid. You recognized the danger. You’re aware of what you need to learn to protect yourself. You can learn to do these things.” She straightened.

  Annmar stared at Mary Clare. There had been no persuasive feelings, no coaxing phrases. Mary Clare just laid it out. She believed Annmar could succeed at making a life in the Basin. More than anything, Annmar wanted to trust her, but right now it seemed beyond the help of even magic.

  Mary Clare’s eyes were narrowed when her gaze met Rivley’s. She jerked her head westward, toward Wellspring. “Are you ready to go home, Annmar?” she asked.

  Home. Annmar glanced in the direction of the train station. After this strangeness, going home was tempting… When she nodded, Rivley helped her up, but Mary Clare inserted herself between them. She linked arms with Annmar. “I’ll make sure we aren’t separated.”

  Chapter thirty-one

  The walk uphill to Wellspring cleared Annmar’s anger, but not her confusion. In her room, she stripped off the bib-and-brace and maize work shirt and changed into her familiar undergarments. At her wardrobe, her hand fell on her travel skirt. She started to remove it, then stopped.

  What did she have to go back to in Derby? Mrs. Rennet might rehire her, but she’d have to face Mr. Shearing again on Monday morning—

  Annmar shuddered. Besides, where would she live? Her spot in the boarding room was let to a co-worker of Polly’s. After buying the clothes, there was little gold left to support her through finding something else. Polly had been right, at the start of the week, Annmar hadn’t been living on the margin. But now she would be.

  Her heart sank at the dark feeling. So…she would finish the trial. And if offered the full position… She couldn’t make that decision with her head in such turmoil. She rubbed her arms. Blighted Basin was such a strange place. It was one thing to navigate it with family, friends, knowledge of who you were, and what magic you carried.

  Magic as wild as whisking to a tunnel sparkling with pinpoints of blue light.

/>   But Annmar didn’t have these things. No matter how intriguing Old Terry’s underground journey had been, right now she didn’t even want to leave the safety of her room.

  And yet, if she didn’t, she’d never know what might be possible.

  She drew a breath. While she finished the trial, she would continue to seek her answers. Her Knack had strengthened, thanks to drawing. Its doings had just created more questions.

  Her gaze drifted to the cluster of jars yet to be tried on her side table. Mistress Gere expected ten to a dozen labels a week. Annmar could complete another three preserves today. Perhaps finishing early would encourage Mistress Gere to forward Annmar’s request to the owner of Mother’s paintings. Or might the delay not be Mistress Gere’s fault, but because the owner was her father? Annmar dismissed the idea. Her search couldn’t possibly tie up that neatly.

  Annmar dressed in the work skirt and blouse she’d worn yesterday, before buying the farm clothes. She didn’t need those garments out and reminding her of today. She plucked up the trousers. Something dropped from the pocket and thunked onto the rug.

  The figurine Old Terry had given her. Annmar scooped up the little animal and checked to confirm it hadn’t broken. It hadn’t. The figure was a zoolet, an animal. A squirrel. He was sitting up, tail in a pleasing S shape curled protectively up against his back. In his paws, he held something close to his chest. A nut? Annmar tilted the small body up for a better view. No, the object was a mushroom.

  “Different figures for different stages of your life,” Old Terry had said. So this meant something, but what? Annmar rolled the squirrel over and over in her hand, trying to focus her Knack on it, to see what the lady might have meant. Nothing happened. Maybe she had to believe in their Creator religion to have the doodem mean anything. She set the squirrel among Mother’s figures, adjusting their positions with her fingertips, studying them. Still nothing.