Shimmerdark

by Sarah Mensinga

  Yet on the other side of the ravine, a sign reads: “No Trespassing. Looters will be fined.” The buildings here aren’t boarded up for the Dark Month either. I see broken windows, missing shingles, debris in the streets. The terrible roads north of town now make heartbreaking sense. “No one lives here,” I say.

  It’s a crushing realization in so many ways. Nobody is here to feed or protect us. There are probably no fresh supplies to be found.

  “But why?” Rutholyn asks, her voice trembling. She’s also cradling her hand, the one that the rattatear bit.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But let’s look for the town’s shelter anyway. If we can find a way in, we’ll be safe there.” I try to reassure myself that everything will still be alright. At least now I won’t have to hide Glowy Pony or explain why we’re outside during the Dark Month. Maybe I can even leave Rutholyn inside the shelter and go hunting. I’ve cleaned and cooked small animals before—I hate doing it, but I know how. And if I find enough food, maybe Rutholyn and I can lingersleep through the rest of the Dark Month.

  “Oh!” Rutholyn peeps happily as she holds out her uninjured hand to catch a snowflake.

  I’ve seen plenty of snow in Kaverlee, but Rutholyn has probably spent all her Dark Months underground.

  “It is the most beautiful thing that ever was,” she whispers, examining the tiny flake.

  The snow is pretty, and it somehow softens our gloomy surroundings, making it easier for me to believe we’re going to survive. It also helps me imagine what the mountain town was once like. I notice the wooden trim on roof lines, carvings on pillars, and colorful glass in the occasional unbroken window. Haberdine was probably a lot like Kaverlee’s Crossriver District; older, charming, and full of stories.

  As we walk down a quiet street, it occurs to me that there might no longer be a shelter here. Once they had barriers, the townspeople might have filled it in. Thankfully, though, that doesn’t seem to be the case. We soon find the shelter entrance, and like other towns, the huge double doors are in a central, easy-to-reach place. It’s also built into a hillside and flanked by massive, fortified towers.

  The doors are closed, though, and seem to be bolted from the inside. When I try to force them open with a cube of shimmerdark, they won’t budge. I suppose I could heat cagic and cut the hinges, but that would take a while and then the doors would be useless. As eerie as this abandoned town is, I would still like to use its shelter.

  “Where did Glowy Pony go?” Rutholyn asks.

  And that’s a good question. He was at my feet a moment ago. I look around and eventually spot him perched precariously near the shelter doors. He seems to be climbing up the rocky cliff.

  Rutholyn tugs on my sleeve. “I think he wants us to be following him.”

  “We’re staying here,” I say.

  “He’s always right, though,” Rutholyn says through purple lips.

  I suppose Glowy Pony did help us find the road in the abandoned settlement. Maybe he can help us find a way into the shelter. “Do you know how to get inside?” I ask the glimmering creature.

  He nods.

  So rather than climb up after him and risk slipping on the rocks, Rutholyn and I ride up on a shimmerdark disc. Glowy Pony stops on a rocky ledge where he hops a few times on a low, concrete structure jutting up from the ground.

  Moving closer, I realize he’s showing us a fortified air vent that surely connects to the shelter below—it’s a way in.

  “How did you know this was here?” I ask the horselet. It wasn’t visible below.

  Like usual, all he does is look at me, cock his head, and blink.

  I climb off the shimmerdark disc and peer through the metal grate covering the vent. A ladder made of angled, rectangular notches descends into darkness within. I’ll have to use cagic to cut through the grate… or maybe not. There’s a latch. After some fiddling with numb fingers, I manage to pry the vent open. I then reluctantly send Rutholyn down the shaft first so I can close things up behind us. Only rattatears would be small enough to enter this way, but I still don’t want to share the shelter with anyone.

  As Rutholyn climbs down the ladder, she wears another shimmerlight tiara.

  “Good idea,” I call softly as I shape a square of shimmerdark to carry us the rest of the way down.

  For a while, we descend a narrow shaft, then it widens, and then we reach a flagstone floor. It’s still cold but not nearly as bitter, and after a moment, Glowy Pony appears beside us with a crackling pop.

  So I can see where we are, I send a globe of shimmerlight into the air. The pale, blue cagic illuminates rows of dusty, neatly parked chariots and coaches, and stacked wooden crates. Something shifts uneasily inside me. If Haberdine’s empty, why are these vehicles still here? Many of them look expensive.

  I’m kind of glad they’re here, though. I can’t wait to sit down or even better, lie down, and the covered chariots are probably clean inside, with padded seats.

  Yet Glowy Pony is still prancing around impatiently. He clearly wants to lead us farther into the shelter, so we follow him down a few sets of wide stairs. This whole shelter looks like the inside of an old castle. Unlike the sparse functionality of the Outer’s Cove shelter, someone designed this compound to be a pleasing place to spend the Dark Month. The walls are made of gray and pink granite blocks arranged in patterns, and here and there are mosaics of sunlit fields and glades.

  We walk through another storage hall and then pass arched doorways with brass numerals on them. These must be the apartments Haberdine families sheltered in. Eventually, Glowy Pony stops at a door marked forty-seven and taps his nose against it. I guess this is where he thinks we should rest.

  Yet when I try to open the door, it won’t move. It’s locked.

  “You’re absolutely sure we should go in here?” I ask.

  Glowy Pony nods and puts his front hooves on the door.

  Maybe there’s something useful inside, like code office equipment. It would be wonderful to find a way to contact Drae Devorla.

  Telling Rutholyn to stand back, I use a thin, hot shard of shimmerdark to slice through the door’s bolt. I work slowly because I don’t want to harm anything on the other side.

  Several moments later the door swings open with a squeaky, metallic groan.

  Glowy Pony confidently trots into the dark space, and Rutholyn and I cautiously follow him.

  This doesn’t look like a code office. This looks like a dwelling.

  It’s a strange home, though. Not only are there tables, chairs, and rugs—there’s also a disorganized hoard of artwork. Fine paintings lean against the walls and sculptures rest on nearly every surface. There are even extravagantly odd items, such as a stuffed rattatear wearing comical silver armor and holding a bag of crumpled printed money. Stranger still, in the middle of this jumble of finery are jars of water and jars of what might be pickled fish and vegetables. I also see a few piles of rumpled clothes, and I smell sweat and stale air.

  As we move farther into the room, Rutholyn’s shimmerlight tiara reveals a bed.

  And in that bed is a person.

  16

  Aerro

  Istep farther into the room, wishing I hadn’t ruined the door and feeling like a vandal. But who is this? He seems to be lingersleeping. And how old is he? His skin is soft and spotted with pimples, but he also has a short, scruffy beard.

  The man’s eyelids flutter, and oh no, the noise I made cutting the bolt must have disturbed him.

  We should leave.

  But we also need help, and he’s probably harmless. Even if he isn’t, I’ve been fighting nocturnes; I have no reason to fear an isolated human.

  Glowy Pony seems to agree, for he leaps onto the bed.

  “No,” I hiss at the horselet.

  He glances at me—insolently, I swear—and then jumps on the stranger’s belly.

  The man groans.

  Rutholyn presses herself nervously against my side, and we both step backward.
r />   “Do you think we should run away now?” Rutholyn asks.

  “Maybe,” I whisper.

  The man rolls over and blearily opens his eyes. Noticing us, he shakes his head, possibly in disbelief. He then pushes his blankets aside and sits up. “Who… who are you?” he croaks.

  “I’m Xylia,” I say, not adding the “Amoreah Selvantez, former Predrae” part.

  He rubs his eyes as he lowers his feet to the floor. “But… why are you here? Nobody comes here. Didn’t you see the signs?” He’s wearing a threadbare, mismatched combination of formerly elegant clothes. His worn outfit reminds me of my Grimshore rags, although it isn’t quite as tattered. And now that he’s sitting up, I see his hair is long and hangs in tangled, elbow-length clumps. It looks like he hasn’t brushed or trimmed it in years. “Is it still the Dark Month then?” he says. “And… and…” He examines Glowy Pony with a mild expression. “How did you get in here?”

  I find it odd that he isn’t alarmed by Glowy Pony, and I’m not sure how much of our story I should share. “There was a misunderstanding. We were locked out of the Marin Harbor shelter, so we came here.”

  “That’s a long trip.” The young man narrows his eyes and stands up. His movements are stiff and jerky, and I don’t think it’s just because he was lingersleeping. There’s something peculiar about him. “How did you survive?” he asks.

  “It wasn’t easy,” I say, being both honest and vague.

  He nods, eyeing the broken bolt. “You have cagic power, though? A lot of it?” He says it casually, as if discussing a book we’ve both read.

  I suppose it’s clear that I melted the door, so I say, “Yes.”

  “And you can also summon shadow energy,” he says softly. “And you’re never cagic-blind anymore?”

  “How do you know all this?” I ask, feeling more confused than ever.

  Tears glimmer in his eyes as he holds out his hand. Dark sparks swirl in his palm, coalescing into an applen-sized sphere of shimmerdark. “I thought I was the only one.”

  He’s like me. Merciful light, is that even possible? Beneath my awe, though, is a knot of frustration. My powers aren’t special or rare if the first person I meet has them too.

  He releases his cagic and walks—or rather springs—toward us. He’s shorter than me, and even though he’s lingersleep pudgy, he’s still a small person.

  “This is… this is unbelievable,” he says, and at least he seems equally surprised. “I hoped that something would change here and end my monotonous existence, but I never imagined this! How did you find me?” He smiles brightly. “Or were you looking for me?” His voice is raspy, and I get the sense that he hasn’t talked this much in a long time.

  I point at Glowy Pony. “He led me here.”

  The young man nods. “Of course, or course. They are good at finding things, aren’t they?” He turns. “Flutter? Flutter, where are you?”

  A glittering shimmerdark butterfly dips out of the darkness and lands on his shoulder.

  “That’s the same as Glowy Pony,” Rutholyn whispers. “But also a butterfly.”

  “What are these creatures?” I ask.

  The ragged young man shrugs. “I wish I knew. But no, I have no idea. You’re the first people I’ve seen here in years! Flutter showed up after everything went wrong. She didn’t have that shape at first, no, no. She was just a cloud of dark energy following me around. So I gave her a shape, and now she helps me find things and warns me if I’m in danger. She’s a good friend—my only friend.”

  I look at Glowy Pony. I suppose I gave him his shape too, although I didn’t mean to. I turn back to the young man. “You were cagic-touched… but not downleveled? And you didn’t wink out either. Why?” Realms, I have a lot of questions. “And what happened to Haberdine? Why is it empty?”

  “Ah yes, I do know about that,” the young man says, and although his joyful tears are gone, his eyes still gleam intensely. “But first, you both look tired, and are you hurt? I’ve never had guests. Do you want anything to eat or drink? I hardly remember how to be a good host. Would you like to rest… or lingersleep? Do you know what lingersleeping is?”

  “I know,” I say, and although I want to keep talking to this curious person, Rutholyn is leaning more heavily against me. She’s surely exhausted. I slept after the woliev battle, but she didn’t. I should get her settled before I do anything else. “I don’t need to sleep yet, but my friend does.”

  “She can use my bed, of course.” He gestures loosely at it. “I’m such an idiot too; I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Aerro. You’re Xylia, yes? And you are…?”

  Rutholyn swallows. “I’m Rutholyn.”

  I look at Aerro’s bed. I can’t imagine it’s clean. This whole place smells like grime and sleep, yet hygiene isn’t really my highest priority right now. “Come Rutholyn, let’s get you settled.”

  “Oh, and here, allow me.” Aerro darts across the room, and thankfully pulls off the blankets and replaces them. The new ones are hopefully fresher, but since they were heaped in a corner, who’s to say.

  I help Rutholyn pull off her rain cover as well as some of her other layers. Her rattatear bite doesn’t look as bad as I thought it might—only a few superficial scratches. We can deal with it later. As soon as I’ve tucked her into bed, Glowy Pony hops up next to her and lies down too. Does he sleep? I’m not sure.

  “Good moonlight,” I whisper to her, feeling a swell of pride because I did the impossible; I fought nocturnes and kept us alive, and now here we are in a much safer place.

  Rutholyn curls up, looking content, so leaving her to rest, I follow Aerro through a passage into another room. He leads the way with a glittering ball of shimmerlight that casts a familiar blue glow. The second room is as cramped and cluttered as the first with more paintings, sculptures, and various luxury items such as ceramic lamps and polished jewelry boxes.

  I pull off my rain cover, and then I heat a shimmerdark sphere to warm the small room. That seems to amaze Aerro. Maybe compressed shimmerdark isn’t something he’s figured out.

  “You must be thirsty,” he says and pours dark liquid into a ridiculously extravagant gold goblet. As I sip what tastes like vinegary wine, Aerro arranges a plate of dried meat and what looks like pickled cabbage for us to share.

  This is so strange, sitting on a beautiful sofa across from a ragged young man surrounded by treasure. “Why are you alone?” I ask.

  “I’m surprised you don’t already know,” Aerro says, folding his legs. He’s sitting in a luxurious-yet-faded armchair. “I mean, a whole town… gone! Don’t people talk about it?”

  “They might,” I say. “I was away from Kaverlee for many years. So what happened here?”

  Aerro blows out a breath of disbelief. “Isn’t it obvious? The barriers failed.”

  Something solid and certain inside me tips over. “That’s impossible.”

  “Oh, believe me, it happened.” A frown worries the corners of Aerro’s mouth. “The barriers worked perfectly for two years, and then one day…” He snaps his fingers. “They turned off—no warning, no siren, no nothing. My parents thought the Great Drae would save us, but she didn’t. Some people made it to the shelter but not many, and because they were scared, they locked it before everyone else could get in. People were pounding on the doors, screaming, begging, and then… dying.”

  I put my goblet on the floor because my hands are shaking. “Deepest realms, that’s terrible.”

  “My family didn’t make it in,” Aerro adds, rocking slightly. “When we reached the shelter, the doors were shut, and nocturnes were everywhere. But since there was plenty of”—he drops his head—“food to be had, we made it back home. My Father, he…” Aerro wipes his eyes on the embroidered trim of what was probably once a very fine tago. “I’m sorry, I’ve never told anyone about this.”

  “It’s alright,” I say, already dreading the unhappy ending his story must have.

  He rocks quietly for a moment and then co
ntinues. “Father thought we should hide in our cellar. He hoped the nocturnes would eat their fill and go away.”

  I nod as I try not to imagine the attack too vividly.

  “But a cattern found us, and we were trapped.” Aerro’s voice drops to a paper-thin whisper. “I’d always been able to summon cagic, so I tried to save my family with shimmerlight, but it wasn’t enough. Yet when the monster tried to kill me, a strange dark energy appeared—and I realized I could control it. I used it to kill the cattern, but it was too late to save anyone else.” Aerro stretches out his hand and ashy sparks dance around his overgrown fingernails. “I didn’t know what to do, so I ran. I took food from a grocer’s and I hid in the Forum basement. Somehow, down there, wrapped in shadow energy, I survived that first Dark Month.”

  Aerro gives me a long, bewildered look as if he’s almost forgotten who I am. “When the sunrise days finally came, I heard voices—maybe the sound of survivors or Shieldbearers, I wasn’t sure—but I kept hiding. I already knew Triumvirate Hall didn’t want male Shimmerlings, which is why my parents never reported me, so I was sure Drae Devorla would hate what I’d become. I couldn’t let anyone know what had happened.”

  “Kaverlee does have male Shimmerlings,” I say. “It’s just boys rarely have stable cagic so there aren’t that many.” I don’t like that I’m repeating something the Shalvos taught me.

  Aerro’s guarded expression seems to put on even more armor. “If Drae Devorla knew about me, she’d downlevel me—I’m sure of it—and downleveling might as well be an execution.”

  I think of Vonnet’s thrashing in the cabdwell and struggle to push the memory aside. “My mother was downleveled, and she’s fine.”

  Aerro frowns. “My brother was downleveled, and he wasn’t. That’s why my parents never reported me.”

  “What happened to him?” I ask, not sure I want to know.

  “When he was young, he was very bright.” Aerro picks up a piece of dried meat. “But not after they downleveled him. He acted like a small child from then on. It was terrible.”

  I feel like I should be surprised, but I’m not. Golly did mention that downleveling sometimes causes permanent harm. My thoughts turn to why Aerro’s cagic changed. “The dark cagic appeared when the nocturne attacked you?”