Maybe the drawings were the real reason Theandra wanted to get rid of me. Some people don’t handle emergencies well, like Clicks’s poor wife. Maybe an irrational part of Theandra hoped that if I vanished along with the despicable sketches, it would be like they never existed.
I look around the Shalvos’ small living space, at the cabinets, the little kitchen, and the convertible table-bed. Maybe it’s good that I came here. The Great Drae should know what just happened, and I don’t want her to hear Theandra’s version of the story first. If this shimmerdark doesn’t fade, it’s clear proof that I should be her Predrae.
I turn to the mid-passage, which leads to the guidebox. I bet I could drive to Kaverlee City. I wouldn’t even have to worry about running low on energy; I can charge the coach’s reservoirs myself.
First, though, I need to get my luggage and unhook the trailers; there’s no point pulling extra weight.
Before I venture back outside, I look out all the windows, and thank the source, no nocturnes are nearby. It still takes a lot of courage to open the cabdwell door and retrieve my trunk. I move it lightning fast too, transferring it on a square of shimmerdark. It’s harder to detach the trailers, though. Sturdy, steel couplers secure them to ball hitches, and there are tangles of chains and thick cables too. By the time I unlatch and unhook and unravel everything, two sharecks are nosing around a nearby market stand.
Slipping down to the wet ground, I creep back through the cabdwell door, and then—hardly breathing—I ease it shut.
Realms, I should get moving.
I clamor up to the guidebox. Because I spent so much time sitting beside Golly, I think I understand steering and breaking. Yet, how do I turn the seg-coach on? It has so many switches and dials.
And darker realms, the sharecks have noticed me. They’re shambling toward the coach like fat sharks on stubby limbs with too many fins. I slide into Golly’s seat, and ugh, it has a depression shaped like his backside. I try not to think about it as I flip, turn, and push random controls. I almost wish Golly were here. At least he knows how to start this dumb vehicle.
Nothing happens.
I glance out the window at the sharecks. They glare back with beady eyes.
Trying to ignore my fluttering anxiety, I wonder what Theandra would do. I don’t think she knew how to drive the coach—but I bet she wrote instructions down somewhere. I’m sure she’d want to be able to operate it in an emergency.
Or maybe, and this would be even better, the seg-coach has a manual.
I jump up and rush back to the cabdwell. If there is a manual, I bet Theandra kept it with her many books.
I fling open cabinet door after cabinet door. In one, I find neatly stacked books but no manual. In another, I find folded rain covers—one of those would have been helpful while I was practicing transference. Then I find canned goods, pots and pans, a tool set, and some scissors.
The coach rocks as something scrapes against its side.
“Go away,” I mutter, yanking out drawers now. I’m sure the coach’s windows are strong, but I doubt Drae Devorla tested the glass with real nocturnes.
The seg-coach sways again, and I hear more terrible noises. It’s as if the monsters are trying to claw their way in.
Argh, Theandra! Where would you keep a manual?
Not sure where else to look, I return to the guidebox, and desperate to get rid of the monsters, I hit the center of the steering wheel. A loud, blaring sound rings out, and thankfully, I hear scrambling and snorting outside. I then see both sharecks lumber away. They don’t go far, but I hope they’ll give me a few moments of peace. However, the larger one immediately charges the coach. He slams into the front so forcefully the vehicle skids backward several paces and the engine hood buckles. “Don’t you dare break anything important!” I shout.
Yet now that I’m back in the guidebox, I have a sudden idea. If Theandra owns a seg-coach manual, she’d probably store it in a useful spot, such as near the driver. I probably would have thought of that sooner if I wasn’t so scared. Crouching, I search through the many small compartments and storage nooks beneath the coach’s controls.
And wonderful, here it is! A booklet with a drawing of a seg-coach on the cover. I also find some other helpful items: a tin of medical supplies, a small cagic-powered lamp, a map, and two blankets. Even better, someone—probably Theandra—flagged what must be important pages of the manual with colorful paper markers.
The big shareck looks like he’s going to charge the coach again. His gray mouth retracts, showing his teeth, and oh, he has so many. I pound the steering wheel again, sounding another off-key BLEEEEEERT.
The nocturne hesitates, snarling.
Yet I’m sure honking won’t intimidate him for much longer.
“Come on. Come on.” I scan the manual while continuing to slam my left fist onto the horn. BLEEERT! BLEEEEEEERT! BLEERT!
Ugh, why are these instructions so complicated? So there’s the starter button, but what’s all this about shifting between gear mode and acceleration mode?
The coach shudders, and I’m pretty sure the smaller shareck is biting a wheel.
I suppose I’ll have to figure out the finer details of driving later. I jab the starter button, which should really be labeled and in a more logical place, and how sparking, the controls light up and the cagic engine rumbles. The whole guidebox then begins vibrating as if something badly balanced spins beneath it. Taking a deep breath, I step on the largest pedal.
The engine protests with a metallic yowl and crackles of blue cagic flare up between the floor panels. That’s not right. But at least the seg-coach lurches forward.
The sharecks dash off, and oh… no, I hit a house. Bricks fly, pillars topple, and I flip a switch that I think controls the heater. Instead, bright guide-lights turn on, illuminating the dark town. Even better.
I wobble and bounce the big coach down Marin Harbor’s main street, passing two more sharecks near the shelter gates.
Oh realms, I just knocked a brass statue out of a garden, and now I’m demolishing a fence, but at least I haven’t hit more buildings.
Maybe I’m getting the hang of this.
Yet unseen mechanical parts are still grinding loudly and angrily under my feet, and something smells burnt and acidic. As soon as it’s safe, I’ll stop and read the entire manual. I can’t afford to damage the seg-coach. I need it.
I swerve to the right and careen down a thin lane lined with warehouses. The coach then bumps and heaves itself over something big… maybe farming equipment? And I seem to be heading into the labor agency fields. I grab a lever I remember Golly often moving and yank it back and forth. Each time I move it, the seg-coach’s engine whines less, until miraculously, the big machine runs smoothly. I also twist a mysterious knob and warm air blasts my knees—so that’s how I turn on the heater.
I suspect the seg-coach is carving twin paths of destruction through the sleeping crops, but I’m soon able to steer the rolling monstrosity onto a raised, gravel-covered road—maybe the same one we traveled on yesterday. I should probably look at that map I found, but there’s a compass among the glowing controls and Kaverlee City is to the south, so I’ll just drive that way for a while. No need to stop this thing after working so hard to start it.
If I wasn’t so shaken, I think I might even enjoy operating the seg-coach. It’s a little like moving my Colossi around the Courtyard of Youth, and I find it oddly satisfying to control something so much bigger than myself.
I’m also glad that, at least for now, I’m safe. That seems worth celebrating. So even though I’m alone, I let out a triumphant cheer.
“Shimmerlady? Is that you?” a small voice says.
12
Rutholyn
Ibring the seg-coach to a jerking halt. “Rutholyn?”
“Yes?”
“Where are you?”
She’s briefly silent and then says, “Hiding.”
I find her moments later in the seg-coach’s lava
tory, huddled between the tiny latrine and tiny shower.
“You should be in the shelter,” I say, frustration weighing down my words.
“I know that, but there was too much danger.” Rutholyn smears tears onto the backs of her little hands as I help her out of the cramped space. “I didn’t know what to do, ’an then I was in here.”
“Theandra didn’t look for you?” I ask.
“Maybe… and I don’t know,” she whispers.
Theandra was so distracted by Golly’s injuries she left cagic equipment in a puddle. I could see her forgetting about Rutholyn too. But what now? Do I take this child back to Marin Harbor? Holding her hand, I lead her into the guidebox. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” She must have been terrified while I was honking at the sharecks and driving wildly away from the town.
“I wasn’t sure it was you,” she says softly. “I thought you might be a bad person instead of you.”
I’m glad she doesn’t think I’m a bad person, but that must mean she didn’t see me attack Golly.
“I have to take you back.” I sit down heavily and hug my knees to my chest.
Rutholyn sits down too and tilts her head, looking thoughtful. “But also, where are you going?”
I might as well be honest with her. “Kaverlee City, but only because I couldn’t get into the Marin Harbor shelter.”
“Why?”
“Some people think I’m dangerous—but I’m not. It’s complicated.”
Rutholyn is quiet for a while and then says, “I might decide to come with you.”
“No, no, absolutely not,” I say. “You’re safer with Theandra.”
Rutholyn shakes her head so quickly it’s almost a shiver. “Theandra told people to shoot you. Theandra’s a bad person.”
So she did see what happened or at least part of it.
I sigh and rub my eyes, exhausted. Even if I brought Rutholyn back to Marin Harbor, would they open the shelter doors for her? There would be even more nocturnes in the streets by now, and it would be extremely risky to let anyone in.
So I say, “Fine,” and start driving again. This time, I get the seg-coach moving without as many shrill metallic squeals.
I hope I’m doing the right thing. I did tell the Shalvos I’d take Rutholyn to meet Drae Devorla, so in a way, I’m keeping my word.
As I guide the seg-coach through the wet darkness, Rutholyn curls up on her seat and closes her eyes. It is lunar night, I realize—her bedtime.
While Rutholyn rests, I think about shimmerdark, and I wonder if anyone else has summoned it before. Maybe I’m just experiencing an unusual burst of energy before winking out, the way some people have sudden clarity before death. But if this is a phenomenon connected to winking out, my strength doesn’t seem to be fading. If anything, I feel stronger. It’s as if my cagic talents were half-asleep and ever since I faced Golly, they’re fully awake.
How Conduit apprentices like Predraes avoid winking out has always been a great secret. Is it possible that my argument with Golly somehow triggered that mysterious change in me?
Maybe I now have a power that’ll last for the rest of my life.
The thought sends a ripple of hope through me.
And if my power has become permanent, surely Drae Devorla will make me her Predrae again.
I glance at Rutholyn. She’s closed her eyes and slumped against the door, and she looks even younger now that she’s sleeping. I hope Vonnet is safe in a shelter. I also hope he’s recovered from his downleveling.
I still don’t understand why such a cruel procedure is necessary. Who cares if a few children create sparks in the Periph? I can’t see what trouble it would cause.
I pass several roads that branch off from the one I’m following, and I hope they aren’t important. I don’t want to stop and check the map. It might disturb Rutholyn, and according to the compass, we’re still heading in the right direction.
I do see a few nocturnes as I drive—bearcurs judging by their humped backs and curled horns. They watch us pass by but don’t attack. I suppose they have no idea that this rolling metal box has two tasty humans inside.
After three hours, the road splits. Each path continues south, although one veers slightly to the right and the other to the left. This time I do stop and look at the map.
Fortunately, Rutholyn doesn’t wake as I ease the seg-coach to a halt. Fighting weariness, I unfold the map I found earlier. It takes me a while to find Marin Harbor on the creased paper, and it takes me even longer to figure out which road we’re on. It’s definitely not the one Theandra’s covered with pencil notations, which traces the Silkord’s curving eastern shoreline and passes through many small villages and labor agency camps. I haven’t seen any buildings since we left Marin Harbor or any sign of the sea. After careful scrutiny, I figure out we’re in an empty, forested area near the Sabeline River. But if I turn right, we’ll soon reach Haberdine, and if I remember correctly, that’s a large town known for making high-quality furniture.
Well, good. Rutholyn and I have enough food to last a few more lunar days, and then the fine carpenters of Haberdine will hopefully let us into their shelter.
I suppose Theandra might have sent a wire message warning them about me, though.
That likelihood dangles ominously over me for a few moments. But even if we aren’t welcome in Haberdine, Rutholyn and I can still raid storehouses. I can’t believe I’m considering stealing, but I’ll be sure to repay my debts when I reach Triumvirate Hall.
So I start the coach back up, turn slightly right, and keep driving.
After a while, Rutholyn opens her eyes. “Did you know that I’m hungry?” she says.
“I didn’t,” I say, and I’m hungry too. Well, traveling by seg-coach has been safe so far. It’s probably safe to stop for a short while.
Bringing the big coach to a halt and asking Rutholyn to keep watch in the guidebox, I climb through the midpassage to the cabdwell. I’m not sure how to use the Shalvos’ cagic stove, so instead I heat a small shimmerdark disc and put a can of beans on it. I also find a bottle of pink cheremy juice, which I pour into two cups.
When I call Rutholyn to the table, she appears with a wrinkled nose. “You didn’t know that I don’t like beans.”
“We can’t be picky right now,” I say. “We need to eat something.”
That doesn’t convince Rutholyn. She drinks the juice and ignores the beans.
When it’s time to wash up, I realize Golly and Theandra hadn’t refilled the seg-coach’s water supply. I suppose that’s something they would have done after the Dark Month. There are dozens of glass bottles in the storage area below the table-bed’s benches, and all but two of them are empty.
I carefully wet a dishcloth and wipe everything off. When I’m done, I rinse the cloth. Yet despite trying to conserve water, I still empty half a bottle.
“I would like to tell you that I’m still hungry,” Rutholyn says faintly as I hang the cloth on a hook.
“There are still some beans,” I offer.
“But can you find me crackers?”
Evidently, I can. She’s lucky.
I start to head back to the guidebox, but then I slow to a stop and yawn. Maybe I should rest instead. I’m extremely tired, and no wonder; I spent hours practicing transference, then I faced Golly, then I battled a cattern, then I escaped Marin Harbor in the seg-coach.
I need to sleep.
So I send Rutholyn and her cracker tin back to the guidebox, and I ask her to keep watch again.
“But I don’t think I like being alone,” Rutholyn says, her little voice laced with fear. “Sometimes there might be owlecks out there and sometimes wolievs and sometimes rattatears.”
Plenty of monsters are probably nearby, but we’re in a sturdy seg-coach. “You’ll be fine, and you’re not alone. I’m only resting, and you can wake me at any time.” I then turn the engine back on so that the heater will run. It’s surprising and mildly alarming how quickly the coach coole
d off.
“But I really don’t want to be all the way alone!” Rutholyn says, her voice rising, and how do I calm her down? I’m too sleepy to be patient.
I wish I could give her a toy. The music box Golly had during the evaluation would be perfect. I don’t know where it is, though, and I didn’t see it when I was searching earlier. Maybe a creative cagic shape will cheer her up. It’s worth a try.
I sit in the driver’s seat again, and I summon shimmerdark into my hands. The most charming creatures I can think of are Osren’s horselets, so I use them as inspiration. Manipulating the energy like clay, I first shape a triangular head, then I add a round belly, four legs, a mane, and a tail. I think I make the horselet’s eyes too large and the tail too long, but Rutholyn won’t know the difference. I look up, and I’m pleased to find her smiling.
I gently place my cagic sculpture on the driver’s seat. I must say, it’s some of my finest conjuring, and I wish Drae Devorla could see it. I also wonder how long it will last. Shimmerlight fades after an hour if it isn’t properly stored in a reservoir, but shimmerdark seems different.
“Do you like it?” I ask Rutholyn.
She nods, her eyes crinkling with delight.
“Perfect. It will keep you company while I sleep.”
First, though, I use the lavatory, and I’m glad there’s a lever that empties the cistern onto the road—I wouldn’t want to have to go outside to dispose of anything. I then attempt to convert the table into a bed. It’s thankfully not too difficult; I just remove part of the support pole. Once the table is as low as the benches, I rearrange the seat cushions to form a mattress. I try not to think of the Shalvos tangled up on the bed—she is expecting after all—yet covering the seat cushions with a blanket makes me feel a little better. After wrapping another blanket around myself, I quickly fall deeply asleep.
Rutholyn soon interrupts my dreams, and it’s not because she’s shaking me and telling me that nocturnes have found us.
Instead, oddly, I wake to the joyful sound of her laughter.
Shimmerdark Page 12