Page 49 of Where Darkness Dwells

“No,” I shake my head, “no, I was just—what is this place?”

“Ah.” She nods, her eyes not leaving mine. “Came here by mistake, have you?”

When I don’t answer, a knowing smile thins her lips. “Well,” she says, catching a toddler who comes careening through a doorway. She hoists her onto a hip. “This is Utsanek’s best kept secret.”

The other woman rolls her eyes and swats her friend’s shoulder with the back of a hand. “Tress, it won’t be for much longer if you go telling every stray cat that crawls in.”

Tress laughs at the rebuke and sets down the fussing child after kissing her curls. She scampers away to ruin the big kids’ hiding spots. “Loren thinks we should have a warning system so we can hide all this,” she waves her hand in the air, “and pretend we are just as depressed as the rest of this city.”

Loren purses her lips as she rearranges the jars on the counter.

“But I keep telling her that would be impractical. Besides,” she smiles, “I trust Elyon to send us exactly the people who need us.”

My lantern lowers a little. “You aren’t—” I bite my lip. “You aren’t afraid the kaligorven will punish you?”

Tress laughs airily, banishing the thought. “What can they do to us beyond bodily harm?”

I frown. Bodily harm seems bad enough.

Tress tucks a stray strand of mousy hair behind an ear and tilts her head in an invitation to follow. I glance at Loren, but she resolutely avoids my eyes.

Not knowing what else to do, I join Tress. She weaves through the planters and pranksters who dart every way. They avoid her respectfully but are not so careful with me. After a few jostles, warmth returns to my fingertips, and I find myself smiling. When did I last see children playing in Utsanek?

Tress leads me to a quieter courtyard tucked beside the library. Several benches surround a twisting tree covered in a riot of colorful mushrooms. She motions to a bench, and I sit.

“Now. What’s your name?”

I peer between the lights at the tree’s branches. They are bursting into buds, promising Tiosh will soon give way to Zomré. The hopefulness of this sight encourages the muscles in my back to relax.

“I’m Amyrah,” I say, her question finally registering in my mind. “Where did you find all these bolétis?” I marvel at the little mushrooms’ quantity and vibrancy. My small collection was the product of many weeks’ and miles’ worth of searching.

She points behind us to a wooden gate camouflaged in a tangle of leafless vines. “This neighborhood lies on the southwest corner of Utsanek, right up against the forest. Over many years, our community has worked to hem a portion of it in for our own private use.” She smiles, the light from the bolétis sprinkled within her faint green irises. “Our own little Ellithïm.”

Paradise. I chew on the word. It feels like an intruder in my troubled heart.

“We have cultivated it into a rich garden for many things,” she continues, “but mostly as a place to grow bolétis.”

“I did not think anyone else cared for them,” I whisper, an emotion I can’t explain making my throat ache.

“Few can see their value, it’s true. Alone, they seem of little worth. But in great numbers, they can prove something the ténesomni finds difficult to overcome.”

It’s as if a cord wraps right around my neck, preventing me from swallowing.

There’s been community here all this time—a beautiful, thriving community. Collecting mushrooms for light, living in the middle of this darkness ... together. And my father and I have spent ten years alone.

I can name what I am feeling.Longing.

The colorful tree blurs in my vision.

“Tress, there you are.”

A man wrapped in thin layers of wool steps into the courtyard and strides over to us. He bends to embrace the woman and kisses her cheek. A chain slips out of his shirt, weighed down by an ebony soapstone ring. Tress slips her hand into his black hair, a matching band on her fourth finger. I look away as they share a moment, hastily wiping my tears on my sleeve.

“Tell me what happened.” Tress’s face creases with concern.

He straightens and glances at me with misgiving. Dark circles rim his eyes.

For a reason I don’t understand, Tress places her hand on mine and says, “She’s safe, Bryn.” Her glance flicks down to my necklace, and she gives me an assuring squeeze.

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