Solatium (Emanations, an urban fantasy series Book 2)

by Becca Mills

  But this didn’t feel normal.

  Maybe a better way to put it was that it didn’t feel natural. Her flirting had felt performed, and so did the angry digs. Acting mad instead of actually being mad … I couldn’t figure out why she’d do that.

  I leaned down and focused on scraping a glob of dried mud off my ankle so Mizzy wouldn’t read my thoughts on my face.

  I liked her. I wanted to think she might become a friend. But something seemed off.

  The journey through the highland rainforests continued for another two weeks. I got to practice my Baasha a lot, but that was the only bright spot. It rained constantly. Copper got a terrible case of thrush, and I came down with a hacking cough. The cracks on my feet got infected. Ida healed the problems every night, but they kept coming back.

  We saw plenty of dinosaurs, including a few predators, but were never attacked again. It’s as though they dinos had spread the word about our party — well defended, look elsewhere.

  Other travelers weren’t so lucky. On our next-to-last day in the rainforest, we came upon the aftermath of a recent attack. The survivors — if there’d been any — had moved on, but the dead were still scattered over the road. There’d been children, this time. One of the dead faces staring up into the pelting rain reminded me of my oldest niece, Tiffany. The girl’s clothes lay mostly flat in the mud. She’d been eaten right out of them.

  I’d seen some bad things in the preceding months and didn’t get sick easily anymore, but that did the trick.

  I felt tremendous relief when the rains tapered off, the trees began to thin out, and traffic on the road increased. We began passing several walled towns per day, and the oppressive sense of danger lurking all around us in the darkness finally lifted.

  In mid-morning on a day in late October — I’d lost track of the dates — we crested a last hill and looked down onto a city. It wasn’t a metropolis, by any means, but it was a great deal larger than the towns we’d encountered so far.

  “What is this place?” I asked Mizzy in Baasha.

  “It is called Kye Wodor.”

  “Water City?”

  She nodded. “As you see.”

  Indeed, the city ran down a long, gentle slope to the banks of a great river. I’d never seen such a big one, actually. It dwarfed the Mississippi up where it borders Wisconsin, and the Hudson certainly couldn’t compare.

  “Do we have to cross that?”

  “Yes. The ligature to Ancient Inland is on the other side.”

  I could see plains over there — a long smudge of pale green beyond the river. I remembered Serhan saying they flooded in the rainy season.

  “Where does the river go?”

  “It flows into the Atlantic. The ligature to Blue Seas is right at its mouth.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  Mizzy tilted her head. “It is one of the most beautiful strata I have seen, but warm seas such as those are perilous.”

  “Are there sea monsters?”

  “Sea monsters.” She smiled. “Yes, that is an apt description.”

  “Would you tell me about them?”

  “A monster story?” she said, laughing. “I do know a tale. I will tell it as I heard it. But I warn you, it is not for the faint of heart.”

  I grinned. It was a promising beginning.

  “Many years ago, when I was little more than a child, my mother’s sister fell in love with a man from the Dragon’s Tail.”

  “The Dragon’s Tail?”

  “It’s a sea stratum,” Terry said in English. “It’s got a long archipelago that looks like a tail.”

  “He had long hair as black as ink,” Mizzy continued, “and he wove silver rings into it so that he brought music with him wherever he went. His skin gleamed like alabaster, and he smelled of fresh spray off an ocean wave on a windy day. Without a doubt, he was the most beautiful man I have ever seen or ever will. How sad to have been forced to bestow that title at so young an age.”

  Idly, I wondered if Cordus had been hanging out in the Dragon’s Tail about then. But no, his skin wasn’t like alabaster.

  “They lived together for a time, and my aunt bore a child, a sweet boy who looked just like his father. For a time, the three were the happiest of souls. But alas, one day the boy fell from a tree and struck his head. He lay asleep for days, growing thinner and paler. The local healers could do nothing. To his mother, it seemed he was fading from life before her very eyes.

  “Desperate for help, the boy’s father rode to the nearest lord and begged for his healer. The lord agreed, though I cannot imagine what my aunt’s lover had to promise in exchange — that lord was not a kind man.

  “But the father’s efforts were in vain, for on the seventh day, the boy opened his eyes and smiled up at his mother. Then he turned his face to the wall and died. That evening my aunt’s lover returned with the lord’s best healer, but one cannot heal the dead.

  “The light went out of the man’s eyes. I remember understanding, even in my youth, that he would never again look upon my aunt with joy. She was, to him, only a source of grief — a reminder of what was lost. After a short time, he left her.

  “If the death of her son had wounded my aunt to the core, the loss of her lover destroyed her. She would not eat for days, and we feared she would die. She did not, but neither did she return to life. She existed, yes, but she was as a rock fixed coldly in place while the lively stream eddies around it. Time and love and life moved on without her.

  “Eventually, my mother suggested she travel to the Dragon’s Tail in search of her lover. Perhaps time and separation would have softened his grief and changed his feelings toward her.

  “My aunt agreed to the plan but could not seem to bring it to fruition. Day after day, she sat in silence as her home decayed around her. Finally, in desperation, my mother declared that we would all go. She could see no other way to jolt her sister from her stupor.

  “The journey to the coast was uneventful, as were our first days at sea. Then we passed through the ligature to the Dragon’s Tail. I remember standing at the ship’s rail, watching as the water’s color went from gray to green to blue. The birds around us changed, and the sailors became more vigilant.

  “I saw the long-necked and bull-necked sea creatures for the first time in those waters. Most had learned that striking at passing ships was not only useless, but painful, for sailing without barrier-makers is as unthinkable as sailing without workers of water. Still, sometimes they tested the hull. They are not the smartest of animals. But I enjoyed seeing them and was not afraid.

  “On our fifth day in the blue water, a cry went up from the lookout in the rigging. We all went to the rail, curious to see the latest creature. At first we saw nothing. Then a great shadow darkened the water around the ship. I looked up, expecting to see a sudden storm cloud, but the sky was clear. The shadow was within the water, not upon it: something vast was swimming beneath us. It persisted for a time, then faded away into deeper water, only to resurface beside us.

  “I cannot easily describe the creature. It was almost as long as the ship and as thick as a house. The upper portion of its hide was black, and its belly white. A fin taller than the tallest man rose from its back. It rolled a bit to the side as it paced us, and I saw teeth as big as my head in its open mouth.

  “My aunt, who stood beside me, said, ‘The eye.’

  “I looked and saw that organ just below the water — the size of a charger and, at first, flat black. But as the beast swam closer, I realized its eye was not black through and through. A cobalt-blue iris moved within that darkness, and at its center, a dark slot narrowed as it looked up at us in the bright air. Around the iris was a ring of pale blue. As I watched, the pale ring flashed silver.

  “Without a word, my aunt lifted herself over the ship’s rail and fell toward the water below. Even as I took a breath to cry out for help, the beast lunged and engulfed her, its jaws extending from its mouth with a great, sideways sweep. Blood flowered f
or a moment on the water’s surface and then the ship’s passage swirled it into nothingness.

  “A time passed in shocked silence. It seemed to last forever but was probably just a few seconds. Then my mother sent up a terrible cry and drew back her arm. No doubt she intended to use her gift of fire against the beast.

  “The ship’s captain seized her in a barrier, then wrapped his arms around her. ‘Not against that one,’ he said in her ear. ‘Never that one.’

  “The creature swam beside us a bit longer, then sank slowly into the darkness. We watched the water and waited, but it did not return.”

  We rode on in silence for a time.

  “Dunno if I liked that one so much,” Terry finally said.

  He’d spoken in English, and the language change seemed to break the story’s spell. We all relaxed a bit.

  “Did the captain ever explain why he grabbed your mother?” I said.

  “I don’t know any more than I’ve told you,” Mizzy said. “It didn’t happen to me. Or to the person who told me the story.”

  “Do you think …,” I said slowly. “Could the shark and the beautiful man be one and the same?”

  “What an idea!”

  “‘What an idea’ isn’t an answer.”

  Mizzy laughed softly. “That’s true.”

  A shiver went up my spine. As it was probably supposed to.

  “You’re being too literal,” Williams said.

  We all looked at him, surprised. He never commented on Mizzy’s stories.

  When he didn’t continue, I asked what he meant.

  He shrugged. If it’s possible for someone’s back to look annoyed, his did.

  “Come on,” Mizzy said, shooting a conspiratorial glance my way. “Give us your analysis. I’m sure we’d all get a kick out of it.”

  Williams shifted uncomfortably. “It’s an allegory.”

  I thought about it.

  “Of loss?”

  No, I thought, not just loss. The way you respond to loss.

  “Or maybe despair?”

  Yeah, that seemed right.

  “The way grief is always inside you,” I said slowly, “under the surface, like the shark under the ship. It comes up, and you see what you’ve lost in everything around you, like the silver ring in the shark’s eye. The whole world reflects it at you. Or maybe you impose it on the world, even in places where it doesn’t belong.”

  Williams didn’t say anything.

  I glanced over at Mizzy, but she was looking down and away, toward the city beneath us.

  Abruptly, the topic of discussion felt very much closed.

  We rode on, and I pondered the story in silence.

  The way you turn loss into a plague that infects everything, I thought. The way you destroy yourself.

  That afternoon, we entered Kye Wodor.

  Like Free, it was a place built on trade, but the resemblance stopped there. Kye Wodor was a bustling port city, surrounded by suburbs. Just up from the riverside, several dozen blocks of five- and six-story stone buildings formed a distinct downtown. South of that, less densely packed cityscape and suburban development stretched up toward the tree line in a gentle arc.

  Our route took us from the northeastern suburbs down through the city center and into a mixed commercial and residential neighborhood on the west side. All told, we rode through several miles of development. It was a sizeable place.

  Kevin suggested an inn he’d used before, and we wasted no time getting settled. The baths were hot, the food was good, and the beds were soft. It felt like heaven.

  The next morning, the inn-keeper recommended a local healer named Hagut Kidron who was supposed to be very strong. Williams walked me over there and scared poor Hagut half to death with a demand for confidentiality backed up by a full-on glower. Once she recovered herself, the healer finally got rid of my cough and scabby feet. That was heaven-plus-one. She even gave me a fresh pair of socks.

  “So where are we going?” I said as we left.

  “Seeing people,” Williams said.

  “What people?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Guides for the next stage?”

  Zilch.

  Good lord. You couldn’t even goad him, like you could Yellin. He was immovable.

  If anything could make me wish my gift were functional, it was Williams. Being able to set the man’s pants on fire would be awesome.

  I stuck reasonably close as we navigated the bustling city streets, but stopped a few times to look at the wares laid out in front of shops. It wasn’t a terribly effective form of resistance — I got all of about two seconds to peruse the merchandize before a giant hand landed on my shoulder, and we were underway again.

  We ended up in the home of an elderly man who, weirdly, called Williams “Leontios.”

  The guy was cut from the same cloth as Williams: he ignored me completely.

  As the two of them spoke, I pieced together that the man was a merchant who’d just had a caravan arrive through Ancient Inland. According to him, the drought there was severe — he’d lost several camels. He said he was going to reroute his trade, for the time being.

  After the meeting, one of the merchant’s servants showed us back out to the street. Williams headed north. I hurried to keep up.

  “Is there a different route we could take besides Ancient Inland?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are we going to take it?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  He shot me an annoyed look and kept walking.

  “You just spent twenty minutes talking to that merchant, and you can’t spare me a sentence?”

  “Talking to him was useful.”

  Unbelievable. What an asshole.

  “Talking to me might keep me from killing you,” I muttered.

  I didn’t really mean anything by it. It’s just the kind of thing people say when they’re pissed off.

  But I wasn’t like most people. The day would come when I’d be able to kill and would probably be forced to. The thought nauseated me.

  This kind of thing happened occasionally. I’d be going along, feeling like a normal person, and then some random thing would remind me of my gift when I wasn’t prepared. It was a gut-punch.

  Williams stopped and looked at me with a strange expression. It wasn’t surprise or offense or anger. It certainly wasn’t fear.

  Attention. He was studying me.

  I looked away, aware that what I was feeling was written all over my face.

  Williams waited as I regained my self-possession. Then he said, “The other way’s too long — eight more strata instead of one. Cordus will be in default if you don’t get to the ice men within a year.”

  He looked at me for another long moment, probably to make sure I wasn’t going to torment him with demands for further speech, then continued on his way.

  I trailed along behind, surprised that Williams had passed that information along. I’d already realized the solatium thing was for real, but I’d gotten the strong impression Williams was in neither-confirm-nor-deny mode.

  So, Cordus’s agreement with the ice men has an expiration date.

  I could get him in trouble.

  Excellent.

  Then again, I didn’t want my sentence to be any longer than it had to be.

  All of us met in the inn’s common room for dinner.

  Williams reported that the people he’d talked to — the merchant and a camel dealer we’d gone to see afterwards — both said Ancient Inland’s drought was the worst anyone could remember.

  Kevin and Terry had also spent the day talking to people they knew around town. They’d heard the same thing.

  “A caravan leaves in two days,” Kevin said. “We need to join it. With the wells running low, it may be the last one for a long time.”

  “What’s Ancient Inland like?” I said.

  “It’s the interior of a giant island continent,” Mizzy said. “It’s arid. There’s usually a
monsoon season, but the rains have failed the last three years.”

  “Is it an old place?”

  “Yeah. Quite.”

  In S-Em terms, that probably meant pre-dinosaurs. Of course, just because the stratum had been made before dinosaurs existed didn’t mean they hadn’t colonized it. And even if they hadn’t, there were probably plenty of dangerous animals there. Dinosaurs hadn’t evolved from bunny rabbits and pussy willows.

  The group started hashing out what we’d need and who would take care of which items. Mizzy would buy camels. Kevin would contract with the caravan leader and arrange for ferrying across the river. Ida would buy food and camping equipment. Terry said he’d pack the bags.

  I knew I’d be tagging along with Williams. When I asked him what was on our agenda, he said he had to sell the horses.

  “What?” I was shocked. “You can’t sell Bertha.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t take ’em with us.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not enough water. Too hot.”

  What was this place? The Sahara?

  “How hot does it get there?”

  “One-twenty, one-thirty.”

  “One hundred thirty degrees? Are you serious?”

  His glance said, Why would I bother saying something I didn’t mean when speech is torture?

  “Can people live in that kind of heat?”

  “Not easily.”

  “So … what am I missing? We have to travel a long way there, don’t we?”

  “It’s spring there — hopefully not that hot, yet. We’ll take shade with us. Travel at night, when it’s cold.”

  “How cold?”

  He shrugged. “Around freezing.”

  Oh, man. It was hard to imagine a place where the temperature could swing a hundred degrees over the course of the day.

  And I’d been thinking nothing could be worse than Gold Rush’s dino-infested jungle. I should’ve known better — you should never even think the phrase “nothing could be worse.” Total jinx.

  The next day, everyone ate a quick breakfast and then scattered to take care of business.

  Williams was the only one who didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Instead of heading out, he sat in the inn’s common room and cleaned his blades and firearms.