Matched in Magic

by Alex C Vick

"Yes."

  "Why did you say that? Hot. You think I'm sweaty and disgusting? Is that it? Are you mocking me?"

  "No." My denial came out louder than I intended. I tried again. "No. Of course I'm not mocking you."

  He seemed unconvinced. "What then?"

  "Are you being serious? You don't know what hot means?"

  "Of course I know what it means," he said. He chewed his bottom lip. "I suppose you're from Helex?"

  I remained silent, trying not to let my uncertainty show on my face. I didn't know the names of any of the other territories on Xytovia. I hadn't expected to be put on the spot quite so quickly.

  The boy watched me. "Helex is the closest territory to Vayl," he said slowly.

  "I—yes," I said. "Yes, obviously. Helex."

  "You're at least a mile over the boundary. Are you really alone?"

  "I said I was, didn't I?"

  "Yes, but you also insulted me. Inter-territory relations aren't the best right now, so you're either alone and crazy, or you're hiding reinforcements."

  The situation seemed to be escalating, and I had no idea how to stop it. My force field flickered in readiness-automatically responding to my anxiety. I put my hands behind my back and lowered my gaze in case the tell-tale glow of my magic complicated things even further.

  "Look, I'm not having the best day here," said the boy. "I don't know what game you're playing, but I'd rather you were honest about it."

  Here goes nothing.

  "I wasn't insulting you. Hot means physically attractive," I said in a rush.

  His eyes narrowed. "What?"

  I was determined not to blush again. "I think you heard me."

  "You mean… me?"

  The look of confusion on his face was kind of endearing. It gave me the confidence to continue.

  "Yes. You. And I obviously didn't intend for you to hear, so if we could forget all about it, that would be great."

  As I watched, his cheeks went red, and he looked at the ground. "I don't… I'm not…" He trailed off and there was an awkward silence. I fought the impulse to hide my face behind my hands. I never knew meeting a boy could be so difficult.

  Eventually, he raised his head. He gave me a shy smile. "Let's start over. What's your name?"

  "Er… S-Serena," I said, stumbling over the word.

  Another smile. "Aren't you certain?"

  My heart was beating so fast I was worried he might hear it. I managed to smile back.

  "No, I'm not certain. I'm Serena."

  His smile widened. His teeth were white against the tan of his skin.

  "What's your name?" I asked.

  "Ammartus," he said. "But my family calls me Art."

  "Art," I repeated.

  "Do you have… can we… is it all right if we talk for a little bit?" he asked.

  I think he's as nervous as I am.

  I realised I was staring. "Yes," I said quickly, "I'd like to talk."

  "Maybe we should sit down. The sun is really strong today, and you look hot."

  "I look what?"

  Realisation dawned on his face. "Oh… no. No, no, no. That's not what I meant."

  "OK."

  "No," he repeated, more forcefully. "Of course I think you're… I mean, you look… but I would never…" He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. "I'm sorry."

  "It's OK. Honestly. Let's sit down."

  "How about over here?" he said. He gestured to a patch of shade beneath some nearby trees, and our fingertips touched. Pulling his hand back quickly, he apologised again. "Sorry. I didn't mean—"

  "Didn't mean what?" I asked.

  "To touch you. I promise I'm a cotidian too. I know my eyes… well, I know what my eyes look like. But I promise."

  I curled my fingers inward and looked down at them curiously. Why is it a problem for him to touch me? Wait… his eyes?

  "What about your eyes?"

  He paused. "I thought you'd noticed."

  I spoke without thinking. "Yes, of course I noticed. They're amazing."

  His eyebrows shot up, and I winced. Perhaps the Pain Remedy was still lowering my inhibitions after all. I raised one shoulder in an attempt at a shrug. "Objectively speaking…"

  He tilted his head. "I don't know what to make of you, Serena."

  I'm not exactly sure what's going on myself. I'd always thought girls who fell for boys because of their looks were stupid. Yet here I was, behaving like I didn't have a brain.

  "Can we start over one more time?" I said.

  "All right," he agreed.

  We sat down. The grass by the side of the road was softer than I expected. I trailed my fingers back and forth through the blue-green strands, wondering how to begin.

  "I'm not from Vayl," I said, deciding to stay as close to the truth as I could. "But I don't really know Helex that well either. My parents died recently and we lived… well… we sort of lived in a remote location. Apart from Xytovian society."

  I tore off a blade of grass and wrapped it around my finger. "I know I have a lot to learn."

  "I'm so sorry about your parents," he said. "How did they…? Was it…?"

  He paused as if he expected me to know what he was asking. Did most Xytovians die from the same cause or something? That's not good.

  "I don't really want to talk about it," I said, avoiding the question. "I want to make a fresh start somewhere new, and Vayl is closest, like you said."

  "Yes, but…"

  "But what?"

  "You can't just walk into Vayl and make a new life. Not unless your sponsorship has already been agreed."

  "What do you mean—sponsorship?" I asked.

  "Everyone in Vayl is assigned to a magical family for their protection. It's no secret—it created the tension between us and Helex. They think it's a step too far."

  "I… I'm not sponsored by a magical family," I admitted, turning away to hide my reaction. "How does that work?"

  "We make the best use of our resources. There's a hierarchy. Magic is at the top, and it controls access to everything else," he said. "Medicine. Jobs. Accommodation."

  "I see." I frowned. "And do you agree with that? Are you happy that a magical family gets to sponsor you?"

  Art didn't meet my eyes. "It's better for everyone. Safer."

  "Safer. That's an odd choice of word," I said. "Safer for whom?"

  "Serena, I'm sorry. I know you said you didn't want to talk about it, but how did your parents die?" he asked.

  For a few seconds I thought of Angelus, the psychopathic inventor of the Death Spell, who'd killed thousands of magicians on Androva and Terra. Including my parents and almost my brother as well.

  Trapping Angelus inside a purpose-built magical prison had been a bittersweet victory. It had taken us far too long. I pulled at the blade of grass around my finger forcefully enough that it snapped.

  "Was it mage-sickness?" said Art, his voice quiet.

  What on Androva is mage-sickness?

  "Why would you think that?" I asked.

  "If you're a cotidian, then so are your parents. They"—he made a face—"we have to restrict our exposure to magic in order to remain healthy. It was the single biggest cause of death in Vayl before the sponsorship model was introduced."

  "I don't understand," I said.

  Certain spells excepted, since when was magical energy dangerous?

  "Have you ever met a magician?" he asked.

  "Um," I said noncommittally.

  Art made an impatient noise. "Well, you've seen an amulet, then, haven't you? You can't miss them. They glow when a spell is being projected."

  "I know about amulets," I said.

  "Right. Well, amulets warn cotidians to be careful. Along with eye colour, obviously. But the eyes aren't infallible. I'm proof of that."

  I made an educated guess. "Magicians have purple eyes."

  Art didn't deny it.

  I suppose a physical indicator is logical if magical ability is inherited.

  "But amulets ar
en't enough on their own," he went on. "Sponsorship means protection. Everything is in balance this way."

  It sounded like the opposite of balance to me.

  "How can you be certain you won't become a magician?" I asked.

  On Terra and Androva, the mechanics were identical. A person's production of magical energy increased dramatically during adolescence. One day there was enough to ignite the spark inside their head that would sustain and control their force field for the rest of their life. All that was necessary was contact with another magician's force field. I'd been thirteen when I got my spark.

  Could it be so different on Xytovia? Art was obviously older, but I didn't think he was eighteen yet. He still had time before he came of age and lost the ability to change.

  "Oh, trust me. I'm certain," he said. He looked like he was gritting his teeth.

  "How, though?" I persisted. Maybe I can help.

  I knew immediately I shouldn't have pushed him. He scrambled to his feet with an expression like thunder.

  "Because my match is dead. She died three months ago."

  Before I could say anything in response, Art spoke again. "I shouldn't have talked to you." He backed away from me.

  "Wait," I said. "You can't just leave."

  Dragging the hood of his top over his hair and halfway down his face, he turned around to walk away. He moved so fast he was out of sight in less than a minute.

  Well. That could have gone better.

  3.1 Ammartus, That Evening

  Two journal entries in the same day. My mother would be delighted if she knew. All the times she had to force me when I was younger and here I am exceeding my quota. But I don't know if I should write about what—who—just happened. Although the confidentiality of a magician's journal is supposed to be unbreakable, I'm not a magician anymore. Yet I won't officially be a cotidian until I transition.

  I went outside the city walls to escape what happened with the Board of Mages. I'm lucky I wasn't caught for being in breach of the segregation policy. I have my library and its maps of the city to thank for that. I had no plan. I just wanted out. I don't know how far I would have walked.

  I'm glad I never met her while I was still matched. If I'd known I could feel like this, settling for less would have been very difficult.

  4 Mage-Sickness

  I couldn't even run after him because of my stupid ankle. Using Solo Transference at speed would be too conspicuous. As I stared at the empty road, I decided it was probably for the best. What would I have said to him anyway? I was out of my depth on this strange world, and running after a boy never ended well.

  I stayed where I was. The others would come to me once they were sure Art wasn't going to return. A minute later, Galen and Claudia appeared in a shimmer of magical energy as Galen's Anonymity Spell lifted.

  "He left in kind of a hurry," said Claudia.

  "Yes. I'm aware," I said, making a face.

  "You OK?" she asked. "What happened?"

  "It's complicated. Much more so than we expected."

  "What do you mean?" said Claudia.

  "I don't think I expected it to be simple," said Galen before I could reply.

  "Yeah, neither did I, genius," I said, annoyed. "I just meant it's really complicated. Apparently overexposure to magical energy kills non-magicians here. It's called mage-sickness. To protect people there's a system of sponsorship controlled by magicians. Including access to the entire infrastructure.

  "And Art—the boy, I mean—he was supposed to be a magician. But the death of his match prevents him. I don't know how. He didn't like being asked about it. That's why he left."

  Galen and Claudia gaped at me.

  "Complicated enough for you?" I added.

  "I'm really sorry," said Galen. "I promise you I had no idea."

  "It's OK."

  "I guess that makes Xytovia a no-go," he went on. "When your ankle's better we can go to Trowen. I think—what?" He broke off when I shook my head.

  "I'm not giving up after only one visit," I said.

  "Giving up what?" he asked. "You've barely done anything."

  I met someone. It might be nothing. It might be everything.

  "Don't you think I should try to help?" I said.

  "No, I really don't."

  Trying not to get angry, I kept my voice low. "You don't. Can you explain why?"

  "Look, I know how you're feeling," he said. "I was in your shoes once. When I worked at the Foundation I was assigned to Terra at first, but I nearly transferred to Lignora. The Roman way of life was difficult to watch."

  "Slavery, you mean," I said.

  "And constant warfare. The Council was right to limit us to observation," he said. "Androva was in no position to interfere. Not without exposing our world to harm. This situation with Xytovia is no different."

  "You don't believe that," I said. "Remaining silent when something is wrong is the same as endorsing it."

  His jaw tightened. "And putting another world at risk without its consent is hardly the solution. Besides, you don't know that the way they live here is wrong. You don't know anything."

  So much for not getting angry. I had to take a breath before I could be sure of answering without raising my voice.

  "I'm well aware of that. And I am so sick of having this fight with you. It's not your decision, Galen."

  We stared at each other. Galen broke eye contact first.

  "I'm giving Xytovia a chance," I said. "Nowhere's perfect. I'll be fine. I'm not going to look for trouble."

  "It's not the same fight," muttered Galen.

  "What?" I said.

  "It's not. I support you. I do."

  "Then why are you being so judgmental?" I asked.

  "All of this reminds me. That's all," he said, turning away.

  "Let's head back," said Claudia. "If we're done exploring for the day, we should go home and close the portal."

  We'd just started walking toward the forest path when someone from behind us called, "Excuse me. Please. Hello."

  The voice was weak and rasping. When I turned, I saw a man and a woman walking along the road from the direction of Helex, both of them grey-haired and frail. They were accompanied by a young child.

  "Oh. I forgot to reinstate my spell," said Galen.

  "It's OK," I said. "They look normal enough."

  We waited for them to come closer. The child, a boy, had large eyes and a solemn expression. One of his small hands was clutching the hem of the man's shirt, twisting the fabric into a knot.

  "Please," said the man. The creases on his face deepened. "I'm sorry to trouble you. I wondered if—"

  He broke off, coughing and bending his head. His breathing sounded terrible. Like he could only take in a fraction of the air he needed. The woman touched his shoulder.

  My hands flexed. The temptation to perform a basic Healing Spell was overwhelming. I can't. He's not wearing an amulet. I grabbed Claudia's hand and used the Communication Spell to warn her and Galen.

  "Papa?" said the boy.

  "Papa's fine," said the woman. "He just has his tickly throat again."

  "How can we help you?" said Galen. His hands were behind his back. I didn't doubt he'd also been ready to offer a spell to help the man. We were accustomed to using magic for everything. These few hours on Xytovia had been the longest time I'd spent without using my force field in ages.

  "Are you from Vayl?" said the woman.

  "No," I said. "We're not. We're…" I trailed off. I'd been about to say we were from Helex, but that was probably where they were from. I decided to avoid the question. "We're just visiting."

  The woman sighed as if disappointed. "Never mind then."

  Her companion lifted his head. His gaze had sharpened. In contrast to the web of lines on his skin, his eyes were a deep brown colour and oddly young-looking. "Visiting whom? Who is your sponsor?"

  I hesitated. "I'm sorry?"

  Leaving aside the fact that I couldn't answer him, it seemed a v
ery direct question to put to a stranger.

  "Per," said the woman in a low voice.

  "I apologise," said the man. "I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

  "I believe you," I said.

  I did. The intensity in his expression was compelling. "But I'm afraid we're not visiting anyone in particular."

  "You don't have to lie to me," he said. "If you don't want to help us then just say so."

  "I'm not lying," I protested.

  "It's not market day yet," he said.

  "What's that got to do with anything?" said Galen.

  The man's eyes remained on mine. "Only on market day do the magicians of Vayl allow unsponsored cotidians within their city's walls."

  "I didn't know that," I said.

  The little boy tugged on the man's shirt and he leaned down to listen as the boy whispered to him.

  "He likes your hair," said the man. "He wants to know how far the curls will stretch and if they spring back."

  When I grinned at the boy, he stepped halfway behind the man's leg. I knelt down, ignoring the twinge of pain in my ankle, and tilted my head.

  "You can find out if you want," I told him. "I've never tried it myself."

  He shuffled closer, keeping hold of the man's shirt. His hand was gentle, tugging on a piece of my hair so carefully I barely felt it.

  "Well?" I asked. "How far did it reach?"

  He blinked. His eyes were the same deep brown as the man's. Perhaps they were grandfather and grandson. Then, for a second, I thought I saw a shimmer of purple in their depths, but it disappeared immediately. He pointed to my elbow.

  "As far as that?" I said. "Maybe I should get a haircut. What do you think?"

  He shook his head forcefully. "Pretty," he said.

  "My name's Serena," I told him. "What's yours?"

  A pause, and then, "Marty."

  "It's nice to meet you, Marty." Once again I had to remember to keep my force field hidden. If we'd been on Androva, I would have asked him his favourite colour and created something from magical energy that he could play with.

  "He likes you," said the woman. "He never talks to strangers usually. I'm Savra, by the way, and this is Peric, my husband."

  "Hello," I said. "This is Galen, my brother, and his wife, Claudia."

  We exchanged slightly awkward smiles of acknowledgement. Peric shuffled his feet. "I'm afraid we can't stop to chat," he said.