Like the rebels, Delano was born a light faerie, but seeing them together made it difficult to imagine. When he concealed his magic and wore his shades, Delano seemed mostly American. He craved takeout and Coca Cola, had a penchant for rock 'n' roll and dark-wash jeans, and impersonated Bugs Bunny with startling accuracy. Yet I spotted evidence he'd lived in the Realm. Like faeries, he used his index finger to point at objects, but his thumb to point at people unless displaying disrespect or superiority. When exhausted, a musical lilt slipped into his speech, which he immediately quashed when it touched his ears.
Otherwise, Delano might as well have not existed before December. He lived night to night, despite history as a Realm citizen, a prisoner, a slave, an illegal darkling. I knew he grew up as a changeling for fifteen years in nearby Sonora during the 1940s and 1950s, and was the second youngest of four children, all fair-haired sisters. But he avoided details and rarely mentioned the faerie parents he'd lived with in the Realm until his aging stopped and his magic developed at age twenty-nine. He'd been coupled for seven years with his murdered darkling partner, Lydia, yet displayed no photos or mementos. When I pushed for details, Delano's casual expression had shivered, like the hum of an electric fence warning approachers to back off.
"—believe that!" Delano was saying. Apparently one of his batteries no longer held a charge. Delano blamed Cham. Cham blamed Delano. It sounded as if the battery just got old, but what did I know?
A rebel stepped from around the general store in faded black jeans and a gray T-shirt, an AK strapped across his back, golden hair peeking from a gray watchman's cap. Unlike the other recruits, he held himself confidently, and his Caribbean blue eyes were so vibrant they—
"Orin!"
Delano jumped as I pushed past and threw my arms around the faerie retriever who had whisked me onto the journey of a lifetime. I hadn't heard from him since he forsook the Realm to save my life, and joined the rebels to survive. Before we had parted, I couldn't touch his back because of his flogging. Now, disfigured flesh beneath his shirt padded my fingers. "Where have you been? I was so worried! Are you okay? Oh my God! How are you?"
Orin chuckled. He hugged me tight; the rebels gaped as if he bit into the Thanksgiving flamingo. Even Vina's eyes were platters. "I've been near Canada." His arms were warm comfort, like the shelter of a magnolia tree. My night magic clutched his faerie-fever, and his body-heat flew into mine. I yanked my magic back as Orin jerked away, his eyes wide.
Orin cleared his throat, then looked me over. "Wow. They told me you rejected the darklings, but I needed to see for myself."
Wind bayed and the faeries' teeth chattered. Frost crept past our feet. "Her remaining outside the darkshine's frequency doesn't mean she rejects anything," Delano said.
Orin stiffened. His breath steamed. "Hello, Delano."
"Hello, mockingbird." Delano's glare shifted to Cham. "Speak your piece and leave. You caught me on a bad night."
"The darkling death?" Cham said.
Delano's eyebrows arched. "You felt that?"
"Of course not. Despite your allegations, I refuse to touch darkling magic. But it is what I wanted to discuss. The idiot sniffer who murdered Jenara didn't secure the generational lines. A predetermined darkling line was in Mariposa, and very pregnant."
"So? There's plenty of time for the Realm to move—" Delano's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean was?"
Cham simpered. "Bavol is eager to uphold the original rule, and paid handsomely for our intel. Looks like a future darkling will be raised in Yosemite."
I gasped. "Bavol kidnapped the mother?"
"I hear he's imprisoning her along Tioga."
That poor woman. I doubted she understood her ancestry: a history of virtuous faeries who'd agreed to a magical pact, forfeiting their fertility and light to serve dark and cold magic. Families who pledged their preordained children to become changelings for fifteen years on Earth, bonding them to Earth and humanity before finally initiating them into darklings. All so Earth—the Realm's illegitimate child—could survive. Most rarely, if ever, saw their children after they became darklings. An ultimate sacrifice to right an ancient mistake.
No. The authoritarians who now governed the Realm wielded intense propaganda to revise history in the public's minds, determined to destroy Earth life and exploit the planet's resources. The poor mother probably cowered in a cave, wrongly believing Bavol sought revenge against the bloodlines who "imprisoned" him in the darkshine.
I rubbed my temple. "This is awful."
Cham grunted. "Considering the Realm regulates the bloodlines, it's more of a rescue than a kidnapping."
My stomach knotted. I wondered how my faerie parents felt when Delano had sought me as an infant. An attempted kidnapping in their eyes; a justified rescue in his.
"Wait a minute," Delano said. "How did you know a preordained family line was nearby, and sell the information to Bavol so quickly?"
Cham raised his chin. "I'm that good."
Delano busted out laughing and I tuned out the following vitriol. Our darkling neighbor is working with the rebels? Okay, it was more of a glorified using than working, and Bavol probably only did it so his partner's death wasn't in vain, but it was better than our rebel-relationship. Keys tinkled on the carabiner dangling from Cham's belt-loop. Hope puffed my chest. Delano mistrusted the rebels, but he could align with another darkling, right? Maybe that could bridge differences. Maybe we could find mutual ground to rally against the Realm together. Especially with Orin here. He was already on my side. Who knew? Maybe I could create a connection through Vina, too.
Orin caught me looking at him. A sensation of wishes floating on dandelion seeds softened his battle-ready expression. I smiled when he winked.
"Go screw yourself, Delano," Cham said. "I'm trying to warn you Realm sentries might swarm your territory."
"Wonderful," Delano grumbled. "You better not bill me."
Cham scoffed. "You're too broke to pay."
"Maybe I should charge rent," Delano said. "Or make you volunteer some of your recruits to become darklings and fill the empty territories. If they want to tinker with night magic, might as well go all in. Take the darkshine and become useful for once."
Several faeries gasped; boots shuffled, crunching the parking lot's gravel. Cham shook his head and waved his hand at them. Relax, the motion said. "Our ancestors never agreed to a magical pact; we owe the dark nothing," he said with a snort. "We fight to reclaim the Realm from corrupting thieves. No way will we take the darkshine and be expelled forever from the home we're risking our lives for."
"Without darklings, you can wipe out half of Earth, including the humans we swore to protect."
"We'll worry about Earth and humans afterwards," Cham said, shrugging. "We'll fight our fight, you fight yours. Although, I suggest changing your strategy. Hate to break this to you, Delano. You're a dying race." He smirked at me. "Work on convincing your own replacements."
Cham turned to leave and the rebels followed.
"Wait!" I hurried to Orin, clasped his forearm. "See me later, okay? I wanna catch up."
Orin glanced nervously at Cham. He swallowed, then grinned his sunshine grin. "How's Beardsley? Saturday, noon?"
I beamed, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "I can't wait."
Chill oozed off Delano as the rebels headed out, several sniggering and poking Orin as they vanished around the shop.
CHAPTER FOUR
Delano and I strolled along the campground path, an orange chainsaw strapped to his back. He had been lecturing about vegetation and human interference since our rebel meeting two days ago, along with influences on wildlife development, food sources, carrying capacities, and magical indications.
I stopped jotting notes as we passed a fire-lit campsite, rowdy with beer-drinking twenty-something-year-olds, their voices too loud for the night's tranquility. Delano sneered at their ATVs, but when they waved as we passed, we waved back.
Ping! Ping! A clump of
moths fluttered around Delano's head. "Come, Del! Play! Del! Del! Del-UH-noo! Play!" they sang in childlike voices.
"I can't. I have work to do." He waved them away as firelight faded behind us. "So, where were we?"
I glanced at my notes. "Human water impoundment and hydroelectric activity effects on local vegetation, and the dispersal of its flora interrelations."
"Ah, yes. It is conspicuous in the mid to low elevations, evident when—"
I struggled to absorb his knowledge. The dark's magic begged for playtime, which made lectures agonizing. But I also relished these lecture nights because I loved listening to Delano discuss his territory and responsibilities in his low voice. I loved his passion, his wide smiles and sparkling eyes, his gesticulations. Sometimes I felt shy and embarrassed playing witness, as if we traveled through open-aired temples instead of groves, a line of prayer tucked into each lesson. For Delano didn't just love the firs; he stood tall beside them. He didn't just love the mountain air; he exhaled wind with every sigh. Granite flexed in his muscles. Grasses swayed in his hair. Moonlight twinkled when his eyes slid up my body.
Little boys might be made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails, but darklings are made of stars and gales and meadow foxtails.
I watched Delano walk a tightrope of darkness, his arms swaying for balance. Are all darklings like him? I wondered. Do they all carry their territories like a tortoise shell?
My darkling associations were limited to Delano and a frightful desert night, when Orin had killed Gethen and Melinda because he believed my life had been at stake. Despite Delano's home bordering a double-darkling territory to the south, I'd never met our neighbors. Now we had only one south neighbor. One grieving neighbor. One lonely neighbor, as isolated as us.
Above, oak leaves rustled and nested birds dreamed of songs and wings. We approached another campsite, dark and settled for the night. A cooler sat on the picnic table. A tethered German shepherd stood when we approached. Delano pressed a finger to his lips. Shhh. The German shepherd's tail wagged. Delano pulled drinks and granola bars from the cooler, then tossed the dog all the hotdogs before closing the lid.
"We should visit Bavol," I said as we veered off the campground and into the woods, sipping canned iced teas. "Make sure he is okay."
Delano gagged on granola. "Absolutely not."
"But he lost his partner, his love."
"And he will suffer alone. Darklings are stabilizers for their territory's magics, and it's like a short-circuit when another darkling trespasses. Especially two males. I can't hop over there with a pound cake to discuss our feelings. Bavol will rip out my throat."
"You've crossed territories before," I said.
"And those darklings are still furious." His eyes slid up my body, twinkling. "Except that was worth the risk."
I turned from his stare. "But Yosemite is on Bavol's territory. Have you seen it?"
"Yes. When I was a changeling, and magic played no part in my life."
I stared south-east, as if I could peer through the forty miles of trees and streams separating us from the National Park. "It must be breathtaking."
He shoved his empty wrapper into his pocket. "Uh huh. Bavol's territory is very pretty."
"Pretty? It's legendary. Bridalveil Fall, El Capitan, Half Dome. Gah! I'd love to see Half Dome."
Delano frowned. "Heyyy, my territory's not so bad. And it's bigger…"
"Oh! Your territory is wonderful," I said. "But, still, it's Yosemite! I begged Sam to go for our honeymoon, but it was too expensive."
"Well, write Bavol a letter explaining how you want us to visit. When he's done laughing and replies, we'll evaluate his threats and decide if a vacation is worth risking. Okay?"
I sighed. Crickets chirred. A breeze rippled past us, carrying whiffs of pine and soil. We finished our snacks and stopped inside an old tree stand. Delano unstrapped the chainsaw, then cupped his hands around his mouth and called out a series of squeaks, squawks, and chitters. Wings flapped and tiny feet scurried as wildlife fled the grove.
I took the safety glasses and earplugs he offered from the backpack. A raccoon brushed my shins. Usually, Delano brought the chainsaw to chop fallen trees into firewood, then we'd rush to sell it to humans before the rebels sold theirs. But we stood in manicured land, close enough to the campground to hear the party's ruckus. The surrounding trees were majestic giants ideal for wedding backdrops and postcards, hardly a twig on the ground.
"What are we doing?"
Delano slipped on his safety glasses. "An unauthorized blight wiggled into this cedar grove. I need to kill these trees or it'll spread and destroy the species."
"Won't magic kill them?"
"Of course." Delano grinned at me with an expression I can describe only as 100% American Male. "But then I can't use my chainsaw."
Delano yanked the cord until the engine growled. My eyes flicked toward the campground. "Um, is this legal?"
"Nope." He revved the saw in three bursts. RREE! RREE! RREE!
"The campers will hear us!" I said, squishing an earplug into my ear.
"Yep."
"Won't they call the authorities?"
"Probably."
Teeth whirled. RRRREEEE! I back pedaled as bark flew, my heart pounding. It felt like Delano was cutting the pillar of a cathedral. Several minutes later the treetop swayed … leaned …
We scurried away as the tree crack-crack-CRACKED and collapsed with a resounding BOOM! Dust swirled. Awakened birds squawked in the distance. But as the giant fell I'd felt its sigh of relief, a grim thank you for an assisted suicide.
Delano popped out an earplug. The engine puttered. "We'll go home after this so you won't be exhausted for your meeting with Orin."
"Thanks," I said, smiling. "I've been so worried about him. It'll be great to catch up." Seeing him the other night, with his sunshine-Orin smile, meant goodness in my life, and I'd grab any goodness possible. I missed him, missed our friendship. He appeared to have rank with the rebels, too. A promotion at last, and local stability.
"Please be careful," Delano said. "The Realm enforces a childlike attitude among their sentries. Orin was handed a gun and led to believe the Realm was God. Now he's holding the gun, but has no God to go with it. Things are different. Especially since you're using night magic."
Thinking I needed to protect myself around Orin felt like slipping on chainmail to bottle-feed puppies. "Orin is different, too," I retorted. "He was against darklings because he believed they were evil. Now he knows the truth."
"Orin understands logically, but he can still react emotionally. And emotionally is where the Realm inserts their programming," Delano said. "He is your friend, but the world has betrayed and changed him, and I want you aware so you can protect yourself. Especially since Orin's magic is impressively strong. Most faeries manipulate and communicate with light, warmth, and nature; it's a rare, strong few who control it."
The chainsaw revved. RRRREEEE! My thoughts chewed Delano's words as wood-chips spat, unable to recall oddities regarding Orin's magic. Of course, we'd only spent about ten days together, hitchhiking. (Wow. Was that all?) Most of my magical knowledge came from Delano.
A treetop swayed and a cracking trunk leaned. It caught momentarily in its neighbor's branches, then BOOM! Sigh. Thank you.
Delano climbed over the fallen tree to reach his next patient.
"If Orin's so dangerous, why did the Realm waste his talents as a border sentry grunt?"
Delano's eyebrows lifted. "That's exactly where the Realm would put him. The border is a collision of dimensions, and Orin is talented enough to work those frequencies and magics. The Realm knows Orin's gifts, even if he doesn't. He was probably being groomed for a sniffer position."
I stared at the fresh stump surrounded in sawdust. "I can't imagine Orin as a sniffer."
"He killed two darklings," Delano said pointedly. "And God knows how many faeries over the years."
"That's different. Orin believed he was pr
otecting me."
Delano laughed darkly. "I'm sure he believed it. That's what scares me. He has trusted the Realm to tell him what is good or evil. He's not the so-called good faerie you think he is." Delano revved the chainsaw; it hiccupped and died. He glowered and fussed with the choke.
"Well, Orin's not evil."
"No, he's evil's bitch," Delano said, and directed his full attention at me. "Evil, true evil, rarely arrives as a devil or a sordid stranger twirling his mustache. Evil arrives with promises and a charismatic smile, spouting love, giving gifts, wearing a fake skin of compassion. It uses no guns—not at first, anyway. Its weapon is a hug and sparkling lies. It weasels into the loving hearts of its victims, slowly strangles them with fear and guilt disguised as concern, until the people's goodness is manipulated and ignorantly wielded for depravity. By then, the beautiful, deadly light they've been doused in has blinded them. In general, people—fae and human—desire to do good, but they're easily manipulated. For here is a universal truth I've learned: Most people want to feel as if they are doing good; few strive to do good. They'll drop a dollar into a charity bucket because they feel charitable, but how many people explore where their money goes or how much? A nickel to the dollar? Maybe none? Fooled by a bright smile and the photo of a bruised child or a starving pet, they surrender money and compassion to a conman who funds whatever he desires, because of how good it made them feel."
I frowned. "You make kindness sound awful."
"Absolutely not! Kindness is desperately needed. It is the evil that corrupts kindness which needs the light shined upon it."
"But the Realm is the light."
"Now you see the dilemma." Delano smiled tightly. "And it's persistent. Until we discover how to shine dark in the light, nothing shall change. But I digress. The point is, that light has blinded Orin for a lifetime. I agree he wants to be good, but he needs to figure out what good and evil are. Until he does, it's best to watch yourself. He looks like a sunflower, but trust me. That guy is all hemlock."
Dark Ember Page 3
