Shimmerdark

by Sarah Mensinga

  Maybe when I’m the Predrae again, I’ll buy one of these little animals from him. I don’t think Osren’s ever smiled at me, but I bet if I paraded a horselet around Kaverlee and told everyone where I purchased it, he would.

  7

  Tury

  Afew days later, I’m sweeping out the cottage when I hear Mother frantically calling for help.

  Since Fifsa lives with Gefro’s family and Osren’s working late, it’s just me who races toward Mother’s gasping cries. I scramble down an embankment and hurry across the rocky beach. If Mother’s injured, how will I bring her home? Could I carry her on a shimmerlight disc? I’m not sure I have enough control.

  I soon see Mother ahead, standing in an inlet, apparently unharmed. Yet just beyond her are the remains of something.

  Feeling queasy, like something’s stuck in my throat, I keep moving forward.

  Mother has her back to me, and she’s still calling out, “Xylia! Xylia! Come quickly!

  I rest my fingers lightly on her arm, and it’s as if my touch steals her voice. She falls silent for a long moment and then whispers, “Tury.”

  I find it hard, so hard, to look at what’s strewn across the rocks, but when I do, I realize I’m not just looking at a dead person. There are much larger bones there too—nocturne bones.

  Animals have gotten to both bodies, and what little flesh remains is swollen and gray and surrounded by flies. I want to run. I don’t want to keep looking at this. But I can’t leave Mother. “Come,” I say. “Let’s get help.”

  Mother sways when I tug on her arm, but otherwise she doesn’t move. “If a nocturne killed Tury, then what killed the nocturne?”

  It’s a good question—and a troubling one. I reluctantly examine the beach again, and this time, I notice a cave halfway up the cliff. A rumpled blanket spills out of its mouth. Was Tury trying to lingersleep in there?

  I take a hesitant step forward. Judging by the nocturne’s long skull, it must have been a woliev. Even though it’s dead, its massive claws, barbed quills, and serrated teeth are still frightening.

  It’s somewhat like a wolf, its namesake, but it’s also a bit like a huge, nightmarish porcupine.

  How did this monster die, though? I suppose I can’t expect to see obvious wounds now that it’s been lying here for so long. Yet when I walk around the scattered bones, I notice dark spiderwebs of scorch marks on them. I’m pretty sure those are cagic burns.

  “Someone else must have been here too,” I say, covering my nose. There’s not much left of the bodies, but they still smell. “That woliev was killed with a shockgun.”

  Mother’s lips twitch. “Maybe Tury had a shockgun.”

  I nod. I suppose they could have killed each other. Yet if that’s the case, where’s the shockgun now?

  I look at the scorch marks again. The only time I saw a severe cagic burn was when Drae Devorla overfilled a reservoir at the Foundry. When the excess shimmerlight crackled out, it seared through the floor and nearly caused an explosion. Compressed cagic is very hot and highly combustible.

  I glance at Tury’s curled hand—the most recognizable part of him. Mercy and light, this is sad.

  “I liked Tury,” Mother says, her words soft and barely audible over the noisy surf. “He was shy and quiet—so different from the other children in the village. I sometimes read him stories.”

  Even though it’s sunny and hot, I shiver as we return to the cottage, and I still don’t understand why the Authenticators would evaluate a seventeen-year-old. Did his powers manifest recently? Did he hide his abilities?

  Mother’s still trembling, and after she stumbles twice, I take her arm.

  “Fifsa told me Tury didn’t want to be evaluated,” I say. “Why?”

  I suspect it’s because he didn’t want to leave his family, but Mother says, “He was probably afraid of downleveling.”

  “Downleveling?” I say, confused. “What does that mean?”

  Mother looks surprised. “You don’t know? It happens a lot. It happened to me.”

  That’s still not an explanation. “I’ve never heard that word,” I say, mildly annoyed that Mother knows something I don’t.

  She pushes open the porch door. “Surely you realize Authenticators don’t take every cagic-touched child to Kaverlee.”

  “Of course,” I say. “They’re looking for the most powerful children.”

  “But what about the others?” Mother walks over to the kitchen table and sits down wearily. “What about the ones who aren’t powerful enough?”

  I’ve never thought much about those children. I suppose if I had, I would have assumed they went on living unremarkable lives, able to produce harmless cagic sparks and eventually winking out. Mother, though, seems to be hinting at a grimmer fate.

  “They’re downleveled,” Mother says in a hushed voice as if someone might be listening. “Drained of cagic.”

  “Drained?” Is that even possible? “How?”

  “I believe the Authenticators use machines.” Mother shudders. “You can surely ask your mentors when they arrive.”

  Now I feel even more sorry for Tury. He thought the Authenticators were going to take his cagic. Of course he ran away. “And you say this… downleveling… happened to you?”

  “Yes.” Mother rests her arms on the table and slumps. “I was never that powerful, but when I was a baby my nose sparkled when I cried.”

  I struggle to listen, for the ugly term downleveled is filling every corner of my mind. “Did it hurt when they drained you?”

  “I don’t remember.” Mother shrugs. “I was so small. But I’ve heard it’s painful, yes.” She looks at the door. “We can’t just leave them there, Tury and that monster. I should call for someone.” She starts to stand.

  I reach for the table. “No. You stay. I’ll go.”

  She nods, looking grateful, and so I jog back out into the sunshine, which now seems unrelenting and harsh. I hurry over to Gefro’s house first, but he and Fifsa are still working on the spreadfarms. His mother tears up, though, when I tell her the sad news, and she promises to send my sister and her husband over as soon as possible. I then sprint along the gravel road to the small village center, where the market, bathhouse, and forum are. The battered, wooden buildings stand just south of the shelter entrance, and I head for a noisy popina. When I enter the smoky, crowded place, I’m not sure who to talk to, so I simply shout, “Tury’s dead!”

  Chairs scrape, mugs slam, and I even hear some Hidden God oaths. Moments later, I’m leading two dozen laborers back to the Selvantez cottage. Osren’s among them. It seems he was having a drink before heading home.

  “Don’t tell Mother,” he says, and he’s morbidly interested in our discovery. As we walk, he asks me all sorts of questions about the bodies, and when he isn’t grilling me, he shouts instructions to everyone else. “Don’t touch anything until I say so and follow my lead.”

  As Osren and the other workers climb down to the beach, I head back inside the cottage. I hope Fifsa will have already arrived, but Mother is still alone. She also doesn’t seem to have moved while I was gone. Her hands are even in the same positions, the left one gripping a tea towel and the right spread flat on the table.

  If Fifsa was here, I’m sure she’d be trying to comfort Mother, so I ask, “Are you hungry or thirsty?” We usually eat supper around now.

  Mother’s head jerks up as if suddenly realizing I’ve returned. “No, I’m fine. Sit with me, Xylia, won’t you?”

  I join her on the bench, although I sit on the opposite end. She slides closer to me anyway and puts an arm around my shoulders. I long to shake her off, but I don’t want to upset her even more. Thank the source, her embrace doesn’t last long.

  “Why don’t you ever hug back?” she asks, releasing me.

  “I will if you want me to.”

  “What I want is…” Mother trails off and then quietly folds the small towel she’d been twisting.

  As she smooths the linen, I
think about downleveling again. I wonder why the Great Drae never told me that a person’s cagic ability could be removed. I suppose if I hadn’t been lost at sea, I’d probably know more.

  “I wish they’d never taken you away,” Mother murmurs.

  “I wish I was never shipwrecked,” I say. “Why didn’t you and Father accept city justification and move to Kaverlee? If you had, I wouldn’t have been on that ferry. I’d still be the Predrae.” Over Mother’s slim shoulder, I see men carrying a bundle up from the beach—it must be Tury. I also smell smoke. Osren and the villagers must be burning the nocturne.

  Mother sighs. “If we’d moved to the city, we wouldn’t have seen you anymore. I couldn’t bear that, and neither could your father.”

  I stare at her—stunned. “But parents can visit their Shimmerling children. Connection Day is every other Bright Month.” Did my parents make their fateful decision because of a misunderstanding? It’s so cruel it’s almost funny. “Did no one tell you about Connection Day? There are picnics and shimmerlight shows, and I was always sad that I never had a guest.”

  Mother meets my eyes but not with her usual timid gaze; it’s a harder look. “Only one of us could have seen you on those days and only with palace approval and only for a highly supervised couple of hours. We would have been strangers to you.”

  You’re strangers to me anyway, I think, although I gently say, “I’m sure we would have had better visits. Coming here always felt like a punishment. You would have had an easier life in Kaverlee too, you and Fifsa and Osren. I never understood your decision, and I still don’t.”

  “I couldn’t give you up.” Mother’s eyes shine. “You were only two years old—just a baby. You still slept in my bed, and you’d cry when you couldn’t see me or your Pa. And you surely can’t remember leaving, which is a blessing, but you were crying like your heart was being torn out. We all were. I even… I even tried to convince the Authenticators to downlevel you, but I couldn’t fool them. Your cagic gift was too strong.”

  “You what?” I’m still struggling to accept that permanently removing cagic is possible, and now I learn my own Mother tried to strip away my talents. “You would have destroyed my greatest gift just so I’d stay here? That’s so… so selfish!”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Mother whispers. “Xylia… if you had lost your cagic, you could have kept your family.”

  It’s probably wrong to be so angry, but just thinking about downleveling is unleashing my most vicious thoughts. I feel unable, or maybe just unwilling, to keep them inside. “You’re so possessive,” I say, and although that’s not the right word, I’m too upset to speak carefully. “Because you forced me to come here every year, I was on that doomed ferry. I lost seven years of my life, I lost my position, and now I’m in danger of winking out. It’s your fault I’m not the Predrae anymore—yours and Father’s.”

  Mother winces as if I’ve hit her. Her eyes glisten and her lips tremble.

  I start feeling sorry for her, and I don’t want that, so I leave, slamming the porch door so hard it doesn’t groan grumpily like usual. It squeals and strikes the cottage so forcefully the heavy shutters shake.

  8

  The Authenticators

  Mercifully, the Shalvos arrive two days later.

  Osren tells me by bursting into Gefro’s family home, where I’m now staying, and shouting, “Time to pack your fancy clothes. The Authenticators are here, and I told them you’d come right away.”

  Thank all the powers that churn and spark in the Hidden Realms, I’m finally leaving Outer’s Cove. “Where are they?” I put down the book I was reading: a rather gossipy account of the royal family.

  “They’re with their… well, it’s called a seg-ment-ed-coach,” Osren speaks in a slow, exaggerated way as if I might not know what a seg-coach is. “They’ve parked it in the middle of the village.”

  Fifsa emerges from the cellar, a basket of infyroots in her arms. “We have to tell Mother.” She shoots me a sharp look. “If you leave without saying goodbye, she’ll be inconsolable. And should I invite the Authenticators over for a meal? It’s not as if you have to rush off today. The sun won’t set for another week.”

  She’s right. The shadows are long, but the sky is still an unflinching blue.

  Because Fifsa insists on informing Mother, we first go to the Selvantez Cottage. We find her gardening in a droopy hat that makes her look even more forlorn. And when Fifsa tells her that my mentors have arrived, Mother nods sadly and doesn’t even look at me. Osren vanishes for a moment and then reappears with one of his horselets on a lead. We then all walk to the village, and at first I’m not sure why Osren’s bringing the animal, for when it comes to his horselets, he’s usually very secretive. But as I watch the little pony prance alongside us, I think I understand; Osren hopes the Shalvos will buy it.

  Since I’m not eager to talk to Mother, she seems too downcast to speak to me, and Osren is distracted by his horselet, Fifsa chatters for all of us. “I can’t believe you’re already leaving, Xylia! And I’ve decided I will invite the Authenticators over to eat. Although Gefro’s family might not like that. So let’s invite them to your cottage, Mother. What sorts of food do you think they’d enjoy? I make a delicious baked fish, but maybe that’s too simple…”

  The Authenticator’s seg-coach is huge and battered, with tough, chunky tires and two trailers. It must have a powerful cagic motor hidden under its steel exterior.

  We find the Shalvos nearby, speaking to parents who believe their children are cagic-touched. As for the children, they try to pet Osren’s horselet.

  He nudges them away with his foot. “Stop that. No. Don’t touch.”

  Golly and Theandra Shalvo are a mismatched pair. He’s tall and covered in soft, saggy bulk as if he was once very muscular. She is petite, stern-looking, and very pregnant. Both Shalvos wear bland, gray uniforms, brimmed sun hats, and shiny Authenticator pins.

  As soon as we arrive, Osren steps forward and rather theatrically says, “Allow me to introduce Xylia Amoreah Selvantez, the former Predrae of Kaverlee.”

  I look at him, surprised that he’s almost being nice. I suppose he’s trying to impress the Shalvos so they’ll buy a horselet.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I say honestly. It’s almost like being rescued from the Grimshore all over again.

  “And it’s wonderful to meet you,” Golly says, reaching out to shake my hand. His big palm looks like a nocturne paw compared to mine. “You’re a famous Shimmerling, you know. First, you’re one of the youngest Predraes ever selected, then you survived in the wild for seven years, and now you choose to leave your comfortable palace life to help our noble cause? You’re very self-sacrificing.”

  I hadn’t thought about myself that way, but I’m pleased Golly has. I want to impress the Authenticators, and after my stressful visit to Outer’s Cove, I hope we get along.

  He then introduces me to Theandra, and all this hand shaking makes me feel nostalgic. I used to greet foreign Conduits and dignitaries like this when I was the Predrae. “I hope you didn’t have a difficult journey,” I say.

  “The roads were muddy, but we’re used to that.” For such a small person, Theandra’s voice is surprisingly deep and raspy. “I’m sorry we didn’t arrive sooner. We had an unexpected detour—an evaluation in Persinia Glade. Now we’re heading south again, I’d like to reach Marin Harbor before the next Dark Month. We have several children to evaluate there, and it has good rooms to rent in its shelter.”

  Fifsa steps forward, surely to invite the Shalvos to dinner. Yet before she can, Osren asks the Authenticators if they’ve ever seen a miniature horse. “The captivating creatures can be trained like dogs,” he explains, holding out the little animal. “They are docile and extremely clever and”—Osren eyes Theandra’s huge belly—“excellent with children.”

  “How charming,” Theandra gives the horselet a stiff, disinterested smile.

  “They are indeed charming.” Osren look
s offended by her lack of interest.

  “You must be hungry and tired,” Fifsa tries again. “I’m Xylia’s sister. Would you like to join us for dinner?”

  “We’d be honored to accept your invitation.” Golly smiles broadly. “A home-cooked meal sounds delightful.”

  So we temporarily part ways with the Shalvos, and Fifsa takes charge. “Just a few hours to whip up something delicious? It’s a challenge, but not impossible. Mother, Osren, go ready the house. Xylia and I will run to the market and meet you there.”

  The next few hours are hectic. Yet even though Osren tries to pick fights with me and Mother gives me long, injured looks, we still make an impressive meal of spiced crab with marinated rice and stretcher beans.

  When the Authenticators arrive, though, they seem more interested in me than the food. Golly immediately corners me on the porch and tells me about his favorite evaluation techniques.

  “I use a three-step approach; initiate, investigate, and assess.” He holds up three fingers. “The Great Drae has made incredible improvements to the devices that measure cagic in children. But as you can imagine, convincing our young subjects to sit still for an accurate reading is another matter altogether.” He chuckles.

  He also seems pleased that I haven’t winked out yet. “Most people in the Periph have never seen a true Shimmerling and have all sorts of misguided ideas. Parents often beg us to evaluate children who can barely produce cagic sparks. Things can become tense when we tell them that their family won’t be moving to Kaverlee City any time soon. It’s a matter of education and exposure, you see.”

  I assume that Golly is the more talkative of the two Shalvos, yet at dinner, Theandra also has a lot to say. As we eat, she tells me that they’ve evaluated fourteen potential Shimmerlings recently and only authenticated one. “In the past four years,” she adds, “we’ve located twelve children powerful enough to present to the Great Drae, yet she’s only accepted seven.”

  Theandra also tells me she plans to move to Kaverlee City when her baby is born. “I’ll stay there until the child is able to travel, which will hopefully only take a solar cycle or two, but during those months, Golly will depend on you. It’s essential that you’re fully trained by then. I hope you’re a quick study.”