The Fifth City

by Liz Delton

  Suddenly Sylvia’s dress was in danger of falling off her shoulders as Medina pulled the final laces, so she rushed to the washroom to change.

  After collecting the heavy blue gown, Medina murmured her goodbyes and Sylvia was left alone, for what felt like the first time all day.

  She collapsed onto the soft bed and closed her eyes, plunging her into blissful darkness. Her veins felt as if they were still buzzing with electricity, and her headache had become a force to be reckoned with.

  Absently, she ran a hand over her blue and gold bedspread, her fingers bumping softly over the heavy-threaded patterns, which lacked the luster of the mysterious silver datathreads.

  The first Trial was complete, and she was one step closer to getting help for Meadowcity. She had managed to get her hands on some of Seascape’s marvelous technology—though who knew if they would even let her keep it—and the people of Seascape even seemed to like her.

  She dragged herself from the bed at the thought of the earlink, and she willed herself to trudge over to the fireplace, curiosity the only thing keeping her upright. She had planned to look at it in the morning, but why not now? She could sleep all day tomorrow.

  The small silver box was almost too light in her hands as she brought it back to the bench at the end of her bed. Carefully, she pulled off the lid.

  Nestled in a bed of soft white cotton lay what looked like a small silver bean.

  She held her breath as she carefully pinched it between two fingers, and brought it closer to her eyes. There were no markings or inscriptions, only the smooth silver matte surface. She raised it to her ear, but pulled it away, feeling silly.

  Could this tiny silver bean really connect her to other people? To objects around her?

  She shuffled into the bathing room in her slippers, and the light above glowed to life at her presence. She went to the small mirror in the corner, and angled her head to study her right ear.

  Again she raised the earlink to the side of her head, and this time nudged it just inside her ear.

  Her fingers hovered, ready, should it fall out; but it seemed steady. She pressed it one last time for good measure.

  She had thought it would block the hearing in her right ear, but it was not so. What strange material is this thing made out of? She experimented by tilting her head back and forth, but the earlink stayed in place.

  Could she communicate with the datawoven fabric, then?

  She darted out of the washroom, exhaustion overridden for the moment, and went to her wardrobe to search for some silver-threaded fabric. It wasn’t long until she came to the realization that she had none.

  Medina always brought those fabrics, and took them when she was done. All the clothing in Sylvia’s wardrobe was made of normal fabric, which seemed like a strange thing to be disappointed in, she reflected.

  She was sure the next trial would involve the earlink—why else would they have given it to her? And Lady Naomi had said it would focus on connectivity.

  She slumped onto her bed again, then whacked her palm against the covers. She was not about to give up now. She would just have to find a way to control this tiny silver bean, because she would not fail these Trials. Not when Meadowcity needed help.

  * * *

  Not a scrap of datawoven fabric was to be found in Sylvia’s suite, a conclusion she came to shortly after waking and combing her rooms once more for the strange material. She sank down to her breakfast table and nibbled on a pastry, considering her situation.

  Yesterday’s headache finally began to ease as she finished her cup of tea, and she rose to go get the earlink from the drawer she had stored it in last night.

  She had passed the first Trial with more ease than she had imagined. She shook her head. She didn’t think Lady Blackwater would allow her to pass these Trials easily, if only for the Lady’s own enjoyment of seeing Sylvia struggle. There was worse to come, she was sure.

  She plucked the tiny earlink from its box, wanting to try to place it without the mirror this time, so she sat down on her bench by the fire. She held it next to her ear and gently pushed it in the cavity, and the silver bean conformed to the folds of her ear perfectly.

  She suspected that the business after the Trial when the man held up the disc to her ear had been to measure it somehow. She was at a complete loss as to how they had managed to do that. She shrugged.

  The depths of Seascape’s technologies were staggering indeed. It was no wonder Governor Greyling had coveted them so much that he had felt compelled to start a war. She only wished Seascape had been willing to share in the first place, then perhaps they wouldn’t be in this mess.

  But then Sylvia never would have traveled here, never experienced these strange and wonderful things for herself. Was she selfish to enjoy it?

  Around midday, Sylvia jumped up from the table when a knock came at the door. Whoever it was, she would demand to be given some datawoven fabric. She was sure the other initiates had plenty to practice with. She had done nothing all morning except contemplate the earlink, unable to communicate with it or use it in any way. She doubted the other initiates were having so much trouble, what with their families knowing the technology already.

  At the door stood the ever-happy Oliver, who she was truly coming to like. He seemed out of place in this strange castle, with its imposing mistress and odd personnel. He had gotten along with Atlan too, which reminded her—she wanted to find out more about the curious son of Lady Blackwater.

  Oliver carried in a covered silver tray, as he usually did when he brought her midday meal. He grinned at her as he stepped into the room, possibly unaware of the barrage of questions Sylvia had planned for him.

  She followed him over to the table, ready to pounce.

  “Oliver, I need datawoven fabric,” she demanded.

  He put down the tray and turned, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry, Sylvia. Initiates aren’t supposed to be given instruction or training before any of the Trials, and Lady Blackwater specifically said we were to offer you no help.” He frowned.

  Sylvia rolled her head back in annoyance and closed her eyes. So she was supposed to use the earlink for the first time in front of the entire island of Seascape?

  “But, the other initiates—I’m sure their families are helping them. They must be practicing,” she whined. It wasn’t fair. Lady Naomi just wanted to watch her struggle.

  He looked thoughtful, and as he poured her a cup of water from the pitcher he whispered, “I can’t help you, Sylvia. But maybe I can find another way.”

  She raised an eyebrow. Perhaps she did have an ally after all.

  “It might take some time,” he muttered as he headed for the door.

  It seemed like Oliver was worried about being overheard, so she mouthed a silent Thank you before he left. He gave her a conspiratorial smile before heading out into the corridor.

  She ate her midday meal and contemplated Oliver’s offer to help. She hoped he wouldn’t get into trouble. He was one of the genuinely nice people she had met so far; but to be fair, she hadn’t met many of Seascape’s people yet.

  When she finished eating, she realized that in her excitement at his offer, she had forgotten to ask about Atlan.

  She shrugged. Perhaps she would learn more about Lady Blackwater’s son after she completed the second Trial.

  That is, if she was even able to learn how to use her earlink by then.

  Twenty Three

  The rest of the afternoon dragged by in infinite slowness. Sylvia could find nothing to do with herself as she awaited Oliver’s promised help.

  She alternated between sitting at the table tapping her fingers in annoyance, sitting in front of the fire listlessly, and watching the looking-glass for what felt like hours on end.

  At times she wondered if Oliver would really help her, or if that, too was a ploy of Lady Naomi’s. She didn’t know how long it would take to try and learn how to use the earlink, and wanted as much time as possible. The other init
iates already had a full day to practice.

  Her evening meal came and went, and there was no summons for tea with the Lady, but she was not surprised.

  At one point, Sylvia gave up waiting and decided she should just go to bed, for lack of anything better to do. The best she could hope was that help would come tomorrow; and sleeping would get her there quicker.

  The dying fire lit the room with a modest orange glow, and the looking-glass glittered with the last hints of sun that dappled the rolling waves.

  Not entirely tired, she lay in her enormous bed, waiting for sleep. If she hadn’t still been awake, she probably wouldn’t have heard the tiny tap on her door that almost sounded like a knock.

  She sat straight up as she flipped off the covers. She scurried over to the door as she tied her silken robe shut, then hesitated for a second before turning the handle. She pulled open the heavy wooden door.

  The white hallway was as bright as ever, and she narrowed her eyes at the tousle-haired boy before her.

  Atlan glanced down the hallway and pushed his way in the door.

  “Hey!” Sylvia jumped back, and he quickly shut the door behind him.

  “I’m not supposed to be here,” was all the greeting he gave.

  “Why not?” Sylvia backed up by the fire, suddenly keenly aware of the time of night and the immediate presence of the Lady’s son in her room. She reached over to toss a log onto the embers.

  He shrugged.

  “Oliver wanted me to give you this.” He pulled a small bit of fabric out of his front pocket and held it out to her.

  She immediately knew it was datawoven, as she grasped the material between her fingers. The silver threads winked at her as the log in the fireplace caught flame.

  “Thank you,” she said, meeting his bright grey eyes, identical to Lady Naomi’s.

  He held her eyes for a second, and then turned to the door.

  “No, wait!” she exclaimed and reached out to grab his arm, “Can’t you help me learn how to use it?”

  He looked down at her hand and she yanked it back. He quirked his lips.

  “Please? You must know how,” Sylvia pleaded.

  “Flattery won’t get you everywhere, love,” he said with a wistful smile.

  “Fine.” She sat on the bench, and examined the odd piece of fabric. “If you don’t know how then I’ll teach myself.”

  “I do know how,” he said, then sighed unexpectedly. “I just… don’t have a lot of practice yet.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Sylvia asked, “What is this thing anyway?”

  She held up the black tube of fabric in question.

  “It’s a half-sleeve—I thought something small would be… easily hidden.” He shrugged.

  Experimentally, Sylvia slipped it over her left hand and pulled it past her wrist. The fabric covered most of her forearm, and clung to it without compressing too much.

  “So, will you help me?” she admired the half-sleeve in the firelight. She wondered if she could make it change colors, and smiled.

  “Well, I can try I guess.” He rocked on his heels, then came over to sit on the bench.

  Sylvia scooted over immediately, and the cushion sunk in as he sat beside her.

  His bright grey eyes caught hers as he looked at her right ear.

  “You’ll need your earlink,” he said, and her cheeks flushed.

  After retrieving it from her drawer, she turned away from him and poked the tiny bean into her ear cavity, having practiced putting it in several times during her hours of boredom.

  While beside her wardrobe, she slid her feet into a pair of black silken slippers, feeling odd being alone, let alone barefoot, in front of Atlan. She tossed another log into the fire on her way past it, and headed for the table instead, finding the prospect of sitting beside him too much of a distraction.

  “So how does it work?” she asked.

  Atlan chuckled and stretched his feet out towards the fire, and muttered, “Lady Naomi will kill me for explaining this to you.”

  Sylvia raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

  He sighed. Sylvia watched him run a hand through his black hair and then lace his fingers together. He leaned back casually on the bench and crossed an ankle over a knee.

  “The earlink is Seascape’s best invention—well, most people…it’s…never mind,” he paused, eyes shifting sideways, and then continued as if it hadn’t happened.

  “The earlink connects your mind to the information,” he said slowly. “The datastrands in the fabric hold the information, but also act as a physical transmitter for inputting commands through the earlink.”

  Sylvia nodded, grateful for his vague explanation. When Lady Naomi had explained it to her, she was sure the Lady had been trying to confuse her deliberately to intimidate her. She still wasn’t sure what data really was, but she would figure it out eventually.

  “So, how do I….” she mimed making a command on her forearm.

  “Well, first you’re supposed to connect the fabric to the earlink, so they can talk to each other.”

  Sylvia creased her eyebrows together.

  “Here,” he stood and crossed the room, pulling up the other chair at the table. She turned hers back around to face him.

  “Close your eyes and picture the sleeve on your arm. Think about it glowing or lighting up—you’re trying to establish a mental link between you and the fabric. The earlink will do the work,” he added quietly.

  Sylvia closed her eyes and pictured the sleeve on her wrist as she knew it was, with her arms before her, resting on the table. She imagined the silver threads beginning to glow, brighter and brighter; but she felt nothing different, was she supposed to feel something?

  “How do I know I’m doing anything?” she whispered.

  Atlan’s voice made her open her eyes. “I’ll tell you. The fabric will glow for a second, the datastrands anyway, when the connection is made.”

  He looked at her pointedly, and she closed her eyes again.

  Again she pictured the black half-sleeve glowing with silver. The weft and the warp threads contrasted as the silver ones came to life. She kept them at a steady glow in her mind, with her eyes squeezed shut hard as she tried to keep up the image, waiting, waiting for his voice.

  After a while she huffed impatiently and opened her eyes. Atlan grinned at her from across the table.

  “Not as easy as it looks,” he said, and stood, casually resting his forearms on the back of the chair.

  “Can you do it?” she asked, absently playing with the edge of the sleeve.

  He nodded, but then glanced at the door. “I should be getting back.”

  “Will you come back tomorrow? We can practice together,” she said. Hope bubbled up from her core, surprising her.

  “I’ll try to get away—they like to keep tabs on me,” he said with a sad smile.

  His fingers were on the door handle. Sylvia couldn’t help herself, and she blurted, “Are you really Lady Naomi’s son?”

  He nodded with his back turned and muttered, “I wish I weren’t.”

  Sylvia remained silent. How could he say that?

  He opened the door as he turned to look at her and said, “Don’t worry, she feels the same way.”

  Twenty Four

  After Atlan left, Sylvia remained at her table, trying to make the connection. She was so excited that she could finally practice, that she sat there until she fell asleep in her chair. After jolting awake in the hard chair, she dragged herself across the room and she hid away the datawoven sleeve and her earlink. The looking-glass was pitch black.

  The next morning, she leapt out of bed as soon as she woke, eager to try the earlink again. She ignored her breakfast until late morning, when she ripped the sleeve off in frustration, and threw it on the floor. How would she ever get this to work? She had no idea what she was doing.

  Oliver came to bring her midday meal, but made no mention of Atlan or the datawoven fabric; but he gave her a k
nowing smile when he arrived. Sylvia was still worried he might get in trouble for helping her, so she kept quiet. She knew the Lady had a knack for knowing things she shouldn’t.

  She sipped the tea that came with her meal and resolved to practice all afternoon, whether she made any progress or not. Meadowcity was counting on her to get Seascape’s help. The Four Cities were counting on her to stop Greyling. She must practice. And it wasn’t like she had anything else to do.

  So she sat cross-legged in front of the fire for hours, the black datawoven sleeve encasing her forearm, never showing any signs of life. A few times, she thought she had done something to make the connection Atlan had told her about, but felt she was just imagining it. She really needed his help.

  She paused for a moment to wonder about Atlan; the boy who Lady Naomi never mentioned, and who allegedly didn’t even want him for a son anyway.

  Sylvia remembered the odd way the Lady had treated him the day he burst in on their tea in the false garden, and the cold way she had spoken to him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask Atlan any more about it—she couldn’t even imagine why he admitted to her that Lady Naomi didn’t want him for a son. She wouldn’t rub any more salt in the wound.

  With a glance at her looking-glass, she realized the sun was setting, and her hours of practicing had produced no results, only a sort of headache. She groaned. As if she hadn’t spent enough time here with her head aching.

  She rubbed her temples and stood, stretching her muscles and reaching up to the ceiling. She let out a long sigh and went over to the looking-glass to admire the waves, and wondered again how she had gotten to this place.

  In only a few days, she would be on the Southern shore—not just watching it from her underground rooms—being put on trial for the second time. She wondered again what this task could possibly entail, and how it would test their connectivity. The first had been torture; who knew what this one would be.

  After a moment she had to pull herself away from the looking-glass, reminding herself of her commitment to practicing. She sat down once more, settling onto the rug in front of the fire, and tried to connect with the sleeve. She ran her right hand over the black fabric and then gave her wrist a quick squeeze, telling herself it would work. This time, I’ll get it.