4. All My Dreams Are Awake
DESDEMONA
For in the holy name of Sulva, she sacrificed her first descendant and the universe’s first Lucent as token of her love for Ayan. Eira bewitched Amun so deeply that when her soul took itself to another plane, the immortal found his path to do the same.
– THE GODS TALES WRITER UNKNOWN (REDACTED AND TRANSLATED BY QUEEN ASPILIAS AIBEK, 13AA)
Aralia gets out of bed before I do. She whispers, “You should use the bathroom before the others are awake,” and I turn away from the wall. I don’t know how she knows I am awake, but I thank her and walk into the living room. I take in the size of the suite for the third time now and wonder if it would feel any less eerie if it were in the septic.
When the hot water runs down my back, I think this might be the best I will ever get to feel. It’s like I have never lived before now. I sit beneath the stream and my hair sticks down my back while the bliss billows from my body. I don’t move until my fingers are more pruney than a prune.
I braid my hair like Aralia’s, the same way my mom taught me when I was young.
“You’d look good with blusher,” Aralia says, sitting up and looking away from her book. “It’ll make your face look rounder.” Then she’s digging through a drawer in the desk between the comfiest beds in the worlds.
Damien and Elliae were the first Folk to not point out my obnoxiously angular face. My jaw’s like a square, and I’m well aware that it’s a uniqueness not quite welcomed by the Folk. When Aralia hands me a silver tube, she says, “You can use it on your lips too.”
I don’t gape at the tube, which I’m sure is real silver. These kids are so spoiled, but that’s a sentiment for another day, so I just put the stuff on my cheeks and lips. Turns out she’s right, my face does look a little rounder. Prettier.
“It’s a glamour,” Aralia says, and when she dabs the pink stuff on her cheeks, I watch the already rounded curves of her face soften even more. Like the scars on my back.
She puts black stuff on her monolid eyes and they grow bigger and rounder. I kind of wish my mom had told me about glamour sooner, but I guess there was no time for vanity.
I offer a small “Thank you” for good measure, despite feeling no gratitude to the girl. She has everything she could want. Sharing a portion of everything doesn’t make her an altruist.
She offers me another silver tube. “This will take care of your freckles.
Right.
I go to the kitchen, hoping to find more of that delicious pie from last night. Instead, I find cups full of purple and green berries with seeds of some sort on the side. Students sit around the counter, and some take their cups to go.
Most of the fruits that grew in Lorucille were poisonous. It’s one of the first things I can remember my mom telling me. Don’t touch the berries. Sometimes Damien and I would find dead Folk in the woods, by the bushes with the secoyas or minthers.
Disregarding the warnings, I plop the green fruit in my mouth and its sweet juices explode. I sit down, and no one pays any mind to me until I suck down the berries in seconds. Then they all look at me. I guess they don’t eat like this.
“Thanks for the food,” I say to no one in particular, setting down my utensils and standing to leave.
“Did I just hear a thank you?” a voice calls back, strong and full and echoing through the room.
“Yeah,” I say, much quieter.
The woman walks in front of me and I’m met by green eyes, dark skin, and pulled-back brown hair. I’ve never met a Eunoia before.
She waves a large wooden spoon in my direction. “You must be new around here.”
“Yeah,” I say again.
“Still, I appreciate being appreciated. But don’t we all?” She laughs and points the spoon at herself. “The nicer you are to me, the nicer the food will be to you,” she whispers to me like it’s some kind of secret.
“Does that mean I’ll get more of it?” I whisper.
“Yes, it does.” She smiles.
“Everything I’ve had so far is incredible.” I smile back. “I didn’t know food could taste that good.”
“Where are you from, girl?” she asks me.
“Utul,” I answer without hesitation.
“And you’ve never had dragon berries? Or you just toying with me ‘cause you want a second serving?”
No, I’ve never had dragon berries, but I say, “Never had dragon berries this good.”
She slides another dish to me slyly. “The secret ingredient is nectar.”
I walk to my first class, Philosophical Theology. The difference between the way the well-off and the starving view the gods wasn’t hard to pick up on in my childhood, mostly because my mom had used to be the former, and she brought her belief of Zola with her to the septic. Zola is the goddess of balance, and Mom would always say things like, “You are the good thing to right all the bad before.”
It was the only time she was ever really sentimental with me.
The teacher is a Lucent, who begins class too cheerfully in the name of Sulva. He goes on and on about her greatness, and I’m thinking that I thought classes at such a fancy school would be a little more put together. It feels like I’m listening to ramblings.
Sulva sacrificed her first descendent Eira for Ayan’s first descendent Amun. Eira died and Amun found a way to die too. Super romantic and the first love story of Elsyia, so it’s a story I’ve heard a thousand times. Folklore back home, and apparently something Mr. Auberwitz truly believes in.
Zoning out, I start to plan my escape. I’ll have to portal—it’s the only way to go from one world to another. I know that it’s harder to portal between worlds because our life force is tied to our homeworlds. And considering I can’t even start a fire, I’ll need someone to channel.
So I’ll have to not only find some unwitting Folk to steal magic from, but I’ll also have to get past whatever kind of alarm ticked off the headmistress that I came in.
When the class is over, it’s far from too soon. But I think I might prefer it over Elemental Magic.
The first faces I catch are Aralia and Calista. I avoid them while they avoid one another, and when the teacher says my name I duck my head. And when she adds, “A Fire Folk,” I don’t wallow in the whispers around the room. What I do enjoy is the subtle feeling of fear that is bound to boil in some of the students. If only I could find a way to make it last, to succeed in whatever lesson Ms. Abrams is going to give us and foster their fear like a knife.
I drop the hope when she says, “Today we are going to be doing something extra special. A practice in control, if you will.” When she looks at me, I feel like this is a directed attack. Not many people like the Fire Folk. We’re dangerous beings, after all. There’s that, and that everyone believes my dad to be one of the most infamous Folk of the generation. I wonder, not for the first time, if Dalin really is my father. “Each of you will take your elements to their absolute limits, and when I say yield, you will draw your power back in.”
Some of the class smiles, and some of them look as nervous as I feel, though I’d never show it. I stand tall, my face cold as stone.
“I will pair you each up with a partner to warm up with before we begin.” She goes on to pair up the class, and when she says my name after one Kai Contarini, I will myself to stay calm. Contarini is the Royal name of Lorucille and I’m hoping my partner is not related to them, but it’s a foolish wish.
Again, this feels deliberate. I wonder if the headmistress is behind it. A Contarini is bound to be powerful, one of the two Royal families left in the entire universe of Elysia which have held onto their power through force alone. I don’t want to imagine what will happen if he cannot reel back in his power when he’s supposed to.
I make my way to the blond boy, and when he smiles I feel a little thankful for Aralia’s glamour.
“I’m Kai.” His floppy, dirty blond hair sweeps over his forehead. He has bulbous cheeks and big lips, like Damien. Soft and kind brown eyes, a smile that could convince anyone of anything. The kind of smile I’ve spent my entire life envying and emulating from my mom.
“Des.” I quickly add, “demona,” not sure if they do nicknames the same way we do in the septic.
But he smiles and says, “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Des.”
“You too,” I say, mimicking his smile.
“The only thing I ask of you is to take it easy on me,” Kai says.
“Oh, yes,” I say. “That goes for you too. I’m more fragile than I may seem.” I’ve noticed people like when the Fire Folk have self-humility, and when he laughs, I take note.
“What makes you think such a thing?” he asks, and I close my fist tightly around the cut on my palm.
“Perhaps my limited experience. I’m from Utul,” I tell him, going with the lie I told the Eunoia in the kitchen earlier. It’s the most peaceful part of Lorucille, a perfect utopia to hide behind.
Bet they didn’t have a mile-long death toll every day during the war.
“Well, then you have a lot to learn. Perhaps I should go first, as an example.”
“Sure.” I bide my time.
Kai closes his eyes and purple bolts of energy flicker between his fingers, growing and covering his entire hand while they morph into a yellow shade. Soon enough, both his hands are glowing a deep yellow color, the light bouncing between them before there is a steady stream flowing between both his palms.
An image begins to take root in the light, a garden like the one at the school with homes built of wood and stone. A far cry from our clay dwellings. He pulls his hands apart further, the image growing around me.
My feet are in the grass, but I still feel the flat surface of the classroom. The sun is shining on the trees and flowers, but I don’t feel its warmth. I hear the snap of a finger and Kai stands before me.
“It’s not a current image,” he says, “but one from memory.” I nod and keep my bewilderment from reaching my face. I never knew that the Light Folk could do anything like this. “It’s been years since I’ve been to Utul.”
He thinks he’s showing me my home.
“It’s perfect,” I say with the most convincing smile I can manage. This isn’t as close to deadly as I expected it to be.
Kai takes us out of the image quickly when Ms. Abrams says, “Yield.”
When it comes to my turn, I try to think of something I could do. But all I know how to do is cauterize a self-inflicted wound.
I look Kai in the eye and say, “I’m gonna be honest. I personally wouldn’t like to be responsible for another Fire Folk related disaster.”
A flash of what I hope is fear crosses his eyes. But he steps closer to me, leans down to my ear, and whispers, “Ms. Abrams has never been very fond of the Fire Folk.” He reaches his hand out to me and says, “I can make sure it’s not too painful.” I scrunch my eyebrows up at him and he understands, saying, “I’ll get you out of class.”
When I don’t take his hands, he says, as if I care, “It will be beneficial to me as well. Displays of power from me or Calista are never frowned upon.”
“Calista is your sister?” I ask, putting together the pieces.
“Twin.”
“She’s my suitemate,” I say with a shy sort of smile.
“Then you may be stronger than you give yourself credit for.” I grab his hands and when a current of energy moves through him to me, my breath hitches. It feels like my heart stops for a minute, and I think of all the corenths Damien and I have killed this way.
“Ms. Abrams!” he calls and winks at me. “There’s been a miscalculation.”
I pretend like I can’t breathe for a minute longer and make my shaking hands shake harder. When Ms. Abrams tells me to sit out, I nod once to Kai.
By the end of class, I try to walk out unnoticed, but Aralia catches up. “Hey,” she says. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, just a little winded,” I say. There’s quite the contrast between the other kids ducking their heads while I walk past and this one walking with me.
“I don’t like her either,” she tells me. “If I am right to assume that you didn’t like her. Otherwise, I love her.” I can hear the sarcasm dripping from her tongue like saliva drips from mine when I’m cooking an austec and haven’t eaten in a day.
Or two. Not that she knows what that’s like.
“I did think she was a rather good teacher,” I say with a straight voice.
“Well, then I think she’s great. Have you seen the mastick?”
“No.”
“Oh well, it’s the woods that surround our gardens.” The woods that remind me of the septic. “There’s gonna be a party at the end of the week. Everyone’s going.”
“I might too,” I say.
“Well, I’m heading this way,” she says, turning to the left. “Do you need help finding your class?”
“No.”
Aralia smiles without her teeth. “Okay.”
A party where everyone will be, outside of the school campus, possibly past any alarm. That sounds like the perfect time to leave unnoticed. Which means I have to figure out how to get back to Lorucille, and I have to do it quickly. I only have three days.
I sit down in my next class, Psychology, and Hogan’s eyes lock on mine. A warning, I assume.
Hide.
If only he knew how long I’ve been hiding. I’m practically a pro at this.
When he introduces me to the class as “Ms. Marquees” I get those annoying looks again, and like before, I decide to use them as fear. Hogan tells us to open our books and they resume their unit, and of course, they’re talking about the psychology of septic Folk. Like it’s any different.
I guess we’re poorer, dirtier, more rebellious. This is what the look at the beginning of class was about. Don’t stick out.
But one thing catches my attention above all else. Propaganda. This book basically says the septic is easier to manipulate through pictures and a few words because our brains don’t work as quickly due to all the work they’re forcing us to do.
I think of the school and all the new pretty colored pictures and words calling those nasty keepers the face of justice.
When I’ve had enough, I look around the room, until my eyes stop on the boy I met by the lake. His eyes, a deeper blue than any Lucent I’ve seen so far, coupled with his wavy dark hair, make him the personified picture of the midnight sky.
He’s just as perfect here as before. Guess the moonlight didn’t do him any favors.
I turn away.
I have more important things to focus on. Number one being getting home and number two being Hogan calling me over at the end of class.
“How’s the glamour working?” he asks. “I spent a long time perfecting it so it’d last you longer than a day at a time.”
Yeah, spent all that time while I was unwillingly unconscious.
“It’s a marvel, thank you.” He’s one of the most important people to convince, so I smile.
“I wanted to give you a heads up about the Armanthine.” Of course I’ve heard of the Armanthine. But only briefly—they have purple eyes and they can read minds and that’s where my knowledge of them ends. “Most of them are untrained and thus can only read what you are thinking at the moment. Take extra caution to your mind when they’re around.”
“Understood.”
The second I enter Combat Training Leiholan’s eyes burn into me.
I’ve been summoned.
“Get a suit before you stick out,” he says. “In the back.”
I go to the back and open the double doors. Some of the girls have on shorts and skirts, but the only thing available in the closet is a tight, black jumpsuit. So that’s what I wear.
“Jermoine and Breck, Eleanora and Erica, and Lucian and Yuki,” Leiholan calls out. “On the mat.”
Hesteps onto the mat. I can’t escape him. And when he fights, I hate that I can’t take my eyes off of him. Every swing and strike is like a work of art. Every step makes it a masterpiece. Deliberate and precise, strong and cunning, artful and deadly.
I want to fight like that.
When class is over, I head out for the mastick, but Leiholan calls me to him. I don’t look into his gray eyes and I don’t think about the keepers back home.
The class scurries out and he pulls out a bottle of vesi from a locked closet in the back of the room. He takes three sips before he even looks at me, but still, he doesn’t speak.
“What do you want from me?” I say when I’ve had enough.
He points at me with the bottle in his hand. The bottles we make at home. The labor we don’t get to delight in. “I’ll teach you to hide,” he tells me, looking down at me, and I feel almost as little as I do when my mom looks at me like that.
“Hide from what?” I’m sure I know his answer.
“Our world.” He raises his arms and looks around, mocking marvel. “You don’t know it. I didn’t either, and I hate to say sweetheart, but you stick out like a Nepenthe after the war.”
“Yeah?” I say, somewhat tauntingly. I can already smell the vesi on his breath. The more intoxicated he is, the less I have to worry about what I say. “And why would you do that?”
“Common courtesy,” he says, like it’s a joke I should be laughing at. Then he laughs. I smile mockingly.
“Bullshit.”
He takes another swig from his bottle. “Cynthia told me to help you.” He waves his hands in the air like a kid. The only reminder that he’s not is the sword strapped to his waist and the bottle in his hand. “The headmistress.”
I think about his offer, I really do. Blending in would help my cause, but I don’t see it ending well. “I’ll pass.”
But Leiholan raises his sword. “I’ll tell you what,” he steps closer. “You beat me in a duel, and I’ll grovel for your cause to Cynthia.”
His sword is pointed at my chest now. I think he’s well intoxicated at this point, which should work out in my favor. But maybe I could use a little help, I’d just have to be very careful about what I might say. Take information, don’t divulge.
“Fine.” I step back. “I’ll accept your help.”
Leiholan chuckles, a deep, droozen laugh. “Oh, sweetheart.” His sword falls to the floor with reverberating clatters. “A few more of these,” he raises the bottle, “and I won’t be able to stand.”
And I’m not sure I’ve made the right decision.