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In the blistering darkness, before Adaine understands what’s going on, someone grabs onto her.
She doesn’t have it in her to be afraid. Her heart’s already in her throat and she’s sick with it, and Riz is screaming and everything is black and black and black and she thinks all of them are screaming too. There are wings soaring above them and she thinks, hysterically, maybe the Night Yorb isn’t a legend, maybe they’ve survived one impossibility just to spur another into life.
Her eyes adjust within seconds, torturous and indefinite seconds where she can’t understand what’s going on. And then she sees it, the shape of it, bigger than anything she has ever been able to imagine.
Adaine stares and hiccups in shock, heaves breaths in and out and in and in and in, black stars dancing at the edges of her vision, until the hands around her shoulders drag her backwards so her back is against someone’s chest, both arms holding her tight around her waist. She struggles until one hand loops up to her collarbone and taps twice, a sharp, clear motion. There’s not a meaning to it, not one that she knows, but it’s too intentional to be anyone other than one of the Bad Kids.
Adaine leans back, still breathing shallow, watching as Riz’s body drops to the ground, hard. Fig darts forward and pulls him back into the fold, this little knot of them, this last safe haven as the night spreads across the sky.
Whoever’s holding onto her is taking deep breaths. Adaine can’t tell if it’s exaggerated for her benefit or if they really can’t breathe and they’re trying to calm themself down too, but it doesn’t matter. It’s a lifeline, so she follows the cue and takes deep breaths, deeper, slower, slower.
Eventually she lifts a hand to the one still tangled around her collarbone, fingers threaded through her hair, and squeezes. The hand squeezes back, and the pressure lifts. Adaine doesn’t step away.
“What the fuck was that,” Fabian says finally. The words rumble through his chest, and he’s still close enough behind her that Adaine can feel it too. “Was that the Ni—”
“Don’t say it!” Kristen yelps. “Don’t say it, what the fuck was that?”
“Can everyone see?” Gorgug says, a note of panic to it. “Are we all good?”
Kristen kneels down and presses her fingertips to a stone on the ground. It blazes to life, roaring with a murky purple light. Adaine has seen Kristen’s light before, even her new twilight. It’s always bright and clear.
“I don’t think that’s normal,” Fig says. There’s something shocked and empty to it, like she can’t believe it. There are people screaming, all their crystals are ringing, Adaine’s ears are ringing. All she knows are the black above her and Fabian’s arms still loose around her waist.
“A lot of things about this aren’t normal,” Fabian says, and Adaine melts into it a little, because she doesn’t know how to stand on her own. Shouldn’t she have known about this? A vision, an omen, a something—
“Well, don’t look at me,” Kristen grumbles, and Fig barks out a laugh that’s at least a quarter sob, and then Adaine looks up at the dark, dark sky and tries to find the edges of it.
Nothing. Nothing at all.
#
So, pandemonium. Obviously.
Elmville’s in a fucking state. None of the light is bright enough, not magitech, not magic, not divine. There are reports that the darkness is spreading. Ayda appears in Mordred Manor and even her fire isn’t enough to illuminate much. Adaine can see in the dark, all of the Bad Kids can, but it’s still oppressive. It feels like living in a bubble.
Aguefort Academy sets up a shelter. Jawbone’s helping, which means Adaine ends up huddled in the back of his office as he does something actually useful, handing out food or kind words or whatever. She can’t do that, not yet.
No, Adaine is scrunched up in the smallest corner she can find, with Kristen’s glowing rock that’ll keep her going until the cantrip sputters out and caves in beneath the oppressive night. Adaine has her eyes closed, as though that makes any real difference. Adaine is trying to see through the darkness anyways.
She should’ve known, shouldn’t she? She should’ve seen, she should’ve been able to warn someone. She should’ve… done something about it. Called someone. Talked to Aguefort.
There’s a gentle rap on the door, two knuckles. “Adaine?”
“Yes,” she breathes out on an exhale. And then, when that doesn’t seem like it’s loud enough, “I’m here.”
“I know,” Gorgug says, a little louder. She can imagine his head poking around the edge of the doorway, hair flopping in front of his face. “Just checking.”
“Is Riz—”
“Still sleeping.”
Adaine doesn’t think it counts as sleeping, personally. She thinks that it’s unconsciousness, or maybe exhaustion if she’s feeling generous, after accidentally summoning an apocalyptic supernatural creature. Adaine cannot stay in a room with him right now, because if she had just seen this then Riz would be awake.
And no, that’s not how it works. Adaine knows that’s not how it works. But she still cannot, cannot, cannot look at him.
She thought it was a joke. They all thought it was a joke.
“You hungry?” Gorgug asks after a second. “Thirsty?”
“No.”
“Take a second and think about it for me?”
Adaine doesn’t want to open her eyes. She doesn’t want to think about anything at all. But it’s Gorgug, so she breathes in through her nose, out through her mouth, swallows hard, and says, “No. No, I’m okay.”
“Okay,” Gorgug says quietly. “Okay, Adaine.”
#
Eventually, when self-flagellating doesn’t work for Adaine (or Kristen, or probably any of them) they end up in the cafeteria. They’re not the only ones there but they might as well be, sitting cross-legged in a circle, knee to knee to knee. Adaine’s sandwiched with Fabian on her left and Fig on her right, hands tucked up near her chest because she can’t bring herself to relax.
The gym is the infirmary. and Riz is there, still… still not awake. Adaine’s trying not to think about it, about the way the angles of their little circle aren’t quite right.
“It’s spreading fast,” Kristen reports, “and nobody’s entirely sure what’s up with it. We’d try to get a research team going, but…”
But Riz isn’t here, and none of them are as good as him. Except Adaine, maybe, but she has to shake that thought off of her before it tries to seize her. “It seemed like people in Leviathan knew about it, could Ayda—”
“She’s looking,” Fig says. She looks exhausted, but even her eyes manage to light up at the mention of Ayda. “She’s going to travel for research about it and everything, it sounds badass. I told her I’d help, but only after things are a little settled here.”
“Is the sun still out in Leviathan?” Adaine asks. It’s probably not going to make her feel any better to hear the answer, but she’s morbidly fascinated by the idea of it anyways. The darkness spreading, just barely slow enough to see it coming.
Fig shrugs. “She’s taking notes, ask her when she’s back?”
“What we need is to wake up The Ball,” Fabian says, just a touch impatient. “Do we think that’s going to happen on its own?”
It’s been… Adaine thinks it’s been a handful of hours. It’s hard to say. She hasn’t exactly been checking her crystal, and her grasp on day and night has already started slipping, which doesn’t bode well for how this whole Night Yorb thing is going to go.
Kristen purses her lips, not looking particularly happy. “I tried a Greater Restoration and I think it helped, but I don’t think it helped helped.”
“Maybe he’s just sleeping it off,” Gorgug tries, although he doesn’t sound optimistic about it. “What are the other choices?”
Fig glances between Kristen and Adaine, knees jostling both of them as she bounces slightly. “If there’s a magic effect, do you guys think you could figure it out together? Do some kind of arcane something? You know, diagnose it?”
Adaine is not at all confident that she could diagnose anything right now. She has never felt so brittle in her own body. When she looks up at Kristen, she can see that same uncertainty reflected, and it takes a second for Adaine to orient herself. Kristen is unsure of herself, of her own abilities. Not Adaine. For some reason, nobody else appears to be blaming Adaine.
“The rest of us can get you components,” Gorgug offers. “Buddy system seems like the move right now.”
All of them wince at that. The school isn’t just a school right now, it’s something like a reunification center. They’re lucky that Sandra Lynn and Jawbone had swept in with military efficiency to try and commandeer civilians before Aguefort could get all insular and Aguefort-y about it. There are families and adventuring parties that are split up, stranded in the dark. Especially humans, and halflings, and other species that can’t see through the dark.
“Buddy system,” Fig agrees. “What do you think? What would you need?”
Time, Adaine wants to say. The word gets caught in her throat, wedged sideways. It feels like the only impossible thing she could ask for right now. She needs to figure out what this is. She needs to call Fallinel. She needs to ask Jawbone if he’s seen Aelwyn.
But Riz doesn’t have time. Elmville doesn’t have time.
They’re looking at her. They’re all looking at her. Adaine’s mouth is open, although she can’t remember opening it, or if she had something she wanted to tell them. A strange little hiccup escapes her, and it sounds awful, and oh, god, oh god.
There’s a hand on her left thigh, hovering barely light enough to touch. Adaine’s knee jerks, and the hand taps twice, then presses down in a steady pressure. It’s enough to remind Adaine to take a breath.
All of them are used to it by now, to Adaine ducking her face into her arms and waiting for the storm to pass. Normally she’d leave and try to get some space, but she thinks that today the thread tying her to her friends is a part of her, and if she stepped away she’d unravel and spool into the night sky.
“You should sleep,” Fabian says quietly. It’s his hand, she realizes, the heel of his palm pressed into the meat of her thigh, his thumb searing a line along her femur. “Trance. Whatever. You’re not going to be much good to The Ball right now.”
“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” Fig protests immediately. “Like, what are you doing that’s going to help him?”
“Making sure Adaine rests,” Fabian says, as though it’s obvious. “It’s called a long-term investment, Figueroth.”
If Riz were there, he’d say that it’s really more like medium-term, and even that is a pretty short-sighted view of the future. Adaine can hear it, so clearly, so certainly, in the back of her head. It’s a comfort, even as Fig reaches across her to smack at Fabian’s shoulder and as he smacks back, so Adaine is suddenly caught in the middle of a slap-fight. She can almost imagine Riz laughing at them all.
#
Jawbone has a cot in his office, and Adaine posts up there to trance. It’s safer than the trek back to Mordred, and she also can’t bear to leave when she knows that in the gym, Riz is still — is still—
In Adaine’s dreams, she can see in the sunlight, almost searing in its clarity. She can’t tell if it means anything.
Prophecies, she decides. A promise that the light will return.
#
When she’s awake and alert again, she makes the long, slow journey to the gymnasium. She passes Sandra Lynn, who gives her a good hug and sends her on her way, and then far too soon she finds Riz.
It’s easy, considering that Fabian is there next to him. He’s lying down, but it’s the opposite direction of all the other beds, his white hair poking into the aisle. His eyes are closed, but they open to the sound of Adaine’s footsteps. “Feeling better?”
“No,” Adaine answers curtly, and she drops to her knees on the opposite side of Riz’s bed, not quite looking at him. “Thank you. For making sure I had time to rest.”
Fabian doesn’t answer, so Adaine reaches out to rest a hand on Riz’s ankle. Has he always been this fragile, this easy to touch and to break? “I’m going to try and see what’s going on,” she says quietly. “I won’t be good conversation.”
“I’m trying to sleep,” Fabian says, but he doesn’t sound bothered. “Do your thing, The Ball and I can wait.”
Adaine doesn’t specialize in healing magic, but she knows magic. She knows the way it breathes and moves, the way it has its hands curled around Riz, its fingers buried in his chest. She closes her eyes, opens them, and looks.
And it’s there.
It takes hours, hours to see and understand and get to know it. She thinks at one point Jawbone finds them. She thinks at one point she cries, but she can barely feel it. The shape of this thing, this monster that is trying to devour Riz, is trying to be unknowable, but Riz doesn’t allow things to be unknowable. And neither can she.
So Adaine looks at it. Looks, and looks, and pushes every ounce of magic out of her and into this thing. She is going to understand it inside and fucking out, and she is going to pry every last bit of it away from Riz, and Fabian, and the Bad Kids and Elmville and away from her.
The ritual ends, eventually, and the imprints of magic fade from the back of her eyelids, and it’s just her and her best friend’s body in the school cafeteria.
Adaine is shaking, hard enough that her nails are skittering against the gym floor. She needs a pen and paper. Her jacket is warm and heavy around her, and she manages to push one hand into the pocket and feel around until the pen and paper come out. She’s gripping them so hard that the paper is wrinkling beneath her fingers.
“Adaine,” Fabian says, and she jumps. She’d forgotten he was there. “Give it here. Tell me what you saw.”
She stares at him, blank and uncomprehending, until he reaches for the pen and paper, slow, telegraphing every slight motion. “Tell me,” he repeats.
Adaine lets him take the pen and paper, and waits for him to smooth it out to his satisfaction. There is a spell, or a poultice, or a ward, or a something, that is going to burn the Night Yorb out of Riz once and for all.
“This isn’t everything,” she tells him. Her voice is shockingly hoarse. “Kristen’ll probably need to do the same thing, and get divine components, and I don’t know what—“
“We can figure that out later,” Fabian says, an edge of impatience, an honest franticness. “Tell me everything before you forget.”
Most of it is the kind of thing that’ll need either adventures or luck to obtain. Fur from some beast that she has to describe, because she couldn’t recognize it; that’ll be Fig and Gorgug’s to get. A certain kind of water, and she’ll have to talk to Kristen about that, because Kristen will understand what it needs to be. And, most and least straightforward of all, a formerly-cursed sapphire.
“It has to be formerly cursed,” Fabian says, like he’s checking. “As in, it was cursed, and the curse was removed?”
“That’s right.”
“Jesus Christ, Adaine.”
“I’m not happy about it either,” she mutters petulantly. “I’d make it easier if it were up to me.”
Fabian barks out a laugh. “Well, it’s not up to you. But it’s early, everyone else is sleeping. What do you say we get a head start on this side quest?”
Adaine almost asks what time it is before she realizes it doesn’t exactly matter. They’ll be surrounded by darkness either way. It should be easy enough to text the rest of the Bad Kids with their new missions.
And, if she’s honest, there’s an itch burrowed deep under her skin. There’s a kind of desperation that she can’t bring herself to claw at, even as it claws through her. She needs to figure out what’s going on. She needs to save Riz, and she’s not about to do it sitting here.
“Sure,” Adaine says. “What do you have in mind?”
#
The Seacasters have sapphires. Of course the Seacasters have sapphires.
They make their way out of Aguefort carefully. Both of them can see well enough in the darkness, but this isn’t the normal kind of darkness. It feels like it’s nipping at their heels, pulsing in the sky, ready to snap its jaws shut at the slightest provocation.
Adaine has always understood the limits of being able to see in the dark. They had never made that substantial of a difference, because she always knew that it was a temporary affliction. One day she would exit the heavy black around her and she would be able to see again, to really see the world around her.
Now, though, the bubble of a couple dozen meters around her is oppressive. Every time she swivels her head, she can feel bits of her peripheral vision pop out of existence, subsumed by the night. Now she turns and her range of motion feels so limited, so small. She is impossibly tiny in this world.
The only condolence she has is that Fabian isn’t small. Not even here, not even now. She’d seen him small, in… in Leviathan, and all that. But he has a confidence now that he didn’t then, sheet slung over his shoulder, sparking with magic and courage.
He’s sixty feet tall in Adaine’s mind. It’s a comfort.
“Do you know if any of your family sapphires have been cursed?” she asks as they turn the corner onto the street. They’re clinging close together, not quite touching, but hovering near each other. Ready to pick one another up.
“Not specifically,” Fabian hedges. “It feels like a statistical likelihood, but…”
“But that’s different than knowing,” Adaine finishes. “Then, what, are we supposed to get a lucky guess? Or try each one until one works?”
“I had a different plan, actually. Do you know how to curse objects?”
“Theoretically, sure, but—”
“Do you know how to remove a curse?”
“Again, theoretically, but not a very powerful one.”
Fabian shrugs. “Then you add and remove it yourself. Homegrown cursed sapphires. And that gets rid of all the trial and error.”
Adaine stops short, a little surprised. “That’s brilliant.”
“You don’t have to sound surprised,” Fabian says lightly. It’s the kind of lightness where Adaine isn’t sure what it actually means, whether it’s a joke or whether she’s snagged on the edge of some old wound.
“I’m not surprised,” Adaine answers, because she’s not. “It’s just so completely not the way I would’ve thought of it.”
“Someone has to be The Ball while we don’t have The Ball,” Fabian murmurs. “I figure between the two of us, that’ll be good enough, right? Your brains, my wit?”
Adaine goes to answer, but there’s a loud noise to one side. She whips her head around, and she can tell, she can tell there’s something there, but she can’t see far enough in the dark to know what it is.
She flashes her Furious Fists to life anyways, magic at the ready. She almost wants to shout at it: scream something cool like do you want to try me, motherfucker? and see what happens. It’s a horrible idea, and she can’t do it, and she shouldn’t do it. But the words are at the edges of her mouth, clacking together behind her teeth.
The sound fades, something scurrying away from them. She can hear it getting fainter and fainter. Distantly she’s aware of Fabian behind her, muscles slowly relaxing. There’s a buzzing in the back of her head, too loud.
“Shit,” she breathes out, and drops both her fists and her Fists. It feels like she’s trapped in that fucking bubble again. “Goddamn it.”
A step crunches behind her, and then Fabian’s hand wraps around her wrist, slow enough that she can feel the heat from his fingertips before he touches her. She can’t bring herself to lean back into it, but she wants to. She settles for not moving at all until his hand slips into hers, and his thumb presses twice into the back of her hand, two firm taps.
“You keep doing that,” Adaine says before she can second-guess it. “Why do you keep doing it?”
“I figure you could use it,” Fabian answers. He’s still a step or two behind her, still just out of where she can see. “A reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
“That you’re not alone.”
“Why did you do it the first time?”
She can still feel it: a solid chest behind her, one arm steady around her waist, the other crossing up her chest. It wasn’t an embrace and it wasn’t a stranglehold and it wasn’t planned. It was him, holding onto her, inelegant and something verging on desperate.
Fabian exhales, low and long. “The world went dark,” he says, barely enough to hear. “And you were the only thing I thought to look for.”
Adaine can’t help it. She whips around to stare at him, eyes wide. He’s facing away from her, something like back to back. She wants to demand that he repeat himself. She wants to stop this conversation. She wants to know, in excruciating detail, what that means and why he means it.
But Fabian’s back is to her. And Adaine doesn’t think she actually needs any of that.
Instead, she takes a deep breath and then squeezes Fabian’s hand. Once, twice.
All the tension vanishes from the air immediately. She can’t see his smile, but she can feel it in the way his fingers relax and he shifts back towards her a little.
“Well,” Adaine says. She sounds flustered. Is she flustered? Does it matter? Fabian’s turning to look at her, and it’s the first time she’s felt warm since she woke up from her trance. Since yesterday. It’s almost enough to make a girl feel hopeful. “What are we waiting for? We’ve got a sapphire to curse.”