Strange.
The sirens howl louder.
“Xylia?” Golly bangs on the outside of the trailer. “It’s time to go!”
“Coming!” I cry, yet I stay where I am, kneeling on the floor. Should I put the mystery folder back under the bed? I flip it open.
And freeze.
I was expecting evaluation forms or maybe a forgotten report written in Theandra’s prim, decisive hand. That’s not what this is.
The sirens keep blaring.
And the trailer shudders as Golly thumps up the metal steps.
There are drawings in the folder—awful, crude drawings.
I stare at sketches of girls in frilly palace stolas, some of them young—all of them gruesomely injured. Some of them have been decapitated, stabbed, and worse. One of them even looks like me. And there’s a man hurting the girl who looks like me. And that man is obviously Golly.
These are his drawings.
I feel like I can’t breathe. And when I do breathe, my lungs feel oily as if something unwanted slithers through me.
The sirens are so loud now it’s almost as if they are inside the trailer.
The cagic in my chest crackles hot again, just like it did in the fields, and this time it hurts. I press a fist against my ribs.
“Xylia!” Golly’s shouting even though he’s right behind me. “Aren’t you listening? Can’t you hear the sirens? Nocturne’s are manifesting. We have to go!”
I should have closed the vile folder when I heard his footsteps. I should have flung it under the bed and scrubbed all thoughts of it from my mind. Instead, I’m still stupidly holding it open.
“Xylia! For realm’s sake, you—” Golly abruptly stops talking, and I don’t have to turn around to know he sees what I’m holding.
“Give me that,” he says, his voice high and strained.
I don’t move. I can’t move.
“Golly!” Theandra shrieks somewhere outside. “Golly! We have to go! We have to go now, and I can’t find Rutholyn!”
I twist to look up at him, and I’m not sure what to say. “Theandra…” I start uncertainly. “She… she has to get to the shelter. She’s expecting.”
Golly squeezes farther into the narrow space between the cabins, blocking the door. “I said give that to me.” His voice is now low and ragged at the edges. He leans forward, but the space is so cramped, he still can’t reach the folder. Instead, he grabs my shoulder and squeezes. My bones grind together as more cagic sears its way through my rib cage.
I try to stand, even though I’m not sure how that will help. Should I give him the drawings? Should I refuse? Should I push past him and drag Theandra and Rutholyn to the shelter?
But Golly must think I’m trying to fight back. Without letting me go, he turns slightly, and then—oh realms; he throws me, hurling me into the storage cabin. I crash into the crates, which are all painful corners and sharp wooden edges. And I can’t help it; I summon cagic in defense. It fills me, fierce and hot, and there’s so much of it. Odd, skittering sensations dance down my arms and legs, and I feel overwhelmed with energy. It’s changing and churning inside me.
Golly’s finally able to grab the folder, and he raises his other, massive hand, his fingers curling into a fist.
He’s going to punch me.
Yet before his blow crunches into my nose and teeth, the cagic saturating my body bursts free. A torrent of energy—dark energy—streams out of my chest and fingers and, like an otherworldly scream, my mouth.
I’m not cagic-blind either. Clear-eyed, I watch the deluge of energy smash Golly back through the passage, through my cabin, and then through the wall, leaving a jagged hole.
I gasp, straightening. I was already stunned by Golly’s drawings, but now I’m astounded. I’ve never summoned that much energy—has anyone? It was the strange cagic again too, the shimmerdark. I didn’t even know it was possible to bash someone through a metal wall. I also don’t feel drained. Instead, a huge amount of energy still pulses through me—prickly and eager.
But what have I done?
Frigid Dark Month air rushes in through the hole in the trailer and so does the deafening blare of sirens.
Is… is Golly dead?
I move forward, shimmerdark sparks drifting around me as I peer out the jagged gash. Golly lies on the roadway below, splayed and bleeding on the wet cobblestones and beside him is the despicable folder. I hear a scream—Theandra—and seconds later, I see her, splashing up to Golly and dropping to her knees. “Darling! Darling, say something!”
His fingers twitch, and he groans.
I’m surprised he’s alive.
“What happened—what happened?” Theandra cries. “Did a cagic reservoir explode?” She then gazes up at the trailer’s damaged side and me. Her face contracts with confusion.
“She…” Golly gasps. “Attacked…”
Theandra’s uncertainty sharpens into fear, and now she looks at me as if I’m a salivating, growling nocturne. “Corruption! Cagic corruption!” she cries, her voice breaking. “HELP! HELP! THIS SHIMMERLING’S CORRUPTED! SHE’S AN ILLEGAL CONDUIT!”
“No!” I say, and strangely effortlessly, I ride a shimmerdark disc down to Theandra’s side. I then scoop up the folder of awful drawings and press it into her hands. “I didn’t mean to lose control. I swear I didn’t. But…I found these. Golly… he drew them…”
She tries to push the folder away. “That doesn’t matter, you—”
“Look at them,” I insist.
So Theandra opens the folder and stares at the sketches. At first her lips and eyebrows curl in disgust, but then she shrieks “HELP!” again. She also starts tearing up the drawings page by page, stomping the ragged, white scraps onto the wet street. “A corrupted Shimmerling tried to kill my husband! HELP!”
“No, I didn’t!” I say, and now several civilian guards are running toward us, their shockguns raised.
“Don’t move!” one of them shouts.
“It was an accident!” I cry, realizing I probably look dangerous. My hair’s tugging on my scalp, and it feels like the cagic suffusing me has spread my muddy locks up and out like the branches of a tree. Glittering flecks of shimmerdark also keep flying off my skin like floating, still burning ash.
The civilian guards’ eyes dart between me and fallen Golly as they stumble to a halt.
Theandra reaches into her dripping rain cover and yanks out her bronze pin. “Theandra Shalvo,” she sputters. “Authentication Officer, serial number six-zero-eight. With the authority of the Great Drae, I order you to kill this corrupt Shimmerling.”
I really must look terrifying because the guards don’t hesitate. They raise their gleaming shockguns, preparing to fire.
Again, I react without thinking, creating a ring of shimmerdark that expands out from me like a ripple. It’s much less energy than I bashed Golly with, but the thin loop still knocks everyone down, including pregnant Theandra. A few shockguns fire wildly up into the rainy sky.
But the civilian guards are soon scrambling back onto their feet. I need to get out of here. Whatever changed inside me—whatever’s making me so powerful—it surely won’t last. So creating another disc of shimmerdark, I throw myself onto it, and clinging to the edge, I transfer myself up and away.
It’s cold comfort that at least right now, I’m definitely more powerful than Tah Roli Miri.
11
Cattern
I sail over Marin Harbor’s shuttered brick homes and land hard, rolling to a stop in the same lonesome field I was practicing in earlier. What just happened to me? Or I suppose, what is happening to me?
I stretch my hands out and watch in terrified wonder as an inky shape forms between my fingers—a wavering oval. It looks like a solid shadow wrapped in shimmery gauze. Summoning more energy, I make the shape bigger until it’s as large as a chariot. The energy is so easy to manipulate, and incredibly, my vision’s clear.
I need to experiment more with this strange power, but th
ere’s no time.
The sirens are still screaming.
My life is still in danger; I should be in a shelter by now. So I release the shimmerdark, and the energy scatters like black, sparkling snow.
Legs trembling, I run back toward Marin Harbor. What will Drae Devorla think of Golly’s injuries? What will she think of my shimmerdark? It’s all too much to make sense of. I feel like Theandra ripped my thoughts up along with Golly’s drawings.
And as for Theandra, how should I feel about her? Even with proof of Golly’s awfulness, she still sided with him, and she didn’t just tell those civilian guards to arrest me, she told them to kill me.
As I near the town, one of the distant streetlamps briefly vanishes and then reappears. Something just passed between me and it, momentarily blocking the light. I breathe in cold, damp air. That something must be a nocturne.
Three uneven breaths later, I see it: a cattern crossing the field.
Oh realms, an actual cattern.
I’ve seen a dead one before, stuffed in the Triumvirate Museum. But this is entirely different; black fur covers tight rolls of muscle, four yellow eyes watch me, and back spikes roll in mesmerizing waves as he slinks forward. I think I hear a purring growl too, but it’s hard to tell with the sirens still blaring.
I’m going to die unless I do something. Should I use transference? Maybe. Yet Fedorie says catterns can spring up and snatch birds out of the air.
The strange, feline beast continues to undulate toward me, looking like slippery, murky oil and smelling like death. He’s less than a coach-length away now.
What do I do? What do I do?
I could bash him with solid shimmerdark, the way I attacked Golly, or I could dazzle him with bright shimmerlight and try to escape while he’s distracted. Although, can I even summon shimmerlight anymore?
My fear is like another nocturne, prowling around inside my mind, making it impossible to think clearly.
With a curdled yowl, the cattern lunges forward, and still not sure what to do, I try to run. Yet the nocturne’s long claws catch the trailing hem of my pallacoat, and I thump to the ground.
I have seconds to live—seconds.
The cattern swipes at me, so I attempt to repeat my Golly attack. I stretch out my arms and send a rush of blue-edged shimmerdark at the beast. I shape it like a cube this time, for simple shapes are easier to manipulate. And just like when I knocked Golly out of the trailer, using this much energy doesn’t blind me.
But curse high-quality Kaverlee fabric. Instead of tearing away, my pallacoat stays stubbornly caught on the cattern’s claws. Not only is he knocked across the field, I’m dragged after him. The cattern hits the ground first, and I crash into his flank spikes.
Ugh, pain, pain, pain.
I try to take off my pallacoat, but the cattern leaps up so quickly, I’m whipped back down to the ground. He then snaps at me, and I frantically throw up a hand. Because my slim bones and thin flesh can’t stop such huge teeth, I wrap my arm in shimmerdark. And again, I’m shocked by how powerful the new energy is. When the cattern’s jaws clamp onto my wrist, my skin doesn’t split and my bones don’t break. The unfamiliar energy protects me completely. I widen the shimmerdark sleeve and pull my arm out. I then tug my cloak free as the cattern chomps in frustration on the energy filling his mouth.
It occurs to me that if I expand the tube, I’ll shatter the creature’s jaw. That would be a cruel but effective way to maim him, although I probably wouldn’t kill him. Yet before I decide what to do, the cattern swipes at me again. I’m forced to let the tube of energy dissipate so that I can summon a shimmerdark shield instead.
It seems I can only control one shape at a time—just like when I summon shimmerlight.
With a frustrated snarl, the cattern darts over my shield—he’s so quick! I react instinctively, sending a fist-sized ball of energy into his foreleg. I hear bones crunch, and the cattern rolls backward, yowling and screeching.
I’m still alive. I can hardly believe it.
My heart beats drum roll fast as I stumble away from the nocturne, and of course, he limps after me. I can outrun him, but not for long. Could I strike him with something more powerful than what I hit Golly with? Gasping for breath, I cross the squelching mud and sleeping crops. I also summon a flat diamond of shimmerdark, making it hover in front of me as I run. I’m not sure what to do with it, though. I could climb on it and transfer myself away. Yet, I also think about how cagic behaves. Pressurized cagic is dangerously hot and volatile, which could be a powerful weapon. Feeling reckless, I summon more energy into the diamond shape while forcing it to stay the same size.
As I hoped, the cagic heats up. Not only do I soon feel warmth radiating from it, the light dancing along the energy’s edge changes from blue to green and then yellow to orange. Soon the shimmerdark diamond is laced with fiery red light and sparks are streaming off it. I’ve created my weapon just in time too, for I hear panting and snarling behind me. The cattern’s caught up. Planting my feet in the wet muck, I spin and send the blazing hot energy flying toward him. The shimmerdark strikes true, slicing through the monster. I stare in shock as the cattern drops in two sizzling pieces on the wet field.
I flinch away and nearly retch. I didn’t think compressed cagic would work that well.
Yet as revolting as that was, I just killed a nocturne.
All by myself.
I don’t even use a shockgun.
In a triumphant daze, I set out for Marin Harbor again. Although now I realize there aren’t any twinkling lights where the town should be, and I can’t hear sirens anymore either.
Everyone must be in the shelter.
I should be there too.
At least I can get there quickly. I create a square of dark energy, making it hover like a tabletop. Then kneeling on it and wrapping my fingers around an edge, I send it racing toward the dark, barely visible town. Even transference is different with shimmerdark; it’s so much easier to control the hovering energy.
Soon I’m passing boarded-up houses, the town’s forum, the seg-coach, and then the cauponium where Golly and Theandra rented their room. And as I continue traveling in my unconventional way, I realize it’s no longer raining. It’s as if whoever turned off the sirens turned off the clouds too.
Finally, I spot the shelter doors and seeing them shut tight sends an icy jolt of panic through me.
“Let me in!” I call as I reach them. Surely someone’s on watch. I see lookout windows over the shelter’s entrance, much like the ones in Outer’s Cove.
I expect to hear locks unlatching, hinges groaning, and voices urging me inside, but nothing happens.
“Let me in!” I call again, climbing off my shimmerdark square and releasing the unusual energy. I don’t want to alarm whoever’s peering out at me.
Yet the two-story tall doors remain silently, stubbornly closed.
I hug my torn sleeves to my chest as a chilling thought takes vice-like hold of me: if Theandra can order civilian guards to kill me, she can also order them to keep me out of the shelter. Deepest realms, would she really do that? I suddenly find it hard to breathe.
I can’t survive out here during the Dark Month, exposed and alone.
I may have defeated one cattern, but it was a harrowing cliff’s-edge victory. Also, if the nocturnes don’t kill me, the cold will.
I desperately examine the lookout windows. They are small and barred, so I wouldn’t be able to climb through them. But maybe I can convince the person on watch to let me in.
I summon shimmerdark again, and kneeling on the circular disc of glimmering black energy, I rise upward. Yet as soon as I’m level with the lookout window, I’m greeted by a bearded man aiming a shockgun at me. “You can’t come in,” he says. “The Authenticator said so.”
“But I’m not dangerous,” I say. “She’s lying.”
“She said you’d say that, and even I can see you’re calling on some kind of demon energy.” He eyes my cagic disc
as he cranks a lever on his shockgun. I hear the ominous whine of the weapon’s turbine. “I also saw what you did to that other Authen,” he adds.
Ducking, I quickly lower myself back down to the road. This is even worse than being shipwrecked because at least on the Grimshore I wasn’t alone.
But I can’t waste time being upset. More nocturnes will find me. I need shelter and a house won’t do. Nocturnes have an excellent sense of smell, and they can easily break through doors and walls. A cave with a small entrance would be best, but I don’t know this area. It could take me several days to find an ideal cavern—if I find one at all—and by then it would be too late. I also haven’t eaten enough to survive lingersleeping.
I frantically look around and spot the seg-coach. Golly said it could withstand nocturne attacks, so the armored vehicle will have to do until I think of something better. I ride a shimmerdark disc back the way I came, toward the coach which glows faintly. After all the trouble I went through, the light is still on in the second trailer. As I draw nearer, I see one of the Shalvos’ precious evaluating machines lies forgotten in a puddle too, so I suppose when Theandra rushed into the shelter, she was thinking about Golly, not closing up the seg-coach. I’m sure she was also busy taking care of Rutholyn.
And ugh, Rutholyn—I feel sick just thinking about her. I hope Golly’s injuries didn’t frighten her too much. I also hope she’s safe with Theandra who I now don’t trust at all.
The seg-coach isn’t locked, probably because the Shalvos left so hastily, so I climb into the cabdwell and bolt the door. Realms, what gut-deep relief. For the first time since finding Golly’s awful drawings, I’m not in immediate danger. I lean against the wall and take several deep breaths.
It’s still hard to believe that Theandra wants me dead, and is my shimmerdark truly corrupt shimmerlight?
If so, then I shouldn’t be able to summon shimmerlight anymore. Yet stretching out my hand, I easily create a globe of bright energy. Huh.
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