Authors: Sarah Wynde
“Don’t be silly. Water Causeway, not Water Causeway.”
She stared at him, holding her tunic to her chest. “You’re not making any sense.”
“What do you mean? Why do you think it’s called the Water Causeway?”
Fen drew back. And then she resorted to one of her favorite parts of Syl Var. “Elfie, can you explain?”
“Yes,” Elfie said. “You are using a term that refers to a motionless, non-saline liquid material composed of two hydrogen atoms to every one oxygen atom. In your language, water. Luken is using a term that refers to a fast-flowing current of saline liquid material composed of two hydrogen atoms to every one oxygen atom with a strong rip current created by radiation stress exerted on the water column and occurring exclusively near shorelines. In your language, water. Your interpretation pattern is not capable of distinguishing between those terms. The vocabulary of your language appears somewhat limited.”
Fen blinked. “Limited?”
“There are forty-six separate words in Sia Maran which would all be interpreted as ‘water’ in yours. The causeway is the Trimaji Causeway.”
“Trimaji Causeway,” Fen repeated.
“Yes,” Luken said, sounding relieved.
And so they ate at the Trimaji Causeway. The honey rolls were spicy skewers of vegetables and fish wrapped in a soft bread crackling with a sweet glaze and just as good as Fen thought they’d be. Afterwards, they walked among the stalls, Fen admiring everything. They browsed through fabric and jewelry and Luke insisted on buying Fen a pair of sandals.
“To aid in your next getaway,” he told her solemnly, she having already complained to him about the woman who’d ruined her great escape.
Next, Luke convinced her to try a flaky green pastry with layers of tangy jelly. When he told her it was made of different types of seaweed, Fen decided to ignore him. As far as she was concerned, it was a delicious fruit Danish.
As Fen licked the last bit of pastry off her fingers, she yawned.
“We shall save our first glider lesson for after our rest, I think,” Luke said.
Fen didn’t argue. She had no idea how anyone in Syl Var knew what time it was, but she was tired. She let Luke lead her back to Remy’s and fell into the comfortable bed in the room Remy had found for her with grateful relief.
The next morning, Gaelith joined them for breakfast. Over the most normal meal Fen had eaten in Syl Var—scrambled eggs with strips of a salty fish that Fen could imagine was some weird low-fat bacon—she taught Fen the basics of magic use.
“The magic, the nanomites, they are obedient to us only to the extent that they understand our desire. As they wear, they decay and hear less, growing stable in their form,” Gaelith explained, hands busy with some handiwork that looked almost like knitting, if knitting needles were much shorter and yarn was made of metal wire.
“The gliders are ancient,” Luke interjected. “From before the Cataclysm.”
“Seriously?” Fen took another bite of fish-pretending-to-be-bacon. Ten thousand years. Older than the pyramids. Older than anything.
“Indeed.” Gaelith frowned down at her work, lips moving slightly as if she were counting stitches. “They are not oft-used these days, except by daredevils such as my youngest of brothers.” She gave Luke a pointed look and he grinned at her.
“I’ve never had trouble with one,” he said.
“Not yet,” she corrected him. “Not yet have you had trouble with one.”
“Kaio said I could teach Fen to use them.”
“Indeed, and Fen should have no difficulty.” Her smile at Fen was warm. “To share casual thoughts, without plan or intention, is a rare ability.”
Fen wasn’t sure whether she was embarrassed or pleased, but she felt her cheeks flushing.
“Your thoughts are clear enough that even the eldest of the gliders will follow your direction,” Gaelith continued.
Fen shifted in her seat, made uneasy by the description. Clear was a nice enough word, but still, being reminded that people could hear her brain made her uncomfortable. “Why don’t you make new gliders?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Our production of magic is not unlimited,” Gaelith said. She lifted a hand from her work and gestured around her. “The magic permeates our environment and is usable throughout Syl Var but all new growth goes to securing the dome and maintaining our environment.”
“You can’t make a production line or something?” Fen asked.
“Nay.” Gaelith wrinkled her nose. “The work is both slow and tedious. Different magics use different formulas, you see, at the molecular level. To grow the structures requires painstaking care. A single misstep and an entire harvest can be lost.”
“Why don’t you use the nanomites to make more nanomites?”
“Too dangerous,” Luke said promptly. “A world over-run with magic would be chaos.”
“Imagine the risks. No, replication does not belong within the scope of the magic.” Gaelith shook out her knitting. “Have you your crystal?”
“My…” Fen let her fingers brush against her rock on the cloth outside of the pocket in which it sat. “Yeah.”
“May I have it?” Gaelith asked.
Fen’s fingers closed around the cloth, feeling the solid curve of stone underneath her fingers. “Why?”
“You are in need of a more efficient transportation system for it, one which shall protect you from inadvertently revealing your thoughts to all who can hear.”
“She won’t hurt it, Fen,” Luke said, his voice encouraging.
Fen reached into her pocket and slid her fingers around the rock. She tried not to think as she pulled it out. The cacophony in her brain was worse than before, as if everyone in the city was on the phone, gossiping like mad. It was a relief to drop the crystal into Gaelith’s palm.
“I am no crafter,” Gaelith told her, as she wrapped metal around the rock. “I should like to spend a score at such, but those of us gifted in the persuasions often find it difficult to neglect our responsibilities in favor of our joys.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Fen said as she watched Gaelith’s nimble fingers at work.
“She’s too good at what she does,” Luke replied through a mouthful of eggs. “And she won’t stand up for herself.”
“It would be a grim beauty indeed to look at the lacework I created and wonder who suffered while I pursued such skill,” Gaelith said. “And so, this shall be rough. But sufficient, I hope, to meet your needs.”
She lifted the wire. It fell into a pattern that looked like a lace collar, with the crystal wrapped at center. “Copper is a conductor but also resistant. While it is wrapped around crystal, you can wear the crystal without fear that its contact with your skin will reveal your depths. And yet when you wish to use the crystal, whether to communicate with other Sia Mara or to enhance your ability to compel the magic, the crystal will respond as needed.”
Fen turned around and allowed Gaelith to fasten the necklace at her throat. Tentatively, she brushed her finger against the stone. She heard nothing. “How do I make it work?”
“Direct attention, specific communication. Avoid concentrating your will, however.” Gaelith sounded amused as she added, “I suspect your concentrated will would have me busily providing headache remedies to many in the city, so think softly.”
Can you hear me?
Fen thought as softly as she could, trying to direct the words at only Gaelith.
“Indeed, I can,” Gaelith replied. “I suspect a few others could as well.”
She glanced at Luke and he nodded.
“We shall have further lessons,” Gaelith said. “To speak crystal is a gift, but like all gifts, it must be mastered.”
“Sorry,” Fen said.
“No, no, you must not apologize,” Gaelith said immediately. “Our gifts are rare among humankind but we have long hoped that Homo Sapiens would continue to evolve along our own path. The strength of your gift implies that such might be coming true, which is beyond wonderful.”
Luke made a sound, a quiet grunt.
Fen glanced his way, wondering what he meant. Did he not approve of human beings? But Gaelith rolled her eyes. “Luke, however, would have you one of us, despite the impossibility of a Sia Maran child being lost on the surface.”
The tension in Fen’s shoulders eased.
“She could—” Luke started, but Gaelith interrupted him.
“The Watchers scoured the world for a full five score, desperately searching for survivors. It is a romantic notion to you, but you were not yet born for the days of mourning when all concluded that hope was lost.” Her words were sharp, her expression stern.
Luke sighed.
“I’m pretty sure I’m pure human,” Fen told him, remembering the green blood seeping through his fingers the night they’d met. She traced the scar on her wrist with one thumb. Her own blood was red. She’d seen enough of it to know. Maybe it was time to change the subject, though.
“Not everyone can hear people talking through crystal, right?”
“Many can hear but few can speak. Indeed, crystal-speaking is one of the rarer persuasions. But for those who can use it, crystal amplifies communication with the magic, making it a most useful ability.”
“Yes, Elfie told me that. She said the crystal was like a loudspeaker, not actually magic.”
“Elfie?” Gaelith’s eyebrows raised as she tucked her knitting needles into a bag by her side.
“My data access pattern.” Fen felt sheepish. Did no one else name their tattoos?
“Ah, good,” Gaelith said, sounding distracted as she stood. “You have found it of use.”
“Uh-huh.” That seemed like an understatement to Fen. She would have liked to tell Gaelith more, but the older woman was picking up her bag and pushing back her chair. “Are you leaving?”
“I must be off. The Lady Din Souza awaits me most anxiously. Her babe was due these five days gone, her first, and she fears the worst. For naught, I assure you. I have attended her through the length of her term and the babe shall thrive, but the nerves of a new mother are not to be denied.” By the time she finished speaking, Gaelith was at the door, and with a few more words of farewell and a stern injunction that they both take care on the gliders, she was gone.
So began the best three days of Fen’s life.
Gaelith stopped by every day for at least a short while, usually for a meal, but always rushing in and out again. It was the dome or the farms or the house or, with a frown that grew more worried every day, the Lady Din Souza, whose baby was still a no-show. Kaio checked in, too, but never for more than a minute or two.
Meanwhile, she and Luke explored the city. Water spraying up, water spurting down, waterfalls, fountains, canals and brooks and streams, there was water everywhere. They swam every day, but they also played. Luke would splash her, she’d splash him back, and twenty minutes later, they’d be drenched and laughing.
And he taught her to fly the gliders. Elfie lectured her as she soared above the city, teaching her the rules. “You do not have the right of way in this circumstance. Remember to look up. Down is natural but it is unfair to expect height to always capitulate.” Fen loved it. The gliders responded to her without hesitation, as natural as if they were extensions of her own body.
They played with the magic, too. Luke watched, encouraging and appreciative, as Fen transformed Remy’s rooms into one space after another. Arabian nights? Done. Haunted Mansion? Nailed it. Buttercup’s bedchamber in
The Princess Bride
where Westley threatened Prince Humperdink with battle to the pain—she had it right down to the white and gold pillowcases and the sedate armchair where Prince Humperdink let himself be tied up.
A comfy hotel room where Luke could give her a polite peck on the lips goodnight as he removed himself so she could sleep? Oh, yeah, she had that one mastered, too.
On the fourth day, the entire city was in a party mood. It was the opening night for the Great Council. Fen thought it must be something like being in Los Angeles during the Academy Awards. Although the binding ceremony would be held at the castle and the Who’s Who list of Sia Marans would be there, everyone else would be attending parties and performances around the city. After dinner, Luke had promised to take her to hear the Choriodaki Choir, the men’s choral group she’d overhead during her first glider ride.
And after that?
It might be her last night in Syl Var. Probably not—she didn’t think Kaio would send her home the very day after the Council had their binding ceremony. But it would be soon. He’d get the Council to swear to her safety and she’d be on her way.
That meant she didn’t have a lot of time.
She and Luke didn’t have a lot of time.
They’d eat dinner. They’d go to the concert.
And then?
He was too damn polite, this boy.
Okay, not a boy, she reminded herself as she followed him into Remy’s. He looked young, but he was forty frickin’ years old. Come on, what kind of cues did he need to make a pass? She was his for the taking. The most minuscule effort on his part and she would fall into his lap.
Should she say something over dinner or wait until after the concert?
She could be straight up about it. She could say, “Stay. Fuck me.”
Luke, though, eh. He was on the romantic side.
So maybe seductive? “Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”
Ugh. She could try that, but did it make her sound pitiful?
Damn it, why did she have to be the one to figure this out? He was a guy. He was the one who was supposed to be worrying about this.
He was the one who ought to be putting his hands on her, ought to be tucking her hair behind her ears, looking longingly into her eyes, whispering romantic shit to her in a voice that was soft and sweet and nowhere near as hot as his brother’s.
Damn it.
Fen sighed.
Absently, she scratched the back of her hand as she followed Luke down the hallway toward her room.
She wanted him to stay. She did. Luke was fun and cute and gentle and…
Ow.
She looked down at her hand. The ladybug was bright red, wings fluttering madly, running up and down in scrambling circles around the back of her hand.
What the hell?
And Crashing Hard