Secret Worlds (547 page)

From the time I turned four, my father and I would creep into the caves, and then slither, belly-first as the rock ceiling lowered, and the cooler air floated lazily though the brushy Fireagar. We’d lay still, our eyes silently laughing together as we waited for the switch of a Dragon Lizard tail. He taught me to pitch my hand out, as swift as any arrow. He taught me to ask the beast for permission, and promise it a safe return after we milked out the elixir. Then, with our wide, flat blades, we’d scrape the cave walls for moss, for schist, for minerals.

“Put each in its own treasure box,” he’d whisper, “my little desert fairy, collecting your gold and gems.”

Oh, how I’d giggle at that.

And then, in the kitchen, we’d get every pan and spoon out, and simmer shale powder with moss to perfection, eke out the Dragon Elixir and make a salve with it for rashes. Or we’d mix it with Fireagar for a special healing tea. Best thing for headaches or fever.

“We’re making a magic drink, king of the desert,” I’d tell him as I stirred.

“And you, my fairy princess, are the best potion-maker in the land of dunes and sky!”

My mom would come in and fuss about all of the pans we’d dirtied, and how she’d have to scrub them for an hour with sandpaper. But pretty soon, my dad would be swinging her around the room on his arm, to a tune we’d all make up. And we’d scrub the pots and spoons clean together.

Here, in the field, I come close to a star-shaped blossom. “Fireseed, hah, you’re the most magic of all, aren’t you?” When I break off one of its leaves, the branches around rustle as if they’re murmuring, “Use us, but don’t take too much. Don’t tear too hard.”

“I won’t,” I promise, “just enough.”

White patches have puckered some of the leaves, and spots mar the trunks. Thorn was right. Whatever it is has spread.

“Tell me,” I whisper, “what’s ailing you?” But I hear no spoken answers.

The massive tarp overhead casts a dreary blue sheen on the crop, and with the heat of the day, a sour, synthetic odor wafts down. I wonder if whatever chemical is in the fabric could be affecting the plants. As I think this, I could swear the plants around me quiver. I’ll mention it to Nevada later.

Creeping further and further into the red jungle, I sink down toward the cooler root beds. Lower my head to one of the stalks and pray. Prayer is still my currency here. Fireseed is still my god, and nothing has proven otherwise. “Please, let me take pieces of you, only to help the people down here. I’ll repay you—somehow.”

In response, one of the star-shaped flowers arcs down. I gasp as it lightly strokes my back—a signal to proceed? Taking the crimson flower head between my thumb and index fingers, I nick it off. Then I bend to the lowest set of leaves and cut a few more samples. Place them carefully them into my latchbag.

Something scoots by my right hip. I startle and look over. Another skitter and dash—of dark speckles like an artist flicked his loaded brush of soil-colored paint onto the beast’s leathery back. My arms dart out to catch a wriggling tail. Lizards are here too! Not Dragon Lizards, but … It whips its tail in protest as its conical irises study me, the monstrous human subject.

I’m flooded with joy. The desert truly is springing to new life! A lizard would be unheard of outside the protective caves back at home, even under a thick tarp.

What else breathes inside this mysterious garden?

By the time we head back, I’m astonished by my haul. I’ve collected four of the lizards that I’ve coined Spatters for their patterns and five purple beetles. I’ve never seen this type of lizard or beetle before. Each beetle has a set of curved antlers as big as my thumbs, each with scalloped ridges along the underside! I inaugurate the breed as Antlered Purples after their shade. I’ve also collected two Fireseed flower heads, four leaves, and a brimming bag of crimson pollen I’ve coaxed from the stamens.

As I head back, I see Vesper and Bea up ahead. Their arms are full of bagged samples, and their angular burn masks glimmer as they laugh and talk. Jan, Radius and Blane are right by them, jostling each other. “Have you seen Thorn?” I ask them.

Only Bea answers me. “Not since we first came out. Why?”

“Oh, nothing, thanks,” I say.

Has he already gone inside with Armonk? I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I need to find somewhere private to squeeze out the venom from the lizards’ jaws and release them back to the field before they get sluggish and sickly. Lizards are hardy creatures, but sensitive to human touch—too much of it and they wilt.

I wonder if these Spatters produce anything close to Oblivion. I’m running out, which makes me quite anxious though I’d really like to stop this constant need. I hate being tied to anything not of my choosing, especially after being tied to Stiles for so very long. But my night terrors … I can’t quit … not quite yet.

The only room with a lock is the bathroom. I’ll have to do the deed in there. Bad idea; Bea starts knocking impatiently. “Don’t be a hog, we all live here,” she complains.

Normally I can milk venom in a few expert moves, but I’m rattled because now Vesper’s knocking too—hard raps on the worn door. “Turn’s up, Cult Girl, we’re late for dinner.”

Tiny jar in one hand, I squeeze the jawbones of the last lizard with the other hand, and shoot a strong line of chartreuse venom into the jar. I breathe in through my mouth in order not to smell the pungent vapor wafting up as I secure the top. Its odor is stronger than the Dragon Elixir, does that mean it’s poisonous? Hard to say.

I pop the Spatter Lizard back into my latchbag, where he slithers in among the others. This feat is not easy with three missing fingers but I’ve learned to compensate. The moment I unlock the door Vesper pushes her way in. “This place stinks,” she snorts. “Your idea of perfume?”

It’s true; the Spatter venom is a nose-bristling mix of rotten moss and armpit sweat.

Now, what to do with the Antlered Purples? Most everyone is down for dinner, so the project room should be empty. I dash up to tier three. As gently as I can, steady a beetle by its cycling legs and examine it under the magnifier. I’m supposed to be examining Fireseed but it’s these creatures living in their garden that have snagged my imagination. Ah! As it rubs its antennae together it secretes a powdery toxin, which falls like fine spice onto the lab glass I’ve put under it. I repeat this with each beetle.

I think of Dad and his Cure Mead. How popular it was with our people, still is. I remember our family, in the kitchen helping him stir steamy vats of the stuff. And before that, asking the beetles’ permission before adding them to the mix. This time, it looks like I’ll be able to release them back to the garden.

My father taught me how to make other concoctions: wing powder for seasoning Fireagar stew; mica salt and Spidersoothe fashioned from spider legs and northern tea, used as a poultice for the nasty burn of Fireseed brands. My mother would help me package it.

With a sharp pang, I picture her back at home, fending off questions about my and Thorn’s whereabouts. She must be so worried. I’m a terrible daughter for running off. But then, in an unexpected surge of frustrated anger I wonder why she didn’t protect me from Stiles? Couldn’t she have? Somehow? She could’ve made me ugly or told him I had a strange, catching illness, or have wheedled him so much he figured that I wouldn’t be worth the trouble. I sigh. My parents did try, and if they’d pursued it more, they would’ve paid a terrible price. Lord only knows what the elders might be doing to my mother now. Ripples of fear pass through me when I think of Stiles searching for me. I was pledged to him so young. How far would he go to get me back? It’s all too dreadful to picture.

“Ruby, are you up there? You’re late for dinner,” Bea calls up.

She’s called me by name! A bubble of happiness rises in me as I plop the last beetle into my small collection jar and secure that to my hip pouch. They’ll ride with me tonight. Perhaps I can slip out to the field and return them after dinner. Downstairs, on second tier hallway I peer into the room Thorn shares with Radius. The beds are made, school notes are in a neat pile on the desks and burn suits are hung on pegs. No Thorn though. And Radius must already be downstairs.

Downstairs, Thorn’s not in the parlor or the dining room. The hair on my neck stands up when I think of him lost and I’m just about to run out into the fields when he slips through the kitchen door and peels off his burn suit. He glances over at me and away. His liquid brown eyes, usually full of silent messages, are mysteriously veiled.

Dinner is quiet. Everyone seems intent on eating, as if they’re still keeping secret about their project—if they even have one yet. As soon as dinner’s over, Blane invites us down to play soccer, and when I try to bow out, he insists.

“Come on, show us what you can do, fighter,” he says with the hint of a smile. I’m pulled in by his hint of warmth against my own will.

Blane assigns Armonk to Jan and Vesper’s team, and Bea, Radius plus me to his team. I should be flattered, but every time I look at Armonk’s swelled up face with its cut, I’m reminded that Blane is one mean guy no matter how much he suffered, no matter if he’s given me one lopsided grin. Armonk doesn’t protest the team choice though. He seems content for the moment anyway, that his message for Blane to show respect hit the mark. Blane gives Armonk his space now, and he hasn’t gotten physical with me again.

Thorn refuses to play. He sits on the sidelines, nibbling his fingernails and pocketing the half-moon shards. He’s compulsive in a few ways, but I’ve not yet seen this one. It worries me. If only there were someone closer to his age to play with. Not that he had many friends back at home. How does a kid play with someone who won’t talk?

Radius scores our first goal. I manage to kick the ball once to him for his second score. “Nice assist,” Bea admits.

I feel badly for Armonk, limping around on that too-short leg, and I hope, for his sake that Dr. Varik makes an appearance in Skull’s Wrath soon. But Armonk is adept at kicking with his other leg. He also performs a spectacular head slam, which lands the ball straight into the goal. According to Blane, head-butts are an official part of soccer. Sure is a strange rule, and I worry when I see that Armonk’s cut is reopened from the indirect impact though it does get him a begrudging compliment from Vesper.

Jan, on the other team is the best player, hands down. He swivels past us like an oiled snake to score goal after goal. Jan’s team ends up with a score of thirty, to our dismal three.

“You didn’t bring much to the equation,” Blane mutters as we trudge upstairs. I resent how he’s making me feel like I’m the one who’s disappointed him, and I rethink my decision to give them all a second chance. Sometimes trauma just makes you hardcore mean.

As I’m in the bathroom that night getting ready for bed, the manic Stream blasts in my head, scaring me so badly I squeeze toothpaste all over the sink.

Huzzah, Fireseeders! George Axiom here. We in Vegas-by-the-Sea are putting finishing touches on our new convention center and Axiom Skye Ryde so your contest finalists will be feted in complete luxury. So, craft those projects with special care.

Brought to you by NanoPearl, a proud sponsor of the Axiom Contest,

Where nanogear is as priceless as rare Orient pearl.

Who knows what the heck they’re talking about in these crazy blasts and ads? All I know is that I thought I’d love to be connected but all I feel is startled.

Later, I toss in bed, trying to avoid taking the Oblivion powder. I have half of what I came here with and should save it for emergencies. I could try to make Oblivion from the Spatters, but who knows what I’d end up with. The moon glows a bloody red as my mind reeks with rancid images of Stiles’ hairy face and luring words. “Come here, my child,” he coaxed the time he cut my fingers. “It won’t hurt, not that much.” I throw off my covers. I’m hot, claustrophobic.

The sound of Bea’s voice startles me. I thought that her soft, steady breathing signaled she was asleep. I’ll have to take that into account in my nighttime forays. “Do you have insomnia?” she asks.

“Nightmares,” I tell her, swinging my feet over the bedside.

“About what? Your cult?”

I’m tired of hearing that word, but this is the first time she’s ever cared to ask me anything. “Someone in it,” I say.

“That’s too bad,” she says. “Did you find anything today?”

I’m not sure I should reveal my incredible finds. This is a competition, after all. I don’t trust these people. Why should I? Though Bea seems friendlier now. She called me Ruby earlier. I won’t tell her about the lizards, it’s too big a find. “One thing, want to see?”

“Okay.” She pads over to my side of the room in a long sheer nightgown, her blond hair flowing in waves. I unbind the collection box from my suit belt, open the top just enough for her to peek in. “Whoa, I’ve never seen those guys! Such sculptural antennae.” She’s referring to the Antlered Purples.

“Sculptural,” I mirror. “You see them that way since you’re an artist, right?”

“That’s true.” Her face lights up. “Hey, I could draw them.”

I nod as I pop the top back on. It would be one thing to have these amazing beetles all sprawled out on a table for her to sketch. But another thing if everyone sees them. I have to be careful though. I don’t want to snap at Bea and discourage her from talking to me. “You could. Sometime,” I add vaguely.

“What do
you
intend to do with them? And how does that relate to Fireseed?” Her voice tightens. She must sense my hesitancy.

I’m proud of my skills. But I only dare reveal a tidbit. “I make potions.”

“Like that stuff you sniff up when you think I’m asleep?” Her warm blue eyes turn to chilly cat slits, which frighten me.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” she retorts, but softens inexplicably. “We all have our vices.”

I’m too shocked to protest. “Um, really, what’s yours?”

She releases a musical giggle. “Radius,” she admits, and pads back to her bed. She pulls the covers up to her chin, gives a dainty yawn. “Look, I need to go to sleep, Ruby,” she says. “So keep those beetles caged and be quiet when you snort that junk.”