Solatium (Emanations, an urban fantasy series Book 2)

by Becca Mills

  The man swore at me and called me heartless.

  Williams looked to Mizzy, but she shook her head. “I can’t deal with him. I’m spent.”

  He gave her a hard look. Then he clamped a hand on my shoulder and marched me back to the camels.

  The message was clear: Do as you please, but we’re leaving.

  Within a few minutes, Williams and I, all of Bill Gates’s people, and five other travelers were on our camels and headed back down the road at a shambling pace that made me queasy.

  The sound of the other caravaners’ arguing voices faded quickly. I concentrated on my camel’s ears and tried not to think of them and their misguided altruism. Surely they’d come to their senses.

  “Drink, Beth.”

  I looked up at the full waterskin Mizzy was holding out to me. It swayed back and forth in time to her camel’s movement. Watching it swing made my headache worse. I closed my eyes.

  “Every time we drink, we’re dosing ourselves with algae,” I said.

  Williams reined his camel back beside me. “Heat stroke’ll kill you faster than they will. Drink. Now.”

  I took the waterskin and drank. It was hard to make myself swallow.

  The sun had risen an hour ago, but we were still riding, albeit at a walk.

  I hung the waterskin on my saddle and reached up to wipe the back of my neck. My sweat had a slightly pasty feel. Maybe it was just dust. Maybe not.

  Mizzy was watching me. “We should stop.”

  Kevin frowned. “The camels can keep going.”

  “What if sweat is how the algae get out onto our skin?” Mizzy said. “The hotter it gets, the more we’ll sweat.”

  Williams seemed to find that convincing — he called a halt for the day.

  We set up a barebones camp — just a big pavilion tent, which would fit all our bedrolls. I lay down on mine, settled my waterskin beside me, and closed my eyes.

  I thought of the dead man’s stony mask, imagined him desperately scraping away at the crust forming on his skin, struggling to walk as it immobilized his legs, fighting to take one last breath as it tightened around his chest. I turned over and pressed the images firmly out of my mind, but as soon as I stopped actively thinking of something else, they came back.

  Damn.

  I looked over at Mizzy, who’d laid her bedroll near mine. “So, you can do some healing.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I’d love to be able to do that, one day.”

  “Yeah.”

  She sounded vague, as though she weren’t really paying attention.

  Remembering how tired she’d looked at the oasis, I propped myself up on an elbow. “Are you all right?”

  When she turned to look at me, I was shocked by her wasted appearance.

  “I’m fine. I just did too much back there.”

  “I’ve seen people get drained before. You look way worse.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a tired smirk.

  “I don’t mean you look bad, just really, really tired. Almost …”

  Aged. She looked aged.

  I lowered my voice. “How old are you?”

  “A little older than I look.” She waved a hand by her face. “Beauty-working, and all.”

  Slowly, I propped myself up on an elbow. “You used almost all your capacity at the oasis … but you’re still spending power on green eyes and bigger boobs?”

  A look came over her face. I recognized it. I’d seen it on Graham. It said, I’m trapped.

  My thoughts jostled around chaotically for a moment, then took a leap.

  “It’s not just a beauty-working. That’d be superficial, not that big a drain. It’s a youth-working.” My eyes strayed to the network of tiny lines around her lips. “But you don’t really have the juice for that, do you?”

  She looked away. Her mouth started trembling, and she closed her eyes.

  Powers could keep their bodies however they wanted, but people with less capacity couldn’t do that sort of thing. Mizzy had probably been maintaining a full working on her whole body for years. It’s a wonder she had anything to spare. She must’ve had to pull power away from that working to do what she did at the oasis. She looked aged because she had aged.

  “How old are you?”

  Mizzy took a shuddery breath. “I was born in 1908.”

  I stared at her, floored.

  She was over a hundred years old, and she’d been keeping herself fortysomething. That would take a huge amount of power. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to scare away all those dinosaurs back on the jungle road. She would have had to pull from the youth-working to do it.

  But she had pulled from it with Macabi. She looked ten years older.

  “You lost years last night. Can you push the working back, once you regain your strength?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her voice was small and frightened.

  I felt a surge of sympathy and reached for her hand. “You can —”

  Something jerked me off my bedroll and out of the tent.

  Williams. In a towering fury.

  “She will not draw on you.”

  He gave me a shake for emphasis. He was holding me off the ground. I bounced around like a ragdoll.

  “It’s none of your business! Put me down!”

  I struggled, kicking and punching at him. It did no good at all.

  Behind him, the others were emerging from the tent, alarmed.

  Kevin said, “What’d she do now?”

  Terry said, “Dude. Chill.”

  Ida said, “What’re you doing to that child? Have you lost your mind?”

  Williams turned his head to the side, half-glancing at the people behind him.

  Silence fell.

  The message was clear. This was none of their business, and he overpowered them by a mile. No one was going to mess with him.

  But he didn’t overpower me.

  For the first time, I really wanted my gift. I wanted to hurt him.

  Just a little, I thought. Just enough.

  But there was nothing. I hung there like a sack of potatoes, helpless.

  After a few more seconds, he set me on my feet, keeping a good grip on my upper arm.

  Mizzy was standing behind the others. She met my eyes for a moment, then looked away. I could see she was scared. And bitterly disappointed.

  Williams got in her face. “Thought things were clear, but apparently not. You touch her, you die.”

  She didn’t look up.

  “Understand?”

  She nodded.

  He turned and stalked toward the camels, pulling me along.

  When he’d put some distance between us and the others, he stopped. His fingers twitched. He was putting up a barrier. Probably a sound-proof one.

  Then he focused on me. “Why did you do that?”

  I backed away until I felt the strange sponginess of the barrier pressing against my back.

  “She needs help.”

  “And you’re going to help her? You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen? If she drained me, you’d toss me over a camel, and I’d be fine in a few days.”

  “She could use your strength to kill all of us.”

  I gaped at him. “You’re crazy. She wouldn’t do that.”

  “You know her so well, after three weeks?”

  “I know she wouldn’t do that.”

  “Don’t be a fool. You have no idea who she is, what she’s done, or what she wants.”

  “Oh please! Pot, meet kettle.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  The sensible part of my brain started jumping up and down and shouting about how not-safe it was to make him angrier.

  I took a deep breath. “Look. She just doesn’t want to get old and die.” I remembered the disappointment on her face. “So, yeah, she wants me to help her stay young. That’s not weird or evil. It’s normal.”

  “Any of your friends at home ever ask you for e
ternal youth?”

  “Well, no, but —”

  “You’re a massive power source. Once you let her in, she can take whatever she wants. You give her a little, she’ll want more. Enough for a few extras. Then enough to get rid of the witnesses. You think she wants Gates coming after her? Or Cordus?”

  The dark logic of it wormed its way into my mind.

  “People here are not your friends,” Williams said. “Get it through your fucking head.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m not an idiot. Okay, maybe she’s been trying to manipulate me. But I don’t think she’s planning to hurt us. I want to help her.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, I’m not.” I struggled to find the right words. “People don’t have to be perfect to be worthwhile. I like her.”

  Williams stared at me. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “What’s the alternative? Trust no one? Give nothing?”

  “Yes,” he said furiously. “Power has costs.”

  “I don’t want power,” I ground out.

  “Tough luck. You have it. Deal with it.”

  I didn’t say anything, but mentally, I dug my heels in. Even if I ended up strong, damned if I was going to become some kind of loner outcast. And until I got strong, I sure as hell needed friends.

  He seemed to read my mind. “You can’t see reason? Fine. If she tries to draw on you, I’ll kill her. How’s that?”

  His voice was quiet and even. He meant it.

  I stared out at the shimmering heat, wrestling with my doubts.

  Williams had marched me back to the tent and moved my bedroll to the edge. He’d put his own between mine and the others’, physically separating me from temptation.

  Off on the other side of the tent, I could hear the five caravaners who’d come with us murmuring in Baasha. They were confused and alarmed by the strife in our party. You couldn’t blame them — conflict could slow us down, and slowing down could kill us.

  I lay there, looking at the landscape, trying to decide if I was a naive fool or if Williams was a paranoid asshole.

  I was sure Mizzy wouldn’t harm me in any significant way, but when I pressed myself on why I felt so sure, I couldn’t come up with anything concrete.

  It could be wishful thinking. I had to admit that.

  It could be, but it isn’t, the stubborn part of my mind whispered.

  I sighed and tried to get settled more comfortably on my bedroll. My right hip hurt. I really wanted to turn over, but then I’d be looking at Williams, and damned if I was going to do that.

  My mind regurgitated what he’d said about power: You have it. Deal with it.

  I closed my eyes.

  That had always been the terrifying flip-side of feeling like Cordus treated me differently from the others, valued me more. Why would someone like me get special treatment from someone like him? The only possible answer was that I was a more important asset.

  I pushed a hank of sweaty hair out of my face.

  I didn’t want to be powerful. I mean, it’d be great if my gift were healing, but producing radiation — there wasn’t anything nice about that. More power just meant more destruction.

  I knew I was stronger than most of the others — everyone I’d asked had seen through earlier than I did. I would just have to hope I wasn’t that much stronger.

  In the end, Cordus didn’t treat me better. He messed with my head and threw me away. Maybe that’s a good sign.

  I sighed and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Sleep was a long time coming.

  I woke up a bit after sunset.

  I looked over to see if Mizzy was up and found Williams instead.

  Right. That happened.

  He was studying the fine layer of powder on the back of his hand. I looked at my arm. I couldn’t see anything, but when I rubbed my fingers together, I could definitely feel grit.

  “If Mizzy drew on me, she might be able to kill all the algae.”

  Williams gave me a fed-up look.

  “I’d rather take my chances with her than turn into a statue.”

  “Last resort.” He leveled a stare at me. “Do not let her touch you.”

  He got up and left the tent.

  I lay there for a few more seconds, angry and frustrated.

  I couldn’t take matters into my own hands without putting Mizzy at risk. Major risk.

  I rolled over and pressed my face into my bedroll.

  Truth be told, now that I’d slept on it, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure I should work with her, anyway.

  Gwen had once told me that the biggest mistake of all is thinking you won’t make mistakes.

  A big part of survival is being prepared for your own errors, she’d said.

  She’d been talking about redundancies and fail-safes in tactical planning, but I thought it went deeper than that. People always think the law of averages doesn’t apply to them. But that can’t be the case — we can’t all be above average. I knew I wasn’t. I made plenty of mistakes.

  So, sure as I was that Williams was making the mistake here, I had to admit I could be wrong about Mizzy, and he could be right. The chance might be small, but it was enough to give me pause.

  I sighed and sat up.

  The others were stirring as well. Not a single one of them would look me in the eye.

  Kevin and Terry started breaking down the tent.

  “Leave it,” Williams said.

  I guess we wouldn’t be stopping again.

  Everyone refilled their waterskins from the supply the camels carried and grabbed some food. Then we mounted up, got back on the road, and picked up a good pace.

  Williams led. Terry and Kevin kept their lights trained on the sides of the road. Mizzy took up the rear, scanning the road behind us. Ida and I rode together in the center. The other caravaners ranged around in a less organized way. No one talked.

  The land was as still and silent as ever. The only sounds were the camels’ calls, the muffled thumps of their padded feet, and the creaking of the saddles.

  I understood the silence — only the dead were left here, now. The dead and those hibernating within the dead.

  In the wee hours, Ida pulled up and called for help.

  Our group circled around her. The other travelers slowed momentarily, then exchanged looks and kept right on going.

  Ida’s skin looked weirdly gray in the flashlights’ beams. “I can’t move my fingers.” Her voice was tight, scared.

  Mizzy brought her camel in close and poured water over Ida’s hands, scrubbing at them. The water wicked away almost instantly, as though the gray coating were sucking it in.

  Williams told Ida to put her left hand on the saddle horn.

  She did as he said. I heard an impact and saw her hand jerk. She cried out in pain.

  Williams must have hit her hand with a shaped barrier, like the ones he’d used to crush the dinos back in the jungle.

  He tried a few more times. The crust gave off little clouds of powder, but it didn’t break.

  Mizzy glanced at me. “If you’d let me —”

  “No,” Williams said.

  “You can draw on me,” Kevin said.

  Mizzy looked at Williams. “Please let me try. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “Don’t drain him. We need a tracker.”

  Mizzy and Kevin kooshed their camels and got off. Mizzy took hold of Ida’s ankle. Kevin stood next to Mizzy, touching her arm.

  Mizzy must’ve done a major working because Kevin gasped and staggered into Ida’s camel. Mizzy stepped back, shaking her head.

  Ida tried to move her hands. “Not enough?”

  “No,” Mizzy said. “They’re incredibly strong. I’d need a lot more power to kill them.”

  Williams drew a knife from his belt. For a horrible moment, I thought he was going to stab Ida — a mercy killing, or something — but instead he cut through her camel’s lead rope, separating it from her
stony fist. He tossed the end of the rope to Terry, and moved us out.

  He pushed the camels a little faster, galloping them for thirty- or forty-minute stretches, then walking them for ten to rest.

  The sandy stone on Ida’s skin continued to thicken. It clearly caused her increasing pain. It also reduced her ability to move in response to her camel’s gait. Eventually, Mizzy and Terry gave up on the flashlights and began riding beside her to make sure she didn’t fall off.

  It was a grim trip.

  By sunrise, we were closing in on the ligature. It had taken us a night and a half to cover roughly seventy-five miles. But the camels now refused to go faster than a walk. They were tired.

  At least they didn’t seem to be feeling the effects of the algae. Maybe they hadn’t ingested any. Or maybe they just didn’t sweat much.

  Eventually, we reached the edge of the ligature town.

  Ida was hunched over, her breathing fast and shallow. We’d had to stop a few hours back and rope her legs to her saddle — her body had become too stiff to stay on the camel.

  Kevin’s and Terry’s fingers had locked up too. Williams was crusted up to the elbow, and had lost the use of his feet.

  Mizzy and I were leading all the camels, but we were both starting to have trouble moving our fingers.

  In short, things weren’t looking good.

  I don’t know what the others expected to find in the town, but I’d thought there’d be people there who could help us — maybe even a healer. But no one answered my calls. The place was empty.

  We stopped in the central square to retie Ida — she was starting to slide to the left, and this might be our last chance to fix it. My fingers were stiff and powdery. It felt like I was wearing thick leather gardening gloves that had accidentally been put through the washing machine. Except instead of being roomy, they were as tight as latex.

  Terry got off and clumsily pushed Ida into place while Mizzy and I fumbled with the ropes.

  After we were done, Mizzy turned to Williams, who was waiting impatiently on his camel.

  “Please,” she said, “let me try with Beth. If she has enough capacity, I can heal everyone.”

  Williams shook his head.

  “I swear, I won’t take any more than I need for the healing.”