The Brink of Darkness

by Jeff Giles

  “What did you name him?”

  Sylvie withdrew from her memories, and looked at Zoe, as if she’d just realized she was there.

  “You haven’t even told me your name,” she said.

  “I’m Zoe Bissell.”

  “And the lords know you’re freeing me?”

  “Sort of? I’m not great at asking permission.”

  “I never was either,” said Sylvie. “Be careful. This is where it landed me.”

  “I’m always careful,” said Zoe. “Well, semi-careful.”

  “If we only ‘sort of’ have the lords’ permission,” said Sylvie, “how are we going to get out of here?”

  “We’re just going to walk out,” said Zoe. “Actually, we’re going to crawl, swim, climb—and then walk. Are you up to it?”

  She stood, and reached down to Sylvie.

  “Probably not,” said Sylvie, “but fortunately, I’m stubborn—and any cell at all will be paradise compared to this.” She took Zoe’s hand, and stood now, too. “You have to tell me why you came for me. Please. Who are you to me?”

  Zoe said it as simply as she could.

  “I know your son,” she said.

  “My son?” said Sylvie. “My baby survived?”

  “He did,” said Zoe. “He’s beautiful.” She paused. “And I’m in love with him.”

  Sylvie put her face in her hands.

  “This is all so much,” she said. “Promise me again that this isn’t a joke of Dervish’s.”

  “I promise,” said Zoe.

  “How old is my baby now?” said Sylvie.

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty! I want to see him—to meet him.”

  “You’re about to.”

  “Now?”

  “Right now.”

  Zoe expected her to be ecstatic, but Sylvie’s face darkened.

  “He’s here in the Lowlands?” she said. “They kept him prisoner? A little boy?”

  Again, Zoe answered plainly because there was no shielding Sylvie from the truth: “They did. I’m sorry. I’m here trying to get him out.”

  Sylvie’s jaw tightened with anger. She took Zoe’s arm.

  “Well, now you’ve got help,” she said.

  They walked toward the chute. The crystals crunched beneath their feet, and glowed faintly, like snow.

  “My son—he loves you, too?” said Sylvie.

  “Yes,” said Zoe. “Can you believe it?”

  “I can,” said Sylvie.

  When they got to the chute, the flood had only just ended. There was still a dampness in the air. They peered down and saw, just barely, the top of X’s head.

  Sylvie hesitated, and took a few steps back.

  “My god,” she said. “There he is.”

  “Don’t be nervous,” said Zoe. “He’s not going to disappoint you.”

  “But he’s expecting a lord—a force of nature, an avenger,” she said. “What if I disappoint him?”

  “That’s what he said about you,” said Zoe, smiling. “You’re definitely his mom. Will you tell me what you named him?”

  “Of course, but he survived with no help from me,” said Sylvie. “He deserves to be called whatever he wants.”

  Zoe knelt by the chute, readying to help Sylvie down. She accidentally kicked a few crystals into the hole.

  “You did help him,” said Zoe. “Knowing you were out there, knowing how strong you were, knowing you loved him—it made all the difference.”

  Sylvie massaged some color into her cheeks.

  “Thank you for saying that,” she said. “You’re a very kind girl. I named him Xavier.”

  PART FOUR

  Ascension

  TWENTY-FIVE

  X waited beneath the chute in agony. His stomach felt like a wet rag someone was twisting.

  A handful of crystals tumbled down and landed at his feet. He looked up just as Zoe’s face appeared.

  She was crying.

  She must have failed.

  He felt all hope leave his body.

  “You could not find her?” he called. “It’s all right. I swear it. Do not trouble yourself about it.”

  Zoe shook her head.

  “I found her,” she said.

  She disappeared from view. X heard murmuring and a rustle of clothing. A woman in boots and a long blue-and-white dress descended toward him.

  His mother.

  After a lifetime of waiting, he didn’t feel ready. He had to put his hands in the pockets of his pants because they were trembling.

  Zoe guided his mother down the chute from above, pointing out where it was safe to put her feet. X heard Zoe say, “You’re doing good” and “You okay?”

  The first word he ever heard his mother say was yes.

  His mother’s back was to him, so he couldn’t see her, which made his stomach twist tighter. As she neared the ground, she reached a hand down for support. X took it. It was warm, and felt strong. She found the floor of the tunnel. She turned her head. Her face came out of the darkness, like the moon from behind clouds.

  “Is it really you?” she said.

  X nodded, afraid to speak. He didn’t want to cry in front of her.

  He took the silver packet from his coat, and put it gently in her hands, like a gift. She looked confused. She opened it slowly as if the foil might crumble. X watched her eyes widen: Vesuvius’s collar, the comb, the shard of porcelain … His mother’s eyes got shiny with tears. She began touching everything softly, reverently. When she got to the broken drill bit, her finger hovered over it uncertainly.

  “I was married to a man named Fernley,” she said. “I’m afraid to tell you what I did to him.”

  “I have heard the whole of your story,” said X. “You did only what cried out to be done.”

  His mother looked up at him.

  “The way you speak …,” she said.

  “Yes,” said X. “I’ll explain as soon as I have possession of myself again. Just now I am feeling overwhelmed.”

  “Me, too,” said his mother. “Can I hug you? Is it too soon?”

  “I’m afraid I might cry,” said X.

  It felt good not to pretend to be stronger than he was.

  “Go ahead and cry,” she said. “Your mother says it’s all right.”

  She put her arms around him, and X—though he knew it wasn’t possible—recognized the sensation somehow. He felt as if he’d hugged her before. His mother began crying first. When X felt her shaking, he broke down, too.

  “You came for me,” said his mother. “You found me.”

  “I wanted you to know that—that I’m okay,” said X. “That I lived. That I’ve thought of you always.”

  “I’m speechless,” said his mother. “I can’t believe I’m looking at you.”

  “What should I call you?” said X.

  “Anything you want,” she said. “Sylvie. Mother. You there. Anything but Versailles. I haven’t been her in a long time. And what should I call you? What does Zoe call you?”

  Zoe had climbed down. She stood behind them.

  “I call him X,” she said.

  Sylvie turned to her, stunned.

  “You’re serious?” she said.

  “Yes,” said Zoe.

  “Why is that so surprising?” said X.

  “When you were born,” said Zoe, “she named you Xavier.”

  X smiled for the first time.

  Up above, the water was rumbling, so the three of them ducked into the dry cove, and sat. X lit the space with a sweep of his hand. Zoe apparently felt he’d made the cove too bright, because she darkened it a few degrees with a sweep of her own.

  “Her eyes hurt,” she explained.

  X couldn’t stop staring at his mother. In his entire life, he’d only ever looked in a single mirror: the one in the Bissells’ bathroom, which Zoe had painted purple and Jonah had decorated with stickers of bugs. Still, X recognized himself in Sylvie’s face. It made him feel less alone. It made him feel answered. It made s
omething inside himself—something that’d always felt slightly askew—click into place.

  Sylvie stared back at him even more intensely, if it was possible. She took his hand.

  “Before we say anything else,” she said, “will you let me apologize?”

  “For what?” said X.

  “You really don’t know?” said Sylvie.

  “I swear it,” said X.

  “For giving birth to you in the Lowlands,” said Sylvie. “For giving you a life that wasn’t a life. For not staying with you, for not protecting you, for leaving you at the mercy of”—she gestured to the grim walls—“all this. I think I failed in every way a mother can fail.”

  “Don’t, Sylvie,” said X. “Don’t.” It was the first time he’d said her name. “You had no choice. As for what’s happened to me, I’m not—I’m not broken. I found Zoe. Now I’ve found you. I’m not ashamed of my life—not the slightest bit—and I would not give it back.”

  “My god, you’re kind,” said Sylvie.

  “No,” said X. “Truly, I—”

  Zoe nudged him with a foot.

  “Stop deflecting,” she said. “You are kind.”

  X grinned.

  “You’re right,” he told his mother. “I am incredibly kind.”

  Sylvie laughed.

  “You two are sweet together,” she said.

  Zoe nudged him again.

  “We are incredibly sweet together,” said X. “No one has ever been sweeter.”

  X wished they never had to leave the cove. He didn’t know what awaited them up in the stadium, and everything he wanted or needed was here.

  “When you were born, I demanded to hold you a moment—did you know that?” she said.

  Sylvie had the silver foil open on her lap. She was rolling the bloodstone button on her palm.

  “No,” said X.

  “I was surprised when Dervish agreed,” said Sylvie. “He probably knew it’d make it harder to give you up. He really wanted to torture me any way he could.” She paused, remembering. “I kissed your fontanel first, I think. Then your belly and toes. I may have the order wrong. I wriggled your fingers. I smoothed your little whorl of hair. Even now, I remember the weight of you in my arms—and I remember how empty my arms felt when you were gone. When Dervish shackled my wrists, I didn’t resist because after losing you, I—I didn’t want to hold anything else.” Sylvie was crying again. “I’m sorry. I’m not a weepy person. Not usually.” She pressed her fingertips against her eyes, and sighed. “Dervish and a guard brought me here—”

  “I call him Tree,” said Zoe.

  “Oh, he must like that,” said Sylvie. “He’s usually called Stick.”

  “He told us where you were,” said Zoe. “He was kind of badass about it.”

  “I always liked him,” said Sylvie. “Such funny hair. Dervish seethed at him the whole way here, but Tree kept whispering kind things like, ‘You will always be baby’s mother.’ And there was another one I thought about for years because it was so sweet. What was it? Oh, I remember: ‘Your son is beautiful. I have five brothers—every one of them is as ugly as me.’ ”

  Sylvie rubbed her wrists, where the manacles had stripped the skin.

  “There’s a lot I want to say, but I’m still feeling woolly-headed,” she told X. “Will you stop me if I ramble?”

  “No,” said X.

  His mother looked at him fondly—it was amazing how every glance of hers warmed him—and continued.

  “Dervish actually hummed when he chained me up to the crystal—and sang when he stuffed the rock in my mouth,” she said. “Then he put the hood over my head. The minute he was gone, I grieved over you so deeply that I didn’t even care where I was. Eventually, I convinced myself that the lords had set you free. That you had a family somewhere. I pictured you out in the real world, playing in the snow in your little-boy hat and your little-boy boots. They were like bedtime stories I told myself.” Sylvie stopped a moment. “It makes me sick that they kept a child prisoner. I’ve spent so long trying to let go of my fury at this place. My god, it comes back fast.”

  “I did find a family of sorts,” said X. “I was trained to be a bounty hunter by a woman named Ripper. She was the rarest of people, though I don’t think she believed it. I speak the way I do because of her.”

  “I’d love to meet her,” said Sylvie. “To thank her.”

  “Ripper is gone,” said X. “Taken. I do not know where.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Sylvie.

  X had tried not to think about how much he missed Ripper. She occupied such a particular space in his life that he couldn’t imagine anyone replacing her. Who could replace Banger, for that matter, with his candy, his silly slang, his almost unbelievable loyalty? Who could replace the Ukrainian with his funny fits of outrage? Or Plum with his fluttering hands? Sitting with his mother at last, X was blindsided by how many people he’d lost on the way to finding her.

  He said none of this out loud, not wanting to diminish the moment. Instead, he said: “Regent has been like a father to me.”

  Sylvie’s eyes brightened.

  “Regent,” she said. “I knew he’d protect you! I should have asked—I can’t believe I didn’t—do you know who your father is?”

  “His name, not much more,” said X.

  “I met Timothy in Montana,” said Sylvie. “Once they made me a lord, I used to sneak away from the Lowlands to walk in the mountains I grew up in. There was no one to stop me.”

  “What about the Higher Power?” said X.

  “Oh, the Higher Power isn’t much of a presence, is it? You’ve got to do something pretty outrageous to get its attention,” said Sylvie. “I came across Timothy on the trail to a place called Avalanche Lake. He picked flowers for me. No, wait, I picked flowers for him—that’s what it was. He put one behind his ear and another between his teeth, and did a funny Spanish dance for me, with the clapping over the head and everything. After being married to Fernley, who was just so repellent, I didn’t even know they made men like Timothy—men who were warm and full of life.” She turned to Zoe. “And gorgeous,” she said. “There wasn’t a plant or tree Timothy couldn’t identify—or an animal he didn’t respect. We ended up hiking in the woods a long time without speaking.”

  Sylvie smiled, and looked down at the bloodstone button on her palm.

  “And then we did some other things without speaking,” she said. “Timothy didn’t know what I was. I visited him off and on for weeks. Then I realized that I was endangering him—that I was being selfish. What if another lord discovered what I was doing? So I made myself stop going. It was brutally hard.”

  Sylvie put the button back in the foil.

  “I was shocked when I found out I was pregnant,” she said. “It didn’t make any biological sense. I mean, I was deceased. Maybe it was because I was a lord? Or because he was a mortal? I’m just guessing. When I realized that Timothy and I had made something together—something I could actually feel growing inside me—I wanted to tell him so badly it was crippling. I forced myself not to. I never saw him again.”

  As if to slough off the story’s end, Sylvie turned to Zoe and said, “Montana is beautiful. Have you ever been?”

  “I live there,” said Zoe.

  “You’re serious?” said Sylvie. “What a strange, strange day this is.” She put a hand on X’s. “Now tell me about you. I’ve done nothing but talk. They made you a bounty hunter, you said?”

  “Should I have refused?” said X. He was afraid of the answer. “I have often thought so because of the way the violence gets in your blood. Yet I was only ten when my training began, and all I knew was that something was finally happening to me.”

  “You were right to say yes—of course you were,” said Sylvie. “Look at me. People like you and your friend Ripper, people with consciences, are the ones who should be bounty hunters. They’re the ones who should be lords, too, for that matter. Anyone who just craves power should be ashamed. You kno
w why I trusted Regent from the very beginning? Because every time he had to hurt somebody it took him forever to forgive himself.”

  “I am no longer a bounty hunter, as it happens,” said X. “I have been forbidden to leave the Lowlands. I fell in love with Zoe, and I became … unreliable.”

  “My god,” said Sylvie, “your story’s so much like mine. Dervish must have lost his mind!”

  “I am not his favorite,” said X.

  “He hates us,” said Zoe. “Hates.”

  “You’re doing something right, then,” said Sylvie. “It’s important to be hated by the right people.” Her brow furrowed. “Zoe, I still don’t understand how you got here.”

  “I followed Dervish into a portal,” said Zoe. “I just jumped. It maybe wasn’t my best decision, but … I love your son. I was scared for him, and I thought I could help him find you. I wanted to try.” She paused. “Also, him and his friends are always showing up at my place unannounced.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were out of your mind,” said Sylvie. “But that’s what they said about me.”

  Sylvie stood up in the cove. She took something from the silver foil to keep for herself—she transferred it to her pocket so quickly that X couldn’t see what it was—and then returned the packet to him.

  “I’m ready to face whatever it is we have to face, if you are,” she said. “Who’s waiting up there for us?”

  “Regent, Dervish—and a mob of others with varying intents,” said X. “Oh, and Maudlin, too.”

  “Maudlin? Really?” said Sylvie. “Her real name is Mariette, by the way. I know I’m not supposed to say that, but it’s ridiculous that they call her Maudlin. She’s the least maudlin person I’ve ever known! She beat a doctor to death with a drill, for heaven’s sake.” She paused. “Does she still have Vesuvius?”

  “She does,” said X.

  “When Dervish and Regent came to take our souls, Mariette picked Suvi up to protect him, and then she couldn’t bring herself to let him go,” said Sylvie. “Did she tell you that?”

  “She did not,” said X.

  “I watched her try to put him on the floor as they rushed us toward the portal,” said Sylvie. “She absolutely could not do it. She loved him too much. So he came with us. I think he’d have wanted to, if we could have asked him. He loved her just as much.”