In the Dark: 4
Zeisha pressed her finger against the bloody spot on her ankle. With her other hand, she shook Isla.
Isla sat up.
“Nine weeks,” Zeisha said.
“Nine.” Isla sounded hopeless.
A couple of mets away, a male voice slurred, “I don’t . . . lemme sleep . . . tired of fighting.” His voice trailed off into incomprehensible muttering.
“Shuddup,” someone hissed.
Zeisha sucked the blood off her finger and thumb, then lay down. She shook Isla, who was already asleep again.
“Huh?” Isla murmured.
“That guy who was just talking—it sounded like he was dreaming. He said he was tired of fighting.”
Isla’s groggy voice grew excited. “We need to listen for that stuff. And when we wake each other up, let’s do it gently. See if we can catch those moments when we’re still half-dreaming.”
“Good idea.” Zeisha lay on her pallet, staring into the blackness. After a few minutes, she whispered, “Tired of fighting, he said. Is that why we’re so exhausted?”
Isla was already asleep.
13
My parents, as leaders and keepers of the stone, were more respected than anyone else in the community. The next-most-respected citizen was Connel. He was our brewer.
-The First Generation: A Memoir by Liri Abrios
“Give us your address, and every quarter, we’ll send you a calendar of our events.”
Krey turned to a friendly young woman who was holding out a notebook. Mail from the New Therroan League—yeah, that would go over real well at the palace. “Sorry, I’ll pass.”
She shrugged and moved on to someone else.
Krey walked through the crowded pub, stopping at the bar. “Do you have any bollaberry juice?”
“No, I’ve got bollaberry wine,” the bartender said.
Krey flashed back to the night a couple of years back when he and some friends had raided his aunts’ wine cabinet. He’d downed a whole bottle of bollaberry wine. It made him feel great . . . until it didn’t anymore. His friends had fled when his loud vomiting woke his Aunt Evie. Tonight, he needed a clear head and a settled stomach. “I’ll have water.”
As Krey waited for his drink, he examined the attendees. Who’s hiding their guilt behind a beer mug and a laugh? He tried to see past their relaxed smiles and find someone with . . . with what? Evil eyes betraying a tendency to abduct young magic eaters?
Krey shook his head. He’d have to actually talk to these people; there was no getting around it. When he had his water, he walked up to a small table. Two men, both with goatees typical of New Therroans, looked up. “Is that seat taken?” Krey asked.
“It’s yours,” one of them said with a smile.
They all introduced themselves, and the second man asked, “Have I seen you here before?”
“No. I’m not even New Therroan. But I’ve been reading a lot about current events, and I don’t see why a province can’t claim independence if they want to.” It was true that he’d spent the last eight days reading all he could. He was still on the fence about independence, however. It was hard to be objective about the group who might have Zeisha.
Another goateed man stepped onto the pub’s small stage. He gave the first lecture, and two more speakers followed. They all spoke passionately for New Therroan independence, but none of them seemed extremist. After the third speaker wrapped up, the first man returned to the stage to facilitate a discussion.
There were two major camps within the crowded pub: those who advocated for peaceful diplomacy, and those who spoke in vague terms about the need to do what it takes and stand up for our rights.
Several people railed against the government’s unwillingness to even consider their claims. Clearly the king had succeeded in keeping his negotiations confidential, but his secrecy was backfiring. Once again, the monarchy is totally out of touch, Krey mulled. Shocking.
Krey took note of the attendees who seemed to be advocating for violence. If anyone would kidnap magic eaters, it would be them. After the meeting, he crossed to a table where several vocal, angry protestors still sat, engaged in a heated discussion. He stood back and listened.
“I’m telling you, I’d love to live in a world covered in purple flowers, where everyone cares about everyone else, and we can find solutions by hugging each other real tight.” The man speaking was tall and broad, with a fighter’s crooked nose. He allowed a few seconds for laughter, then raised his voice. “But that’s not how things work! We aren’t gonna get anything done unless we FIGHT—FOR—IT.” He emphasized the last three words with hard slaps on the heavy, wooden table.
Krey nodded, and the man caught his eye and pointed at him. “See? This guy gets it!”
Everyone looked at Krey. “Sure do,” he said, his voice hard.
“You been here before?” the man asked.
“First time.” Krey took a small step forward. “I got tired of watching the king take people’s money and then take advantage of them.” That much, at least, was true.
“Well said. What’s your name?”
“Krey.”
“Pull up a chair, Krey.”
Just like that, he was in—at least with one man. It might take longer to convince the others. He stayed quiet unless someone asked his opinion. At those times, he asked questions instead of giving hard answers. Gradually, glimmers of trust entered some of the suspicious eyes.
When they’d been talking for an hour, a woman said, “I say it every time we get together, and I’m saying it again. The king’s more powerful than us. We gotta find a way to level things out if we’re ever gonna take what belongs to us.”
“Do you agree, Krey?” It was the man who’d first welcomed him to the table.
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he said. “I’ve got a question. Is it true there aren’t many New Therroan magic eaters?”
The woman said, “Yeah, and we need to change that. We can’t win without some lysters on our side.”
A woman who’d been silent until then said, “We’ve got a few.”
The first woman’s voice rose. “The king’s got thousands!”
Krey’s eyes roamed the group as the discussion continued. No one, however, seemed to have an answer for the New Therroans’ magical shortages. If anyone knew about a scheme to abduct magic eaters, they were hiding it well.
The discussion broke up, and the man who’d first spoken to Krey pulled him to the side. “My name’s Hatlin,” he said. “Some of the folks around this table get together every Saturday night at nine. A few others join us too. You’d be welcome.”
“Here at Alit’s?”
“Yeah, in the back room.”
“Thanks for the invite. I’ll try to make it.”
Hatlin clapped him on the back, then moved toward the door.
“Oh, I should tell you something,” Krey said.
The big man turned around.
Krey took a deep breath. Better to be honest than have the truth come out later. “I’m a magic eater. An apprentice. I live and work at the palace.”
Hatlin’s mouth went slack, then widened into a grin. “That could all be very convenient.”
Krey followed Hatlin out of the pub. They shook hands and parted. As he walked through the city, Krey mulled over his experience in the meeting. The people had been friendly, and he admired their willingness to stand up against the monarchy. But he’d barely repressed his disgust as he’d contemplated who in that pub might be holding Zeisha captive.
It was late and had been dark for hours. Before the meeting, Krey had filled his pockets with pre-diced feathers. He ate his fill as he walked. When he reached the outskirts of the city, he took to the air.
He soared through the peaceful dark. Every time he came near a house with lantern light shining through the windows, he swooped low and used the illumination to scan for rocks. In front of a small cottage, he spotted the perfect one—oval in shape,
as long as his forearm. He landed and picked it up.
Okay. Now fly with it. His gut clenched. He tried to laugh off the nerves. Why was this so hard?
Like all feather eaters, he’d learned to fly naked. Clothes could weigh him down. At age five, he hadn’t been the least bit embarrassed to soar above the ground with nothing between him and the breeze. He’d driven his mom nuts, peeing in her flowers from an altitude of five mets. The memory lifted the corners of his lips. It also pinched his heart.
It had taken him a couple of years to learn to envelop his clothes in his magic. He’d started with underwear. In his head, he knew his little shorts weren’t actually part of him. But in his gut, where his feathers turned into magic, he had to believe that the soft, neocot fabric was just as much him as his hair or his teeth.
Once he’d mastered that, he added more clothing, then shoes. These days, he automatically integrated his clothes into his magic. As he flew, he was aware of every fiber, seam, and button. He could even sense the soft leather of his shoes, despite the socks between his shoes and his feet.
He’d progressed to flying with small items in his pockets, but he’d never been able to carry anything else. Over the last few days, he’d tried flying short distances holding little rocks, but they hadn’t felt like part of him. He could only overcome their weight through sheer will, which didn’t work for long. He felt his talent nudging him, saying, There’s an easier way.
Krey held the rock. If I can do this with clothing and shoes, I can do it with a rock. Confidence swelling in his chest, he pushed off into the air—and promptly came back down, dropping the rock and nearly falling as his feet scrambled on dry grass.
He gritted his teeth and picked up the rock. This rock is me.
The second flight was even shorter than the first.
“By the stone!” He whispered it to avoid waking anyone in the nearby house, but he wanted to shout with rage. When he looked at the rock he’d dropped, the humor of it hit him. “By the stone,” he repeated, laughing.
He retrieved the rock and closed his eyes. In one long exhale, he released his anger, his drive, his analytical mind. All but his desire to grow in his talent.
He pressed the rock against his chest, feeling its firm, irregular surface. All at once, it was like the rock was no longer on top of his shirt. It was his shirt, which meant it was him. He could sense every little divot in its surface, every sharp bump and smooth curve. It was dense but no longer heavy, and the winter chill left it as it integrated into his warmth.
Krey opened his eyes and pushed himself into the air. He held the rock against his chest with one hand, lifted his other fist into the air, and hollered a wordless victory cheer. Below him, a young boy who was walking to an outhouse looked up. Krey laughed and waved.
He returned his attention to the air, and his laughter turned into a shrill scream. A large, black carribird was flying straight at him. He swerved to the right, barely avoiding the bird, who hadn’t changed course at all. The action broke Krey’s focus, and suddenly he was falling through the dark air, weighed down not only by the rock, but by his own body. His magic was gone.
“No!” Krey cried as he dropped the rock and threw every bit of focus and energy into turning his magic back on. It worked, sort of. His landing was rough, but not hard enough to break anything. He bounced along the road for at least fifty mets, his talent switching on and off like an electric bulb gone bad. When at last he skidded to a stop in front of a small farmhouse, the young man and woman sitting on the lamplit front porch gaped at him.
Krey brushed dirt off his clothes, picked up another stone, and grinned at the couple. “I am the rock!”
He took to the air again, smiling the whole way back to the palace.
14
After The Day, millions of pets were left homeless when their owners died. Most of the ones that survived turned feral. Our family kept three caynins as pets. We needed them to protect us from their wild cousins.
-The First Generation: A Memoir by Liri Abrios
Nora usually liked economics. Today, she could barely listen to her tutor. There was snow on the ground, the first of the season, and it had been beckoning to Nora all day. She had all the ice she could wish for, but there was something magical about fresh snow. She wanted to shove it in her mouth, let it melt on her tongue and in her throat, and catalyze it.
As soon as her lesson was over, she grabbed her coat. As she slipped it on, she heard Dani chatting with the tutor in the hallway. Next, her aunt would stop by to make sure Nora was completing her school assignments. Groaning, Nora removed her coat. She was sitting at her desk when Dani peeked her head in the room.
An hour later, Nora had made progress in three subjects. She bundled up in waterproof boots and a hooded coat, then headed outside. Her boots made a satisfying crunch on the snow. She scooped up a handful of it and took a bite, shivering with cold and pleasure. She continued eating it as she jogged to the pond.
Once she got there, she gathered more soft snow off the top of the stone bench. She’d eaten half a handful of it when someone behind her spoke.
“I saw that.”
She turned. Krey stood a few mets away, grinning. Nora compacted the rest of the snow in her hand and threw it at him. He caught it and took a bite.
“I didn’t hear you coming!” Nora said.
“I flew.”
“Of course you did. And speaking of flying, you’ve been flying with stones for a week. Ready to carry me yet?”
“We could try, but I’m ninety-percent sure I’d drop you.”
“I think I’ll wait.”
“What if I promised to drop you in the pond instead of on land?” Krey used his hand to sweep snow off one side of the bench.
Nora sat in the area he’d just cleared off. She shot a small ball of ice at his forehead.
He screwed up his face and rubbed the area. “Good aim.”
“Thanks to your tutelage.”
He gestured at the bench. “You could return the favor and clear off some snow so I can sit down.”
“You said I’m a snob; I’d hate to disappoint you now.”
Smirking, he wiped off the bench and sat. “Any ideas for getting into Sharai’s office?”
“I asked if I could apprentice with her. My dad and Dani said that while they appreciate my interest in the workings of government, I need to focus on my other studies.”
Krey sighed. “I wish something had come of that meeting I went to with Hatlin on Saturday. I don’t think anybody there knew anything. I need to meet their leaders, but it may be a while before they trust me enough to introduce me.” He stared out over the pond, his hands tightening into fists. “I need answers.”
Nora frowned. “I wish I knew how to help you.”
“So do I.” Krey stood. “Come on, let’s practice some magic.”
“Okay. I want to learn to catalyze my fuel more efficiently so I can make more ice. Like you do.”
He gestured to the ground. “Better start eating.”
Nora gorged herself, then took a break and ate a little more. Krey showed her how to burn less fuel by tightening muscles in her chest, neck, shoulders, and arms. The actions didn’t feel natural, but she worked on them all the same, making compact balls of ice and shooting them into the ground.
By the time her fuel dried up, she’d made twelve ice spheres, more than she’d ever done at once. They were bigger than usual too. “Not bad, right?” she asked. There was no response, so she turned around. “Krey?”
He was pacing behind her, his face flushed.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.” It came out almost as a growl.
“Yeah, I know what nothing looks like. That’s not it.”
“Look behind you.”
She did. In the distance, Minister Sharai was walking toward the front gate.
“In four days, it’ll be four weeks since I got here,” Krey said. “Zeisha’s been gone for over two-and-a-hal
f months! And apparently I’m incompetent to find her!”
By the end of his speech, he was shouting. Nora drew back. “Hey, it’s not like I took her!”
He stared at her like she’d sprouted horns. “I know you didn’t take her!” he yelled.
“Then stop screaming at me!”
“I’m not screaming at you!” He stepped right up to Nora, and his voice lowered, but it was no less harsh. “I’m pissed at Sharai, and whoever else is behind this thing! Is that not allowed, Your Highness?”
Nora shot back, “Of course you’re allowed to be pissed, but don’t take it out on me! I hate that my friend is gone, but I’m not taking it out on you!” She turned away, picked up two of the ice balls she’d made, and threw them as hard as she could into the pond.
Then she heard it: a staccato uh-uh-uh sound. It wasn’t loud; she might not have even noticed it if she hadn’t grown up hearing the sound. She spun around to see a caynin sprinting across the grassy lawn, straight toward Krey. “Stop!” she cried.
The beast didn’t seem to hear her. It repeated its harsh uh-uh-uh, much louder this time. Krey turned toward the noise. The animal leapt, his wide-open, toothy maw aimed at Krey’s neck.
“STOP!” Nora screamed. The caynin, who’d known her since she was born, snapped his jaws closed. He couldn’t stop his momentum, though. He slammed into Krey, knocking him to the ground.
The animal immediately dismounted and ran to Nora, his huge ears pinned back in a submissive position. She rushed to kneel next to Krey. “Are you okay?”
His eyes were wide. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then he moaned, “I thought those things liked me.”
Laughter, more nervous than amused, escaped Nora’s mouth. “Let me help you sit up.”
He waved her off and stood, coughing and rubbing his chest where he’d been hit. “What the hell was that about?”
The Frost Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 1) Page 11