Beneath Ceaseless Skies #95 Read online

  Yours,

  —Rosalie

  * * *

  R:

  No letter as yet from Eutropius.

  —E.J. (M.)

  * * *

  Dear Matron Jenkins,

  I have begun this letter twice over, and failed each time. It is perhaps emblematic of my greater failure: I cannot found a Jenkins School here.

  Since you asked me outright for my opinion, I have been trying to decide what that opinion is. Finally, some nights ago, I’m afraid I reverted to old habit and crept out on my own. It turns out I have not lost the knack, and the rooftops of Harkuma are just as navigable as the warehouse district. You’ll remember that I was given to doing this in my early days at the School; I believe it is how I first made your direct acquaintance. And it was what convinced me that I should remain at the Jenkins School, which is why I believed it would clarify my thoughts on this matter.

  On the stormless nights—those without automata concerts, that is—Harkuma is quiet, and one can see almost as far as Akkuma’s gleam across the desert. Each building is different, in the style of each owner’s homeland, and yet I was able to keep my footing. Finally I found a spot on the roof of one of the shelters by the market, looking not toward the desert but back toward the city itself. It is a large city, for all that it pretends to be small and scattered.

  For a long while I sat there, arms locked around my knees like Irra hearing a new story and hoping no one will notice her presence before the story ends, until a man’s voice spoke. “Grandma told me I might find you here.”

  I turned to see Pietro carefully climbing across the next roof over. He smiled, a little nervously, and slid down beside me, nearly dislodging a tile as he did so. “Did she truly?” I asked.

  “You’d be surprised at what Grandma Lyle can guess. Ask her sometime about her childhood.” He joined me in silence for a moment, watching the slow gold line of the late-night train departing. “Did you believe him?” he asked finally. “About Harkuma?”

  “Eutropius?” Pietro nodded. “I don’t know. Nobody does seem to belong here, to be honest.”

  “And yet he stays,” he said thoughtfully, “with his music and his business.”

  And his grief, I thought.

  After a moment, Pietro sighed and draped his jacket over my shoulders in much the same way as before. “Well, it’s not as though I can argue. I wasn’t born here, but my mother was, and my aunt—they’re both faciles in the other cities, maybe you’ll meet them on their circuits—but I came back here. We do keep coming back.”

  “So Lyle said.”

  “She was the first, you know. She and her friend in Akkuma. The first faciles.” He glanced at me, then away. “There aren’t nearly enough of us. It’s in the family, but there are only so many of us, and we’re needed all over—” He shrugged. “Could always use more in the family.”

  I think my silence may have dampened whatever point he was trying to make. But his words had sparked a new line of thought for me and I was too busy following that to discern his motives. “You’re right,” I said at last, rising to my feet. “You’re quite right.”

  “Am I?” He attempted to get up, slid, and settled for sitting upright.

  “Oh, yes. But this will be complicated.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back—despite the steel tooth, he has a perfectly nice smile when he’s not trying to be charming. “I must return to Cromwell House at once.”

  I believe he would have walked me home, save that he is much less adept at the roofwalk than I, even given my years away from it. I still have his jacket, though, and have yet to return it with proper thanks.

  Since then, I have come to an inescapable and unfortunate conclusion. Because of this, I am returning your investment. I have enclosed your initial startup funds for the Jenkins School under separate, registered cover. You may strike my name from the rolls of graduates if you like, or place me on the list of “nellies” you so often scorned.

  My reason is thus: if I am to start a school here, then it cannot simply be a Jenkins School. It must be a Harkuma school, for all of those who shuttle between worlds or might hope to do so; a facilis for the faciles, and it must be more than I alone can create.

  This is a risky endeavor, to say the least, and I know the Jenkins School’s reputation would suffer from a satellite’s failure, but whether this school succeeds cannot be dependent on the Jenkins name or even the Imperial tongue. I hope that this makes up in some way for what must be an unexpected betrayal.

  I’ve contacted a number of potential teachers—linguists among the translation corps of automata, the Lucan noblewomen and their attendants, some of the Kulap exercise masters. (I have also asked Eutropius if he would consider teaching the specifics of automata music. I believe he was so startled by the question that he did not immediately consider the ramifications of his assent.)

  So thank you, Matron, for sending me, and please know that I am more than grateful for all the Jenkins School has done for me. I hope I have not disappointed you.

  —Rosalie Syme, of Harkuma

  * * *

  My dear Rosalie:

  I regret to inform you that the children’s mechanical lobster has devoured the registered cover for the funds you sent. As a result, there is no way I can officially return them to our books, and so I’ve written them off completely. I have no choice but to send the funds back to you, with my blessing.

  Incidentally, I assume you can withstand a visit or two. I’ll be along in the spring.

  —Emma Jenkins (Matron)

  Copyright © 2012 Margaret Ronald

  Read Comments on this Story on the BCS Website

  Margaret Ronald’s fiction has appeared in such venues as Fantasy Magazine, Strange Horizons, Realms of Fantasy, and Clarkesworld Magazine. She is the author of “Dragon’s-Eyes” in BCS #9 and BCS Audio Fiction Podcast #7, and “A Serpent in the Gears” in BCS #34, set in the same world as “Salvage,” “Recapitulation in Steam,” and “Letters of Fire.” Soul Hunt, the third novel in her urban fantasy series and the sequel to Spiral Hunt, and Wild Hunt, was released by Eos Books in 2011. Originally from rural Indiana, she now lives outside Boston. Visit her website at http://mronald.wordpress.com/.

  Read more Beneath Ceaseless Skies

  SHADES OF AMBER

  by Marie Croke

  Vibrant. Like no one else Amm had ever seen. Her brother’s colors swirled with strong cries of fear and confusion across his tiny wet body. He glowed in shades of cyan and cerulean. Of bright sea and cloudless skies. He shone through the dullness that surrounded him so strongly that Amm flinched away, breathless at his beauty.

  Surely here was proof that the tribe was not falling so fast into darkness. Surely he would stand against the worry they held, telling them they wouldn’t descend into muteness, so far away from the cities where people shaded in extraordinary spectrums Amm could only imagine.

  She only wished he did not have a sister so limited in range, voice always muddied and blurred.

  * * *

  They presented him to the Black Veil two months after his birth—not the norm, but Amm’s parents wished to wait to be sure that his voice would not fade. Amm watched as Mother described the birth in shades of dried blood and fresh wine, her deep reddish tones conveying far more intricacies than either Father or Amm could ever hope to accomplish.

  The Black Veil watched patiently, her eyes hidden behind the dark drapery that hung down her body. When Mother finished her story and looked down once more at her son cradled in her arms, the Black Veil made no response for a long time.

  Then she lifted one dark hand and let them see a dull speckling of color. To Amm it looked as if the Black Veil was attempting to mimic her brother’s vibrancy, but without the power. Instead, the Black Veil’s voice came across cracked and mottled, the color she intended obvious but horrifyingly far from the hue it should have been.

  “Cerrune,” shaded the Black Veil. At least Amm thought that was what the Black Veil
shaded.

  Mother and Father bowed, their tones deepening in respect and streaking with delight. Amm followed them out, then averted her gaze as she realized Mother was admonishing her lack of respect for the Black Veil. When her Father rapped her upon the back of her head, she responded, “Why is someone so dark, who can barely form words that make sense, considered better than everyone else in the tribe?”

  “She has become such because of the pressures of leading us, helping us to survive,” shaded Mother. “It wasn’t always so. She was once the most vibrant of us all. No one else could match her then, just as no one now can match Cerrune.”

  “Did you ever see her when she was as vibrant as... Cerrune?” asked Amm.

  Mother became mottled in astonishment at the question. “No, of course not. I was too young. The Black Veil has been leading us since before I was born.” Then the astonishment dissipated, leaving in its wake a wistful pinkish blotch. “And in the future, mayhaps your grandchildren will speak to the fact that their once vibrant leader had been born in their line.”

  Amm sulked, though neither of her parents noticed, or if they did they didn’t care. They had a son named by the Black Veil herself, with a color range so expansive, with tinting so bright he outshone them all. They looked for all the world as if they were the happiest parents in the world.

  * * *

  Amm couldn’t be upset with Cerrune. Not when he shaded things he shouldn’t. Not when he garnered more attention with their parents. Not ever. He was simply too bright. Too cheerful. Too loving.

  She often brought him to the river with her, let him wade while she washed their clothes. He nodded to her when she shaded a warning to not let the water rise past his thighs. Saw her, though he often pretended not to see Mother’s coral shades telling him no, telling him he couldn’t play with the others because he had a destiny that didn’t include them.

  When Amm finished, she would hike up her dress, let him see the dark happy amber of her legs, and chase him until he crawled onto the shore with tired arms and curled up in the basket, waiting for her to heft it and carry him home.

  He’d sleep peacefully. Colors swirling lazily. Trusting her because she never hinted of destiny. Because she never shaded to him he had a path set out already.

  Her own sleep was never so peaceful. She’d dream of having the colors Cerrune had. Of seeing the voices of the world. Of being able to step beyond the tribe for herself.

  But she’d always wake with pounding heart, her colors churning in fear. For the dreams turned to nightmares the moment she stepped beyond the tribe’s protection where her range couldn’t scare off even the smallest of beasts.

  * * *

  When Cerrune turned ten, the Black Veil called the family to her side once more and appraised him. He shaded no fear, making Amm’s heart swell with pride. She’d been the one to teach him to stand up for himself, after all. Her parents had always enforced the opposite, trying to enforce blind obedience.

  As if someone as vibrant as Cerrune could be contained.

  “I am old,” started the Black Veil, her voice even more cracked and dull than it’d been ten years before, leaving Amm to wonder why the old woman bothered announcing her age at all.

  Amm must not have kept her thoughts as private as she’d thought because the Black Veil paused and glanced her way. She quickly schooled her body to a respectful shade.

  “I am old,” repeated the Black Veil, “And thus in need of a successor. Someone who knows how to carry himself. How to shade properly in as great a spectrum as possible. I had worried for a long time that no one would appear in our tribe. That the tribe would be forced to settle for a person of less capability. But you, Cerrune, have the capability to keep trade open with the cities, to learn new ways of keeping the tribe alive and well.”

  Amm had suspected the announcement, and so too had her parents, but that didn’t mean her colors didn’t churn inside. One part jealousy, one part pride, many parts worry that her brother would lose the beautiful colors that defined him and begin to take after the Black Veil.

  But she had no say in the matter.

  Cerrune bowed, his shades perfectly practiced to give the correct amount of respect and excitement at the Black Veil’s announcement and subsequent desire to have him begin his training.

  The Black Veil and their parents were too caught up with their own emotions to notice, so it was only Amm who saw the nervous shading that threatened to streak up from Cerrune’s heels.

  * * *

  She tried to visit him. At first without reason, thinking the fact that a sister wished to see what her brother had to shade about his new life would be reason enough.

  Amm thought wrong.

  The Black Veil’s shading might be difficult to discern at times, but her meaning was blatant when she was angry...and she was always angry to see Amm. As if Amm would somehow rub off on Cerrune. As if Father had told her of the things Amm used to shade to Cerrune—of the cities to the south so large it’d take a day to walk across them, or the mountains to the west that would take a month to climb. As if afraid that Cerrune might leave the tribe to follow the foolish desires of his sister.

  So Amm came up with other excuses. Carrying fresh water, bringing messages, assisting the assistants. She’d watch with rapt attention as Cerrune told her of the things the Black Veil taught him.

  “She shaded that I might be allowed to go to a city once to see what it is like. That I’d be able to survive the journey easily,” shaded Cerrune one afternoon when Amm had snuck in. The excitement overtook the rest of his coloring.

  She was startled. Not that Cerrune would be considered capable of surviving the beasts beyond their tribe, able to communicate effectively with others because of his spectrum, but because no one who’d left had ever come back.

  They were chosen, from time to time, those with color ranges that spread further than others. They were the tribe’s only hope for trade. Sometimes they sent back news, given only to the Black Veil for her to pass out. Sometimes they sent back medicines or spices that the assistants would distribute. Always there was a portion of harvests and weaved goods, along with painted messages, that were sent away to those living their lives in service far from home.

  “When?” Amm asked.

  He didn’t know and the Black Veil had not given him a season, but the excitement lingered for months, then years.

  * * *

  The girls in the tribe flirted with him, and their not-as-secret talks were dominated by how beautiful this one or that looked in the bright sun reflecting a rosy complexion or pale butterfly wings.

  Cerrune leaned close once, his chest the only part of him shading as if he feared the very walls had eyes. “The one with a range from ripened oranges to evergreen needles.”

  Amm nodded, making sure her tinting didn’t tease him too much. “I know her. Ferr. Always looking like apricot skin, voice so smooth she’s singing me to sleep when she shades.”

  Cerrune nodded, not noticing the laughter in Amm’s shading. “Yes, that’s the one. She’s absolutely beautiful.”

  Amm didn’t agree, but she didn’t disagree either. And from then on, for months, she’d sneak messages between the two, glad that her brother’s admiration was returned in kind by Ferr.

  Maybe a bit jealous as well. On rare occasions she’d sneak a peek at the streaks of berry juice cutting across the messages, noting how simple they seemed in comparison to the reality of color that existed in both Ferr and Cerrune. Those moments left her even more dull than ever, wishing she had a range that could be considered desirable in another’s eyes. Wishing she might be considered worthy of having a man shade the things Cerrune said to Ferr.

  More than those though, she wished she had a range that would let her survive on her own beyond the outskirts of the village.

  The moments passed and became nonexistent when Cerrune began to sneak away from the Black Veil’s large home to have secret meetings with Ferr. Then Amm didn’t have time f
or self-moping, too caught up with keeping their secret safe.

  * * *

  “I know what you’ve been doing,” shaded the Black Veil.

  Amm swallowed and kept her earth-toned, grey streaked body still as she focused in on the Black Veil’s dark hand, not wanting to miss a single speck of color.

  For a long moment the Black Veil was colorless. Then she shaded, “And I have no objections to Ferr. She has lovely shading, a beautiful range. Cerrune is silly to have hidden his desires. Being my successor does not mean he cannot be happy.”

  Amm felt her legs lighten and guessed that her shading must be more akin to a deep amber with how light-headed in relief she felt. Before she could collect herself to form a coherent response the Black Veil went on.

  “Of course, I had planned on sending her to a southeastern city. She has the tones and likely the ability to pick up their language quickly.”

  Amm slowed the swirling of her limited shades, unsure why the Black Veil was telling her this. Cerrune would be devastated if Ferr were to leave, but it’d be Ferr’s choice, or the Black Veil’s, not Cerrune’s. Not yet, at least.

  The Black Veil shifted behind her dark covering. “We shall see what I decide. Or rather, what Ferr decides.”

  Amm left wondering if the Black Veil knew how often Ferr visited Cerrune. Whether she’d known the whole time, or if Cerrune and Ferr had simply become indiscreet, leaving a message where one of the assistants could find it.

  She left wondering, but with no way to find out.

  * * *

  Afterwards, Amm berated herself for telling Cerrune. For he told Ferr, thinking she’d choose him over the possibility of experiencing life beyond their tiny circle of a tribe.

  “You should have known better!” shaded Amm, her body streaking brighter than it usually did. If only she could keep it up beyond the anger that lanced across her now.

  “I thought she loved me,” shaded Cerrune. “I thought she’d give up that option to be with me.”