Darkshine

by R. D. Vallier

  "That was amazing!" I said, laughing and rubbing my arms. "The air is like little whispers all over my skin!"

  Orin shook my shoulders. "That was not air," he snapped. "You summoned darkness!"

  I stopped laughing. "I what?"

  Orin's eyes narrowed. "You've been with Delano, haven't you?"

  My eyes widened.

  "Haven't you?"

  "It-it wasn't for long. Just for a few minutes outside the motel room."

  "While I slept?" Orin slid his fingers into his hair, clenched the roots. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"

  "Nothing happened!" I said. "He just talked. Mindless chit-chat."

  "You don't get it," Orin said. "That's what darklings do! He seems innocent, casual, but all the while his magic poisons you. Soon your defenses drop, then you start to believe him, then trust him, maybe even like him. Then when you're vulnerable his magic sucks you into the night and he goes for the kill."

  I opened my mouth to retort, but what could I say? Orin had described mine and Delano's interaction perfectly. In fifteen minutes I had gone from fearing Delano to liking him. Even missing him. But why had my feelings toward the darkling changed? Was it because of the magic or the man?

  A spider crawled out of the weeds and onto the sidewalk, a colorless creature in the sick sulphur light. Orin glanced over both of his shoulders, then crushed it with his heel.

  I gaped at Orin's boot as he scraped the spider's guts across the pavement. It was then I realized they weren't spiders, but spyders. Orin snatched my forearm and yanked me to my feet. "I refuse to lose my promotion over an innocent mistake," he whispered, our noses nearly touching. "Never speak of this to anyone. Understand me?"

  "Orin, I—"

  He gave me a firm shake. "Understand me?" I nodded. "Good. Now let's go. Quietly. And on foot."

  I glanced over my shoulder as we crossed the deserted street. The eyes of a fox flashed in the night, then disappeared into the shadows.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "This is ridiculous!" Orin said.

  He plodded backwards along the highway shoulder, his thumb pointing out to the lanes. Cars zipped past us as they had been since we left the motel nearly twelve hours ago. We were on a major throughway with no shortage of passing vehicles to ignore us, but we had returned to farmland, leaving all signs of a city at least nine miles back. The sparse exits led to nowhere roads with factory farms and grain silos, towering above the highway like industrial palaces.

  "I've never had this much trouble thumbing for a ride," Orin said. "We must have seen at least a bazillion cars."

  My calf muscles burned like hot spurs, my lower back ached, and I was unsure if we even headed in the right direction. Ever since I summoned darkness on accident and had the cops sicced on us, the only direction Orin cared about was away. Stumbling across this major highway felt like a stroke of luck at first—a greater surplus of vehicles meant greater odds for catching a quick lift. Now it felt like a deadly dance with fate. More passing cars meant more passing faces, more passing eyes capable of recognizing us as the miscreants the media portrayed.

  I had tucked my hair up into Orin's fedora in an attempt to fool drivers that I was male. The sun was out, but I had become so accustomed to the cold that its pale sunlight felt unnaturally hot. I tucked my cranberry overcoat into my backpack and wore just a hoodie and jeans. I wondered if the day's uncharacteristic warmth was a gift or a joke from Delano, as it was a blessing and a curse. The sunshine was pleasant on our faces, but it had also melted the snow, creating a sloppy mess along the roadside. Mud caked our boots and splattered our calves. Road grime darkened our jeans. I suspected our filthiness and my attempt at a disguise contributed to our lack of rides. Drivers pitied everyday strangers appearing stranded or down on their luck, especially if one of the hitchhikers was a woman. Now Orin and I resembled two, dirty male vagrants. At worst we were serial killers; at best we would stink up their cars and stain the upholstery.

  A semi-truck whizzed past us, the air current pushing us aside. Orin scowled. "I give up." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and trudged forward.

  "Not much is out here," I said. "Let's take the next exit. Maybe I can try to fly again and—"

  "No!" Orin snapped.

  I sighed and followed him in silence, my shoulders curled forward. I was stupid to suggest it. So far all I had proved was that I was a liability to Orin's promotion. My thoughts shifted back to Orin's warnings about Delano. Was the darkling trying to deceive me? A slow manipulation to trick me into his grasp? I would never see Delano again once I entered the Realm, so it didn't matter either way. Still, the knowledge failed to reduce the emotional pangs or the—.

  Orin stopped abruptly; I lurched onto my toes to keep from smacking into his back. "I'm sorry for snapping," he said, and faced me. "It's not you. I'm stressed about my promotion. I thought detouring to the ley line was safer, but it's taking longer than I hoped. Now I am behind the Realm's schedule, I haven't seen a chickadee in days, and haven't been able to update them on our progress and setbacks. They may have fired me for all I know. That scares me. But I shouldn't take it out on you."

  "It's okay. I understand," I said. "But aren't you doing what the Realm wants? Making decisions to keep me safe and get me home."

  Orin shrugged. "Yes, but outside their orders. I guess we'll know if they approve soon enough."

  We slogged onward. One foot, then the other. Cars zipped past. The blister on my heel's callus throbbed. I didn't even know calluses could get blisters. My soles dragged along the gravel. The billboard ahead touted the best injury lawyer in the Midwest, guaranteed.

  I opened a candy cane and sucked on the end. "Were your parents retrievers?"

  Orin shook his head. "No. Why do you ask?"

  "Curiosity," I said. "You told me you were Earth-born. I thought maybe your parents were also retrievers and that's why you want this promotion. To follow in their footsteps."

  "My parents are both station sentries on the southern block," Orin said. "I am proud of them, but I have always had other wants."

  "Have you always wanted to be a retriever, then?" I smiled. "Was it Little Orin's dream?"

  Orin seesawed his hand. "Eh. What I want is what retriever offers," he said. "It's a position with opportunity to grow. From retriever I can branch out to informant or deliverer or travel sentry. Theoretically I can even become a sniffer, though I lack the talent."

  "Huh. Never took you for the career-ladder type."

  "I'm not," Orin said. "I'm more of a..." He trailed off and watched his lengthening shadow.

  "More of a what?"

  Orin kicked a pebble down the shoulder's white line. "Never mind. It's dumb."

  "Try me."

  "Well, women aren't typically attracted to border sentries."

  I busted out laughing. "You mean you want to become a retriever to get laid?"

  Orin's eyes widened. "No! I—I want a family. You know. Wife. Kids. But border sentries are restricted to barracks. What woman wants that in a husband? If I become a retriever, though, the Realm will give me my own apartment. I hear sniffers receive whole houses." His lips twitched into a timid smile. "Stupid, huh?"

  "No," I said. "It sounds like a wonderful life. One I once strived for." I shrugged. "Unfortunately I'm infertile. At least you have a chance."

  Orin grew strangely quiet. Red crept up his neck.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "Nothing's wrong," Orin said, an octave too high. "Why would anything be wrong?"

  "You're as red as a beet, Orin. What is it?"

  He sunk into his shoulders. "You're not infertile, Miriam. It's just, well, you and your husband aren't exactly the same species."

  My face fell. "Oh my God. The faeries view my marriage as bestiality?"

  "No!" Orin said, quickly. "Well, maybe if you knew." I gave a strangled cry and covered my face with my hands. "But you didn't! These things are expected with adult changelings."

/>   I groaned behind my palms and felt my face flush as red as Orin's.

  Orin coughed. "Anyway," he said, "that is why I've been nutty, even though my promotion may already be stripped." His voice lowered. "Especially if the Realm discovers I squished that spider. In which case, I better accept the idea of being a border sentry for the rest of my life. Or a toilet scrubber."

  And it will be all my fault. I cringed at my foolishness—present, past, and undoubtedly future.

  We trudged onward. One aching foot, then the other. My lower back was ready to snap in half as the cars zoomed uncaringly past. An hour later we approached a wooden, white cross on the side of the road with Janie carved into the center. The shrine was crowded with flowers, dingy stuffed animals, pinwheels, and handwritten prayers soggy from the snow and rain. Orin silently watched the pinwheels twirl and gleam. A minute later he rummaged through the roadside-treasures in his pockets, placed a heart shaped rock at the base of the cross, then walked off.

  After a moment, I said: "The Realm would be stupid not to promote you."

  Orin stiffened as if I had blurted a racial slur. "The Realm has high expectations, and there are also harsh repercussions in failure, but it has created a society of beauty and strength and perfection. Coal into a diamond, as the historians like to say. It's an honor to contribute to its greatness, but if I'm unworthy of a retriever position, then..." He shrugged.

  We dragged our feet for several more miles, soles throbbing and calves screaming. One foot, then the other. One foot, then the other. It never seemed to end. Cars whizzed past us. The blister on my heel's callus popped and rubbed raw. We crouched in the sludge to wrap our feet with the last of our truck stop bandages, then limped onwards. The road grime darkened our shins another shade. The mud crept to our arms and waists.

  A speck of blue dotted the distance, slowly taking form as we closed in. Square. Tall. A speck of yellow beneath. "Is that a...?" Orin squinted, then grinned wide. "Oh yes!" He grabbed my hand and raced down the highway. "We're saved!"

  We approached a roadside assistance phone—the only one I recalled seeing during our travels. On the blue sign were white letters which read: Emergency Call Box. A yellow box was attached to the pole beneath it. "See that?" Orin pointed to a red dot on the lower lefthand corner. "That means this phone connects to a faerie station. I can call in and update the Realm about what's happened." Orin threw open the front of the box and picked up the black telephone inside. The metal cord swayed beneath the receiver, cut and useless. An upside-down R had been carved into the earpiece.

  Orin's lips pressed into a white line as he slammed the phone back onto the receiver.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "Rebels," he said. "They cut the line."

  "Why would they do that?"

  "Because they're extremists who hate the Realm and want power for themselves."

  "Are they faeries or darklings?"

  "Faeries," he said. "Mostly renegade Earth workers. They're trying to destroy access between the worlds so they can exterminate humans and conquer Earth for themselves. Now the Realm only sends proven adherent workers to Earth thanks to these lunatics. Which is another reason why I need to get you home, to convince them I am worthy of an Earth assignment."

  Orin stuck out his thumb and continued walking.

  The sun inched toward the west horizon, at that perfect angle which stings your eyes and blinds you from anything a foot above the ground. The road curved, forcing us to trudge toward the glare, our hands on our foreheads like visors. Behind us, wheels slowed.

  Orin heaved a relieved sigh. "Finally."

  A beige minivan approached, its windows rolled down. I smiled, opening my mouth to say thanks. "Get a job!" a fat middle-aged woman shouted, and chucked a pop can. Orin and I jumped backwards; Pepsi sprayed our faces, reminding me I didn't fit in with faeries or humans. Maybe I have been a changeling too long. The couple squealed with laughter and gunned the minivan down the freeway, gray puffs spewing out the tailpipe. My teeth clenched. Pepsi dripped off my trembling fists. Me and Orin aren't bums! I wanted to shout. We are good people! I had never picked up a hitchhiker out of safety concerns, but I had never thought ill of them; I always wished for them to find a safe ride. I wanted to chase after the minivan, lecture the people on the truth and force them to understand what was right. I felt I needed to justify my existence, and I hated myself for it.

  Orin wiped the Pepsi off his cheek with his sleeve. He picked up the can, plucked the tab off with a clink, and placed it in his pocket.

  "I doubt we will reach civilization before nightfall," Orin said, repositioning his backpack's straps. "I guess we're camping out tonight."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  We had taken the closest exit off the major highway and detoured onto a country road. We managed another mile before the sky had lost its blue to purple, fading slowly toward indigo. The temperature plummeted and fat snowflakes fluttered down, as if compensating for the day's abnormally warm weather.

  It was almost dark when the roadway spanned across a narrow river. A railway bridge ran alongside it. Orin stopped to stare, and for a moment I thought he intended to wait for a train to hop. I felt nauseated, my ride in the boxcar still sour in my memory. If it helped Orin's promotion, however, I'd suffer through it. Even though I preferred to wander for months on foot instead.

  "This will work," Orin said. "Hope you don't mind a climb."

  Orin hopped over the guardrail, dug his boot-heels into the dirt and snow, and half-slid half-ran to the river's shore fifty feet below. I followed, somehow managing to keep my footing to the wide, rocky banks. Orin set his backpack beside a cement pylon graffitied with anarchy symbols and Metallica stickers. The overhead tracks provided some relief from the falling flakes.

  Orin unlatched the two sleeping-bags strapped to his backpack and handed me the flashlight he had rolled inside. I rummaged through our gear with the light; Orin rolled out our beds. Firelight sparked, then flickered across the river. Orin stiffened. Men's voices bantered incoherently, carried on a wind blowing snowflakes beneath the bridge.

  "Do you think we're safe?" I whispered. "I'm sure they noticed our flashlight."

  We watched the campsite across the river for nearly five minutes. At least three men were huddled around the flames, chattering and laughing.

  Orin's shoulders relaxed. "A hobo camp. They would have confronted us by now if we were imposing. We will be fine as long as we stay on our side of the river. And if we do find ourselves with a fight on our hands, well..." Orin shrugged. "Humans are weak."

  Orin collected branches from the nearby shrubs. I set out dinner. We hadn't bought any food since the last gas station, almost twenty-four hours ago. My portion consisted of a snack-bag of chips, half a ham sandwich, a candy cane, and a banana to split between the two of us. The ham sandwich worried me, but the temperature hadn't gone that high during the day, and my rumbling stomach insisted eating it was safe.

  Orin dropped a bundle of branches beside the sleeping-bags, chunks of snow clinging to the bark.

  "They look too wet to burn," I said.

  "They'll burn." Orin pulled a lighter from his backpack and clicked on a flame. He grabbed the fire in his hand and threw it onto the bundle of kindling. The wood caught fire with a burst of steam; the flames shot up nearly as high as the cement pylon before steadying into a bonfire. The wind carried a whooping "Whoa!" from across the river, then the hobo camp silenced.

  We huddled beside our campfire, the river rushing in the shadows. I ate the sandwich and candy cane and half a banana, but with all the calories I had burned from walking my stomach still growled. I shoved the bag of chips into my overcoat's pocket, saving them for breakfast. I found it easier to go to bed hungry than wake up without knowing when I'd eat my next meal. We finished off the water in our water bottles, then filled them with snow and placed them beside the fire to melt. It was now too dark to see the bridges overhead. Across the river, one of the men had a c
oughing fit and spat out his creation. I added more kindling to the flames.

  "It is peaceful, I'll give him that."

  I peered up from the campfire. Orin stood outside the bridge's shelter, gazing into the starless night. "What is?" I asked.

  "The snow." Orin leaned his head back and caught a snowflake on his tongue. "It amazes me how something so beautiful is also so dangerous."

  I was uncertain if he spoke of winter or Delano, and I didn't ask him to clarify.

  We slipped into our sleeping bags, but the rocky shore pinched our skin and dug into our bones. We crawled out and brushed away the rocks with our feet, trying to clear away a nest like a couple of killdeer. The relief was minimal.

  Orin tucked his knife inside the sleeping bag with him, and made sure I did the same with my folding knife. "I won't sleep tonight," he grumbled. "Not with strangers and darklings and rocks digging into my hips." But within an hour he was snoring, as I expected. A night owl he was not. I wondered if it was the same for all the faeries. Since darklings fade into the darkshine during the day, it makes sense for faeries to weaken at night.

  The firelight across the river dimmed and I heard no conversations on the wind.

  I lay on my stomach, my chin resting on my folded arms, and scanned the darkness for Delano. I knew I played with fire, but curiosity bested me. I had yet to see the cruelty Orin insisted darklings possessed. What I did see was another part of the fae, another glimpse into a magical world. The campfire crackled beside me, the flames warm against my face. Snow fell outside the bridge, reflecting the firelight like glitter floating in the night. Every shadow was in its proper place, however. I sighed and pulled the sleeping bag tight against my body. The river babbled around rocks in the dark. Perhaps Delano had fallen asleep in the darkshine and lost our trail. Or maybe he was out doing whatever it was darklings did.