The Other Side

Black hail batters the broken earth. The violently sweeping flurries of steam do nothing to melt or slow it, for it is more like dull, glittering stones. On other days, it falls lazily in imprecise ellipses, but all afternoon, it drops with a determined intensity only matched by the beating of my heart. I recline in front of the hearth and stare at the dying fire licking up the debris that sits loosely on the floorboards underneath. It's the only break I get from anxiety—to pause and stare, take in reality. But these days, I find it hard to believe mine.

Cîcî's blood-curdling shrieks still pierce the depths of my empty soul in the chill of every melancholy morning. She can't adjust, and neither can I. None of us can. Ever since Aevin was lured out of our humble djom and never returned, happiness remained nothing but a fairytale phenomenon. Just like him, peace never returned, and the glaring portent of his death haunts me every time his jet black sideburns flash before my mind's eye. I lock his tabby cat in an affectionate hug, stroking her frizzy fur until I'm sure her purring shows irritation, the same I see in Mother's distant russet eyes before she claims everything'll be alright so I can let her be. The other side of the Wall of Infinite is not a place to be, according to hearsay. No one goes there, and no one comes out. One is just taken by the Pull, and never returned. Mercilessly.

I lean against the crinkly wall of our djøm and think. It's all I'm useful for now; I want an idea that my friends Zak and Zailah can craft into a solid plan. But sometimes, the thoughts, having a mind of theirs, swirl and gel into a mass of leaden clouds above my head.

"I'm leaving, Mother," I mumble, dragging my scarecrow body out of the door. Aevin always said my frame favored me, and I accepted it gracefully, knowing that my little superpower has nothing on all of his. Zak and Zailah meet me in our battered hideout, a cluster of olive trees whose gaunt branch tips claw the bejeweled mauve night sky. The first step to laying our hands on the ancient moonstone that subdues the powers beyond the wall is at least trying, isn't it? It's not much, but it's all we have. All we might ever have. Such artifacts are exclusive to those who earn membership of the Arcana Sensa, whose poster is one of the many stuck carelessly to some of the olive trees.

THE MAGICAL QUOTIENT (MQ) EXAMINATION

Open to those below the age of 18 who score in the 99th percentile can be admitted into Arcana Sensa, Tamoria's largest magical quotient society. Less than 0.7% join this exclusive committee, and acceptance rates are likely to plummet due to increased competitiveness.

Once, every decade this singular honor is bestowed only to those whose magical and intellectual capabilities enable them to score at least fourteen distinctions in the following after weighted averages, magical reputation, social standing and grade thresholds are discerned:

Geometric Gravity Warping

Detection and Discernment

Spatial Rearrangement

Mild Dreamscape Manipulation

Memory Alteration

Spectral Chain Stagnation

Magical Mathematical Mapping

Mental Tide Vapourisation

Targeted Soul Highlighting

Sensation Diminishing

Sensation Heightening

Supernatural Ballistic Deterrence

General Mage Logic

Proximal Tessellation Mapping

At least fourteen distinctions, which is, in fact, all of them.

Examinations take place at the Obelisk Gate.

I suppress a strong reminder that the three gifted mages who passed the exam a decade ago were never seen again. No one mentioned Rosanna Glovva, Eerin Glossane and Clarke Majorhíe without shaking their heads or pursing their lips as Tamorians did when they deeply regretted something. We called them erinkleer, for they never left their special brick-and-tourmaline homes in the Sage Villa; plainly, we don't think they ever lived there.

"Where've you been, Vaela? Thinking that long?" Zak snaps. "We don't have much time."

It's hard to believe Mother once saved Zak and Zailah from a garbage heap. A prophecy claimed that twins would overthrow the Orb, leading to a ruthless hunt for all twins across Tamoria. They've grown older and tougher since then, but I can still see their vulnerability, no matter how much they try to hide it.

I shoot a dirty look to remind him Aevin is my brother as much as he is his friend. Sometimes, I wish I could cut him off, but he has the most handsome features.

"I wasted hours trying to come up with something, but it all led to nothing." I admit. "What's the matter, Zailah? You shouldn't be quiet. Not now…"

Looking at her is like letting flax slip through my long fingers; she is much taller, easier on the eyes and less likely to fail the MQEs. But unlike me, she doesn't know these parts as well as I do. The bent trunk before me reminds me of Madame Merinth Baelin, the hunchbacked Chief Examiner who advocated for the shuttle to support elderly employees. If only we could find out how to gain an advantage… A cheatsheet… An inkling, or at least, a genius' soul…

"The van!" I cry, so the two, startled, cringe. "Arcana Sensa's van—it shuttles between the headquarters and the Obelisk Gates, so—"

"What? But the society has the most adept proximal tessellation mappers. How could we, amateurs, stand a chance against them? They'll detect us right away, won't they?"

I clench my fist until my knuckles whiten and my scalp begins to tingle. How dare he criticize my plan if he can't think of one? Zailah seems to have figured something out.

"Not if we could use forbidden powers like—" she hesitates, her voice trailing off.

"Dark Magic for the Desperate?" I confirm, pulling the words from her quivering mouth so she doesn't have to weaken herself.

"Be careful what you wish for," Zailah says. "People like us…things can only go wrong. If we mess this up, it's over." She waves dismissively at an imaginary fly.

"But it's worth the try," Zak and I say, although we avoid eye contact.

Using magic, we ascend to the Shrine of the Infinite, our parasols hovering above us to shield us from the elements, until we are tens of feet above the ground. Its moonstone pillars gleam even in the gross darkness that gathers over these parts, and the djøms below us are reduced to envelope-sized rectangles. The River Infinite is only a moving azure line. The portico opens its wide marble mouth and a burning orb demands the purpose of our visit. The words rise up my being and end their journey in my throat. Zak and Zailah are not of any help either. We stare into the overarching emptiness and all that greets us is pitch darkness, and we do not dare make eye contact with the orb out of reverence. We are sure it, too, knows our need. Everyone knows Aevin's been taken.

The orb speaks, its oily voice as shrill as a boiling kettle and sly and slippery as a serpent.

"What you desire is not difficult, but the sacrifice is. Dark magic of this nature requires the lifeblood of a close friend, or the friend's companion."

Zailah nods as though this is perfectly normal.

They look expectantly at me.

If I truly want to save Aevin from the other side of the Wall, I must do all it takes.

"This sacrifice." I clear my throat. "Can it be substituted with blood magic instead? Well, I mean…instead of taking someone's life, why don't you cut one of our bodies? Mine? I-I-we're willing to offer some blood."

"You are willing, but they aren't. Except their hearts speak a language my ears are not yet trained to understand."

I've already lost my only sibling. Who in the world can I give?

"Cîcî," Zailah suggests, but she immediately bites her lip. We stare at her, but she fails to meet our questioning gaze.

. . .

I pool all the cat food on sale at the Obelisk Gate Complex and tread across the hail-laden ground to my djøm, where Mother's head sags, her brows knitted in concentration on another futile attempt at magical fur crocheting. I pick my filthy nails but my heart continues to pound mercilessly as Cîcî's name reverberates in my conscience. I feed, bathe and clothe her, pouring all the temporal happiness from every other day to infuse her with some to outlast her last moments.

Without thinking, I nestle her in the bend of my elbow.

. . .

"Hold her still. Ensure she doesn't squirm," the Orb hisses.

She remains stuck to my arm but flinches occasionally as though she knows what agony awaits her. But I remember my inherent power. The hair on my back stands and tingles as a riptide of anguish washes over me.

I remember Aevin's endearing curly locks and boost my wavering morale. I recall the fit of clothes on his perfect frame. The huge grin that played across his rosy cheeks whenever I called his nickname. The laughs and tears, the eyebrow furrows and shared sorrows. I'm willing to do whatever it takes.

I may not prevent the pain, but I can prevent its intensity.

I lock her in a steady gaze and mentally summon a time-slowing capacity even I don't fully grasp after years of mastery. The whole world slows. The vigorously solemn dance of the flames at the entrance slows to an unruffled flicker and Zak and Zailah's voices intertwine in the distorted phrases they utter to hopefully pull me back to reality. Time is within my grasp.

"Forgive me Cîcî," I whisper, dabbing the tears soaking the inside of my felt face mask, "but I have no other choice." For an instant, it is only both of us, with the rest of the shrine faded into an eventually sharpening blur.

Time resumes its normal course and the drumming Cîcî's chest peters out into a series of calm thuds. The deed's been done, and the world returns to its original form as an unusually hot flurry sweeps the portico. I collect her life blood in a small vial and summon a Vanishing ghoul to adopt for the three of us.

"You can now use her blood to use the elusive powers of invisibility. I wish you all the best - it is at your own risk, especially if you flail about unseen for more than an hour."

. . .

The cliff the Shrine stands majestically on juts out into overarching darkness, but it is nothing close to the cloud hovering above me whenever I Cîcî crosses my mind - which is always. Zak and Zailah can't seem to say anything to me for the next few hours, but we mumble the Vanishing charm in unison until we're overshadowed by the veil of invisibility and mystical oscillations fall through our bodies like grains of sand.

"Now we need to find that van," Zailah says importantly. And we do. We leap onto the back as it swerves and nearly gives us away.

When Zak lays his calloused hands on the answer parchment after minutes of strategic searching, another set of hands grabs it. Frustrated, he recites a forgetting curse under his breath, and the assistant fumbles and gropes around, giving Zak a golden choice to snatch the all-important price. I hold my breath. Zailah utters a prayer. Zak doesn't fail.

But the hour seems to come to halt, because I can swear I can see our bodies appearing from our feet upwards, gradually. Before we're noticed, we rush out though our entrance, but I am brought to a halt. The sound of the ugly gash opening reaches my ears before the pang sears my raw skin.

Zak and Zailah's faces contort with terror. Is this revenge for Cîcî? I know it is terrible, so terrible I don't dare inspect it or check how deep it is, but I also know we can't escape in the nick of time when I'm this injured. I can't even walk. If magic in general was a curse, then mine is a bespoke death wish fashioned by the gods themselves. Zak, unsure about our next move, picks me up, and, stashing the parchment in his vest, cradles me in his safe arms. Although my body aches all over, the warmth of his touch spreads over it, providing a makeshift remedy. The rest of the world fades away until it feels like it is just for the two of us. Zailah finds a way to combine our parasols into one large structure to protect us from the pounding hail, although the chill seems to help better when not intercepted, by weakening the throbbing underneath my skin. We plod and stumble through the heaps of hail, and, as awkwardly as we have to, ensure we avoid being caught up with.

. . .

The birds fail to chirp as night gives way to day, and, under the guise of nobility in a knock-off robe, I steal away from the safety of my djøm. I meet Zak and Zailah, who I have to demand our friendship code from to ensure they are really the ones under the heavy cloaks and noble face masks. They hand me one, and we head to Obelisk Gate, trying to conduct ourselves as normally as possible to prevent suspicion. They've forgotten about my injury, but I can't blame them. I too have lost the ability to give much thought to anything except rescuing Aevin.

"You've memorized the answers, haven't you?" I ask them, and Zak nods. Zailah's eyes avoid mine just as they have all morning. She hides something I don't want to uncover but need to.

"I won't beg you to tell me what's wrong."

"What if this doesn't work?" Zailah's voice trails off.

But the bell rings, signaling the start of the exam, and we're assigned to our seats.

. . .

The results are announced at the Gate immediately after a brief history of Arcana Mensa is read to signify the end of this decade's exam season.

"...and we cannot forget the unparalleled aptitude of Miss Vaela Woodstorne, Miss Zailah Clemich and Mr Zakkir Clemich, who scored in the 99.5th percentile, a record that has not been beaten in years," he announces, changing his inflection for dramatic effect, "even by the revered alumni in the Sage Villa."

We pack our belongings and board the bus to the headquarters, our eardrums singed by the trumpets blaring over the frenzied, discordant cheering and angry protests over lost gambles. I spot Mother in the sea of russet faces, so much smaller and frailer and paler than everyone else, that it doesn't take too long to. A parted sea whose center we are riding on a chariot through. When the golden gates fly open, we're entranced by the intricate architecture and magical workforce that greet us.

Drowsy from 'harmless' wine and working plans, our eyes cloud over. I doze off almost immediately, for the injury has left me weakened and virtually helpless. I'm not mindful of the others, but I can hear their snores over the creaky windows swinging in the sweeping flurries.

. . .

When we wake up, we're in a different place.

I feel my clothes, and the rough surface of burlap tickles the tips of my finger. The garment is secured to my neck by a flimsy bow that might shatter in this weather. Zak and Zailah are barefoot and wearing the same excuse for a uniform; Zak even has his hair cropped so he looks like he's gained weight. Around us is a workforce with numbers like that of the dense swarm of locusts that visits our farms midyear. But this is not one of Tamoria's farms. I don't want to accept the truth, but it's glaring. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting the sky in a fiery crimson hue that seems to prickle the very air we breathe. We all wear the gleam of perspiration. There is no hail or flurries. Just the harsh heat that this place gifts us, that burns our bare backs and makes us desire a parasol or shed or shelter more than we ever have before. But all that meets our eyes is the other side of a wall that is discussed more than the royal family…

The Wall. Of the Infinite. Crouched on the soil, I look around for more clues to convince myself of a truth that I don't want to accept, but my scope of vision is hindered by the hefty, glowering dictators above me. One of which is Merinth Baelin.

I always knew there were monsters in this place, but I'm not sure if it's the taskmasters whose ever-present whips force everyone into dedicated labor or real monsters waiting to be released into the open field.

"You dog."

"Faster!"

"You are not here for decoration!"

Someone weaves his way in and out of the clusters of slaves, probably because he's been permitted, after threshing his grain quota to go home, wherever that is. His legs are scarred, and his hands chalky. I recognise his crooked nose, auburn hair and jet black sideburns, although they now lack the brilliance that would've won my heart if we weren't blood.

Subdued but rewarded pain shines in his teary eyes as pure joy. His yellow teeth bare and his sturdy arms embrace me. Tears blur my vision as I embrace him, unable to restrain my emotions any longer. Relieved, I return his hug.