Shimmerdark

by Sarah Mensinga

  “The Maderci,” someone else chimes in.

  “No, it’s the Quintel,” says another man. “The Maderci is part of the Triad Tales.”

  As Clicks’s friends debate which enchanted stone is part of which myth, Fedorie and I walk back across the hall. “You’ve been through a lot. Are you all right?” she asks.

  “I’m…” The truth seems big and unwieldy, so I just say, “I’m hungry.”

  She smiles brightly. “It’s your lucky day, then. After what we went through on that miserable island, I never go anywhere without food.” She chuckles and leads me over to a satchel near the empty pool. And oh, merciful realms, she has a meat pie, two hard-boiled eggs, and cold tea. I eat voraciously, and as I do, Fedorie tells me how she’s been. Apparently while we were on the Grimshore, her beloved husband Markos remarried not once but twice, and with nowhere else to go, she moved in with her mother. “It’s not ideal,” she says.

  She also tells me about Clicks, who’s adult sons spent our Grimshore years fighting over their inheritance. They were very upset to learn that after all their expensive legal battles, Clicks was still alive.

  “Now they’re still living in his house and trying to prove he’s an impostor.” Fedorie sighs, and it would almost be funny if I didn’t know how hurt Clicks must be.

  He joins us as I finish eating. “I must head back up—my sons might start looking for me. I hate to leave you here, Xylia, but at least it’s a safe place. I’ll return tomorrow with food and other supplies.”

  “I’ll be alright,” I say, although I don’t love the idea of sleeping here alone, especially without bedding. “Shieldbearers are probably watching your home, though. I hope they don’t question you when you return.”

  Clicks smiles. “Not to worry, my dear. My house has an entrance to these shelters in the cellar—many old buildings do. The doorway used to be bricked up, but these days… it’s not.” His eyes twinkle, and then he twitches as if struck with an idea. “Now that I think about it, come with me. There is a good hiding place in my home.”

  I’d wondered about that before, but now that I’m in this temple, there’s no reason to put him in any danger. “I’ll stay here. I’ll be fine.”

  “Come now, Xylia. There’s a room in my home that no one ever, ever enters.” He takes my hand and looks at me earnestly. “You will be safe there, I promise, and comfortable too. There’s no need to stay here.”

  I still hesitate.

  Fedorie though, nudges me. “Go on. If ol’ Devorla shows up, just run back down here.”

  “Very well,” I say reluctantly.

  The Antiquities Society members depart in groups of twos and threes, and Fedorie joins the woman with the gray bun, who apparently lives near her.

  “I wish I could do more,” Fedorie says before leaving. “I’d love to give that Great Drae a piece of my mind.”

  “This is even better,” I tell her. “Seeing you has…” I trail off, unable to express just how meaningful it’s been.

  Fedorie pulls me close and says, “Just because we haven’t come up with a plan today, doesn’t mean we won’t think of one tomorrow.”

  Clicks and I are the last to leave, yet as we pass through the temple’s ornate brass doors, I say, “Wait—there’s something I want to do.”

  I head back into the chamber, to the fallen Colossus. I find it so tragic something this grand has been lying in such an undignified position for several centuries. Somehow, putting things right down here feels like the first step to putting things right above.

  So I gently fill the metal figure with cagic and ease him onto his feet. His stiff joints screech and protest, but I’m able to shuffle him toward his niche, and I soon have him sitting on the marble bench within. Even though Colossi aren’t alive, I still feel like I’ve done this one a kindness.

  I turn to find Clicks standing behind me, smiling.

  “Now I’m ready to go,” I say.

  We travel back through the labyrinth of passages, chambers, and stone staircases, and amazingly, Clicks never seems to take a wrong turn. “I’m impressed you remember the way,” I say.

  “I almost don’t want to tell you my secret.” He chuckles and points up at symbols painted on the ceiling. “The Antiquities Society made those. I’d be very lost without them.”

  As a subtrain passes by, shaking the walls, he adds, “You seem different. More grown-up.” He looks at me proudly, and I’m not sure it’s a look I deserve.

  “Everything seems different now,” I say. “Even my memories.”

  Clicks tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I was always terrible at lingersleeping,” I say. “But… maybe I was supposed to be. Maybe a part of me knew I should be awake to protect everyone else.”

  Clicks looks intrigued. “Could be, could be indeed.”

  When we reach his basement, he sneaks me upstairs using a back stairwell. And even though I’ve never been in his home before, the tapestries, rugs, and polished wood floors are pleasantly familiar. Maybe it’s because Clicks told us so many stories about his life in Kaverlee while we were on the Grimshore.

  He brings me into a richly decorated bedroom, which surprises me. I expected to be hidden away in a storage closet or attic. “You’re sure no one comes in here?” I ask.

  “The servants clean it once a month, but that’s it,” Clicks says. “Even I haven’t been in here since… before.”

  I notice a portrait of a woman on the wall, and I suddenly know where I am.

  “This was Bermy’s room.”

  He nods, gazing at the painting.

  My heart twists as I think about how Lady Bermilia didn’t escape the ferry.

  “I don’t have to stay here,” I say.

  But Clicks shakes his head and smiles tearfully. “Bermy would want to help you.” After swallowing a few times, he adds, “I’ll bring you some fresh blankets, but I need to be seen downstairs. I don’t want my sons asking too many questions.”

  He leaves, and for a few moments, I continue to examine Bermy’s portrait. She’s wearing a lovely maroon stola that compliments her brown skin and dark eyes, and there’s something so present about her expression. It’s as if she’d just ran into the artist’s studio to pose and was slightly out of breath. I wonder what our seven years on the Grimshore would have been like if she’d survived.

  I should probably rest, but because Kary’s still in trouble, I alternate between pacing and watching Glowy Pony explore the room. After a while, I also try to summon the shimmerdark sword I saw in the temple mural. I’ve never created a cagic shape that has two different temperatures, and unsurprisingly, it’s difficult. However, I think I’d like fighting with a cagic sword. It’s easier to move energy I’m touching. And although it’s tough to maintain the dual temperatures, I enjoy swinging a shimmerdark blade through the air, challenging imaginary beasts.

  Watching tiny sparks trail after the sword also makes me feel strangely peaceful. Even though the world is still flawed, Kary’s still in danger, and I’ve lost Rutholyn forever, I know who I am now and what I’m meant to do: protect others.

  I try to craft cagic armor next. Like the sword, it’s extremely advanced summoning. I create the armor after a few tries, wrapping a single shimmerdark shape around my arms, legs, chest, and head. But I can’t move in it. It’s as if I’ve encased myself in warm, glittering stone.

  Maybe a cagic helmet would be enough though; it would at least stop Drae Devorla from blindfolding me. Yet just as I begin shaping energy around my head, Clicks returns. He hasn’t brought any blankets though, and he’s also shaking his head as if there’s water in his ears, which is exactly what he did on the Grimshore when he had bad news to share.

  “It’s Kary, isn’t it?” I ask.

  Clicks’s already fragile expression seems to fracture even more. He pulls a letter from his pocket and hands it to me. “This just arrived,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

  I unfold the note, imme
diately recognizing the Triumvirate Hall stationary. It reads:

  Sir Calvolin Nelvaso,

  Xylia Amoreah Selvantez may attempt to contact you. If she does, tell her that to ensure her friend remains in good health, she must submit to downleveling. She is to present herself at the Kaverlee Foundry at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.

  - Drae Devorla, the Eighteenth Great Drae of Kaverlee

  25

  The Cityland Conduits

  Remains in good health,” I read that part of Drae Devorla’s message out loud.

  “She’s threatening Kary,” Clicks says, trembling. “Our Kary.”

  I nod, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Drae Devorla supports a system that abuses people and sometimes even kills them. Hurting Kary is nothing compared to what she’s already done.

  “I’ll have to go.” I crumple up the letter.

  Clicks twists his hands together. “There must be another way. I’ll send a wire message to Fedorie. Perhaps she can help us think of a solution.”

  Fedorie arrives before Clicks contacts her, though, for she received a similar message. She joins us in Bermy’s room, and for a while, we discuss far-fetched plans to rescue Kary. Yet it quickly becomes clear to me that there isn’t a safe way to reach him. I have to turn myself in—I have to let Drae Devorla downlevel me.

  “I say you fight her again.” Fedorie smacks her hands together. “I bet you’re more of a match for her than you think.”

  Maybe I could defeat her with the dual-temperature sword. I’m sure it’s a trick she doesn’t know. “It won’t just be her, though,” I say. “Every Connected Land Conduit will be there. I can’t fight them all.”

  Clicks looks helplessly at the papers spread out across the colorful rug; we’d begun to create an ambitious plan to rescue Kary using the Colossi in the Courtyard of Youth. “I wish there was another way, my dear.”

  “So do I,” I say. Submitting to downleveling will be like lying on subtrain tracks, waiting to be crushed.

  “I wish we could send Devorla to the Grimshore,” Fedorie says, not only stomping her foot but also grinding it into the carpet. “She should know what it’s like to suffer.”

  But I think she does. She’s just gotten really good at ignoring it.

  That night, I sleep in Bermy’s large, very soft bed. As I stretch out on the blankets, I try not to let my worries overwhelm me, yet I soon feel the cold bite of panic. Where is Kary now? Has anyone hurt him?

  Glowy Pony settles next to me, relaxing so completely that if he could make a sound, I think I’d hear a satisfied sigh.

  “Why doesn’t the Great Drae have a cagic companion?” I ask, and then I think about the time Glowy Pony dropped small items on my head while I recharged the seg-coach reservoir. “You don’t like us storing cagic, do you?”

  Glowy Pony shakes his head, no.

  “But why not?”

  Of course, unable to speak, he can’t give me a detailed answer.

  Yet I’m sure I’m on the right track. Aerro certainly had problems, but he didn’t hoard energy or take it from children. Whatever the natural order is, the Great Drae and her fellow Conduits have been upsetting it.

  I suppose there’s another question I should ask, a much bigger one. “Are the Hidden Gods real?”

  Glowy Pony gives me an answer, but it seems too slippery to hold in my mind. Moments later, I don’t even remember asking the question.

  In the morning, with Clicks’s permission, I borrow some of Bermy’s clothes. I don’t take any of her fine, ruffled stolas, though, just a drab gray wrap. It’s the sort of outfit I’d wear to a funeral, which seems appropriate for today.

  I then have breakfast with Clicks and Fedorie, who also stayed the night so she could say goodbye. We are all so sad we hardly speak or eat, even though the food is delicious: griddle cakes, smoked fish, and shortberries.

  As I walk to the front entrance, Clicks’s sons finally notice me and trail after us saying all sorts of ugly things:

  “Are you inviting strange women into the house now?”

  “Isn’t that mother’s dress? Are you letting this girl steal from us?”

  Both Clicks and Fedorie try to quiet them. But when the two young men still don’t back off, I lose my patience and create a shimmerdark wall, trapping them on the other side.

  “I wish I could do that,” Clicks says, admiring the glittering barrier.

  I then step out into the damp fog, and Fedorie rushes after me. “Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?”

  “Please don’t,” I say, and as she hugs me, I try to absorb some of her courage. She always seems to have so much of it. “Downleveling isn’t a pretty sight, and this way, maybe you won’t get into trouble for helping me.”

  “I don’t care if they throw us in prison! I don’t care if…” Clicks swallows heavily, too overcome to continue. He then pulls me into a hug too, his curly mustache wet with tears.

  When he lets me go, I numbly climb into the chariot and sit behind the driver. Moments later, I’m rolling through the Landroot District, and far sooner than I’d like, I see the Foundry in the distance; a square tower about the size of Kaverlee’s central subtrain station if it stood on one end. Brightly lit meters on the tower’s walls assure everyone that the city has plenty of energy, and a large month clock gleams at the top. Its longest hand has nearly moved out of the blue Dark Month half and into the yellow Bright Month half. First though, it’ll pass through a slim, green wedge, for sometimes the Dark Month is slightly longer than the Bright Month and vice versa. A smaller circle near the center of the clock marks the twenty-four hours of the lunar day.

  I wait in the chariot until it’s exactly ten. Then, head held high, I climb out and walk toward the many Shieldbearers stationed at the Foundry’s entrance. Drae Devorla stands among them, wearing a long, blue stola, a dark pallacoat trimmed with silver embroidery, and a gauzy scarf. Her dense curls are now dark purple rather than steely gray, and she’s subdued them with a silver clasp. She’s even dusted her eyelids with blue powder.

  I suspect she’s dressed this way because the other Conduits are here. It was the same when I was a Predrae. She only wore fine clothes when they visited us or we visited them.

  My stomach churns as I approach her, freshly furious that she’s letting this happen. Yes, Kaverlee has laws, but laws are made by people, and people are flawed.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Drae Devorla says as I reach her, and I scoff softly. I bet she’s truly only feeling sorry for herself. She’s surely upset that I reappeared, disrupting her orderly life, and she must also be upset that I’m making her reconsider how unethical downleveling is.

  “Where’s Kary?” I demand.

  She looks shocked that I’d speak so sharply to her, but quickly recovering, she smoothly says, “You’ll see him in a moment.” She then escorts me past the Shieldbearers and into the tower.

  “What will happen to him… after?” I ask. I hate that I’m quivering, and I especially hate that those tremors are shaking my voice. I want to appear brave even if I’m terrified inside.

  “Kary’s future depends on how cooperative you are,” Drae Devorla says, sharpening her threat.

  My next question is even harder to ask. “And what about me? After my downleveling, what happens then?”

  We’ve reached the end of the vaulted entrance. Drae Devorla stops and clasps her hands behind her back. “First of all, I hope you’ll survive the downleveling process and have no lasting damage.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but she keeps talking.

  “I think you’ll be fine so long as we rinse your cagic slowly and steadily—and as long as you willingly release your energy. We’ll also downlevel you manually rather than mechanically. It’s a longer process, but a gentler one.”

  “But… after—what happens after?” I say, feeling a wave of nausea because I’m really going to be downleveled, aren’t I? I’m not going to come up with a last-minute escape plan.
I’m about to lose a piece of myself—a defining piece—and I might also lose my life.

  Drae Devorla lifts her shoulders in a stiff, clenched shrug. “I’ll try to make the case that enduring a downleveling is enough of a punishment for your defiance. If it’s my decision, you’ll be free.” She gives me a tepid look, which I suppose is better than a cold one.

  Maybe there’s still a flicker of love for me in her, but I guess a flicker isn’t enough.

  We enter the Foundry’s central hall, which I loved as a child for it has such an interesting assortment of old and new cagic processing equipment. Several two-hundred-year-old cagic reservoirs stretch up to the distant ceiling—elegant monstrosities of glass and copper resting on massive, tiled plinths. And standing alongside those ancient reservoirs are modern, pressurized steel tanks, shiny and bristling with pipes, cables, and valves. All the cagic stored here keeps the building warm, and now that I’m a Shimmercaster, the energy thrumming through this place seems to also hum inside me. I glance at Drae Devorla. She must feel it too.

  I remember there always being a lot of engineers bustling around these tanks, but today the first floor of the Foundry is quiet and empty. The other Conduits—and Kary—must be somewhere above.

  “Put this on.” Drae Devorla takes a small garment off the clerk’s desk. It unfolds in her loose grip and appears to be a small jumper with no sleeves and very short leg-coverings. “The process works best if we can directly touch your skin,” she explains.

  I want to refuse, but for Kary’s sake, I bring the tiny, black outfit into a storage room behind the clerk’s desk and put it on. It’s horribly revealing, and I feel just as uncomfortable as I did when wearing my frilly stola in the labor agency camp. As I pull my ankle boots back on, I whisper, “Glowy Pony.”

  He immediately appears and brushes against my leg with concern.

  “I don’t like it either,” I whisper. “Am I making a mistake?”

  To my surprise, he nods.