Today brings Ghizonis so much joy.
Today brings me so much pain.
According to Ghizoni history books, seventy or so years ago the Chancellor unearthed a glassy black stone in the isle’s fertile mountain, Yiyo Peak. He mined it for its “molecular properties” that make it “the perfect binder for magic,” whatever that means, and used the promise of magic to unite the isolated tribes living here. According to the two days of Ancient History class I actually attended, the clans jumped at the chance, sealing the Chancellor’s diehard loyalty from these people. They worship him for it.
He was an asshole the first time he spoke to me, so magic or not, I can’t stand him.
Random bouts of wooziness assault me. The effect of the chaser isn’t hitting me as strongly, or I’m getting used to it… I hope that’s not a bad thing. Patrol tugs again and reluctantly, I follow. Wherever they think they’re taking me… I have no intention of going. Running from Laws ain’t nothing new. I just need to get a moment of distraction—a second so I can get away. Where is Bri?
She would be here, right? If she knows I’m in trouble, she’d come. I reach for my watch but the handcuffs are blocking it.
Bu-Bu-Bum. Bum. Bum.
Each pound of the drum sloshes my insides. The farther we go, the louder the music pounds. Each beat of celebration wedges the dagger deeper. I want to snatch those damn sticks out of the drummer’s hand and beat him with them.
I catch his eye and the drumming stutters, then fades. With the sudden absence of music, heads turn my way in waves, a few at first, then more. The celebration comes to a near silent halt as I’m led through the crowd, hands bound. Like the entire city was waiting, eager for a glimpse of the brown girl who broke the rules. The crowd, a sea of faces with colorful hairstyles contorted in twisted shapes, whispers and points at me. Several have magicked faces and enhanced animal features. With magic at your disposal, I guess you get bored after a while and start experimenting.
My feet are rigid as Patrol practically drags me. My mouth is chalky. Water. I still need more water. Patrolman tugs for me to walk faster and needling pain pricks my wrists.
Moms raised a diamond. I straighten up and keep moving.
The festival hums around us, the music pounding once again. The path ahead snakes between a short building with slate walls, the Amphitheater, where I was sorted—or not sorted, actually—and behind it, the Binding Ward, where they gave me my magic. I rub a thumb over my wrist, remembering. All this magic and power could do so much good back home, but they want to hole up here. It’s just so messed up.
Justice Compound, the place where they take lawbreakers, looms ahead. They’re not putting me in some cell. Nope. Not happening. “Where is—” I say under my breath when a familiar face jets through the crowd, glasses perched on her pointy nose.
There she is.
Bri keeps pace with the guards, but she’s far back, so far it’s hard to see. She’s gonna flip when she hears her techy contraption on my wrist didn’t fail, and that aside from delivering the gift I was able to save my sister’s life. We knew a transport spell would tip the authorities. So being the smarty-pants she is, she hacked the mainframe and found some code for human geolocation that was already in there. It took a long minute, months actually, but she wrote it into a wristwatch. So I could be there for Tash. That’s what real friends do.
Ride or die.
Before I can tell her anything, first I need out of this sitch.
As if Bri read my mind, she flips a silvery something high in the air and it dissolves, like it was never there. Seconds later, cold metal presses against my palm. P-R-I-modifier or whatever she calls it for the win! Knew she’d come through.
I fall back so the guards are walking in front of me and wiggle the key-shaped metal into my restraints. It’s awkward, but after a few tries the key slips into a hole and clicks.
I keep my hands still. I have one shot to get away from under these idiots. I look for Bri in the crowd to give her a sign it worked. A smirk or something. But a myriad of disinterested faces is all I see. She’s gone. My wrist vibrates, but I can’t look. Not yet.
I need a distrac—
“Ling ling ling, ya’ling ling.” N’we dancers shimmy our way. The ringleader wears sapphire chiffon low on her waist and golden bells ting with each step. Coins fly at them from the crowd and Patrol’s practically salivating as the dancers rotate their hips, jiggling all the jiggly places.
My chance.
I drop the cuffs and jet, running like my life depends on it. And I mean, it might. My only hope is that I can get off these streets and hide away at Bri’s. Her parents are practically model citizens. Hiding away there, Patrol would never expect to find me. How long that’ll last, I can’t say. Long enough for me to figure out a way to get back to Tasha, hopefully.
I breeze by a little too close to a merchant futzing with a tent and the whole thing collapses.
“Shoot, sorry!” I don’t look back, hoping they heard me. I disrupt a line of feather trainers—animal masters who can compel birds to obey—around a huddle of people with fists full of coins, my kicks eating the cobblestone. Everything’s a bit hazy, but I push through it.
“V’ja! V’ja!” Patrol shouts for me and I pound the dirt harder. Wedged between the slick buildings is a crumbling stone shanty that looks older than everything around it. It’s set back on the lot, with cracked walls and a roof half caved in. I slip into the narrow alley between it and the building next to it and crouch down low. Patrol’s voices grow louder, and I lean back, fully in shadow.
“Which way? Did you see the girl? The human girl?”
“I—I, no,” says a man sauntering by with a cane. “I didn’t see anyone.”
“Ja! Ja!” An elderly woman with a head wrap around her head like a crown butts in. “Y’pwe onja. Onja meese.”
My Ghizonian isn’t that great, but I’m pretty sure that lady just dimed me out. She points in my direction. Shit. I duck down lower. Patrol hands the woman a coin and she disappears toward the festival.
I press back into the shade as far as I can, stone scraping my cheek. Seconds pass like days, but Patrol stomps past without a glance my way.
I exhale and check my watch. Bri’s message from a bit ago is still blinking on the screen.
Bri: I knew the key would work! Eeeee!
Me: Like a charm.
The music from the festival a block over plays in the background. Bri’s house is through Market Street, which is off the main square. I should be able to get over there unnoticed if I—
Curious little eyes staring at me from the far end of the alleyway snatch my attention. I can barely make out the features on his tiny face, but his sooty, tattered clothes are a giveaway. His face is thin and where his cheeks should be plump and smooth, they sink in.
Macazi.
The magicless.
They live in sanctioned housing if they’re lucky, but with no magic—no way to contribute to Ghizon—they’re treated like litter society hopes will just blow away.
“Hi,” I say, but he turns to run away.
“No, I’m not gonna hurt—Listen, I have something for you. Can you wait right here? I’ll go get it.” His expression doesn’t change. I really don’t have time for this. Patrol could come back any moment.