They are telling me everything but what I really want to know. “When are we leaving?”
Fifsa glowers at me, while Mother stares miserably at her plate.
Theandra doesn’t seem to notice their reactions. “We’ll be on our way in the morning. With the unfortunate death of the boy we were planning to evaluate here, we have no reason to stay long. Will you be ready?”
Mercy and light, that’s good news. I nod and say, “I’ve already packed.”
As soon as Mother’s clock rings the next lunar day, I pull off my eye mask and spring out of bed. I’ve been sleeping on a simple palette of blankets in a corner of Gefro’s family kitchen, and after I wash up, I dress in their pantry. Then with Fifsa’s help, I carry my traveling chest to the seg-coach, which is still parked in the village. Mother and Osren arrive moments after we do. Mother is already dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, while Osren is optimistically holding another horselet. This one is glossy black with bright, intelligent eyes; it’s the prettiest horselet I’ve seen so far.
Before we leave, it seems I must officially join the authentication team. Theandra gives me paperwork to sign, and as she does, I spot a letter from Drae Devorla in my file. I wonder what it says. Yet Theandra must notice me eyeing the message because she tucks it beneath other documents. “Sign the top three papers,” she instructs. “The first is a vow to protect children, the second is a promise to report all findings, and the third is a safety declaration.”
As I sign the documents in my embarrassing, childish scrawl, Golly hauls my trunk into the second seg-coach trailer. It looks like a metal house on wheels, complete with windows.
There are two tiny cabins inside, and Golly wrestles my trunk into the left one. There’s a narrow set of bunkbeds in there, and I suppose I’ll be sleeping on the top bunk because Golly heaves my trunk onto the lower bed. There’s no room for it on the floor.
“Theandra and I sleep in the cabdwell in the main coach,” Golly tells me. “And we usually house potential Shimmerlings in the first trailer—although we don’t have anyone traveling with us right now. Therefore, unless we suddenly have many children to transport, you’ll have this trailer to yourself. We use the other cabin for storage. Don’t go in there, though. Theandra has an intricate filing system.”
“I won’t, and thank you,” I say, eyeing my bed. The mattress looks thin, but like Mother’s hammock, it will be more comfortable than Grimshore bedding so I’ll manage. I’m also pleased to have the whole trailer to myself.
Golly lumbers back outside. As he descends the folding metal steps, he says, “It’s a marvelous vehicle, isn’t it? Drae Devorla designed these coaches years ago, and they’ve held up. Built like sharecks! The other Authentication teams use them too.”
Two-year-old me must have traveled to Kaverlee in a seg-coach like this. There’s nothing familiar about it, though, but that’s not surprising. I don’t remember anything about my authentication.
As I say my final goodbyes, Mother soaks her handkerchief with tears and tells me she loves me.
I hug her loosely, not sure how to respond honestly while also being kind. I settle on, “I’m glad your health is good.”
Fifsa then hugs me with a tight, whether-you-like-this-or-not embrace. She’s so aggressive, I almost expect her to search my pockets for coins. “Now swear you’ll come back and visit. It will destroy Mother if you don’t.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say vaguely.
“You’d better,” Fifsa says, jabbing me with a finger.
Osren doesn’t hug me, although he puts his hand on my shoulder in an odd spot—too close to my neck. “It was good to see you again, sis. If you have any family loyalty, you’ll tell your city friends about my horselets.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, and Osren rolls his eyes. If he could get me to sign some sort of advertising contract, I’m sure he would. But the truth is, I probably will tell people about his horselets. They are delightful, and when I’m back in my lavendrine cottage, I’d love to own one. Maybe the black horselet he has with him now.
Then we’re off!
Golly drives the coach, while Theandra and I ride in the back, in the cabdwell. The clean, cozy space reminds me of a compact, well-kept home. A small kitchen lines one wall, while a table partially surrounded by padded benches stands against the other. Woven rugs cover the metal floor, and there’s also a small lavatory with an equally small bathing alcove. When I ask Theandra where she and Golly sleep, she explains that the table lowers so that it’s level with the benches. The bench cushions can then be arranged into a bed. “It’s comfortable enough,” she tells me.
She also immediately puts me to work.
“Please sort through these wire messages.” Theandra slides a stack of cards across the table. “I’ll be filling out paperwork about the young man we weren’t able to evaluate. There are a lot of detailed forms to complete: cessation of evaluation, a cause-of-death survey, a family records alteration request.” She grimaces—or maybe smiles? With her sharp features, it’s tough to tell, and she seems like a person who enjoys complicated paperwork.
Flipping through the message cards, I glance at her. Theandra’s not ugly, just angular, as if her skull is too large for her face. Her bony features also clash with her firm, round, ball of a belly.
She looks over at me too. “You’ll have to go faster than that, and once you’ve sorted the messages by location, order them by date.”
I stiffen. I hate being told what to do—who does? But I also remind myself that I’m here for a reason; this job will give me regular access to the Great Drae so I can become the Predrae again. I begin organizing the cards into neat piles: Port Beyder, Shimian Cliff, Lea Fort, Avelit Beach, Marin Harbor…
“Your work will help us plan our route efficiently,” Theandra explains.
I nod and continue sorting. Yet I’m not used to traveling by seg-coach, and soon its jolting and jostling makes my insides feel like frothing floodwater.
Pressing the back of my hand to my mouth, I look helplessly at Theandra. The bouncing cabdwell doesn’t seem to bother her at all. She’s primly filling out a form with a mechanical pen. She has another pen in her mouth, a red one, and she occasionally uses it to check boxes.
Oh, I feel sick, and although I should probably tell Theandra, I’m afraid to speak—it might not be words that come out. Feeling as if I’m taking an immense risk, I quickly blurt, “Theandra!”
Her eyes flick over at me, and with an understanding nod, she turns to the midpassage, which leads to the guidebox. “Golly,” she calls. “We need to make an emergency stop.”
The seg-coach and its two trailers lurch to a halt, and I manage to clamor out of the cabdwell just in time to vomit on some unlucky bushes. As I stagger away from the brush, I see that it’s no wonder I felt ill; the road is in terrible shape. It’s dented with potholes and cracks, and roots are pushing up through the pavement too. Drae Devorla should know about this. If she cares about anything, it’s infrastructure.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur to Theandra as she climbs down from the seg-coach to bring me a cup of water.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says while I rinse out my mouth. “It takes time to get used to riding in the seg. Why don’t you sit with Golly? Riding up front often helps the children travelling with us.”
Still shaking, I allow Golly to help me into the guidebox where the coach’s controls are. He easily hoists me up over the truck’s big tires, reminding me of a giant in a children’s story. Come to think of it, he even looks like a giant, with his saggy features and wide, almost fish-like mouth. I try not to imagine what the child in Theandra’s belly will look like.
Golly starts the cagic engine, and it makes a confident whirr-whump sound. For a while we travel in silence. I gaze out the windows at a landscape that’s sometimes barren and rocky and other times covered with green spreadfarms. I let my mind wander from small things, like how unpleasantly firm my seat is, to larger ques
tions, like where do nocturnes go during the Bright Month? They vanish when the sun rises, but that’s all we know.
I’d prefer to quietly watch Kaverlee’s Periphery roll past, but Golly strikes up a conversation.
“I think you’ll find it interesting to see how people respond to us,” he says loudly over the seg-coach’s thrumming motor. “Lots of folk think we’re a free ticket to a luxurious life in the city, and they’ll try to push children with feeble—sometimes phony—powers on us. Other parents have heard misleading things about the Courtyard of Youth. They don’t trust us, so they downplay their children’s abilities. Ultimately, we must protect the children and Kaverlee’s natural resources. Now did I mention that Theandra and I take a three-step approach? It involves interviewing the children and the parents, performing a practical evaluation using a variety of cagic barometers… and perhaps you should be taking notes?”
“If I write, I’ll be sick again,” I say. Besides, I don’t have a pen and paper here in the guidebox.
“It’s fine. I teach using repetition. We’ll talk about this many times.” Golly then launches into a detailed explanation of the seven levels of cagic power and how to differentiate between them. After that, he gives me a lengthy rundown of the five different categories of cagic manifestation: shimmerlight volume, shimmerlight shape complexity, shimmerlight density, horizontal transference, and vertical transference.
“I’ll always remember when they found you,” Golly says with an impressed whistle. “I wasn’t on the authentication team, no, but we all heard about it. Your score was seven, seven, four, five, five. One seven is rare. Two sevens are unheard of. We talked about it for years.”
I feel miffed that I didn’t get more sevens. And why is my weakest score in density? I’ve always made very solid cagic shapes. It also seems unfair that vertical transference and horizontal transference are considered two separate skills, when they are really the same ability—moving energy. I wonder what Tah Roli Miri’s scores were, and I wonder what Drae Devorla’s scores were too. I never see her summon or shape shimmerlight other than when she donates energy.
It’s also strangely depressing to have my talents reduced to a series of numbers. It’s as if Golly’s taken something I’ve always considered too wondrous and beautiful to fully understand and boxed it up in dull, inflexible statistics. Somehow the rich mystery of cagic is diminished by those numbers. I’ve always thought shimmerlight was wild and limitless. Defining it seems to tame it, and there’s something deeply disappointing about that.
Feeling grumpy, I fidget on the wide, upholstered bench. I have less patience with Golly, too, as he drones on about what a Shimmerling expert he is. I am a Shimmerling. If anyone’s an expert, it’s me.
“You’re lucky you’re on our team,” he says. “I’ve got twenty years of experience and Theandra has seventeen. You’ll learn a great deal from us.”
“And maybe you’ll learn something from me,” I say.
Golly laughs. He must think I’m joking. “Wouldn’t that be a surprise! Just be ready to listen, learn, and… absorb. Study everything Theandra and I do. We’re at the top of our game.”
I stifle the disagreeable things I’d like to say because I don’t want to be on Golly’s bad side. I’d still rather be here than in the Courtyard of Youth, regularly donating cagic. I need to swallow my pride, cooperate, and continue to practice transference whenever possible.
Yet my willingness to cooperate is immediately tested when we arrive in a small labor agency camp.
“You’ll need to change your clothes,” Golly tells me as he turns off the seg-coach. Its motor powers down with a low whine and a series of clicks.
“Change? Why?” I glance at my green stola-suit, stockings, and dressy-yet-practical boots. There’s nothing wrong with my outfit.
Golly flicks a few switches. “But surely you brought some fancy stolas with you.”
“I have two, yes.” I follow Golly into the midpassage; a short corridor connecting the guidebox to the cabdwell’s living area. “But those gowns are too nice for a place like this.”
“That’s exactly it, though.” Golly turns, trapping me in the small space. “You’re a real flesh and blood Shimmerling. You represent the glory of Kaverlee City and the elegant life these people aspire to. You—more than Theandra or I—can inspire trust. So I want you to dazzle and sparkle like you just stepped out of the Courtyard of Youth. Do you understand?”
I don’t like being cornered in this narrow walkway by over-sized Golly. “So I’m just a prop?” My voice sounds meeker than I’d like and unpleasantly reminds me of my mother’s. “With my cagic powers, I can do more than just—”
Golly raises one of his big hands to silence me. “If you are a diligent student and prove that you understand my methods, yes, in time I’ll allow you to do more. Right now, though, you need to wear your frilly stolas and summon shimmerlight whenever I tell you to.”
9
Downleveling
For seven years I longed for my palace stolas. I ached to feel dense ruffles and crinolines swishing around my knees, and I so badly wanted to bury my hands in brightly colored lace. On the Grimshore, I would sometimes even pretend to stretch stockings over my legs and tie them in place with invisible ribbons.
Putting on a lavish stola now, though, in a hot, cramped cabin is like eating a berry pastry when I’m not hungry.
I wonder if I’m mostly miserable because I don’t have any Maternals here to help drape my gown, apply my cosmetics, or tie back my hair. It’s certainly challenging to do it all myself. It’s also unpleasant to know Golly and Theandra are waiting just outside.
But when I finally step out of the seg-coach’s second trailer and face a crowd of curious laborers, I finally realize why wearing a frilly palace stola seems so wrong. My traveling clothes made me feel professional. In this stola, with its three layers of satin, I feel out of place and foolish. It’s as if I’m wearing a costume to a party I thought was a masquerade—but isn’t.
“Presenting Xylia Selvantez, former Predrae of Kaverlee,” Golly says as if he’s an auctioneer and I’m on sale.
The laborers stare at me, either awed or unimpressed. It’s surprisingly difficult to tell.
Theandra then asks them where to find the children we’ve come to evaluate. As a man points across the field, Golly leans toward me saying, “You look perfect, but the next time I introduce you, put on a bit of a show—summon some shimmerlight.”
He’s trying to train me like I’m one of Osren’s horselets. I manage to stifle my anger, but I’m too irritated to reply.
“It’s about making an impression,” Golly adds. “Trust me, my methods always work.”
The twins we’re here to evaluate live on the far side of the labor camp and seem to share a cabin with at least two other families. Many dusty adults and children pour out of the rickety building as we approach.
Like the other laborers, these people stare at me, even the babies. I steadily return their gaze as Golly introduces me again and gives me a pointed look. I grudgingly raise my hands to summon cagic. Yet before any shimmerlight appears, I suddenly dread that I’ll accidentally attract that inky energy again—the strange shimmerdark. Fortunately, only brilliant blue light crackles out of my fingertips. I effortlessly shape the energy into a large, bright snowflake. After it rotates several times, I snap my fingers and it bursts into a shower of sparks.
My audience murmurs and a few people clap. Then a ragged man wearing a large straw hat pushes a boy and girl forward. The children hold hands and are probably about six years old.
“Caught ’em playing catch with some sparks,” the man says, “and I thought, now that ain’t right.” He gives the children an odd, focused look. It’s as if he expects them to impress us and also believes they’ve done something wrong. “They’re my sister-in-law’s kids, and since she died, I took ’em in. That means me and the rest of my kin get to move to Kaverlee, right? And no labor agency will own ou
r hours no more?”
He turns to the children, grabs the boy’s upper arm and shakes him. “Go on, show ’em, Bilvy. Make those sparkles and make ’em nice and bright.”
“That’s not necessary, sir,” Theandra says, rearranging the papers on her clipboard. “We will complete a thorough evaluation of the children.”
“Of course, of course. You lot do your jobs.” The man adjusts his sun hat. “I ain’t gonna stand in the way.”
It’s clear that the man yearns to live in Kaverlee City, and his grasping eagerness is off-putting. Yet, looking at his bony, underfed body and considering the bleak settlement where he lives, I understand his desperation. He’s fighting for his future just like I’m fighting for mine.
“Now remember,” Theandra tells him. “Few children are gifted enough to meet the Great Drae, and she selects an even smaller number of children to serve in Triumvirate Hall. It’s far more likely that these two are either passing summoners, which means having weak power, or pulse summoners, which means they are powerful but their cagic is unstable and therefore useless. Don’t get your hopes up.”
The man’s eyes widen. “I’m telling you, these two got some high quality cagic. They’re the real thing. Some folks were trying to hide ’em, but I reported ’em, I did. My name’s Jesper Trent, by the way. Jesper with a J. Not Chesper. People sometimes make that mistake.” He grabs Bilvy again—this time by the elbow. “Now you do what these folks say or you’ll wish you had.”
Bilvy looks like he might cry.
“That’s enough, Mr. Trent.” Golly steps forward. “We don’t need assistance, and I assure you our evaluation will be accurate.”
He then leads the children into the seg-coach’s cabdwell, leaving Jesper—not Chesper—standing outside with his arms crossed.
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